She remembered back eighteen years ago to when she and Constanza’s beautiful mother had been carried off by Moorish pirates. When they had finally been returned, she had sworn an oath that her mistress’s virtue was untouched. Under the circumstances, she hoped God would forgive her the lie. The lady Maria had already been pregnant with her husband’s child when they were abducted, and to have told the truth would have left open to question the validity of the child’s heritage. In the end, the Conde questioned it anyway. Still, to protect the girl she had raised, Ana had lied. Since all the others who had been caught in the raid had disappeared into the slave markets of the East, no one questioned her story.
But Ana would always remember it vividly. The pirates had struck after sunset, using the darkness to creep up upon the Conde’s summer villa located in a remote part of the island. The entire village had been lined up for inspection. The children, the young girls, the youths, women of childbearing age, and healthy, strong-looking men were herded onto the pirate vessel. The remaining unfortunates were quickly slaughtered. At the villa the procedure was similar but the young Condesa and her duenna were treated gently, and locked aboard the ship in a small cabin furnished with only a Turkish couch, a low table, and some floor pillows. The ship had been underway for several hours before anyone bothered with them. Then the door burst open and the ship’s captain swaggered in. The three men at his back leaped forward and tore the clothes off the shrieking young Condesa. Ana attempted to shield her mistress from the lustful stares of the four men, but the captain dealt her a fierce blow that sent her reeling to the floor. Stunned, she could only watch in horror as the handsome Moor scrutinized her naked mistress. He walked about her slowly, squeezed a buttock, hefted a pear-shaped breast as if testing its weight, felt the soft texture of the silvery blond hair. He made a comment to his three companions in their guttural language and they laughed. The Moorish captain bent and dragged Ana up by her hair. “Is your mistress a virgin?” he asked her in flawless Spanish.
“No,” gasped Ana. “She is the wife of a wealthy and powerful lord, the royal governor of these islands. He will pay a fortune for her safe return.”
The men laughed uproariously. The Moorish captain said, “Some fat pasha will pay a hell of a lot more to have your mistress in his harem than her stiff-necked husband will pay for her return. And since she’s no virgin we may enjoy her first.”
The two women’s eyes widened and Ana screamed, “No! I beg of you, captain, take me—but leave my mistress untouched!”
“Why, wench,” laughed the Moor, “did you think we wouldn’t have you too? Hey, Ali, this one’s eager for a little loving! Do your duty well by her!”
What had followed was a nightmare Ana could never quite forget. That she was raped several times was of no importance, to Ana’s mind, for she was a peasant and such things, though distasteful, happened to peasants with great regularity. Her position on the floor, however, gave her a clear view of the lady Maria, who had been thrown on the couch above.
At first the Condesa had struggled and screamed as the handsome Moorish captain rammed himself in and out of her. But her cries soon became cries of passion rather than shame as the captain, inflamed by her blond beauty, prolonged his performance. At last he could no longer contain himself, and poured himself into her. His place was quickly taken by one of his men, and then another, and finally the last.
Ana listened with horror as Maria exhorted each man to greater efforts, begging for more when one was spent and another took his place. The captain and his three officers quickly left Ana in peace so that they might spend the night in a long debauch with the young Condesa. Ana could not believe either her eyes or her ears. What had happened to her child to turn her from a sweet girl to this … this terrible woman?
When at last the four men stumbled wearily from the little cabin, Ana crept over to where Maria lay. The Condesa’s body was wet with sweat and semen, the hollows beneath her purple eyes dark with exhaustion. She beamed her sweet smile at Ana. “Ah, sweet body of Christ, my dear Ana, I have not been so well fucked since we left Castile.”
“Niña, you are mad! You were a virgin on your wedding night! I myself saw the blood on your sheets.”
Maria laughed her tinkling laughter. “Chicken’s blood,” she said. “The Conde would not have known a virgin if he’d had one. On our wedding night he was hot to possess me, and I pretended to be shyly reluctant. It took him two hours to get my nightgown off.” She laughed again. “And when I finally let him take me I shrieked and struggled. When I pretended to shove him away, I broke the small bladder of chicken’s blood I had secreted for the occasion, then I pretended to faint. There, however, I overdid it. The Conde, alas, is not a particularly vigorous lover, and since our wedding night he handles me with such delicacy that it is like being fucked with a feather. I have been wild with desire for months now, but I dare not take a lover. There are no secrets on Mallorca.”
