His kisses branded each long leg at the rounded calves and slim ankles. He sucked on her toes, and Skye came close to fainting, so sensuous was that sensation. She was turned again to lie once more on her back while his lips began an upward sweep of loving. He inhaled the marvelous woman smell of her that was mixed with the scent of wild roses. His tongue reveled in the pure silk of her inner thighs, the moist coral flesh of her womanhood.
“Let me comfort you, little girl,” she heard him say again, and her own voice answered, sobbed, “Yes!”
He was unbelievably gentle, raising her just slightly, and slowly, so slowly filling her full of himself until she thought surely she would burst, so big was he. His great body covered her slim one as snow covers the land. She was pressed deeper and deeper down into the mattress as he drove deeper and deeper into her willing flesh. He became more vigorous and she reveled in his passion.
This was not Robert Dudley seeking to crush her spirit by degrading her body. This big man sought to give pleasure, a pleasure she had believed possible only with true love.
She could feel her climax rising fast, and she cried out, wanting him to know. “Oh, Adam! It is good!” Then she was lost in a storm of passion as great as any storm she had experienced at sea, and she heard him cry out triumphantly.
He rolled away and they lay side by side, panting, and then she said quietly, “Adam de Marisco, I hope you’ll comfort me again before this night is done!”
And he laughed, a wonderful warm rumble of mirth. “Fear not, Skye O’Malley! You’ll be well comforted!” And then he was kissing her again, and it was good!
CHAPTER 23
IT HAD BEEN AN UNUSUALLY LOVELY SUMMER. IN AUTUMN, SKYE looked back on the last several months with deep satisfaction. Half a dozen treasure ships had been taken, robbing Elizabeth Tudor’s coffers of much-needed revenue. Only two had been her own ships. The others had been funded by wealthy courtiers, including Dudley, and Skye felt no guilt over robbing them. The monies from the ships other than her own found its way into church boxes … paid delinquent taxes for poor but hardworking farmers … and the sick, the old, and the hungry were astonished when they began receiving gifts of medicine, firewood, food, clothing, and small bags of coins.
With winter coming, however, the parade of ships would be slowing down. The sudden increase in piracy off the Devon coast had only just begun to attract royal attention. Now Skye would have her privateers lie low, and if the royal curiosity had been piqued it would be forced to remain unsatisfied. She chuckled. It had all been so unbelievably easy. Suspecting nothing, the trading ships had been like fat white ducks that had waddled by mistake into a fox’s den.
Every attack had gone smoothly. Amazingly, there had been no loss of life in this venture, for each vessel taken was captured by not one, but two ships. Outnumbered, outmanned, and outgunned, the trading vessels did not care to fight. Their cargoes were transferred quickly and quietly by silent, well-trained seamen who, responding to whistles and hand signals, gave no hint of their nationality. The privateers disappeared with their booty as quickly as they appeared. The whole affair was eerily well done.
The small royal commission sent to investigate returned to London at a loss. No one had even the slightest idea of who was behind this genteel pillage. The pirates had to be English. How else did they know when ships were due, and the courses the ships would take? Since the piracy stopped as suddenly as it had begun, the royal commission concluded that the incidents had been isolated and coincidental. The Queen was so informed.
Skye had decided that she might avoid giving the Twelfth Night gala because she was in mourning. Accordingly, she sent Elizabeth Tudor her regrets, and went off to Lundy to confer with Adam de Marisco over the spring pirating schedule and the signals that would be used between the two castles.
The giant lord of Lundy had become her good friend and, after that Midsummer’s Eve, her occasional lover. She had awakened to find herself clasped in his arms, his smoky eyes studying her intently. She returned the stare, then added a blazing smile that made him sigh with relief.
“Then you’re not angry with me?” he said.
“No, of course not. Why should I be?”
He grinned ruefully. “Little girl, you’re not just some wench. In a half-drunken moment I demanded a rather outrageous price for my aid. You’re a great lady, Skye O’Malley, and you held to the bargain we made better than many men would hold to a bargain. Now, however, I have a problem. My instinct is to imprison you in this tower and make love to you for at least a month without stopping. But I can’t do that, can I?”
