“You will have supper with me, and afterward I will have you,” he crowed triumphantly.
“I pray that you excuse me from supper. What you force me to is distasteful, and I find I have no appetite. I will come to you, for I will not take you into the bed I shared with my husband. Give me a few hours to compose myself.”
He nodded. “Very well, sweet Skye. I will excuse you from supper. I shall eat in my rooms, and you will come to me at ten o’clock tonight. Is it agreed?”
“Yes, my lord.” She turned from him and quickly left the room. If it had not been for the children she would have thrown herself from the castle heights. No! She would have plunged a dagger into his chest, and thrown his body into the sea! Why should she suffer because of that revolting man?
Daisy waited for her in Skye’s bedroom. “From the look on your face I’d say Lord Dudley’s not changed his tune.” Skye had taken her tiring woman into her confidence because she believed she might need Daisy’s aid.
Skye explained wearily, “He has threatened to send me from the children unless I yield myself. I must, of course, especially since I don’t believe he knows yet that the five older children are gone. When he learns of that all hell is apt to break loose around us, Daisy.”
“Unless, of course, you please him. He’ll be more amenable if he thinks he’s won you over,” observed Daisy.
“If the Queen agrees to my suggestion for Robin’s future, then the fine Lord Dudley will have nothing to blackmail me with at all.”
“But in the meantime you’ve got to warm his bed, and he’ll not be happy if you are aloof with him.”
“How can I receive him warmly, Daisy? I despise the man! How could I take a ridiculous popinjay like that for a lover after my darling Geoffrey?”
“Alas, madam, it’s not a matter of what you want. The Earl would want you to protect little Robin’s inheritance,” said the ever-practical Daisy. “Lord Dudley has the power now. Men always do.”
“Not always,” said Skye softly. For the first time in several years she was experiencing her youth again, in her memory. Safe in Geoffrey’s love, she had almost forgotten that she was the O’Malley of Innisfana. Now she was trapped, for Robin was an English peer, and she could not steal his ancient heritage in order to return to her own. But there might be a way out of this, if only the Queen agreed to her plan. For tonight, however, there was no escaping Lord Dudley. She shuddered.
“I’ve had the girls draw your bath, my lady,” said Daisy quietly. “There’ll be breast of capon, salad, and fresh strawberries with cream for your supper after your bath.”
Skye nodded absently. Undressing automatically, she stepped into her tub. The warm water was fragrant with her favorite scent, roses. Daisy carefully pinned up her hair, and Skye sank deep into the water. She did not think Dudley meant to flaunt her before the world. Elizabeth Tudor could not be used that way. Too, it had been less than two years since Dudley had finally received his earldom. Therefore, he would plan to leave Skye in Devon, taking his pleasure of her on occasional trips down to see to the “welfare” of his godson, the Queen’s ward. He would have to be very careful lest he rouse the suspicions of the Queen regarding his true motives.
Taking the soap from a small porcelain dish, she chuckled to herself, realizing that her daily bathing was a habit picked up in Algiers. Many of the English Court ladies were just as shy of soap and water as their kitchen help. She rose from the tub, and Daisy wrapped a warmed towel about her. Stepping from the tub, Skye sat down on a bench by her fire. Two little undermaids carefully rubbed the beads of moisture from Skye’s shoulders and then, kneeling, dried her feet. Skye stood up, dropping her towel, her slender arms raised above her head. Daisy, armed with a thick lamb’s wool puff, liberally dusted her mistress with rose powder, muttering all the while, “Indecent is what it is! In her middle twenties, five babes, and she still has the figure of a young girl!”
Skye laughed. Though Daisy was younger than she was by a good five years, she was, in the manner of a beloved servant, maternal in her feelings toward her mistress. Still smiling, Skye took up the crystal flacon of attar of roses and daubed the scent on herself, suddenly remembering Yasmin and the women in the House of Felicity. I seem to have gone backward instead of forward, she thought wryly.
Daisy held out the gown, and Skye slipped into it. Of coral silk, it had wide flowing sleeves, a very low, scooped neckline, and a full skirt that fell in graceful folds. There was no waistline. The gown fastened beneath the breasts, molding them. How Geoffrey would have loved this gown, she thought, blinking back tears. She had had it made in London last winter, and had not had a chance to wear it before he died. For a moment she considered tearing it off rather than wear it before Robert Dudley. But she realized that nearly everything she touched would hold memories of Geoffrey.
