Two nuns, each laden down with a tray of steaming food, hurried
in, their eyes lowered. Placing their trays on the great refectory
table, they hurried out as quickly.

Skye pulled from her husband’s grasp. “How thoughtful!” she
exclaimed brightly. “We have been sent supper.”

“I’ve no appetite for food yet,” he said in a surly tone.

She raised the cover of a dish. “Look! Boiled shrimp! And here’s
a lovely capon, and a small joint of mutton! If we don’t eat it now,
it will get cold.”

“Let it!” He came swiftly up behind her and loosened her laces,
sliding his hands around to cup her breasts. “This is what I’m hungry for, Skye,” be said, squeezing her flesh. “The food will wait. Your
laces are loosened. Go into the bedroom, finish undressing, and wait
for me in the bed.”

She closed her eyes to squeeze back tears. “Oh, Dom!” she
pleaded. “Not here! I’ll do whatever you want me to, but not here
in this holy house. Not here!”

“I hadn’t considered it that way,” he said thoughtfully, “but the
idea of fucking you in a convent appeals to me. Shall we pretend
you’re a young nun about to be ravaged by a Viking chief?” She
blanched at his sacrilege, and he snarled, “Quickly, Skye! I’m hot
for you-having been denied my marital rights for over a month!”
He punctuated his words with a light slap to her cheek.

She wanted to fight him, but she had been so badly broken by
the news of Niall’s marriage that she couldn’t find the spirit. She
fled into the bedroom and, with shaking fingers, pulled her clothes
off and climbed into the big bed. A moment later, Dom entered the
room, drinking from a goblet of wine. Placing the goblet on the
nightstand, he undressed swiftly, letting his clothes fall where they
dropped. When he turned to enter the bed she bit back a cry of
terror. Niall had been a big man, but Skye’s husband was unnaturally
large, enormous. Seeing her fear, he chuckled. “The wenches in
Paris call me Le Taureau! Do you know what that means?”

Terrified, she nodded. “The bull.” Her voice was a whisper.

“Aye, the bull!” he said proudly. “And I am, wife! Now spread
yourself wide. I’ve got something for you!” He tore back the covers
she clutched to her breasts. The sight of her naked body inflamed
his lust, and he flung himself on her.

Skye managed to gasp, “But Dom! I am not ready!”

He raised himself above her, and gazed down at her. “You’re not
ready?” His look was incredulous. Had he not been so astounded
he might have hit her. “You do not have to be ready, Skye. I am!”

And she felt herself being ripped asunder by his monster sex.
Before she could cry out, his hand clapped over her mouth. He
pushed himself into her, muttering all the while, “You’re tight as
a drum, woman! Burke’s cock must be no bigger than a worm, to
have left you so tight!” He grunted his pleasure while, beneath him,
her eyes reflected pain and fright. She tried to lie still, hoping to
ease the pain, but she couldn’t. She writhed in an effort to escape
him, and mistaking her actions for growing passion, he laughed.
”I knew it! Beneath all the ladylike manners you’ve the makings of
a good whore! I’m a lucky man!” And he drove deeper and harder
into her. “Don’t fear, lovey,” he panted, “I’ll teach you many a
good trick to please us both!” Then, with a growl of pleasure, he
collapsed.

For a moment they lay sandwiched together, then O’Flaherty got
up and, returning to the dayroom, poured himself more wine. Skye
felt tears gushing down her cheeks, but she made no sound for fear
of angering him. She heard him lifting the covers of the dishes,
sampling the food. He didn’t think to offer her any.

Coming back into the small bedroom, clutching a chicken leg,
Dom sat on the side of the bed. He patted her backside. Skye feigned
sleep, hoping he would leave her in peace. She heard the sound of
his slow, methodical munching, and then the leg bone hit the floor.
”Spread yourself!”

Resistance was useless. She was his wife, his chattel. She obeyed
and was once again subjected to pain and degradation. When he was
through this time he rolled off her and fell asleep on his back, snoring
contentedly. Skye waited until she was sure he slept soundly, then
crept from the bed. She could barely walk, but she would have
crawled on her hands and knees to get out of that room.

