Bertrice Small - Skye O’Malley

“Walk!” Niall exploded. “We’ll take the first available horses we
can find. The MacWilliam’s stronghold is a good stretch of the legs
from the sea, man. Do you ride?”

“About as good as you sail, laddie.”

“Then God help you, MacGuire! You’ll soon be as uncomfortable
as I am now!”

When they finally reached shore the captain untied his passenger
and helped him from the boat. Niall Burke rubbed his wrists where
the ropes had chafed him. He was anxious to be home so he might
speak with his father. He clambered up the hillside from the beach.

Without even looking to see if MacGuire was with him, Niall
strode quickly away, following a faint path. After about a half-hour
they came in view of a thatched roofed farmhouse. Next to the
farmhouse bloomed a kitchen garden of herbs, carrots, and other
root vegetables, cress, and a few bright flowers. The nearby fields,
well kept, were already colored with barley and rye. And in a pasture
just beyond the garden a dozen sleek horses grazed peacefully. There
was no sign of life, though MacGuire could have sworn he had seen
smoke coming from the chimney. “Ho! The house! ‘Tis Niall Burke,
and a friend.”

After a long moment the farmhouse door swung open, and a big
man stepped out. He called back out into the house, “It’s all right,
Maeve. It’s his lordship.” The man came forward, a grin on his face, and clasped Niall’s hand in his own large bearlike paw. “Wel-
come, my lord! How may we serve you?”

“I need two horses, Brian. This evil-looking fellow is Captain
MacGuire, one of the O’Malley’s men. He’ll return the horses to
you later.”

“At once, my lord. If you’re not in too great a hurry, the wife
is just taking bread from the oven.”

Niall Burke’s silvery eyes crinkled in appreciation. “Ah,” he
breathed. “Maeve’s bread with her own honey! Come on, MacGuire!
I’ve a treat for you, despite the fact that you’ve treated me badly.”
The captain in his wake, he burst through the door and swept up a
sparrow of a woman into his embrace. He held her high above him,
lowering her to smack kisses on both of her flushed cheeks while
she laughed and scolded him to put her down. “I’ve come for your
virtue-and your fine bread, Maeve love!” he teased, returning her
to her feet.

She gave him a friendly whack, and said, “None of your naught-
iness now, Master Niall. Tis long past time you grew up. Come
along with you, and your friend too. Sit down. The bread’s just
from the oven.”

They obeyed her and sat. Niall, turning to MacGuire, explained,
”Maeve was my nurse until I was seven. Then she deserted me to
wed with Brian. As a boy, I used to come here often, for she bakes
the best bread in the district. And for some reason her bees make
the best honey you’ve ever tasted.”

“It’s the salt air,” said Maeve. “It gives the honey a wee bit of
a nip.”

MacGuire shortly found that Lord Burke was no liar, and he said
to Maeve, “If you had a daughter who could bake half as well as
you do, mistress, I’d wed with her in a thrice.”

Maeve flushed with pleasure. “If you return this way, Captain,
stop for a meal with us.”

“Thank you, mistress, and I will!”

“The horses are ready, my lord,” called Brian from the doorway.

Niall Burke stood up, licking a drop of honey from his finger
like a small boy. “Let’s go, MacGuire. I’m anxious to be home!”

The captain was surprised to see two fine, well-bred mounts
waiting. They mounted and, with a wave to Brian, rode off.

“Your peasants must be prosperous to have any horses at all, let
alone such fine ones,” observed MacGuire as they cantered along.

“These are our horses,” answered Burke. “We keep good horses
with several specially chosen families for just such purposes as these.
That way, we’re never stranded.” He then spurred his horse to a
gallop. “Come on, man,” he called to the captain, who was bouncing up and down on his mount, looking decidedly uncomfortable. “I’m
for home!”