“You may all leave me now,” Skye said. “Good night, girls.” The door closed behind the three, and she glanced toward the mantel clock. An hour to go. She nibbled on a bit of supper, surprised to find that she had an appetite. The strawberries tasted particularly good, and it came to her that she hadn’t really tasted food since Geoffrey had died. She had eaten because she had to, but she might have been eating dried leaves.
She paced the room nervously, wishing that her monthly courses were upon her so she might have refused Dudley. Oh, good God! Why had she not told him that? It would have mattered very little. He would simply have waited until she could receive him. Better to get it over with now.
She thought for a moment on the man who awaited her, seeking to find something about him that would make her ordeal less terrible. She could not deny that he was handsome. Tall and well formed, his complexion fair, his hair and elegant mustache a reddish-ginger color, his eyes velvet brown. But his eyes were too close together, hinting of a slyness she had seen exhibited more than once. And although his manners were perfect, there was a marked arrogance about the man. Far worse was his ambition which, like his love of himself, was monumental. She could not like him and that was all there was to it.
It lacked five minutes to the hour when Skye wrapped a dark velvet cloak about her shoulders and left her apartment. The castle was quiet, everyone but the watch being asleep. Lord Dudley had been placed in the east wing of the castle, far from Skye’s rooms in the southwest sector. She walked swiftly, praying she would encounter no one who might witness her shame. Pausing a moment outside Lord Dudley’s bedchamber, she drew a deep breath and then, before she could allow herself to flee, reached out and opened the door.
He turned from the fireplace and grinned toothily at her. Outside on the castle heights the watch was just calling the hour. “How prompt you are, my dear. May I attribute it to your eagerness to be with me?” He chuckled. Walking toward her, he reached out and took her cloak and let it slide to the floor. “By God, madam!” he swore softly. “You choose your gowns with care!” Pulling her into his arms, he kissed her hard. She struggled instinctively, but he pinioned her tightly against his chest, saying fiercely, “No, madam! There’ll be none of that! You may play the grieving widow publicly, but don’t tell me that you’re not really hot for a man between your legs. Geoffrey Southwood was a man who loved a woman well, and you’ve not had any loving in several months. Unless, of course,” and he leered unpleasantly at her, “there’s a willing stable boy about.”
“You’re a bastard, Dudley,” she spat at him.
“No stable boy?” he mused. “Then you’ll give yourself willingly to me, sweet Skye.” Drawing her to a wall mirror, he stood her before it and, positioning himself behind her, carefully drew the coral silk down over her shoulders. His fingers caressed the smooth skin, and then suddenly his lips were burning into the bare flesh. “Southwood always bragged about your skin,” he murmured, intoxicated by the softness of her.
Skye felt her flesh crawl under this first assault, and his references to Geoffrey almost made her swoon. “Please, my lord,” she said low so he might not hear the tremor in
her voice, “If you have any feeling for me at all, do not speak of Geoffrey to me.”
Lord Dudley glanced up at her curiously. Shrugging, he drew her gown down a little more, exposing her breasts. His left arm held her tightly against him while his right snaked forward to cup her right breast. “Exquisite,” he said with the appreciation of an experienced connoisseur. “Just a handful, but more would be wasted.”
Skye closed her eyes, forcing back tears as the gown slipped lower, and his hand followed it, sliding over her belly. Then the gown was lying on the floor and she was completely naked. Dudley’s breathing quickened and became harsh. He pushed her forward over his arm, and his free hand roamed her bottom. But when he attempted to insert his finger within her she squirmed away from him crying, “No!”
Dudley chuckled, pleased, and undid his deep-brown dressing gown. “We’ll eventually do that too, my sweet Skye, but first things first.” He was now as naked as she was and she looked to his sex with fear. He did not fail to notice. He was not overly thick, but he did have the longest manroot she had ever seen.
“I want you to sit on the edge of the bed,” he commanded, and when she did he continued, “now lie back, my sweet Skye. Yes, that’s it.” He slid his hands beneath her buttocks and drew her down toward him. He spread her legs wide.