Gaining the dayroom she shakily poured herself some wine, spill-
ing half on the table. Adding some more wood to the fire, she
collapsed into the large chair.

Niall! His gentle hands, his loving mouth! He had sought to please
her while teaching her to please him. Damn him! Damn him! She
had been betrayed. They had all been right. The great lord’s heir
had only been amusing himself with her, and his lust for her in-
nocence was no less foul than Dom’s lust to subdue her. A hand
dropped on her shoulder, and she started, looking up with dread.

“I woke, and you were gone,” he said plaintively. “You’re weep-
ing! Still sad I’m not Niall, eh?” She wiped at the tears guiltily,
quickly shaking her head, and his tone softened a bit. “I probably
hurt you,” he said matter-of-factly. “Well, don’t worry, Skye. It’ll
get easier with use, and you’ll soon stretch to take my bulk. Come
on, lovey. Let’s fuck a bit more, for if you can’t sleep then I’ve not
used you enough. Besides,” he chuckled lasciviously, “you’re a far
sweeter piece than I thought you would be.”

All the rest of the night, while she endured her husband’s em-
braces, she hated Niall Burke with a growing fury, and considered
how she would revenge herself on him one day. Oh, yes, he would
pay for her broken dreams.

And a similar scene was being enacted miles away, at the strong-hold of the

MacWilliam.

Darragh O’Neill Burke had been destined for the Church since
her birth. Her eldest sister had been betrothed and eventually wed
to an O’Connell. Her middle sister had been betrothed to Niall Burke.
But Ceit had died suddenly last winter, and Darragh, who had been in her beloved St. Mary’s convent since the age of five, was brought
home to take her middle sister’s place in the marriage bed.

It was a particularly tragic choice, for Darragh O’Neill had a true
religious vocation. When it was decided that she would replace her
sister, Darragh was two days from taking her final vows. Her father
and his troupe of men had arrived with much noise and shouting,
just in time to prevent Darragh’s blond hair from being shorn. O’Neill
had waived the return of Darragh’s dowry from the religious order,
knowing that mis would make Darragh’s mother superior more easily
amenable to his change of plan. He lost nothing by it, as the money
had been paid in full eight years prior, just as Ceit’s dowry had been
paid to the MacWilliams at the time of her betrothal.

The mother superior explained the change to the horrified young
nun, saying smoothly that God and Our Lady had quite obviously
made other plans for Darragh. Darragh must accept God’s will with
good grace. She would leave the convent immediately and wed Lord
Burke. Weeping bitterly, the girl obeyed.

Thus Niall Burke was greeted on his wedding day by a pale girl
whose red-rimmed eyes gave evidence of much weeping. As he had
not been fully informed of her religious commitment, he was annoyed
that she should face the marriage with so little enthusiasm.

Later that evening, when the bride and groom went to bed, Dar-
ragh fainted at the sight of her naked husband. Niall gently elicited
an explanation from Darragh. Touched, he gently stroked the pale
blond hair. “I think that, under the circumstances, there’s no need
for us to hurry the physical side of our marriage,” he said quietly.
”Let us take time to know one another better.”

The truth of the matter was that Niall had no taste for raping
unwilling virgins. And he cursed both their fathers for their blind
stupidity. The girl had a deep religious commitment, and he ques-
tioned whether she would ever get over that. He laughed bitterly.
They had torn him from the woman he loved, who would gladly
have given him sons, because his father didn’t think her highborn
enough! And in her place they had given him a dedicated nun! It
was too funny, and he would have laughed again had he not become
aware that his new wife still seemed troubled.

“What will people say if the sheets have no bloody stain tomor-
row?”

He chuckled. “Ah, Darragh Burke, ‘tis truly innocent you are.
Many a lass has played at carnal games before marriage, yet flown
the bloody sheet the morning after her wedding. Move over, lass,
and I’ll show you.”