“No, Adam de Marisco, you can’t,” she said, “but I thank you for the compliment.”
“I’d marry you!”
“Oh, Adam, what a lovely man you are, but I’ll not marry again. Besides, aren’t you wary of a woman who’s buried three husbands?” Her lovely eyes twinkled mischievously, but he looked so crestfallen, this great bear of a man, that she soothed him. “I’ll be back, Adam, I promise you.”
And in fact, she had come back, several times throughout the summer. In between their incredible sessions of lovemaking they had talked and become real friends. This was a whole new experience for Skye. Apart from the obnoxious Robert Dudley, her lovers had been men to whom she was married, excepting that one long-ago night with Niall. She was not a promiscuous woman, but the plain truth of the matter was that she needed to make love with someone she liked, especially now, for the Earl of Leicester had been to Lynmouth twice more to make demands upon her.
Robert Dudley delighted in degrading her, or “taming” her, as he called it. He derived intense pleasure from forcing her to total submission, but though he could force the body, her soul eluded him. This kept Dudley returning. After these nightmares of lust Skye invariably fled to Adam de Marisco. His honest adoration and vigorous sexual worship of her were like a clean sea wind after the passing of a garbage scow. Adam did not raise her to the exquisite soul-rending heights that Geoffrey had, but he gave her pleasure and was delighted that she cared enough to give him pleasure in return.
It had been a melancholy Christmas and New Year. Skye had kept to the Southwood family customs, decorating the Great Hall with pine and holly, burning a Yule log, offering the wassail bowl to the carolers and mummers, but it had not been the same without Geoffrey. Skye’s sons and twin stepdaughters remained in Ireland and she hadn’t seen them since the previous summer when she had made her secret visit home. Susan Southwood preferred to remain in Cornwall with the Trevenyans. Only Robin and Willow were at Lynmouth. Dame Cecily had contracted a bad chill and remained at Wren Court. Skye insisted that Robbie remain too, so that his sister would not be alone.
Several days into the New Year, Skye decided to go to Lundy. Sending to Wren Court for news, she learned that Dame Cecily was up and about again. They would be delighted to have the children and would return with them to Lynmouth in time for Twelfth Night, which they would all spend together. Skye intended asking Adam de Marisco to come back with her and join them in the celebration. His presence might soften the pain of the memories that continued to assail her.
Dressed in her doeskin doublet, boots, woolen hose, and a heavy wool cloak, she sailed the eleven miles to Lundy alone. Skye now kept a small boat moored at the foot of the cliffs on which Lynmouth Castle was located. In the first sleepless nights following Geoffrey’s death, she had wandered aimlessly about the castle and, during those nocturnal wanderings, had found a passage that wound down and down and down to emerge into a small, well-hidden cave just above sea level. She had emerged from the cave into the bright moonlit night to find herself on a comfortable-sized ledge, the sea lapping just a few inches below her feet. The moon was full and the tide high, which meant that the sea would never rise higher than this. The cave wouldn’t flood except possibly in an extremely severe storm. Looking closely along the rim of the ledge, she had finally found the flight of stone steps she sought, and the round, barnacle-encrusted heavy iron
ring. Obviously some long-dead Southwood had had an interest in the sea.
She had come back later with Robbie, and they had thoroughly explored the cave, finding iron torchholders, rusted, but still serviceable, at intervals along the walls. Daisy’s fifteen-year-old brother, Wat, had been assigned to clean out the cave, to keep torches always burning, and to see that Skye’s boat was always in readiness.
She had never fully tested her knowledge of seamanship since her memory had returned, for there had been no need or desire. The first time she had again sailed in a small boat had been with Robbie on that inaugural trip to meet her own Irish ships, and once she sailed with MacGuire to St. Bride’s for a reunion with her favorite sister, Eibhlin. Eibhlin had grown plump but was as tart as ever. Returning to Innisfana, Skye had taken the tiller from MacGuire and discovered that her sailing skill was entirely intact.
Home again at Lynmouth, she had taken to sailing out occasionally into the Bristol Channel. The first time she was caught in a sudden summer’s afternoon squall she had felt not fear, but pure exhilaration sparking her. After that, all doubts about her skill disappeared.