“My dearest,” begged Ana, “what is it you tell me? That you were not pure when you married the Conde? It is not so! I, myself, watched over you! When could you have had time to deceive me? When? You studied, made your devotion regularly, gardened, and rode. All decent pursuits!”
“Ana, Ana, what an innocent you are,” said Maria. “My guardians left us alone in that jewel of a house. Though our bills were paid they never appeared from one year to the next. I was easy prey for those who liked to deflower innocents.”
“Who, niña? Who?”
“Our good priest for one, my Ana. I was six when he first took me on his lap and slipped his hand up my gown to touch my sex. I was eleven when he finally took my virginity in the confessional. You sleep soundly, my old duenna. After that I chose my own lovers from among the gardeners, the grooms, my tutor, and the gypsies who camped on our lands several times every year. It was their old queen who gave me the chicken’s blood in the bladder. I need loving, Ana. I must have it! I almost lost my mind these past months, but God, what lovers the Moors are!”
Poor Ana was overcome. She had raised this girl from birth, and believed she knew her well. How could something so pure and fresh-looking be so filled with evil? Dear Holy Mother, how could she not have seen it? Then her great love for Maria overcame her abhorrence.
“Niña,” she said quietly, “we are in grave danger. These Moors mean to sell you into a harem. You would not like being confined, or sharing one man with a hundred other women. If you tried to deceive your master you would first be terribly tortured and then killed.”
“Do not fear, Ana,” came the confident reply. “The Moors will not sell me. They will ransom us back to my lord husband.”
“Niña, how can you be sure?”
“I am with child, Ana. I will bear the Conde a child next year. They cannot sell a pregnant woman. I should make some lovely houri with a big belly! I have told Captain Hamid this, and have agreed to service him and his crew for the term of our stay with him.
“Maria!”
The young Condesa laughed. “Do not scold me, dear duenna. I’ll wear them out before they wear me out. Besides, soon I shall be too fat with my baby. And once the child is born all I will have again will be my husband.” She sighed bleakly.
The beautiful Condesa calmly accepted the role of ship’s whore and was available at any hour of the day or night. Ana could only watch helplessly, and pray that their ransom would be paid quickly. When it was, and they were returned to Palma, Ana watched with amazement as her mistress, now pale and demure as befitted a young Spanish matron of noble blood, fell fainting into her anxious husband’s arms. Soon, under the stern eyes of the Archbishop of Mallorca and the Conde, Ana swore on the holy relics kept in the Palma cathedral that her mistress had remained untouched by the Moors during the period of her captivity. This extraordinary restraint was due to their respect for her impending motherhood.
But the Conde was suspicious. Even when Constanza was born six months later, a fat full-term baby, he still doubted. Ana never kne
w why, for Maria had never given the Conde any reason to doubt her. Ana liked to believe that Maria had died of a broken heart, brought on by the Conde’s distrust. In reality she died of the complications of childbirth. The greatest of these complications was a massive dose of venereal disease. The doctor, used to his fine and elegant lady patients, never even identified the pox as the true cause of Maria’s death. And the Conde believed she had died of shame at having been held captive by infidels.
It came to Ana now that her Maria had been an evil creature who had passed on her devil’s seed to the innocent Constanza. Now Constanza was tainted too, and there was nothing Ana could do about it. Sooner or later Lord Burke would find out the double life his wife was leading, and when that happened … Ana shuddered and an icy sense of disaster surrounded her.
Ana’s complaints had roused Niall from his black mood. He saw that he could not rest until he knew the truth about the new Countess of Lynmouth. There was only one man who could tell him.
