He let his eyes wander about the room. It was spacious and pleasant, with white walls and a red tile floor. On one wall was a large dark wood armoire with intricately carved doors, and a long walnut table stood before the French doors opposite his silk-draped bed. There were two chairs by the table and an embroidered chaise longue by the bed.
“Is the juice good, Señor Niall? May I pour you more?”
“Thank you,” he answered politely. Dammit to hell, where was MacGuire? As if in answer to his silent summons, the door flew open to admit the captain and Inis. With a joyous bark, the dog leaped onto the bed and lay down beside Niall, his tail thumping happily.
“So, lad, you’ve decided to remain among the living! Praise be to God!”
“Skye? Where is she?”
MacGuire looked most uncomfortable. Sighing, he admitted, “We don’t know where the O’Malley is, my lord. When the infidels shot you down our first concern was to get you safely aboard. We knew they couldn’t outrun us. But no sooner had we gotten you back to the ship than a damned rain squall hit, and we lost the bastards in a fog bank. We were nearer Mallorca, and so we brought you here. The rest went on to Algiers, but alas, sir, no trace has been found yet of the O’Malley.”
For a moment, all was silence. Then Niall said, fiercely and simply, “I’ll find her! I’ll find her!” And he swung his legs over the edge of the bed trying to rise. Inis whined.
Constanza Alcudia Cuidadela rose swiftly and sped to his side. “No, No! Señor Niall. You will reopen your wound. It is still not totally healed.” She slipped an arm about his back and gently forced him back to the bed. “Fetch my papa immediately,” she hissed angrily at the stricken captain. “Ana, help me get the señor back into bed.” She fussed about him like a little mother hen, puffing the pillows and smoothing the coverlet, and despite his anxiety he was amused by this little creature whose concern for him was so touching. “For shame, señor!” she scolded. “Ana and I have worked so hard to make you well! Why do you allow your captain to agitate you? If you cannot remain calm then I will not let him in to see you again.”
He realized then that, although he was speaking Spanish with her, he had spoken Gaelic with MacGuire. She hadn’t understood. He felt suddenly weak, but wanted her to understand. “My betrothed wife was kidnapped when I was injured,” he said. “MacGuire tells me she has not yet been found.” It was several moments before she spoke.
“You love her very much, Señor Niall?”
“Yes, Señorita Constanza,” he replied gently. “I love her very much.”
“Then I shall make a novena to the Holy Virgin that she is found soon,” the girl said gravely, and Niall thought again how sweet the child was.
MacGuire quickly returned bringing an older gentleman with him. The man was of medium height with a short, dark, tailored beard, dark hair, and the coldest black eyes Niall had ever seen. He was dressed richly but soberly, his short velvet cape edged in a wide band of deep brown fur.
“Lord Burke,” the voice was as cold as the eyes. “I am the Conde Francisco Cuidadela, and I am happy to see you conscious at last. Captain MacGuire tells me, however, that you are agitated about your betrothed. It is best that you hear the truth now.”
“Papa!” the girl’s voice was pleading. “Señor Niall is not yet strong enough.”
“Silence, Constanza! How dare you presume to advise me? You will come to me after vespers for punishment, and then you are to spend the night in the chapel meditating on filial respect and obedience.”
The girl hung her head, beaten. “Yes, Papa,” she whispered.
“Your betrothed wife is lost to you forever, Lord Burke, and the sooner you are able to accept this the better off you will be. Should she be found you could not possibly want her back. If she is alive, she has by now been defiled by the infidel, and no decent Catholic could live with that.”
“No!”
“Be reasonable, Lord Burke. Captain MacGuire tells me the lady was a widow. Without the protection of virginity—for purity brings a very high price among the infidels—she was probably raped by at least the captain and officers of the ship that kidnapped her. If she survived that and was beautiful, then rest assured that she was sold into slavery. If she is still alive, she now graces some pasha’s bed. It is not possible that you could want a woman like that back, even if she could be found. Under these circumstances, the holy Church would not hold you to your betrothal. The lady is as lost to you as if she were dead, and in all likelihood she is dead.”
