Bertrice Small - Skye O’Malley

The captain scrambled to his feet. “If my surprise is that good
I’ll not be seeing you for several days, Khalid,” and he was quickly
gone.

Khalid el Bey stretched his long body in a catlike movement and
called, “Skye!” She appeared immediately from behind a wall hang-
ing, and sat down next to him. “You heard,” said her husband.

“Yes, my lord. If this story is true then you are indeed fortunate
to have such a partner.”

“You can trust Robert Small with your life, my Skye. He is the most honest man I know. He has never cheated me. It is simply not
in his nature.”

“What awaits him at the House of Felicity? Have you found him
some petite creature to soothe and comfort him?”

Khalid laughed. “No! Though Robbie is a bit of a man, he likes
big, tall women. The maiden awaiting him stands six feet and has
breasts like summer melons. I’ve been given to understand that
Robbie’s rod is as big as any man’s, so they will both enjoy them-
selves.”

They laughed together, imagining the little man and his Amazon
mistress locked in sweet combat. Then as easily as they had begun
to laugh they stopped, and she was in his arms again. He kissed her
until she ached for him. His hands slid beneath her sheer pale-blue
silk caftan, his long fingers teasing her nipples until she whimpered.

“Look at me, Skye,” he commanded softly, and she struggled to
raise her heavy-lidded eyes to him. “You are my wife, beloved, and
I love you.”

Now, for the first time, she looked deep into his warm amber
eyes and realized mat she felt deeply toward Khalid. With this
startling realization, the heartache that had assailed her continually
ever since she’d awakened to her new life in Algiers seemed to
dissolve, leaving her feeling as light as a feather. She loved! This
was what love was, and she could remember it! Her eyes filled with
happy tears and she said wonderingly, “Oh, Khalid! I love you, too!
I do! I know that now!” And pulling his dark head down to hers,
she kissed him deeply. He, feeling her certain, unwavering love,
found his passion bursting into an unquenchable flame.

Beneath his eager touch the silk of her robe tore away and bis
hands and mouth began their worshipful adoration of her. He loos-
ened her lovely dark hair and spread it over the apricot velvet pillows.
Then his long fingers gently traced her high cheekbones, moving
down the fine line of her jaw to capture her small chin.

‘Tell me again, Skye,” he said softly.

Her sapphire eyes caught his amber-gold ones and held them
unwaveringly. “I love you, my lord Khalid.” she said firmly. “I love
you!” Then she kissed him again, her little tongue teasing his mouth.
He could feel her small round breasts rubbing against his chest and,
unable to refuse the invitation, he lowered his head and nibbled on
the hard, quivering nipples. His tongue pushed into her little navel
and she eagerly thrust her torso toward him. He moved lower yet,
his mouth seeking that most secret core. Tasting her seashell-like
fragrance, his tongue darted like wildfire over the moist dark pink
flesh. She whimpered, half in agony, half in ecstasy, her fingers catching at the dark hair of his head as he relentlessly pushed her
beyond endurance. Amazingly, she did not shatter into a thousand
pieces. She soared higher than she had ever done before. Then with
great tenderness he kissed the soft inside of her thighs, pulled himself
up over her, and gently took her.

Skye was frantic with unfulfilled passion. She had never known
such love as this. Or had she? Her mind whirled in confusion, but
Khalid’s warm body soon overcame that. What difference did it
make if she had loved before? Khalid was her husband. He loved
her, and she loved him. Why should she torture herself with vague,
flickering memories? All that mattered was now.

“Skye! Skye! Come with me, my darling! Now! Now!”

She met his ardor with her own, soaring as he did. Afterward,
as she lay sated, she said quietly, “I want a child, Khalid.”

He smiled in the darkness. This was further proof of her love.
”I shall endeavor, my love, to give you everything you want-
especially children.”