She knew then what he intended, which did not lessen the shock when he knelt before her and put his head between her legs. He fastened his mouth to her. She shuddered, which he misinterpreted as the beginnings of her passion. To her anguish, Skye was remembering when Geoffrey had first loved her thusly, his mouth and tongue using her gently with feathery, tenderly passionate touches. Dudley, however, feasted greedily on the succulent pink flesh, his tongue thrusting and stabbing at her provocatively. He demanded a response. Skye bit her lips until they bled. He was rousing her, and she could not help but respond.
The sweet flow from her body told him so. With a grunt of satisfaction he rose and, lifting her slightly, took her there on the edge of the bed. Bending down, he imprisoned her between his two strong arms. He murmured into her ear. “I am now inside you, my sweet Skye. How ready you are to receive me, lovey! Your little honey oven burns my lance with the fiery flow of the passion you would like to deny me, but can’t.” He moved within her fiercely and she cried out in passion, hating herself for her weakness.
Triumph was written all over the face that loomed above her. “I want to get further inside you, lovey. Clasp your legs about me,” he ordered. Afraid to disobey him, she complied. With a groan of pure pleasure he drove so deeply that she would have sworn he touched her very womb. To her great surprise, he was concentrating on her response rather than his own. And though she hated him, her body treacherously yielded itself.
With a chuckle of satisfaction Robert Dudley suddenly withdrew from her.” I have learned to control my body, sweet Skye. I am not quite ready yet to yield to passion. Why—we have scarce begun, my pet! You’re much too delicious an armful to devour so quickly. I am now in the mood to play with you for a while.”
He eyed her lasciviously. “What a pretty little girl Papa has. Is she a good little girl?” He looked to her questioningly, and when she looked back at him blankly, he said, “You must play along, my sweet Skye. You must call me Papa. Didn’t you and Southwood ever play such games?”
She shook her head, and he chuckled again. He sat up and pulled her onto his lap. “Such games can be fun, my pet. Come now, and tell Papa if you’re his good little girl.”
“I … yes.”
“Come, Skye, don’t be shy with me. Are You Papa’s good little girl?”
“Yes—Papa.”
“Ah ha!” He pounced upon her answer, grinning toothily. “Now here’s a small lie, sweetness. No one can ever be good all the time, now can they?”
“No—Papa.”
“Then you have lied to me, my sweet naughtiness.”
“Yes, Papa.” God, but the man was a fool!
“Then I must punish you, my wicked little girl.”
“No! Dudley, this is ridiculous!”
“Ah, wouldn’t be defiant with your papa? I shall definitely have to punish you!” And quickly Lord Dudley turned Skye over his knee and, raising his hand, began to spank her. She shrieked and tried to wriggle free but, laughing delightedly at her reaction, he paddled her harder until her bottom tingled.
She had only been spanked once before in her entire life. It had happened when her father had sent her home to learn how to be a lady instead of a sailor. She had spent the week annoying her older sister Peigi, and Peigi had finally spanked her. Skye had retaliated quickly by filling her sister’s bed full of wriggling, live crabs. No one since had ever spanked her.
“By God! By God!” she heard him pant as she tried to escape him. “That saucy backside of yours begs for spanking. How your little cheeks blush rosy for me, my pet.” Now he was lifting her up and quickly pushing her face down upon the bed.
“No! Damn you, Dudley, no!” she sobbed, knowing full well what he intended. But he was already on her, holding her down by the neck while he pushed carefully into her in the Greek fashion.
“Bastard! Boy lover!” she snarled at him, but he only laughed.
“Your little rose is tightly closed to me now, but in time ’twill stretch to receive me as eagerly as your sweet cunny does.”
For a few moments he used her thusly, and the terrible memories of her first husband and his abuses came racing back to assail her. Then he withdrew from her and, turning her over, thrust into her in proper man-woman fashion.
This time Dudley was ready to allow his own passion full control. After he had satisfied her once, he took his own release. Skye did not think it possible to hate a human being as much as she now hated him. Even once sated, he could not leave her be. Pulling her onto her side and into the curve of his arm, he stroked her perfect, small breasts, the shapely curve of her hip, the soft round of her bottom.