“Get out!”
The Conde bowed from the waist. “Your grief is understandable, Lord Burke. I shall leave you to it. You will soon see the wisdom of my words. Come, Constanza!” And he swept from the room, his daughter meekly behind him.
Niall Burke watched the door close behind the Conde and his daughter. For a moment the silence hung heavy in the room, then he said grimly, “All right MacGuire, talk! I’m no child to be wheedled, and if I’ve lived this long, you can bloody well be sure I’m going to survive. Where is the O’Malley fleet, and what’s this nonsense about Skye being lost forever, and how the hell long have I been here anyway? Speak up, man, or I’ll tear the tongue from your head!”
“You’ve been ill six weeks, my lord.”
“Jesu!” swore Niall.
“The fleet went directly to Algiers and we were able to obtain an immediate audience with the Dey. He was most sympathetic and sent to every slave merchant in the city, offering a king’s ransom for the O’Malley’s return, or at least information leading to her return. It was like hollering down a rabbit hole, my lord—not even an echo. The Dey came to the same conclusion the Conde has. She never reached Algiers alive. What other answer is there?” Here his voice broke, and he wiped his eyes with the back of his hand.
In truth, MacGuire was more distressed by something he dared not tell the seriously ill Lord Burke. It seemed that there was one other possibility about the O’Malley’s fate. The Dey had told him that Skye might have reached Algiers alive and then been sold privately. Private sale of captives was strictly illegal because it cheated several people, including the Dey himself, of their shares in the purchase price. But private sales were managed, especially sales of beautiful women. MacGuire reasoned that, if this had happened to Skye, then the Dey would not be able to trace her.
“I don’t want to believe it, my lord, but if Mistress Skye is alive then where is she?”
Niall Burke was stunned. Skye dead? No! Not Skye. Not his vibrant Skye with her Kerry-blue eyes and her proud spirit. No! His shoulders began to shake as the dry sobs took hold and racked him mercilessly. Stumbling from the bed, he lurched across the room, through the French doors and out onto the terrace. All around him everything throbbed with life and they said his Skye was dead! Clutching the cool marble balustrade, he howled his frustration and anger at the unfairness of it all, howled and shouted until his voice was so hoarse that he made no sounds at all.
He felt an arm about him, heard a soft voice making soothing sounds he could not comprehend, allowed himself to be led back inside where he barely reached the bed before he collapsed, unconscious. Constanza Cuidadela shook her head as she drew the covers over him. She felt his forehead.
“The fever is back, Captain MacGuire. You must sit with him tonight for my father will not excuse me from my punishment. I will tell you what to do.”
MacGuire nodded. “He’s not an easy man, your father.”
The girl did not reply. She went quietly about her business, caring for the unconscious Niall. Smoothing the pillows first, she next tucked the sheets about her patient and, finally, placed the frosted pitcher on the bedside table.
“You can do very little, Captain, except to keep him as quiet and as comfortable as possible. Ana will bring a basin of scented water shortly, and she’ll come again during the night.” The vespers bells began to toll, and Constanza said, “I must go. When the fever breaks, change his nightshirt and the sheets. Ana will help.” And then she
was gone.
MacGuire tended Niall throughout the night. Strangely, Niall was not restless, but lay ominously quiet as the burning fever consumed his big body. Diligently the O’Malley captain cared for his charge, bathing his forehead regularly with the cool, scented water, gently forcing the sweet juice down his throat. During the night, the servant woman, Ana, appeared regularly, bringing fresh water and juice for the sick man. Once she brought a tray for MacGuire with a small cold chicken, bread, fruit, and a carafe of sweet golden wine.
As she silently placed his tray on the long walnut table, MacGuire asked, “How is the lass?”
Ana’s black eyes blazed. “She prays in the chapel for your master, señor,” she said tersely. Then she left.
MacGuire ate hungrily, drank half the carafe, and returned to Niall’s bedside. Toward dawn he dozed in his chair only to be startled awake by a great cry of anguish. Lord Burke sat straight up in the bed, his eyes tightly shut, the tears pouring down his face. He sobbed bitterly, “Skye! Skye! Don’t leave me, beloved! Come back! Come back!”
