In truth, MacGuire was more distressed by something he dared
not tell the seriously ill Lord Burke. It seemed that there was one
other possibility about the O’Malley’s fate. The Dey had told him
that Skye might have reached Algiers alive and then been sold pri-
vately. Private sale of captives was strictly illegal because it cheated
several people, including the Dey himself, of their shares in the
purchase price. But private sales were managed, especially sales of
beautiful women. MacGuire reasoned that, if this had happened to
Skye, then the Dey would not be able to trace her.

“I don’t want to believe it, my lord, but if Mistress Skye is alive
then where is she?”

Niall Burke was stunned. Skye dead? No! Not Skye. Not his
vibrant Skye with her Kerry-blue eyes and her proud spirit. No! His
shoulders began to shake as the dry sobs took hold and racked him
mercilessly. Stumbling from the bed, he lurched across the room,
through the French doors and out onto the terrace. All around him
everything throbbed with life and they said his Skye was dead!
Clutching the cool marble balustrade, he howled his frustration and
anger at the unfairness of it all, howled and shouted until his voice
was so hoarse that he made no sounds at all.

He felt an arm about him, heard a soft voice making soothing
sounds he could not comprehend, allowed himself to be led back
inside where he barely reached the bed before he collapsed, uncon-
scious. Constanza Cuidadela shook her head as she drew the covers
over him. She felt his forehead.

“The fever is back, Captain MacGuire. You must sit with him
tonight for my father will not excuse me from my punishment. I will
tell you what to do.”

MacGuire nodded. “He’s not an easy man, your father.”

The girl did not reply. She went quietly about her business, caring
for the unconscious Niall. Smoothing the pillows first, she next
tucked the sheets about her patient and, finally, placed the frosted
pitcher on the bedside table.

“You can do very little, Captain, except to keep him as quiet and
as comfortable as possible. Ana will bring a basin of scented water
shortly, and she’ll come again during the night.” The vespers bells
began to toll, and Constanza said, “I must go. When the fever breaks,
change his nightshirt and the sheets. Ana will help.” And then she
was gone.

MacGuire tended Niall throughout the night. Strangely, Niall was
not restless, but lay ominously quiet as the burning fever consumed
his big body. Diligently the O’Malley captain cared for his charge,
bathing his forehead regularly with the cool, scented water, gently
forcing the sweet juice down his throat. During the night, the servant
woman, Ana, appeared regularly, bringing fresh water and juice for
the sick man. Once she brought a tray for MacGuire with a small
cold chicken, bread, fruit, and a carafe of sweet golden wine.

As she silently placed his tray on the long walnut table, MacGuire
asked, “How is the lass?”

Ana’s black eyes blazed. “She prays in the chapel for your master,
senor,” she said tersely. Then she left.

MacGuire ate hungrily, drank half the carafe, and returned to
Niall’s bedside. Toward dawn he dozed in his chair only to be
startled awake by a great cry of anguish. Lord Burke sat straight up
in the bed, his eyes tightly shut, the tears pouring down his face.
He sobbed bitterly, “Skye! Skye! Don’t leave me, beloved! Come
back! Come back!”

MacGuire was immobilized for a moment by the terrible anguish.
Then he reached out and shook the weeping man gently. “My lord!
My lord! It’s only a bad dream.”

Gradually Niall quieted, and finally he lay back. His forehead
was cool to the touch. Relieved, MacGuire struggled to change his
sleeping friend’s damp nightshirt.

After the first mass of the new day, Constanza appeared to check
on her patient. Ana was with her. Constanza praised the worn cap-
tain. “You have done well, Captain MacGuire. Go and rest. I will
tend to Senor Niall now.”

“But you had no rest either, lass,” protested MacGuire. “You
must sleep. He’s out of danger now. A servant can keep watch.”
He put a fatherly arm about her to lead her toward the door, and
was shocked when she winced. A thin red line began to show through
the sleeve of her gown, and the captain’s eyes widened.

“Aye!” snapped Ana. “The Conde beat my sweet Constanza last
night.”

“Ana!” The girl was flushed with shame. “He is my father, and
it is a father’s duty to chastise an erring child. I challenged his
authority. I was wrong.”

“She is a saint, my nina. The Conde enjoys hurting her!”

“Ana! Please! If you are overheard he will send you away, and
you are all I have.”

The serving woman compressed her lips tightly, sighed, and nod-
ded. MacGuire spoke again. “Has the Conde gone to his duties as
the island’s governor?” The women nodded. “Then, Senorita Constanza, I shall strike a bargain with you. I shall keep watch over
Lord Burke until the afternoon siesta while you sleep upon the chaise
longue. When afternoon comes, I shall go to my own rooms.”

Ana smiled broadly. The captain was muy simpatico to her Constanza.

Therefore, to Ana, he was a good man, a man to be trusted.
A few minutes later she left the young girl sleeping comfortably,
MacGuire guarding both Constanza and Niall.

In the late afternoon when the long mauve shadows were begin-
ning to form and the midday heat to abate, Niall Burke opened his
silvery eyes again. He instantly remembered where he was and the
circumstances that had brought him here. A great burst of sadness
washed through him, and he sighed deeply.

“How do you feel, Senor Niall?”

He looked to the slim girl. “Like the very devil, nina, but I seem
to be alive, so I’d best get on with this business of living.”

“Was she very beautiful, your betrothed?” The directness of the
question was like salt in an open wound, and he winced. Drawing
a deep breath, he replied, “She was the loveliest creature imaginable,
nina. Her hair was like a black storm cloud. Her skin was like a
gardenia flower in texture and color, and her eyes were the wonderful
deep blue of the seas off Ireland. She was kind yet proud. And not
only was she my dearest love, she was also my best friend, and I
shall miss her for all the days of my life.”

