“My own mother, I am told, was under constant pressure to produce a son. When she failed her life was wantonly taken. As for me, I never knew where I stood with my father. One day I was his darling, the next day I was sent down to Hatfield in disgrace. I learned, my dear Skye. I learned.
“Jane Seymour was, I think, fortunate to die. For all his fine mourning he did not care, for he had what he wanted—a son! Of my other three stepmothers Anne of Cleves was wise enough to give Henry Tudor what he wanted the most—a quick divorce. Poor Cat Howard, my mother’s cousin, lost her head as my mother did. I can still hear that tragic girl’s frantic cries when she realized they had come to take her to the Tower. She tried to reach my father, and they dragged her screaming from his chapel door.” The Queen shuddered with the memory.
“Catherine Parr was fortunate enough to outlive my father and marry the man she loved. I went to live with her and her new husband after my father’s death, you know. The Lord High Admiral of England, Sir Thomas Seymour, was my stepfather. He was the handsomest man I’ve ever seen, and the greatest rogue who ever lived. While my stepmother grew bigger and sicker with his child, he planned my seduction. He did not think Catherine would survive the birthing and he sought power to thwart his older brother, Edward, who was my little brother’s guardian. He might have succeeded with me, for I was so innocent, but Kate realized his intent when she caught him kissing me in a very unfatherly fashion. I was sent from her house in disgrace, and when she died some weeks later of a childbed fever, Tom Seymour tried to marry me. He shortly thereafter lost his head. There were those who sought to implicate me in his perfidy, but I escaped them! I quickly learned that women who seek power in a man’s world—and make no mistake about it, my dear Skye, this is a man’s world—women like that have no friends among either sex. I am a woman who has power. I do not intend to hand it over to a man, not after all I have learned, and all I have suffered.
“After my sister Mary became Queen she became more and more suspicious of me. Strangely it was a man who was responsible for saving me: my brother-in-law, King Philip of Spain. Nevertheless I was sent to the Tower, and there I renewed my brief acquaintance with Robert Dudley. I love him, but I can never be his wife, and I most certainly will not be his mistress. He is not wise enough to understand this so I flirt with him, and I give him the things he wants, in order to keep his hopes alive and his interest in me from straying. I cannot lose him. I cannot.
“At the moment Robert Dudley wants you and I am pleased to give you to him for you are no threat to me. You despise him. And always will, I suspect. Yet you will give yourself to him because I am your Queen, and I command it.”
“You can do this to me?” Skye repeated softly. “I who have been your friend? Your loyal servant? My God, madam, you are your father’s daughter! The English lion has spawned as vicious a cub as he himself was!”
Elizabeth winced. “Careful, my dear,” she warned.
“You are indeed the Queen of England,” said Skye ominously, “but then, I am Irish. While Geoffrey Southwood lived I forgot it … but no more!”
Elizabeth Tudor laughed. “What a firebrand you are, my dear Skye. But we both know you are quite helpless before my royal office.”
A quick retort sprang to her lips, but she forced it back. “Have I Your Majesty’s permission to retire?” she said evenly.
The Queen held out her beautiful hand, and Skye kissed it briefly. “You have my leave to retire, Lady Southwood. Go home to Devon, and plan my godson’s betrothal to Alison de Grenville. It will help to keep you busy, and out of trouble.”
Skye backed out of the Queen’s closet to rejoin Robbie and William Cecil. Her color was high, and her temper matched her flaming cheeks. She curtseyed to the chancellor and, with a furious look toward Robbie, swept from the room.
“It seems it is time for me to leave, my lord,” observed Robbie drily.
The two men shook hands and parted, Cecil to return to his paperwork, Small to escort the Countess of Lynmouth, when he finally managed to catch up with her, back to Devon.
Skye was in a rage and refused to linger in London another hour. So the Queen thought to hand her over to Robert Dudley while she played her “perhaps I will, perhaps I won’t” game. The bitch! Skye had no intention of meekly waiting for the fine Lord Dudley to use her as a plaything. For Robin’s sake she would appear to submit. But somehow she intended being revenged on Elizabeth Tudor.