Suddenly she laughed happily and, propping herself up on an
elbow, looked down into his golden eyes. “I love you, and am loved
in return,” she said. “Whatever has been before in my life can matter
little in the light of this love. If it were important, then surely I
should have remembered it all by now. I know who I am. I am
Skye, the beloved wife of Khalid el Bey, the great Whoremaster of
Algiers.”

Niall Burke lay weakly back upon the scented linen pillows
and, focusing his silvery eyes clearly for the first time in
weeks, gazed out at the distant blue mountains. The landscape
outside his window was a riot of lush vegetation. Pink and
red hibiscus, cloyingly sweet gardenias, spicy roses, and crisp lav-
ender were all growing in a wild mass that spread upward from the
gardens to the flowering vines that clung to the villa wall. It was
all so vibrant.

Now, totally immersed in the sights and smells, the shrieking of
the darting parrots, Niall knew he would live. And fervently he
wished he were dead.

The carved oak door of his room opened then, admitting a young
girl whose big eyes lit up at the sight of him.

“Ah, Senor Niall. At last you are fully awake. I am Constanza
Maria Alcudia Cuidadela. My papa is the governor of this island,
and you are in his house.” She put a tray on the nearby table.

Feeling like a fool, Niall was forced to ask, “What island is this?”

The girl blushed in pretty pink confusion. “Oh, senor, forgive
me! You are on the island of Mallorca.”

“How did I come to be here?”

“You were brought to us from the fleet in which you traveled by
a Captain MacGuire. He explained you are a great lord.”

Niall forced back a small smile. “Is MacGuire still here, Senorita
Constanza?”

“Si, Senor Niall. Although the rest of your fleet sailed weeks
ago, he refused to leave you. He said his mistress would not forgive
him if he did. Would you like to see him?”

Niall nodded and the girl pulled the embroidered bellpull by his
bed. “Fetch the Irish captain at once, Ana,” she instructed the an-
swering servant, then moved to straighten Niall’s pillows. She wore
a rose fragrance, which caused a sharp pain to tear through Niall.
Constanza poured something from the frosty majollica pitcher into
a silver goblet.

“It is the juice of the oranges from our garden,” she said. “Drink
it. It will give you strength.” She gracefully handed the goblet to
him, then sat and drew a small embroidery frame from a hidden
pocket in her gown and began to stitch.

He drank, and was pleasantly surprised by the cool, tart sweetness
that slid down his parched throat. He studied the seated girl over the
goblet. She was, he decided, about fifteen, and very lovely. She was
quite petite, with a tiny waist and generous breasts. Her skin was
a pale golden shade, her hair a darker gold, and her eyes were the
color of purple pansies.

He let his eyes wander about the room. It was spacious and
pleasant with white walls and a red tile floor. On one wall was a
large dark wood armoire with intricately carved doors, and a long
walnut table stood before the French doors opposite his silk-draped
bed. There were two chairs by the table and an embroidered chaise
Iongue by the bed.

“Is the juice good, Senor Niall? May I pour you more?”

“Thank you,” he answered politely. Dammit to hell, where was
MacGuire? As if in answer to his silent summons, the door flew
open to admit the captain and Inis. With a joyous bark, the dog
leaped onto the bed and lay down beside Niall, his tail thumping
happily.

“So, lad, you’ve decided to remain among the living! Praise be
to God!”

“Skye? Where is she?” MacGuire looked most uncomfortable.

Sighing, he admitted, “We
don’t know where the O’Malley is, my lord. When the infidels shot
you down our first concern was to get you safely aboard. We knew
they couldn’t outrun us. But no sooner had we gotten you back to
the ship man a damned rain squall hit, and we lost the bastards in
a fog bank. We were nearer Mallorca, and so we brought you here.
The rest went on to Algiers, but alas, sir, no trace has been found
yet of the O’Malley.”

For a moment, all was silence. Then Niall said, fiercely and
simply, “I’ll find her! I’ll find her!” And he swung his legs over the
edge of the bed trying to rise. Inis whined.

