Bertrice Small - Skye O’Malley

“Then there was no need to climb up to my window?”

“No, sweetheart, but I did think it was most romantic, didn’t
you?”

She began to laugh. “Geoffrey. I’m not so sure you’re not a
madman!”

He grinned. Then, blowing her a kiss, he disappeared through
the passage and the door swung shut behind him.

“What manner of man have I involved myself with?” she said
softly aloud. A damned interesting one, the voice in her head an-
swered, and she laughed into the darkness.

The following morning, Skye sent Daisy to find Robert Small.
The little captain had rolled in, a good hour past dawn, much
the worse for wear. When he finally made an appearance,
rumpled and red-eyed, Skye winced. “Oh, Robbie, how many
pints did you drink?”

He gave her a weak grin, “It wasn’t the pints so much as the
wenches. They were twins, and just sixteen. Ah, youth!”

“Did your friend de Grenville survive?”

“Barely. Thank God we had your carriage. I left him in the care
of his majordomo. For a Devon sailor, though, he has a mighty
weak stomach.”

Skye bit back the laughter bubbling in her throat. It would have
been unkind. “I’m going away for a few days,” she said quietly.
Though this is a secret, I will be upriver at an inn called the Ducks
and Drake. Should there be an emergency you’ll know where to find
me.”

“You’ll not be alone.” It was a statement.

“No, I’ll not be alone, Robbie.”

Robbie sighed. “Skye, lass, I’ll not have you hurt. Southwood
is such a cold bastard.”

“Not with me, Robbie. Besides, though this will sound terrible,
do not love him. I doubt I shall ever love anyone again. Khalid
is too strong in my memory. But I do like Lord Southwood. And
Rlobbie, you know that I must have a powerful protector. Come
spring, you’ll be off again, and be gone for months. I am a woman
done. I have no family but my daughter. My whole life began with
Khalid. I have no past. With the Queen’s charter, our business should
flourish and with the Earl’s protection I will be free to run it, and
free from the bothersome advances of other men.”

“But the price, Skye.”

“Being Southwood’s acknowledged mistress?” she laughed.
”What else is there for me? Marriage? With whom? And you know
that I need wealth to give me the power and respectability that will
secure Willow’s future. I loved Khalid and I was proud of him, but
what future would my daughter have if it were known here that her
father was the great Whoremaster of Algiers? No, Robbie, the price
is not greater than the rewards. The Earl of Lynmouth has never had
an acknowledged mistress of my stature, and I don’t expect him to
replace me soon. When Willow is grown she will be an heiress with
a powerful ‘uncle.’ I shall be able to make a good match for her.”

Robbie shrugged. “You’ve thought it all out, I see, as usual.
There’s no arguing with a logical woman. Should I wish you hap-
piness, then?”

“He loves me, Robbie. It’s not just that he’s said it. He means
it. A woman knows when she’s being lied to, Robbie, and I hope
I’m not easy to fool.”

“Ah, lass. I only want you happy.”

“I know, Robbie. Don’t fret. I’m not unhappy.”

He patted her hand awkwardly, and she bent and kissed his ruddy
cheek. “Oh, Robbie, what would I do without you? You’re my best
friend!”

In the early afternoon Robbie stood in the doorway and watched
sadly as she rode off down the drive of Greenwood, keeping her red
horse to a slow trot. Earlier he had gone down to the Thames and
arranged for a waterman to take her little trunk upriver to the Ducks
and Drakes. He sighed. He wished he were happier about the liaison.

Skye had been radiant when she departed. She wasn’t worried
and enjoyed herself very much. Dressed quite elegantly in a black
velvet riding habit, ecru lace at the sleeves and a froth of lace
bubbling up at the neckline as well, she cut a superb figure. Her
cloak was made up of alternating bands of sable fur and black velvet
with heavy carved gold frog closings. The attached hood was edged
in the same dark sable, and made a perfect contrast to her creamy
complexion. Her black boots were of the finest Spanish leather, her
cream-colored scented gloves of French kid. Her big red gelding
adored her with a singular devotion.