MacGuire was immobilized for a moment by the terrible anguish. Then he reached out and shook the weeping man gently. “My lord! My lord! It’s only a bad dream.”
Gradually Niall quieted, and finally he lay back. His forehead was cool to the touch. Relieved, MacGuire struggled to change his sleeping friend’s damp nightshirt.
After the first mass of the new day, Constanza appeared to check on her patient. Ana was with her. Constanza praised the worn captain. “You have done well, Captain MacGuire. Go and rest. I will tend to Señor Niall now.”
“But you had no rest either, lass,” protested MacGuire. “You must sleep. He’s out of danger now. A servant can keep watch.” He put a fatherly arm about her to lead her toward the door, and was shocked when she winced. A thin red line began to show through the sleeve of her gown, and the captain’s eyes widened.
“Aye!” snapped Ana. “The Conde beat my sweet Constanza last night.”
“Ana!” The girl was flushed with shame. “He is my father, and it is a father’s duty to chastise an erring child. I challenged his authority. I was wrong.”
“She is a saint, my niña. The Conde enjoys hurting her!”
“Ana! Please! If you are overheard he will send you away, and you are all I have.”
The serving woman compressed her lips tightly, sighed, and nodded. MacGuire spoke again. “Has the Conde gone to his duties as the island’s governor?” The women nodded. “Then, Señorita Constanza, I shall strike a bargain with you. I shall keep watch over Lord Burke until the afternoon siesta while you sleep upon the chaise longue. When afternoon comes, I shall go to my own rooms.”
Ana smiled broadly. The captain was muy simpatico to her Constanza. Therefore, to Ana, he was a good man, a man to be trusted. A few minutes later she left the young girl sleeping comfortably, MacGuire guarding both Constanza and Niall.
In the late afternoon when the long mauve shadows were beginning to form and the midday heat to abate, Niall Burke opened his silvery eyes again. He instantly remembered where he was and the circumstances that had brought him here. A great burst of sadness washed through him, and he sighed deeply.
“How do you feel, Señor Niall?”
He looked to the slim girl. “Like the very devil, niña, but I seem to be alive, so I’d best get on with this business of living.”
“Was she very beautiful, your betrothed?” The directness of the question was like salt in an open wound, and he winced. Drawing a deep breath, he replied, “She was the loveliest creature imaginable, niña. Her hair was like a black storm cloud. Her skin was like a gardenia flower in texture and color, and her eyes were the wonderful deep blue of the seas off Ireland. She was kind yet proud. And not only was she my dearest love, she was also my best friend, and I shall miss her for all the days of my life.”
Constanza’s eyes were bright with tears. “I can only hope,” she said softly, “that someday a man will love me like that.”
“I can see no reason why one wouldn’t, niña. I cannot understand why you are not already married. How old are you?”
“Fifteen, Señor Niall.”
“And have not half the eligible young dons on this island already sued your father for your hand? Or are they all blind?”
She smiled shyly, then blushed. “There will be no offer for me, Señor Niall,” she said sadly. “My father long ago destroyed any chances of marrying I might have had. Last night when he told you about your betrothed you undoubtedly thought him harsh, but your plight brought back to him something he would much rather forget.
“Almost sixteen years ago the Moorish pirates raided this island, and when they left they took my mother as one of their captives. My father had been deeply in love with her, and he was frantic. He was able to ransom her six weeks later.
“I was born six months later. Though she swore before the priest and on every saint in the calendar, even on the Holy Mother’s name, that the pirates had not touched her, my father could not bring himself to really believe her. Not ever. As she grew bigger with her pregnancy, he grew more distant toward her. She adored him, and it broke her heart. She lived just long enough to give me life, and then she died like a snuffed-out candle.
“The irony is that I look like her. Every day of my life I have been a living reproach to my father. In turn, he has held me responsible for my mother’s death and he has cast enough doubt on my paternity that no decent family on Mallorca would allow their son to offer for me.