Constanza Alcudia Cuidadela rose swiftly and sped to his side.
”No, No! Senor Niall. You will reopen your wound. It is still not
totally healed.” She slipped an arm about his back and gently forced
him back to the bed. “Fetch my papa immediately,” she hissed
angrily at the stricken captain. “Ana, help me get the senor back
into bed.” She fussed about him like a little mother hen, puffing
the pillows and smoothing the coverlet, and despite his anxiety he
was amused by this little creature whose concern for him was so
touching. “For shame, senor!” she scolded. “Ana and I have worked
so hard to make you well! Why do you allow your captain to agitate
you? If you cannot remain calm then I will not let him in to see you
again.”

He realized then that, although he was speaking Spanish with
her, he had spoken Gaelic with MacGuire. She hadn’tunderstood.
He felt suddenly weak, but wanted her to understand. “My betrothed
wife was kidnapped when I was injured,” he said. “MacGuire tells
me she has not yet been found.” It was several moments before she
spoke.

“You love her very much, Senor Niall?”

“Yes, Senorita Constanza,” he replied gently. “I love her very
much.”

“Then I shall make a novena to the Holy Virgin that she is found
soon,” the girl said gravely, and Niall thought again how sweet the
child was.

MacGuire quickly returned bringing an older gentleman with him.
The man was of medium height with a short, dark, tailored beard,
dark hair, and the coldest black eyes Niall had ever seen. He was
dressed richly but soberly, his short velvet cape edged in a wide
band of deep brown fur.

“Lord Burke,” the voice was as cold as the eyes. “I am the Conde

Francisco Cuidadela, and I am happy to see you conscious at last.
Captain MacGuire tells me, however, that you are agitated about
your betrothed. It is best that you hear the truth now.”

“Papa!” the girl’s voice was pleading. “Senor Niall is not yet
strong enough.”

“Silence, Constanza! How dare you presume to advise me? You
will come to me after vespers for punishment, and then you are to
spend the night in the chapel meditating on filial respect and obe-
dience.”

The girl hung her head, beaten. “Yes, Papa,” she whispered.

“Your betrothed wife is lost to you forever, Lord Burke, and the
sooner you are able to accept this the better off you will be. Should
she be found you could not possibly want her back. If she is alive,
she has by now been defiled by the infidel, and no decent Catholic
could live with that.”

“No!”

“Be reasonable, Lord Burke. Captain MacGuire tells me the lady
was a widow. Without the protection of virginity-for purity brings
a very high price among the infidels-she was probably raped by
at least the captain and officers of the ship that kidnapped her. If
she survived that and was beautiful, then rest assured that she was
sold into slavery. If she is still alive, she now graces some pasha’s
bed. It is not possible mat you could want a woman like that back,
even if she could be found. Under these circumstances, the holy
Church would not hold you to your betrothal. The lady is as lost to
you as if she were dead, and in all likelihood she is dead.”

“Get out!”

The Conde bowed from the waist. “Your grief is understandable,
Lord Burke. I shall leave you to it. You will soon see the wisdom
of my words. Come, Constanza!” And he swept from the room, his
daughter meekly behind him.

Niall Burke watched the door close behind the Conde and his
daughter. For a moment the silence hung heavy in the room, then
he said grimly, “All right MacGuire, talk! I’m no child to be whee-
dled, and if I’ve lived this long, you can bloody well be sure I’m
going to survive. Where is the O’Malley fleet, and what’s this non-
sense about Skye being lost forever, and how the hell long have I
been here anyway? Speak up, man, or I’ll tear the tongue from your
head!”

“You’ve been ill six weeks, my lord.”

“Jesu!” swore Niall.

“The fleet went directly to Algiers and we were able to obtain
an immediate audience with the Dey. He was most sympathetic and
sent to every slave merchant in the city, offering a king’s ransom for the O’Malley’s return, or at least information leading to her
return. It was like hollering down a rabbit hole, my lord-not even
an echo. The Dey came to the same conclusion the Conde has. She
never reached Algiers alive. What other answer is there?” Here his
voice broke, and he wiped his eyes with the back of his hand.