As Skye had explained to Robbie, she and the Earl would meet
a mile or so from the Strand, on the river road. They were less likely
to be seen together at that point. The afternoon was cold and clear,
and Skye fought the urge to set her horse acantering. Since noon
was the dinner hour, few people were out. She had ridden for some
minutes when she heard the steady beat of hooves behind her and turned to see a tall man riding a large black stallion.

“Senora Goya del Fuentes, I bid you a good day.”

“Sir?”

“Niall, Lord Burke. We met last night at the Earl of Lynmouth’s
gala.”

Her gaze swept over the tall dark man with the silvery eyes. He
was really quite attractive, she thought, but he looked disapproving
of her. and Skye found herself growing annoyed.

“Oh, yes, of course. How is your wife’s headache, my lord?”

“Gone, thank you.” He moved his horse next to hers. “Do you
generally ride unescorted, madam? A dangerous practice, I would
say.”

“I am meeting someone just a short ways away, my lord. I scarce-
ly thought a groom necessary,” she dismissed his question. How
dared he criticize her! But Lord Burke was not easily dismissed.

“I understand you were raised in Algiers.” The silvery eyes looked
at her searchingly.

“Yes, my lord, I was.”

“Your parents were Irish?”

“So I was told, my lord.”

“Didn’t you know them?” He was incredulous.

“I do not remember them, my lord. I was brought by a sea captain
to the convent of St. Mary and placed in the care of the nuns there.”

“Your name is unusual,” he noted, after a moment.

“It was what I called myself when I arrived there, though the
nuns added Mary to it, thinking Skye not quite Christian.” Now why
dad she embroidered her tale? What did it matter if her name was
Skye? Damn the man! Why didn’t he go about his business? She
was almost sure that Geoffrey was around the next bend in the road.
She flashed Burke a sweet smile. “I must go now, sir. My friend
will be waiting.” And before he could protest she put spurs to her
horse and was gone.

He could not make a display by following her, so he was forced
to continue at a sedate trot. As he rounded the curve in the road,
he saw her moving away accompanied by a man on a big chestnut
stallion. It was likely Lord Southwood, thought Niall bitterly, re-
membering the gossip he had overheard last night.

Now Niall was more confused than ever. She looked and spoke
like Skye O’Malley. Even her name was the same. It had to be his
Skye and yet… He shook his head. She gave no sign of recognizing
him.

Then it struck him that perhaps she had survived after all, but
had been despoiled by her captors, incarcerated in a harem, and was ashamed to face him. Maybe she was putting on an act for his
benefit? Ah then, said his saner self, how pray tell did she escape
captivity? And there was a child, too. And Captain Sir Robert Small,
a most reputable man, not only supported her story, but appeared
to be her protector.

Then another thought struck him. A sea captain had left her in
Algiers. Had it been Dubhdara himself? Was it possible she was one
of the old man’s bastards? God knows he’d had enough of them.
The old satyr had never denied his urges. But if Dubhdara had done
that, the question was, why?

Sighing, Niall turned his horse back toward the Strand. He had
been on his way home when he saw her riding out from her house,
and he followed her in order to speak with her. He was being foolish.
It was just a coincidence of names and looks. He had a wife who
loved him and his Skye was dead. He had to believe that. Otherwise
he might well go mad.

The Earl of Lynmouth and Skye rode happily together. Geoffrey
Southwood was wildly in love for the only time in his life, and he
was now to have three lovely days alone with his beloved.

“You’re beautiful,” he growled, and she laughed happily, throw-
ing back her head so that her hood fell off, exposing her face and
the pure white pillar of her neck. He wanted to stop, pull her from
her horse, and cover that smooth creamy throat with his kisses.
”How is it,” he continued, “that you are as fair in sunlight as in
moonlight? Do you know you’ve bewitched me, Senora Goya del
Fuentes?”

She colored becomingly, her lashes making charcoal smudges
against her pink cheeks. “My lord, you make me feel shy of you.”

“Why, Skye! Didn’t anyone ever pay you outrageous compli-
ments?”