The fierce storm that had torn through England had delayed the sailing of Robert Small’s fleet. Despite careful precautions, several ships had been damaged and it would take some weeks to repair them. The Devon captain was therefore still in London, and Lord Burke sought him out, finding him at the King’s Head Inn. The two men exchanged pleasantries and then Niall seated himself opposite the captain and said straightforwardly, “I need your help in unraveling a mystery, sir.”
Robert Small sipped his ale and regarded the Irishman quietly. He replied, “If it’s in my power, m’lord.”
“Several years ago,” began Niall, “I fell in love with a young girl. She was already betrothed, and my father did not think her highborn enough for me. She was wed to another man and bore her husband two sons before being widowed. My own marriage had been a farce, and was annulled by the Church. My father then agreed to a marriage between the lady and myself. Not only had she proven herself a good breeder, but she was wealthy by then. We were formally betrothed, but before we could wed, it was important to my lady’s family interests that she make a sea voyage. I joined her on that voyage.”
Robert Small felt an eerie sense of premonition creep over him.
“We had almost reached our destination when we were attacked by pirates. In the last moments of the battle one of those devils kidnaped my lady.”
Robert Small felt a trickle of nervous sweat roll down his back. His stomach, full with a rich dinner and stout English ale, began to roll. Dear Christ, what was Lord Burke after? “What is it you want of me, my lord?” he asked abruptly.
“The truth, Captain. You brought to England a woman known as Señora Goya del Fuentes, the widow of your dead partner, allegedly raised in a convent in Algiers. I might have accepted that story except that the lady is the identical twin of my lost betrothed. Identical! Yet when I questioned her she seemed honestly to have no knowledge of Ireland or the O’Malley family.” He paused. “At the bedding of the Earl and Countess of Lynmouth, Lady Southwood’s gown slipped and I saw a tiny mole at the crest of her right breast. The possibility of two women who look so alike and bear the same name, I must reluctantly accept. But that two unrelated, coincidentally identical women should have the same mole I do not think possible. I believe the Countess of Lynmouth is the lost Skye O’Malley, and I think you know the truth of this matter. Why will she not acknowledge me or her past?”
“Because, my lord, she has no memory of anything prior to Algiers,” said Robert Small calmly. “The only thing she was ever able to tell us was her name. Later on, she realized she was able to speak, read, and write in several languages. She had a strong sense of values, acquired somehow, but who she was and where she came from is all unknown, though I, of course, recognized her accent as Irish.
“The doctors explained that she suffered a shock, something so painful that her mind chose to blot everything out rather than face the terrible event—whatever that was.”
“My God,” Niall Burke was white-faced. “Tell me, Captain, was she truly married to a Spanish merchant, or is her child the result of rape?”
Robert Small hid a smile. North Africa was hardly a safe world, especially for women, but it wasn’t much different here. Why did all Christian Europeans think of Moslems as sex-crazed fiends? “Willow is the result of a great love,” he said. “Skye was indeed wed to my Algerian business partner. His name was Khalid el Bey, and it was he who rescued Skye. He adored her and she him. When he was murdered it almost destroyed her, and I brought her to England to escape the advances of the Turkish governor who was behind Khalid’s death. She met Lord Southwood, and they fell in love.
“Now, my lord Burke, I have told you all I know, and I would appreciate it if you would return the favor. Who is she? Where is her home? You say she bore her first husband children? Are they living?”
“Her name is Skye O’Malley. Her first husband, may his soul burn for all eternity, was Dom O’Flaherty. He gave her two sons, both living. Her father was Dubhdara O’Malley.” Here Robert Small whistled softly through his teeth, for what seaman had not heard of the great Irish pirate-merchant, Dubhdara O’Malley? “On his death,” finished Niall, “she was made the O’Malley of Innisfana, pending the majority and aptitude of one of her half-brothers.”
“How have they fared without her?” asked Robert Small.
“Her uncle, the Bishop of Connaught, has taken charge—much to my father’s annoyance,” smiled Niall. “When Skye disappeared the MacWilliam, my father, thought to avail himself of the O’Malley interests. But the O’Malleys have always been independent, for all they do owe us fealty.”
The two men sat in companionable silence for a few moments, then Robert Small sighed, “Well, my lord Burke, what do you intend to do with this knowledge? I must warn you that Skye should have no shocks now. She is with child.”