Niall Burke was to regret his haste. No sooner had he entered
into the MacWilliam’s presence than the O’Malley’s letter was
handed over to the great lord. MacGuire was sent off to be served
refreshment, and Niall stood impatiently while the MacWilliam, his
strong features darkening, skimmed over the parchment. Finally the
MacWilliam snorted and, looking angrily at his son, roared, “Well,
you arrogant puppy, I hope you have a helluva good explanation for
your conduct! Dubhdara O’Malley’s ships are vital to the defense
of this area, as is the goodwill of the Ballyhennessey O’Flahertys!”

Niall, of course, had not read the letter. Caught off guard, he
blurted like a schoolboy. “I love her, Father! I love Skye O’Malley!
I tried to speak with O’Malley, and get him to call off the wedding.
But his wife went into labor before I could talk to him. She had a
hard birth. He was unavailable all that time, and they wed the girl
ahead of schedule, practically in secret.”

“O’Malley wouldn’t have called off the match, you young fool!
It was made years ago. He was bound to it! And a damn good match
it was for his youngest lass. How dared you interfere?”

“I love her, and she loves me. She detests the O’Flaherty bastard
they’ve wed her to! She always hated him, even before we met.”

“And you felt that gave you the right to claim the droit du seigneur
of the bride? Jesus, man! If you were anyone else I’d kill you!
You’re lucky O’Malley has a sense of humor. The girl’s been sent
to her sister’s convent to be sure your night results in nothing worse
man embarrassment.”

“I love her!” shouted Niall. “I want her marriage annulled so I
may wed her. There must be a bishop in this family.”

“Over my dead body!” roared the MacWilliam. “O’Malley’s ships
are valuable to me. His wench is not. I’ll have no pirate wench
mothering my grandchildren! I’ve arranged for you to wed with
Darragh O’Neill, the younger sister to your late betrothed. She is
thirteen, and ripe for marriage. You’ll be joined in three weeks’
time.”

“No!”

“Yes! Listen, you young idiot, take O’Malley’s girl as a mistress
if you wish, but you cannot wed her. She already has a husband.
And from what I hear of him, once he takes her to bed, you’ll
become just a pretty memory to her.”

“Go to Hell!” Niall Burke stormed out of his father’s study and
got gloriously drunk. The following day, his head feeling twice its
normal size, he was summoned back to his father.

“This,” said the MacWilliam, “was brought for you this morning.

I have taken the liberty of reading it, and can only say that O’Malley’s
daughter is wiser than you are. She obviously has more sense than
you do. Here.”

Niall snatched the parchment and read it with shock.

My lord Burke:

I have retired with my sister to her convent of St. Bride’s
on Innishturk Island, where I shall pray to Our Lady that the
shameful night we spent together bears no unhallowed fruit.
What we did was wrong, and I can only hope and pray that
my husband will forgive me. I beg that you forget me, and
for the good of your soul enter into Christian marriage with
a good woman at the earliest possible moment. May God go
with you always.

Skye, Lady O’Flaherty

He wanted desperately to deny what he read. And, after all, he
had never seen her writing. Was it a forgery? The hand, however,
was sweetly rounded and feminine, and he recognized the imprint
on the wax seal as the one she wore on a ring. Perhaps they had
forced her to write this message. But he knew how stubborn Skye
was. They could have burned her feet with hot irons and she’d not
have written it, had she not wished to do so. Damn her! Damn her!
Was that all he meant to her? A shameful night? Damn her for the
fickle bitch she was! Anguished beyond anything he had ever known,
Niall blinked back his tears and said hoarsely, “I’ll marry Darragh
O’Neill.” Then he dropped the letter and strode from the room
without a backward glance.

The MacWilliam waited a moment to be sure his son had gone,
then said, “You can come out now, Captain MacGuire. Go back and
tell the O’Malley that his strategy worked. My son will be wed in
three weeks’ time, and will give him no further trouble.”

MacGuire bowed, nodded wordlessly, and departed.

Alone, the MacWilliam felt a twinge of conscience. He loved his
son deeply, and hated denying him anything. Still, when given the
choice between an O’Neill and an O’Malley for his daughter-in-law,
there was only one choice the MacWilliam could make. Yes, Niall
would settle down quite nicely with Darragh O’Neill. By this time
next year he would have a grandson.