Skye looked across at Robbie, who sat pensively smoking his pipe. “I want you and Dame Cecily to take the children for a few weeks,” she said. “I must go home to Ireland. It is a trip I have delayed far too long.”
“What did the Queen say to you, Skye?”
“She said I must play the whore for her precious Earl of Leicester. She means not to marry, Robbie, but she’ll not admit it publicly. She fears a man’s dominance over her more than anything else. She wants Dudley, but she’ll not take him to husband. She has decided that I am no threat to their love, as so many others might be, because I dislike the man. Therefore, as long as I satisfy his lusts Elizabeth Tudor stands in no danger of losing her gallant. God! Geoffrey must be spinning in his grave to see me used thusly! And by the Queen!”
“It’s monstrous!” Robert Small was deeply shocked. “What will you do?”
“What can I do, Robbie? I must submit for my son’s sake, and both the Queen and Dudley have counted on this. As long as I keep her secret and yield to Dudley, my son’s inheritance is safe.”
“And this is your final word on the matter? No, Skye, I don’t believe it. You’ve some plan that you’re not telling me about.”
“Robbie … are you loyal to the Crown?”
“Of course! I’m an Englishman.”
“And I am an Irishwoman, Robbie. We Irish have never been overfond of the English monarch impressed upon us. While Southwood lived, his loyalties were mine. And they might even have remained my loyalties had Elizabeth Tudor respected me as I once respected her. But she is just like all English rulers! She uses everyone around her to her own ends, overlooking kindness and friendship. She is a brilliant woman. I have no doubt she will govern England well. But after what she has done to me, she is my bitterest enemy!
“Two of my children, nevertheless, are English, and I will not confuse them by tampering with their loyalties. Robin is the Earl of Lynmouth, a peer of this realm. The title is old. Geoffrey was proud of it and rightly so. Robin owes his allegiance to his Queen and, perhaps because he will be an attractive man as his father was, Elizabeth will treat him well.
“Willow was born here in England, and she is your heiress. I cannot endanger you and Dame Cecily, and I know that my dearest Khalid would not thank me for placing his only child in a dangerous situation. So for all your sakes, whatever I do it will be done in secret.”
“Did Geoffrey ever adopt Willow legally?” asked the captain as their coach jounced along.
“No. He meant to, but we simply never got to it. Why?”
“Because I do want to adopt her, Skye. She’s legally my heiress, but ’twould please me greatly if she also bore my name. And, I suspect it would be safer for Willow to be a Small. I’ve known you since you were an innocent slip of a girl blindly in love with Khalid, and I recognize the light of battle when I see it in your eye.” He sighed. “You’re going to make war on the Crown, aren’t you?”
She smiled a rueful little smile. “I honestly don’t know what I’m going to do yet, Robbie. But as a loyal subject of the Queen, it would be better if you didn’t know my plans.”
“Humph!” sniffed the little man. “I’ll remind you that I’m your friend before I’m anything else, your fine ladyship!” Then he grew serious. “Be careful, Skye. Bess Tudor is the lion’s cub, and can be very dangerous.”
“So I have found, Robbie, and I’ll be wary. I think, however, that I have discovered a way to get at her without her ever knowing it’s me. Let me go to Ireland first, and then we shall see.”
; “When will you go?” he asked her.
“In a few days. I must first send a message to my uncle, for I prefer to travel in an O’Malley ship.”
And some four days later the Bishop of Connaught sat in his study reading his niece’s letter for the second time. The O’Malley of Innisfana was finally coming home, though this was to be a secret visit. She wanted her flagship, the Seagull, to meet her off the Isle of Lundy on Midsummer’s Eve and she wanted her uncle aboard. Seamus O’Malley was well pleased. It was high time his niece remembered who she was. And on Midsummer’s Eve, it was he who reached over the ship’s rail to pull her up the final few feet to the deck.
Her smile erased the years. She leaned over the railing and called down to the little sailboat that had ferried her from the mainland. “Ten days, Robbie, unless it’s stormy.”
“God speed, lass!” was the sure reply, and the little boat turned and headed back toward the English coast.