“But she’s just wed …!” Then Niall Burke flushed and finished weakly, “Oh.”
Robbie chuckled softly. “She’s a beautiful woman.”
“What am I to do now, sir? I can hardly tell the Countess that she is my lost betrothed wife.”
“Why not tell Southwood about her background, my lord? Leaving out, of course, your personal involvement with her,” suggested Robert Small. “Geoffrey should know. Then write to the Countess’s uncle and explain the situation. It is only decent that her family know she is alive. Geoffrey Southwood loves Skye dearly, and after their child is born I am sure he’ll want her to know of her past. Perhaps knowledge of it will bring her memory back.”
Niall Burke was thoughtful, then said, “Be there, Robert. Help me tell him. I’m in a difficult position.”
“I understand.” Robert Small debated with himself for a moment, then asked, “Tell me, my lord Burke, do you love her still?”
“Yes,” said Niall Burke without hesitation, “I still love her. I have never stopped loving her, though God knows I have tried. The memory of her has haunted my every hour, waking and sleeping.”
“And your wife?”
“Constanza is my wife, Robert. I may have done her a great disservice by marrying her, but until death parts us she is my wife, as Skye is Lord Southwood’s.”
“I am relieved to know that you are a sensible man, my lord. You see, Skye is the child that neither my sister nor I ever had. We love her dearly, and would not see her hurt. She remembers nothing before she awoke in Khalid’s house, and she obviously does not remember you. I will arrange for us to see the Earl immediately, for the repairs to my fleet will be completed soon and I must sail when they are. This storm has delayed me long enough.”
Robert Small was as good as his word. Within the hour he sent a note to the Earl of Lynmouth that read, “Imperative I see you alone, without Skye’s knowledge, immediately. Meet me aboard my ship tonight at ten.”
Geoffrey Southwood, raising an elegant blond eyebrow at the cryptic message, made an excuse to his bride and rode off, promising a swift return. Arriving at the docks, he was escorted aboard the Mermaid to the captain�
�s cabin, where he was surprised to find the Irishman, Burke, waiting with Robert Small.
Geoffrey flung his cloak to the little cabin boy and, nodding to both men, sprawled his long frame into a chair. “Well, Robbie, what’s so important that you would take me from my bride on my honeymoon?”
“Have some wine, my lord,” said Robbie. “You know Lord Burke?”
“We’ve met. The Burgundy, Robbie.”
Robert Small poured wine for himself and his guests, and when the cabin boy had served the goblets, Robbie instructed him, “Stand watch outside, my lad. We’re not to be disturbed unless the ship is sinking. Do you ken?”
The boy grinned. “Aye, sir!” he said, and closed the door behind him.
Robert Small sat back and drew a long deep breath. “Geoffrey, I’ve news that should make you happy, but it is of a very delicate nature. For several months Lord Burke has been quite confused by Skye’s name and appearance. When you were bedded at Greenwich several nights ago he saw a mole on Skye’s … um, Skye’s … Skye’s person!” he gasped, as Southwood’s green eyes darkened.
“The tiny star?” Geoffrey asked softly.
“The very same,” answered Niall.
“You’ve big eyes, Irishman,” said the Earl, his voice soft with warning.
Niall bit back a hot-tempered reply. Damn the arrogant, possessive English bastard! Robert quickly resumed. “When Lord Burke saw the mark on Skye he was able to make a positive identification, although he was still quite confused as to why Skye did not acknowledge knowing him. He has mentioned names and places to her and is convinced that she has no knowledge of them. So he came to me this afternoon.”
“And?” Geoffrey Southwood’s voice was icy.
“She is Skye O’Malley,” said Niall Burke. “The O’Malley of Innisfana, herself, and vassal to my father, who is the MacWilliam. Skye O’Malley disappeared several years ago off the North African coast and was presumed dead. Robert Small has explained her loss of memory to me. I felt, my lord, that you should know her true identity, but the captain and I were fearful of disclosing these facts to Skye herself.”
Skye O'Malley Page 38