“I am his child, though. That is certain. Ana was my mother’s servant before she was my nurse. She came with my mother from Castile when Mother was married to Father. She was with her the entire time Mother was kidnapped, and she swears to me that my mother knew no man but my father.”
Suddenly Constanza stopped. She blushed beet-red. Realizing the cause of her embarrassment, Niall Burke said quietly, “Don’t regret your words, niña. I have always been the kind of man to whom women talk. I understand now your father’s words. He is a harsh man, but he meant to tell me the truth.”
The girl knelt by his bedside, her lovely oval face turned up to him. “I am so sorry, Señor Niall. I know how sad the loss of your betrothed wife is to you, but God has willed that you live. We will both pray for your Skye’s immortal soul, but you must also promise me that you will now get well.”
Niall Burke was touched by her honest concern. He put his big hand over her small one. “Very well, Constanzita, I promise, but you must promise to help me. Will you?”
The hand beneath his trembled slightly, and she flushed a most becoming pink as her dark-gold lashes brushed her cheeks. “If you wish it,” she said low.
“I wish it,” he answered, releasing her hand.
In the next few weeks he grew stronger. The fever finally left his body, and his appetite increased. Eventually he was able to leave his bed and walk about his room. Then came the day that he ventured into the gardens. That afternoon was the happiest time he could remember in many weeks. He and Constanza, chaperoned by Ana, sat on the grass and picnicked on small meat pastries, juicy green grapes, and a delicate rosé wine. Niall told them stories of his boyhood in Ireland, and for the first time he heard Constanza laugh, a sweet trill of genuine mirth, as he told them a particularly amusing story about his youthful hijinks. He began to sleep again at night, and the nightmares of seeing Skye struggling in the grasp of the Barbary pirates began to fade away.
The O’Malley’s fleet put into Mallorca’s capital city of Palma again. They had spent several months in Algiers seeking their mistress, but in the end they had had to leave without even any information. The Dey, however, had given the O’Malley family rich concessions in hopes of placating them. It seemed there was no hope of finding the O’Malley alive. The Irish ships would sail home shortly under the leadership of Captain MacGuire. Niall, however, was still not considered strong enough for the voyage.
Niall entrusted Inis to MacGuire and gave the captain a len
gthy letter to his father, pouring out his grief and closing with the admonition, “Make no contracts for me. I will, in time, do my duty by the family.” Then, with a strange sense of loss, Niall Burke bid the O’Malley fleet farewell, watching from the terrace of the Conde’s garden as the ships sailed out to sea.
Niall saw little of his host and was glad, for the cold Spanish don was not a man whose company Niall enjoyed.
One day Constanza suggested that he might feel up to riding, and he delightedly agreed. That afternoon he found himself upon a spirited roan red Arabian stallion, cantering through a field of colorful windflowers and anemones. Constanza rode with him, mounted on an elegant little white Arabian mare. She was a fine horsewoman with a good sure seat and gentle but firm hands.
In the heat of the afternoon they stopped in a meadow above the sea to rest their horses and eat the light luncheon Ana had packed. Constanza lay a little white cloth over the grass and set out their luncheon of crusty bread, soft ripe cheese, peaches, pears, and white wine. Niall unsaddled the horses so that they could rest. A tall, leafy tree shaded them all, and the air was heavy with the scent of wild thyme.
They ate in silence. After the meal Constanza spoke, “Soon you will leave us. Where will you go? Back to your Ireland?”
A small shadow flitted across his face. “Not right away, niña. I shall travel for a bit before I go back. But go back I must, for I am my father’s only heir. My first marriage was annulled. My second never made.”
“You will find happiness, Señor Niall. I pray every night to the Blessed Mother for you.”
He cupped her face with a warm hand. “What a sweet creature you are, my Constanzita.”
She blushed and pressed her cheek against his hand. Suddenly he wanted to kiss her, and he did. Pulling the girl into his arms, he bent his head down—found her mouth. She was trembling wildly, but she did not struggle. Emboldened, he gently parted her lips and plunged into the sweet cavern, seeking, finding, stroking the girl’s satiny tongue with his own. One arm held her fast as a hand sought her full, young breasts.
Skye O'Malley Page 19