Skye walked directly to the main cabin in the stern. She flung her cloak on a chair, poured herself some wine, and stood looking at the two men who were waiting for her to speak. “Well, Uncle,” she smiled teasingly, “have I changed so much? MacGuire, you’ve gotten fat, but it’s good to see you again.”
“Mistress Skye, we thought surely you were dead,” and then his voice broke.
She reached out a hand to comfort him. “But I’m not dead, MacGuire. I am quite alive, and I have come home now.”
The old seaman blinked rapidly and Skye turned to her uncle. “Well, m’lord Bishop, I’ve never heard you so quiet in my entire life. I owe you a debt, Uncle, for your care of the O’Malley fortunes. I can never repay that debt, for it’s too large, but I do thank you with all my heart.”
Seamus O’Malley found his voice at last. “I would not have believed it had I not seen it with my own eyes. I thought once that you’d reached the peak of your beauty, but I was wrong. You’re lovelier now than ever before, if that’s possible. And there’s something else about you, something I cannot put my finger on.” He shook his head. “No wonder Niall Burke refuses to marry again.”
She paled slightly at the mention of his name, but not enough that her uncle noticed. “Is he widowed then?” she managed to sound casual.
“The Spanish girl died before he even brought her home to Ireland. They’re not strong, those girls from warm climates.” He paused and looked at her craftily. “But for fate intervening, you and Niall would be long wed. The match could be remade now that you’re both free.”
“No! I didn’t come home to be mated, Uncle. I am the Countess of Lynmouth, and I shall remain the Countess of Lynmouth until my son is grown, and takes a wife. I am here because I would wage war on Elizabeth Tudor, and to do so I’ll need my fleet.”
“What?!” both men chorused.
“The Queen of England has insulted me unforgivably, Uncle. But my battle with her must remain a secret one. I cannot endanger my young son, the Earl of Lynmouth, or my little daughter.”
“What in Hell are you going to do, Skye?” demanded Seamus O’Malley.
“Elizabeth Tudor believes that trade is the key to making England great. She is right, Uncle, it is. I have seen how trade has made the East wealthy. My own English vessels—mine and my partner’s—have already begun increasing the Queen’s wealth, but now in order to punish her I will harry the trading vessels coming into England of which the Queen now receives a percentage. I cannot refuse to trade for England, for that would endanger Robin’s inheritance. But if my ships and others like them are pirated, then trade benefits the English Crown nothing. I shall not be harmed. For who would suspect the innocent widowed Countess of Lynmouth of pirating?
“Mind you, I want no killing. I value all who are in my employ, officer and common seaman, English and Irish alike. Those of my Irish ships that pirate my English ships will proceed to Algiers to dispose of the cargoes. I will profit, but Elizabeth Tudor most certainly will not.”
“Why this war on England, Niece?”
“Not England, Uncle, Elizabeth Tudor herself. I have no quarrel with the English.”
“Very well, then. Why the war on Elizabeth Tudor?”
“Because to hold the man she loves, but will not bed or marry, she would use me as her whore. She easily forgets that my beloved Geoffrey was her most loyal and devoted servant. As am I—or was. She is ruthless in the pursuit of her own desires, but I will not be used thusly by anyone, even the Queen of England!”
“Think carefully, Niece,” the bishop was greatly troubled. “If you are ever connected with this scheme the Queen will not be merciful. She can’t afford to have her perfidy made public. How will you protect your children?”
“I am arranging my little Robin’s betrothal with Alison de Grenville, a daughter of Sir Richard de Grenville, who is safely in the Queen’s favor. It’s an excellent match for the girl and Dickon is a good friend. He’ll look after Robin’s interests if anything should happen to me.
“Robert Small, the dearest friend I have in this world, is legally adopting my daughter, Willow. He was her father’s best friend, and is childless. We are business partners, and before he sailed on his last trading voyage three years ago he made Willow his heiress. He has a fine house near Bideford. He and his sister adore Willow, and she adores them. It was Captain Small who brought me out to meet you tonight.”
“You’ve thought carefully of your English children, Niece, but what of Ewan and Murrough O’Flaherty? Could not English vengeance fall on them?”