Skye hesitated before sailing to Lundy on that cold January afternoon. The day was far too beautiful, a real weathermaker if her sailor’s instincts were correct. Still, it had been a depressing two weeks at Lynmouth Castle, and she longed to laugh and be frivolous.
“Little girl!” Adam greeted her, delighted. “You must be fey, my beautiful Irish witch! I’ve been thinking about you for days.” He enveloped her in a bear hug that left her breathless. Picking her up in his arms, he carried her upstairs to his lair.
Laughing, she protested, “Adam! What will people think?” But she was glad. She felt safe and warm and happy in this man’s arms.
They undressed each other quickly and made delicious passionate love until, sated, they lay back amid the tumbled feather pillows, warm beneath an enormous fur coverlet. He reached for her hand, found it and held it tenderly in his grasp. “I wish to Heaven that you could love me, Skye O’Malley,” he said quietly.
“I do, Adam,” she protested. “You’re one of my best friends.” But she knew it wasn’t what he wanted to hear and she felt suddenly sad, realizing that she could not go on using this gentle giant to ease her own sorrows when he felt so much more deeply for her than she did for him. “Adam de Marisco, I never meant to hurt you, but it seems to me that I have. I beg your forgiveness.”
“No, little girl. I started this. I have been well punished for my arrogance. However, I am going to send you home now. I can no longer just spend time with you in bed and not have all of you.”
She understood and, rising quickly, dressed. “I came today to ask you if you’d come to Lynmouth for Twelfth Night.”
He looked up from buttoning his shirt. “I’ll come. They say lovers can’t be friends, but we are.”
Outside the sky was darkening fast. A single clear star hung overhead, and in the west the last of the sunset was a cold lemon-yellow smudge on a stale-gray horizon.
“Snow coming,” he noted.
“I thought so too. Come with me now.”
“No, but I’ll come later tonight, for ’twill start to storm by early morning.” He helped her down into the boat. “The wind’s from the west, little girl. You’ll be home quickly.” Untying the boat, he threw the rope to Skye.
“I’ll have the cave entrance well lit, Adam. Until later!” She blew him a kiss and he pushed her craft away from the stone quay. The breeze caught quickly at her sails and she was off.
The fresh winds sent the little sailboat skidding swiftly across the tops of the waves and though it was dark when she reached her mooring, this was still, she was sure, the fastest passage she’d ever made from Lundy. She secured the boat tightly. Taking a torch from inside the cave, she lit the ledge beacons so Adam might find his way safely. Then she began climbing up into the castle. She thought she could hear sounds of revelry, which was indeed confusing. Arriving at the level of her apartment, she moved along the hidden interior passage until she reached the door that would admit her to her rooms. Flipping the hidden lock, she stepped into her antechamber, pulled the door shut behind her, and drew the tapestry back into place. She could now hear definite sounds of merrymaking below in the Hall. Puzzled, she moved toward the door that led into the public hall, but the door opened suddenly and Daisy flew in, slamming it behind her.
“Oh! Mistress Skye! Thank God you’re back!”
“What is going on down there?” demanded Skye.
“Right after you left, milady, Lord Dudley and a group of his friends arrived. He was furious to learn you weren’t here, and then he just took over, ordering a feast, sending into the village for some girls.”
“What!?”
“Maids,” he said. “They had to be maids,” Daisy explained tearfully.
“Oh my God,” said Skye. “Are the girls all right, Daisy? I’ll send them home immediately. They’re probably frightened to death. The Earls of Lynmouth haven’t allowed that sort of abuse in years. Trust Dudley, the fiend, to revive such an appalling custom!”
“It’s too late, milady. The girls have already been ruined,” said Daisy.
“Are they all right, though?” asked Skye.
“All except little Anne Evans. She bled quite heavily.”
“Christ’s bones! Anne Evans is but twelve! Damn! Damn! Dudley will pay for this! I’ll raise such hell with the Queen now that she’ll be forced to punish him this time!” Skye slammed into her bedroom. “I shall have to pay a bounty to the families involved. Were any of the girls walking out yet?”
“Four, milady.”