Wide-eyed, she watched with amazement as he took the fruit knife from the bowl by the bed and pricked the inside of his thigh.
A small trickle of blood flowed forth, staining the sheets. Darragh’s
virtue was thus proved while her husband’s honor was saved and
his prowess attested to.

It had been now two weeks since their wedding night. Darragh
reasoned that her virginity had been saved forever, and as she had
long ago dedicated that precious gift to God, she had no intention
of giving it to Niall. She would keep his house, but that was all.
Niall’s kindness on their wedding night seemed a weakness she could
continue to exploit.

Once again, as he had every night since their wedding, Niall
gently tried to make love to his wife. Darragh’s inexperience pre-
vented her knowing how patient her husband really was. She was
determined that he would not succeed, but he was equally determined
he would. If he must be married to this girl then she would mother
his children. Now Darragh informed him that she would be his bride
in name only. Her virginity belonged to God.

“You cannot force me as you did poor Skye O’Malley, my lord.
I can but imagine the poor woman’s shame!” she finished right-
eously.

At the mention of Skye’s name Niall’s head whirled, and he
stared with revulsion at the cold, pious, feelingless creature they had
wedded him to. A tiny, fair-skinned, flat-chested girl with watery
blue eyes, white-blond hair, and a prim mouth was his wife. The
comparison between her and Skye with her gardenia skin, flowing
blue-black hair, and blue-green eyes was ludicrous! Skye, with her
sweetly rounded small breasts, rosebud mouth, and innocently eager
passion. Skye! Dom O’Flaherty’s willing wife… who had given
Niall a night of bliss only to destroy his happiness almost imme-
diately with a cold letter. He groaned. Skye would soon give Dom
sons! And so, he decided with growing anger, would Darragh
O’Neill Burke give her husband sons.

Seeing the grim purpose in his silvery eyes, Darragh fell to her
knees clutching her rosary beads, her lips moving silently in prayer.
Niall angrily snatched away the beads and, pulling Darragh to her
feet, ripped the white linen nightgown from her. Catching her in his
arms, he kissed her deeply, forcing the narrow lips open. She fought
him, clawing at him with surprisingly sharp nails, squirming wildly.
Darragh truly believed that God would strike her husband with a
bolt of lightning for his impudence, and she prayed it would kill
him. As they fell back onto the bed and she felt his great manhood
penetrate her maidenhead, Darragh called on every saint in the cal-
endar to avenge her. But soon she was moaning at him to continue, her skinny legs wrapping around him, her lean hips finding the
rhythm and moving with it.

Afterward he felt disgusted with himself, and with her as well.
He had never in his life forced a woman, but she had driven him
to it with her denial of him, and the mention of his beloved, treach-
erous Skye.

Women! They were all alike. They said one thing, meant another.
Beside him, his wife sniveled and complained, “You hurt me! You
hurt me!”

“It always hurts the first time, Darragh. It’ll get better now.”

“You’re never going to do that to me again. Never!”

“There’ll be no immaculate conceptions in this family, wife, and
besides, you enjoyed it. I know when a woman likes it, my dear.
And like it or not, it’s your duty to give me sons. You might even
admit to liking it eventually. There’s nothing wrong with a woman
taking pleasure with her husband.”

“Never!” she spat at him as he pulled her back into his arms. His
big hand stroked her tense body soothingly. “I’ll endure it, for it is
obviously God’s will, but I’ll hate it every time you stick that awful
thing inside me.”

“Have it your own way, my dear,” he said. “Just remember that
I was no more anxious for this marriage than you were. I would just
as soon you stayed in your convent.” And he thrust into her again,
making her cry out. “Give me a couple of sons, Darragh, and I’ll
leave you in peace forever.”

And down the coast, across the water on Innishturk Island, Dom
O’Flaherty bent over his beautiful wife, pumping smoothly. Skye
was too sensuous a woman to deny her body its release. She let
herself begin to fall away into a lovely world of sweet sensations,
and then she heard her husband moan. He collapsed atop her. She
had not reached her own heaven, but he didn’t care. Niall had cared.
She turned her head away from Dom, a tear sliding unchecked down
her cheek. Damn Niall. Would he never stop haunting her?