“My husband.” It was stated simply.

“Sweetheart, sweetheart. I am sorry! Would you rather we went
back?”

“No, Geoffrey. I don’t want to go back.”

He breathed a sigh of relief and cursed himself for a fool. This
was only her first adventure, and she was hesitant. Reaching out,
he took her hand and silently they rode on together. All about them
the English January day was magnificent-the sky a cloudless bright
blue, the sun a sharp piercing yellow, the air cold, crisp, and in-
vigorating. Their own warm breath and the horses’ heaving breaths
made tiny clouds. The Thames River valley rolled gently, on and
on. The lovers seemed entirely alone in the world, like Adam and
Eve.

Skye rode quietly with her thoughts. She liked this man, though
she doubted she would ever love him or any other man again. Love
was both a passion and a pain. She didn’t think she could bear
another loss like the loss of Khalid. If she simply enjoyed Geoffrey’s
company and his lovemaking, she would be safe from hurt.

As the January sun began to sink away they came to a charming
small inn set upon the river bank. It was separated from the road
by a low stone wall that opened into a brick courtyard. Upon either
side of the entry hung an oval sign depicting a drake surrounded by
several ducks. The building was whitewashed and half-timbered,
with a thatched roof and lead-paned bow windows that had win-
dow boxes filled with holly and ivy. From the great brick center
chimney rose a curl of gray-blue smoke. As they clattered up to the
inn door an ostler ran out from the stable to take their horses.
Geoffrey’s hands lingered on Skye’s waist as he lifted her from her
horse, and she felt her skin tingling against her silk undergarments.
Taking her hand firmly in his, he led her into the inn.

“My lord Southwood!” A tall, moon-faced man came forward.
”Welcome, my lord, my lady. We received your message this morn-
ing, my lord, and your room is ready. There will be no other guests
for the duration of your stay.”

“My thanks, Master Parker. I think we will have dinner as soon
as it can be made ready. It’s been a cold ride.”

“Very good, my lord! Rose! Where is that lass? Rose!”

“Here, Dad!”

“Escort my lord Southwood and his lady to their room, girl.”

Rose, a very buxom young lady whose ample bosom threatened
to overflow its blouse, bobbed a curtsey, and smiled saucily at the
Earl. “This way, m’lord, madam,” she said, leading them not up-
stairs but down a short sunlit hallway and into a small wing off the
main inn building. The door swung open to reveal a charming white
room with a bowed window, large fireplace, and big carved oak bed
with heavy green and white linen hangings. Dark beams timbered
the walls and ceiling. On one side of the fireplace was a round
polished table holding a brown glazed earthenware bowl filled with
pine boughs. There were two matching chairs. At the foot of the
bed was a blanket chest. There was a seat built into the window,
with plump cushions of the same homespun green and white linen
as the bed hangings.

Rose touched a brand to the perfectly laid fire and it blazed up
instantly. “Your trunks are on either side of the bed, m’lord,” she
said. “Can I bring you anything?”

Geoffrey looked to Skye. “Sweetheart?”

The little maid almost sighed her envy of the beautiful lady. “A
bath,” pleaded Skye. “I can smell nothing but horses.”

He smiled down on her, then turned to Rose. “Will you see to
it, love?” His big hand cupped the girl’s face, and he looked down
into her bovine brown eyes.

Rose nearly fainted. “A-aye, m’lord. A b-bath. At once!”

He dropped his hand and she spun about and fled. He laughed
softly, and Skye chided him, “Oh, Geoffrey, what a wicked man
you are.”

He grinned at her. “I suppose I am,” he admitted. Then “I’ll bathe
with you. I stink of horses too.” Reaching out, he pulled her into
his arms, pushed her hood off, and loosened her hair so that it
tumbled down her back in a shining black mass. One strong arm
pressed her tightly against him. The other hand caressed her silken
hair. She could feel herself growing weak with his touch, and fought
to control her emotions. His green eyes mocked her efforts, and for
a moment she became angry and struggled to escape him. He released
her instantly.