“Damme, sweetheart, you were fashioned for loving. That silken skin of yours would rouse a eunuch. Still, I would prefer a bit more fire from you.”
“Oh, no, my lord! You can force me to your bed with threats against me and my children and you can order me to perform whatever perversions please you, but you can never force my emotions. Do you suddenly find the possession of my person not enough for you?” She could not disguise the triumph in her voice, and she hoped it rankled him.
Lord Dudley was far too sophisticated the courtier to be easily angered by her barbs. Her very inaccessibility had intrigued him in the first place, and her distaste still did. He could force her body to yield itself, but he wanted to hear her cry of surrender echoing in his ears. At the moment, however, all he heard was defiance. He pulled her beneath him again, excited by that defiance.
“Whoreson!” she hissed.
“Bitch!” His mouth savaged hers as she raked her nails down his back, and bit at his lip. “Owwww!” Dudley pulled away from her but laughed when he saw the look of battle in her eye. “Little Irish barbarian,” he murmured in her ear. “I fully intend taming you, and I will!”
“You’ll grow old trying, my lord!”
“Why sweet Skye, you give me hope,” he shot back, deliberately twisting her words as he jammed his knee between her soft thighs, forcing them open. Now Skye tried to claw at his eyes, and Robert Dudley caught her hands and, pulling them above her head, successfully immobilized her while he once again assaulted her. Then, sated for the moment, he turned on his side and fell asleep, one leg thrown carelessly over her body, imprisoning her.
She lay rigid with fury. He was not going to leave her alone. Her coldness intrigued him, yet if she could pretend passion, he would be equally intrigued. Dear God, if only the Queen would answer her letter favorably so she could get out of this!
The Earl of Leicester stayed two days and three nights at Lynmouth, and there was only one thing upon which he and his hostess agreed during that time. That agreement centered about little Lord Southwood. “
He’s Geoffrey’s son, and no doubt about it!” said Dudley admiringly. “By God, if he were mine I’d burst my buttons. You’ve bred a fine son, madam. Are your Irish sons as fine? I have not yet had the opportunity to greet them.”
“They are in Ireland,” she answered.
“I was given to understand that they were here with you.”
“Only part time,” she said sweetly. “Ewan is, after all, the O’Flaherty of Ballyhennessey. It is necessary that he and his younger brother remain on his estates part of the year. They have taken their betrothed wives with them, and are at present in the safe custody of my uncle, the Bishop of Connaught, and my stepmother, Lady Anne O’Malley.”
“Their betrothed wives?”
“Gwyneth and Joan Southwood. Geoffrey and I betrothed our children over a year ago. They all adore each other. Is it not fortunate?” Her beautiful face radiated innocence.
“Southwood had another daughter. Where is she?” Robert Dudley’s voice was very carefully controlled.
“Susan? Susan is with Lord and Lady Trevenyan’s household down in Cornwall. She was matched with their heir a long time ago. I do believe Lady Trevenyan and Susan’s mother were cousins.”
“So only your daughter and son are here? You’re clever, my sweet Skye. Far cleverer, frankly, than I had anticipated. Still I do hold the trump card with Robin, don’t I?” He smiled. “I must return to Court today lest my dear Bess grow suspicious, but I will return as soon as I can. When I do I will look forward to more pleasant hours in your bed.”
She made a face at him, and he laughed as he raised her hand to his mouth, and kissed her fingertips. Soon Dudley took his leave, slowly kissing her hand again. Smiling for the benefit of her servants, she said in an undertone, “You’re a pig, my lord.”
Dudley laughed again, and rode off as he had come. Singing.
Free of him at last, Skye fled her castle and walked the cliffs above the sea. The bright day and the brisk clean wind helped to lift some of her melancholy, but she still felt dirtied. She had almost forgotten that men like Dudley existed. Dom O’Flaherty had been like Dudley, though lacking his refinements. But Dom had been dead for many years and in the love and tenderness and warmth of men like Khalid and Geoffrey she had almost forgotten that there were men whose sexual satisfaction was gained only by the pain and shame they inflicted.
Skye O'Malley Page 48