An especially nice tiling came of Skye’s stay at St. Bride’s.
Walking on the beach one day, she came across an injured
young wolfhound, not quite full grown. The poor creature
was half starved, its ribs plainly visible. Its fur was so filthy
and matted with salt that it was difficult to tell the dog’s true color.
Its leg had been caught in a rock crevice. Hearing the weak bark,
Skye ran to the dog, who looked up at her hopefully and thumped
his long tail in a friendly fashion.

“Ah, poor beastie,” murmured Skye sympathetically, and set
about freeing the dog. Carefully she removed the small rocks about
the animal’s leg. And then, as gently as she could, she drew the leg
from its prison. The dog winced, but did not growl. Skye patted
him. “There, love, come along now and let’s find some food for
you.” The dog fought his way to his feet and limped, stumbling a
little, after her.

The nuns were as sympathetic as Skye had been, and allowed the
dog into the convent. His origin and owner remained a mystery. The
island peasants would not dare claim the royal canine. Peasants kept
only working dogs, such as terriers, mastiffs, and mongrels. The
Irish wolfhound, that great killer of wolves and other predators,
belonged to the ruling class, as did Irish setters.

Skye named the dog Inis, after the favorite hound of Partholan,
an early settler in Ireland. Inis attached himself to her with a singular
devotion. He walked out with her in the mornings, sailed with her
in the convent’s little boat, and slept with her at night, spreading
his great lanky frame across the foot of her bed. Within a few weeks
he had regained his normal adult weight, one hundred sixty pounds,
and stood thirty-eight inches high. Bathed, his fur became a shining
silvery gray that reminded Skye of Niall’s eyes. Inis’s ears and the
feathers on his legs were black. The hound was Skye’s slave, his
soulful eyes lighting up with pleasure each time he looked at her.

Skye needed the dog’s love, for Niall Burke appeared to have
forgotten her entirely. And then there came the day when her show
of blood arrived right on schedule. She wept into Inis’s soft neck,
her heartbreak complete.

The Reverend Mother Ethna sent a message to the young O’Flaherty informing him that his wife was not pregnant and a week
later Dom arrived to claim his wife. The Reverend Mother personally
showed him into Skye’s apartment. “I would have come sooner,”
he said, smiling smugly, “but I was obliged to attend Niall Burke’s
wedding to Darragh O’Neill.”

Skye fainted. When she came to she was lying on the settle. She
heard Dom speaking solicitously to the nun. “I did not realize the
news of Lord Burke’s marriage would so unsettle my lady.”

“Did you not, my lord?” said Ethna O’Neill coolly.

O’Flaherty smiled and, ignoring the nun’s sarcasm, continued.
”I realize it is unusual for a gentleman to spend the night in your
convent, but I really do not think my wife should be moved until
the shock wears off.”

The Reverend Mother Ethna had decided she did not like Dom
O’Flaherty, but she did agree with him that Skye should not be
moved right now. She was forced to assure him that, though it was
unusual, it was not forbidden him to spend the night under St. Bride’s
roof. He was welcome. Dom thanked her politely, then asked if she
would take his wife’s hound, see that it was fed, and have it put in
the stables with his men and horses. Inis, who had taken an instant
dislike to Dom, was removed under protest.

They were alone. Dom O’Flaherty walked to the settle and said
coldly, “I know you’ve recovered your swoon, Skye. Now get up
and greet your lord and master properly.”

Slowly, she rose and placed a quick kiss on his mouth. He chuck-
led and with lightning swiftness pulled her close. She tensed and he
laughed. “Ah, yes. You don’t like me, do you, wife? How unfor-
tunate for you for you’ll soon be spreading yourself wide for my
pleasure, and my pleasure alone. And when I’m deep inside you I’ll
wipe all thought of Niall Burke from your mind!” His mouth ground
down on hers, and she beat her clenched fists against his chest. Then
suddenly she was rescued by a knock on the door. Dom smothered
a curse and called out sharply, “Come in!”