Constanza’s eyes were bright with tears. “I can only hope,” she
said softly, “that someday a man will love me like that.”

“I can see no reason why one wouldn’t, nina. I cannot understand
why you are not already married. How old are you?”

“Fifteen, Senor Niall.”

“And have not half the eligible young dons on this island already
sued your father for your hand? Or are they all blind?”

She smiled shyly, then blushed. “There will be no offer for me,
Senor Niall,” she said sadly. “My father long ago destroyed any
chances of marrying I might have had. Last night when he told you
about your betrothed you undoubtedly thought him harsh, but your
plight brought back to him something he would much rather forget.

“Almost sixteen years ago the Moorish pirates raided this island,
and when they left they took my mother as one of their captives.
My father had been deeply in love with her, and he was frantic. He
was able to ransom her six weeks later.

“I was born six months later. Though she swore before the priest
and on every saint in the calendar, even on the Holy Mother’s name,
that the pirates had not touched her, my father could not bring himself
to really believe her. Not ever. As she grew bigger with her preg-
nancy, he grew more distant toward her. She adored him, and it broke her heart. She lived just long enough to give me life, and then
she died like a snuffed-out candle.

“The irony is that I look like her. Every day of my life I have
been a living reproach to my father. In turn, he has held me responsible for my mother’s death and he has cast enough doubt on
my paternity that no decent family on Mallorca would allow their
son to offer for me.

“I am his child, though. That is certain. Ana was my mother’s
servant before she was my nurse. She came with my mother from
Castile when Mother was married to Father. She was with her the
entire time Mother was kidnapped, and she swears to me that my
mother knew no man but my father.”

Suddenly Constanza stopped. She blushed beet-red. Realizing the
cause of her embarrassment, Niall Burke said quietly, “Don’t regret
your words, nina. I have always been the kind of man to whom
women talk. I understand now your father’s words. He is a harsh
man, but he meant to tell me the truth.”

The girl knelt by his bedside, her lovely oval face turned up to
him. “I am so sorry, Senor Niall. I know how sad the loss of your
betrothed wife is to you, but God has willed that you live. We will
both pray for your Skye’s immortal soul, but you must also promise
me that you will now get well.”

Niall Burke was touched by her honest concern. He put his big
hand over her small one. “Very well, Constanzita, I promise, but
you must promise to help me. Will you?”

The hand beneath his trembled slightly, and she flushed a most
becoming pink as her dark-gold lashes brushed her cheeks. “If you
wish it,” she said low.

“I wish it,” he answered, releasing her hand.

In the next few weeks he grew stronger. The fever finally left his
body, and his appetite increased. Eventually he was able to leave
his bed and walk about his room. Then came the day that he ventured
into the gardens. That afternoon was the happiest time he could
remember in many weeks. He and Constanza, chaperoned by Ana,
sat on the grass and picnicked on small meat pastries, juicy green
grapes, and a delicate rose wine. Niall told them stories of his
boyhood in Ireland, and for the first time he heard Constanza laugh,
a sweet trill of genuine mirth, as he told them a particularly amusing
story about his youthful hijinks. He began to sleep again at night,
and the nightmares of seeing Skye struggling in the grasp of the
Barbary pirates began to fade away.

The O’Malley’s fleet put into Mallorca’s capital city of Palma
again. They had spent several months in Algiers seeking their mis-
tress, but in the end they had had to leave without even any information. The Dey, however, had given the O’Malley family rich
concessions in hopes of placating them. It seemed there was no hope
of finding the O’Malley alive. The Irish ships would sail home
shortly under the leadership of Captain MacGuire. Niall, however,
was still not considered strong enough for the voyage.

Niall entrusted Inis to MacGuire and gave the captain a lengthy
letter to his father, pouring out his grief and closing with the ad-
monition, “Make no contracts for me. I will, in time, do my duty
by the family.” Then, with a strange sense of loss, Niall Burke bid
the O’Malley fleet farewell, watching from the terrace of the Conde’s
garden as the ships sailed out to sea.

Niall saw little of his host and was glad, for the cold Spanish don was not a man whose company Niall enjoyed.

One day Constanza suggested that he might feel up to riding, and.
he delightedly agreed. That afternoon he found himself upon a spir-
ited roan red Arabian stallion, cantering through a field of colorful
windflowers and anemones. Constanza rode with him, mounted on
an elegant little white Arabian mare. She was a fine horsewoman
with a good sure seat and gentle but firm hands.

In the heat of the afternoon they stopped in a meadow above the
sea to rest their horses and eat the light luncheon Ana had packed.
Constanza lay a little white cloth over the grass and set out their
luncheon of crusty bread, soft ripe cheese, peaches, pears, and white
wine. Niall unsaddled the horses so that they could rest. A tall, leafy
tree shaded them all, and the air was heavy with the scent of wild
thyme.

They ate in silence. After the meal Constanza spoke, “Soon you
will leave us. Where will you go? Back to your Ireland?”

A small shadow flitted across his face. “Not right away, nina.
I shall travel for a bit before I go back. But go back I must, for I
am my father’s only heir. My first marriage was annulled. My second
never made.”

“You will find happiness, Senor Niall. I pray every night to the
Blessed Mother for you.”

He cupped her face with a warm hand. “What a sweet creature
you are, my Constanzita.”

She blushed and pressed her cheek against his hand. Suddenly
he wanted to kiss her, and he did. Pulling the girl into his arms, he
bent his head down-found her mouth. She was trembling wildly,
but she did not struggle. Emboldened, he gently parted her lips and
plunged into the sweet cavern, seeking, finding, stroking the girl’s
satiny tongue with his own. One arm held her fast as a hand sought
her full, young breasts.