“And something to the young men to marry them immediately. Damn!” She whirled on Daisy. “Don’t stand there gawking, girl! Get me a dress! I can hardly go below like this, can I? The lilac velvet should do. No farthingale, just three petticoats, I’m not at Court.” She tore off her sailing clothes. Dudley! her mind raged. The slimy snake that Elizabeth Tudor had dropped into her private garden. It was bad enough that he had power over Robin and that he could use her as his occasional whore, but to come into her home uninvited! And with his cronies, too! To rape innocent village girls entrusted to her care!
Thick-fingered, Daisy struggled with her mistress’s gown. Stumbling, she almost spilled the contents of a jewel case at Skye’s feet. “Easy, my girl,” soothed Skye, plucking an amethyst necklace from the box and clasping it around her neck.
“They’re fearfully drunk,” whispered Daisy, terrified. “Maybe you shouldn’t go downstairs, my lady. Lord Dudley is the worst of all. It was he who hurt little Anne Evans.”
Skye put a gentle hand on Daisy’s cheek. “Listen to me, my girl,” she said. “I know it would be easier to bolt my door and go to bed. Dudley would not know I’d returned, and God knows I dread facing him. But I am the Countess of Lynmouth. Lord Dudley has, in my absence, abused my hospitality and injured my charges. It is my duty to set things right. I should betray the trust Geoffrey left me were I to do otherwise, Daisy. D’you understand?”
Daisy bowed her head, ashamed, then said, “I’ll warn the guard you’re back. If there’s any trouble, they’ll come.”
“Good girl!” Skye hurried from the room and downstairs. The noise from her uninvited guests grew louder with every step she took, but even so, the sight that met her eyes when she entered the Hall brought her close to fainting. Dudley and his friends sprawled around the high board in shirt-sleeves and hose. At either end of the table were the remains of what had obviously been a very generous feast. Most of the unfortunate village girls were naked or almost so, and imprisoned in the laps of their drunken captors. But what brought Skye close to hysterics was the sight of poor little Anne Evans, naked, on all fours in the center of the long table. One of the big castle mastiffs had been brought to a state of sexual excitement, and was just now being positioned in such a way that the child would soon be ravished by the dog.
“Sweet Jesus.” Skye heard a voic
e behind her exclaim, and she turned to find the captain of the castle guard and his men all ranged at her back.
“Get the girls and that beast,” she said. “Take the maids to the housekeeper. Have her attend to their injuries and put them to bed.”
“And the dog, milady?”
“It’s not his fault. Send him to the kennels, Harry.”
The men-at-arms and their captain jogged into the hall and, taking the half-drunken courtiers by surprise, began removing the weeping, frightened girls. The mastiff was yanked off the table and Anne Evans, her eyes blank, was borne from the room.
Robert Dudley lurched to his feet shouting, “How dare you! I’m here in the Queen’s name as governor to the lord of this castle. How dare you?!”
“I dare, Dudley! My men obey only me. I wonder what Bess Tudor would think of this performance, my lord? Rape! The perversion of innocents! D’you think I’ll be silent this time? I’ll shout this outrage to the skies! How dare you come into my house and abuse my people? Shelter and food I gladly offer you, but nothing more. You are not lord here, Dudley!”
Robert Dudley’s eyes narrowed. There she stood, so damned proud, the Irish bitch. Why couldn’t he break her the way he’d done with so many others? Including his late milksop wife, Amy. He remembered the last time he’d seen Amy alive. She’d told him she had a canker in her breast, and would die soon. When? he’d asked, not at all affected by the hurt in her eyes. A year, maybe two, she answered him, weeping. That’s not soon enough, he had told her brutally. I could be King were it not for you. I don’t care how you do it, but be dead soon! Your life is over, anyway.
Dudley hadn’t known whether she actually had the courage to kill herself, but she had. And she’d done it in such a way as to cause an appalling scandal. She had done it deliberately, using her last chance to destroy his dreams of being King. Elizabeth, once hot to wed him, had backed off. And he’d never quite regained with her that high favor, despite the fact that he was her obvious favorite. Yes, his wife had planned her death brilliantly. Who would have predicted such a thing of the weak Amy.
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