"Better she die under the Janissaries' attentions this night, my daughter, for if she lives, she will not survive the hooks."

Skye shivered. She knew all about the infamous hooks that were imbedded in the city walls, which served as places of execution for those unfortunate enough to be condemned to them. Claire, having actually murdered one man, and having been accused of being responsible for the murder of another, would most certainly be sentenced to the hooks. Her death would be a most painful one, for the city executioners knew just how to toss a body onto the hooks so that the condemned victim lived in screaming agony for some time-a warning to those tempted to mayhem, an amusement to others. "God have mercy on her," Skye whispered.

"You pray for such an enemy, my daughter?"

"It is a horrible way to die, Osman, even for Claire."

He placed a fatherly arm about her. "You must rest now, my daughter. I will send a message to your ship that you will be delayed until morning."

"No, I would go now," she said.

"In the morning, my daughter," he repeated gently. 'Trust me, Skye. Have I ever disappointed you?"

"No," she responded, suddenly feeling totally exhausted as the shock of what had happened began to set in.

Osman led her from the room and put her into the capable hands of his wife. Together the two women moved automatically toward the women's quarters, where the slaves, not even daring to speak, helped the lady Alima to put Skye to bed.

"I shall not sleep," Skye insisted, although her eyes were heavy.

"Drink this," Alima insisted, pushing a small cup of sweetened pomegranate juice on her friend. 'There is in it a tiny drop of opium, which will take you quickly to the land of pleasant dreams, dearest friend. Think happy thoughts as you drift away, my lady Skye. You are free of Kedar! Your beloved husband awaits you, and soon you will be reunited. Soon you will be home in your own land with your children." Her pleasant voice droned into Skye's consciousness, and Skye soon found herself asleep.

When she awoke she felt just the tiniest bit groggy, but a trip with Alima to the household baths quickly made her mind sharp and quick again. "Where is Osman?" she asked as they returned to Skye's chamber.

"He has gone to the Dey's palace to testify against the lady Nilak," Alima responded.

"If she lived through the night," Skye remarked.

"She must have, else my husband would be back already. He will be here to escort you safely to your ship, my lady Skye. Do not fear."

Osman returned close to the noon hour, a grim smile of satisfaction upon his face. The two women hurried to his library, both full of curiosity. "She has been executed upon the hooks," he told them, "although she will probably live on for several hours. Her goods and wealth have been divided between the Dey’s treasury and Capitan Ahmet. It is over, Skye, my daughter. A door is closed, and another is opening for you once again. Are you ready to depart?"

"I am ready," Skye said quietly.

Her good-byes to Alima were said swiftly and privately within the library, and then, escorted by Osman, Skye entered the large palanquin with him. This time she felt no sadness in departing the house that had once belonged to Khalid, for it was now so clearly Osman's house. The bearers lifted the palanquin and began to move easily down the hill with their burden. Skye quickly noticed that they were taking the most direct route to the harbor, where her own flagship waited. As they exited the harbor gate nearest to the Dey’s palace Osman commanded her, "Look back and up a moment, my daughter."

Skye turned, and the sight greeting her eyes caused her to gasp with horror and pity. She swallowed hard, forcing the bile back down her throat. Above her on the wall, Claire O’Flaherty, also known in her lifetime as Claro and Nilak, writhed weakly and helplessly, one of the vicious hooks securely jabbed through her midsection, another through a shoulder.

"Never again will her evil trouble you, Skye, my daughter. She has met her just end, and you are at last free of her wickedness," Osman's voice said quietly. "She will die shortly, and her body will rot there upon the hooks, scavenged by the carrion birds and whipped by the elements until it is no more. A fitting finish for a consummate villainess. Turn away now, Skye, my daughter. It is over."

"It is a picture I will remember always, Osman," Skye said feelingly, and she was unable to stop the tears that spilled down her pale cheeks.

"You will forget," he answered her with certainty. "I did not show you such a sight to distress you, but rather to assure you of your adversary's end. She will never harm you or yours again, Skye, and I wanted you to be certain of that fact." He reached out and touched one crystalline tear with a fingertip. "What a magnificent soul is housed in that beautiful body of yours, my daughter! It touches me beyond all that you can weep for so cruel an enemy. She would not have wept for you."

"Perhaps not, Osman, but her last hours have certainly made up for the evil she created. It saddens me even now that we were so assuredly fated to be enemies."

He shrugged fatalistically. "It was Allah's will, Skye, my daughter. One should never question God."

The palanquin suddenly stopped, and was set down carefully. Osman parted the draperies and stepped out, turning to assist Skye from the vehicle. They were directly before the gangway of her ship. Without a word she walked swiftly aboard, the astrologer following behind. Within the safety of the master cabin she pulled her veil aside. Eyes shining with unshed tears, she caught his hands and raised them up to kiss them fervently.

"Thank you, my dear friend," she said in a voice filled with emotion. 'Thank you for everything. Just over the horizon my dearest husband awaits me, and I should not have gotten him back had it not been for you, Osman, and your family. We are ever in your debt! My children and I will remember you in our prayers each night as long as we live, for you have returned to us the thing most precious to us, a husband and a father."

Osman hugged her paternally, half in affection, half in concern. It was better that she not see his face at this moment. "Remember, Skye, my daughter, that all that happens is Allah's will, and with regard to each of us, our chosen destiny. Will you try not to rail against your fate, whatever it may be? Will you trust in the Creator to care for you no matter what? Though sometimes the storm seems dark, and without end, the light will eventually overcome it. That much I can promise you."