“The O’Flaherty holdings are too small, too unimportant, and too isolated for the English to bother with, Uncle. Besides, my Irish sons are doubly related to my English son by their betrothals to Robin’s half-sisters, Geoffrey Southwood’s daughters. If Robin stands in the Queen’s favor, then his half-brothers will, too.”
Seamus O’Malley nodded, satisfied that all precautions had been taken. “We’ll need a base of operations in England that can’t be traced to you or the O’Malley family,” he said.
“MacGuire!” said Skye. “Set a course for the Lord of Lundy Isle’s castle. It’s the only safe landing on the whole of the island. Adam de Marisco is the master there. He’s the last of his line and, I am told, as much a cutthroat as anyone. But de Marisco makes his living giving sanctuary and selling supplies to privateers and smugglers. We’ll find a haven on Lundy for our ships.”
“You’ve thought this all out, haven’t you, Niece? Dubhdara would be damned proud of you—but then, he always was. Do you intend to sail with your ships?”
“Nay, Uncle. MacGuire will head up these expeditions, and I trust him to chose responsible young captains who’ll not be recognized by others. Neither you nor I, Uncle, must be involved because we are easily recognized. The ships must sail without any identifying marks or flags. I have already thought out a means of communication during the piracy, a system that will totally confuse our victims. But we’ll discuss that later.”
“I’ll go change the ship’s course,” said MacGuire. “If you’d like to get out of those skirts, you’ll find all your old things in that chest across the room. I stored them away myself,” he muttered shyly.
“Why, MacGuire, you’re getting positively kindly in your old age,” teased Skye.
The weathered captain eyed her boldly. “They’ll probably be a bit tight in the britches, and across the front,” he noted. “You’ve grown a bit, I’m noticing.” He went out, chuckling over having had the last word.
Chuckling too, Skye opened the small sea chest. There, lovingly stored amid small bags of lavender, were her sea clothes. She lifted a silk shirt, and shook it out. Her double-legged skirt, her long, soft, woolen hose, her thigh-length doeskin doublet with its staghorn and silver buttons, her Cordoba leather boots, and her wide belt with its silver and topaz buckle were all there.
Seamus O’Malley saw the quick tears shining in his niece’s beautiful eyes. “I’ll be on deck getting some air, Skye. Perhaps you’d like to take some time to change.”<
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As she heard the door close behind him she began to undo the fastenings on her gown. Off it came, and her petticoats, and silk stockings, and the small, ribboned corset. The trappings of Her Ladyship, the Countess of Lynmouth, lay in a heap on the cabin floor. In the mirror she watched, fascinated, as the O’Malley of Innisfana was reborn before her eyes. MacGuire had only been half right, and she solved the problem by leaving the top button of her shirt open.
In the bottom of the trunk she found her small jeweled dagger and—good Lord!—her sword of fine Toledo steel with the gold-and-silver-filigreed handle. She buckled it on, sure that Adam de Marisco wouldn’t be impressed simply by a well-turned leg.
A knock sounded on her door, and her uncle reappeared. “We’re about to land, Skye.”
“Send MacGuire ashore to contact Lord de Marisco, and set up a meeting between us. I will wait aboard until he is ready to see me.”
“I take it,” said Seamus O’Malley, “that de Marisco is not expecting a woman.”
“He’s expecting the O’Malley of Innisfana, Uncle,” said Skye with a smile. “It’s not my fault if he doesn’t know that the O’Malley is a female.”
The bishop laughed. “Let us go topside, Niece. There’ll be no real dark this night, as it’s Midsummer’s Eve. We’ll get a good look at the island. I imagine its inhabitants will be celebrating the holiday with pagan fervor.”
They left the cabin together, and after Seamus O’Malley had given MacGuire his instructions, the two O’Malleys stood at the ship’s rail. Lundy got its name from the old Norse word, lunde, which was the word for puffin, a bird. The island loomed above the ship, great granite cliffs towering darkly into the lavender half-dusk. The place had a barbaric beauty about it. The island was covered in pasturage upon which herds of sheep grazed. It also served as a breeding ground for sea birds. At one end of the island was a lighthouse. At the other stood the ramshackle ruins of de Marisco Castle, with the only landing place on the island.
Skye O'Malley Page 50