She drew away and smiled up at him. It was the first relaxed and genuine smile he had seen on her face in a very long time. "I am learning, Osman. Slowly, I will grant you, but I am learning. I will try to accept, and to trust, no matter what. For now, however, I see nothing but happiness ahead for me. Niall and I will return to Ireland, and I think I shall never roam again."

Osman smiled back at her. "Be happy, Skye, my daughter. Allah only knows that no one deserves it more than you do."

“Will we meet again, Osman?" she asked, her curiosity getting the better of her.

"Perhaps," he answered, and then raising his hand in a gesture of farewell, Osman the astrologer turned and without another word left the ship.

Finally the gangway was pulled aboard, and the O'Malley sailors loosened the lines that bound them to the dock, tossing them back to the quai. As the ship began to move Skye closed the cabin door and slowly began to remove her clothing. Thoughtfully she gazed at each piece of the silken gauze garments, smoothing them carefully as the memories crowded in on her. Then with a sigh and a shake of her head she folded the clothes resolutely and began to draw on her own things, the split-legged skirt, the silk shirt, her hose, her boots, her belt with its Celtic buckle of bright enamel. For a long moment she felt very odd in such garments, for she had grown used to her silken draperies. With a laugh she began to brush her hair, then braided it firmly into one single plait. A quick glimpse in the cabin's pier glass told her that Skye O'Malley had returned, and with a grin she whirled away from it, opened the door, and walked out upon the deck.

"Welcome back, m'lady," Bran Kelly said.

"Thank you, Bran. How is Daisy?"

"Well, and our first bairn, a lad, also."

"Bran! Congratulations! I see I shall have to train another girl to be my tiring woman now, but I don't mind as long as you and Daisy are happy."

"I doubt Daisy will let you, m'lady, but time enough to argue with her when we get home," Bran chuckled.

"How soon until we reach Lord Burke's ship, Bran?"

"A few hours if this breeze will hold, m'lady. No more, I promise."

Skye walked to the bow of the ship and stood there quietly, her face into the wind, never once looking back at the city. Yes, Algiers had seemed a different place this time, quite unlike the city she remembered adoring so in her days as Khalid el Bey's wife. Then it had seemed a magical, colorful, wonderful place filled with love. This time she had seen its harshness and its cruelty. The memory of Claire O’Flaherty twisting in agony would live with her for a long, long time. Skye breathed deeply of the soft and warm sea air to clear her head of the memories. Looking back was not the answer. She wanted to look forward now. Just over the horizon was her husband, and she could hardly wait to reach him. Indeed, had she believed that she could swim faster than her ship could sail, she would have gone over the side and into the sea.

Niall! Niall! She cried to him with her heart.


***

"Skye! Skye!" Niall Burke twisted frantically upon the bed of the master cabin. "Robbie? Robbie, are you there?"

"I'm here, lad." Robbie placed a calming hand on Niall Burke's feverish forehead, and his face puckered with worry.

"Where is Skye, Robbie? Where is my wife?" Niall begged plaintively.

"She's coming, laddie," Robbie soothed the ill man. "She's on her way this very minute."

"I'm thirsty, Robbie. So thirsty." Niall moved restlessly once more.

"Here, laddie." Robert Small held a goblet of wine to Lord Burke's lips. "Drink this."

Niall gulped at the goblet eagerly, but seconds later he was vomiting the liquid back into a basin. "Where are my jellies, Robbie? The comfits help when I feel poorly."

“They're gone, m'lord. You ate the last of them several days ago. If you only knew what was in them we might make you some."

"I don't know, Robbie. I've told you I don't know! Old Rabi made them for me, and Hamal gave me a box just before I escaped; but I have no idea what was in them." Niall's voice was reproachful and irritable at the same time. Then suddenly he slipped into a light slumber.

Robbie sighed. It was clear to him that Lord Burke had been poisoned with some potion. Why else would he be in such a state? Perhaps when Skye came aboard her presence would encourage her husband to make a swift and full recovery. Robert Small got up and moved to the cabin door. "Keep an eye on his lordship," he commanded the ship's boy. "If you need me I'll be topside waiting for Lady Burke."

"Aye, sir!" came the obedient reply.

Robbie stamped out on deck, glad to be free of the stifling cabin. With relief he drew in great lungfuls of clean sea air. "Any sign of her?" he asked MacGuire as he came abreast of the old captain.

"Crow's nest spotted a sail out of Algiers harbor making for us just a minute or two ago. It's just visible now on the horizon. How's his lordship?"

"Not good. I think he's dying, Sean, and I don't know what in hell is killing him!"

"Fash, man! Niall Burke's stronger than that. I've known him since he was a brash young boy. He can't be dying!"

"He is, I'm telling you," Robbie argued worriedly. "He's constantly thirsty, yet he can't hold anything either liquid or solid on his stomach, and for two days his bowels have suffered with the bloody flux. What sleep he can manage is disturbed by nightmares of horrendous proportions, his eyes are red, his skin and mouth so dry that both his lips and his elbows are peeling. I've never seen anything like it, man!"

"Maybe we should cup him," MacGuire suggested halfheartedly.

"Cup him? Jesu, man! You'll kill him for sure! God's bones, I hope this wind holds! Maybe the sight of her will revive him."

"If he dies it'll kill her," MacGuire said ominously. "To lose him once was bad, but to lose him a second time after what she's been through…" He crossed himself nervously.