Bertrice Small - Skye O’Malley

Robert Small smiled a slow smile. “So that’s what’s bothering you, lass.”

“Part of it,” she admitted.

“Don’t fret, Skye lass, I’m not about to leave you helpless. The Earl directed me to have a marriage contract drawn up tonight, which he’ll sign in the morning. You’ll have to give him a good dowry, Skye, but the bulk of your wealth will remain in your hands. This house will remain in your hands, and I’ve made you my heiress, providing that if anything happens to me you’ll care for Cecily. That way you’ll have plenty for Willow.”

“Robbie! Oh, Robbie!” she began to weep softly. Embarrassed, he clumsily put his arms about her. “Give over, lass,” he muttered gruffly. “For pity’s sake don’t cry all over me. I like it better when you scream. Who else could I leave Wren Court to, Skye? You’re the daughter I never had, lass, and you’re as dear to me as if you were my own.”

“Thank you, Robbie. You’re the best friend I’ve ever had.” She wiped her eyes and Robbie tried to muffle a sniff. “Now listen to me, Skye. We’re giving Southwood twenty-five thousand gold crowns for dowry, and of course you come with your clothing, plate, and jewelry. All the rest of your wealth, the money Khalid left, the shares in our partnership, this house, and Wren Court remain exclusively yours. He can’t take them, so you are free and independent.”

“Will he sign such a contract, Robbie?”

“He’ll sign, lass. The Queen would have his head if he refused, for Young Bess is very much her own woman, like you.” He patted her shoulder. “It’s very late, Skye, well past midnight. Rest now, my dear. I will see you in the morning.”

“Which gown did you choose, Robbie?”

“The creamy satin with the pearl and diamond embroidery,” he answered, smiling.

“It’s the one I’d choose, were I interested in this marriage.”

He chuckled. “Sleep well, Mistress Goya del Fuentes. Tomorrow night you’ll be Lady Southwood, Countess of Lynmouth. Not bad for such an ugly wench.” He ducked the pillow she threw at him as he strode from the room, laughing merrily.

Skye’s wedding morning was a rainy spring day. She stretched in a leisurely fashion, dimly aware of activity about her, then suddenly sat straight up in bed. She was being married in a few hours, and there was so much to be done! A steaming tub was already waiting before the fireplace.

“Good morning, m’lady,” chorused Daisy and the two undermaids, bobbing “Not ‘my lady’ yet, Daisy,” said Skye sharply. The two maidservants giggled, then gasped, their faces reddening as Skye rose from her bed, drew off her gown, and walked naked across the room. Daisy, who was used to her mistress’s eccentricities with regard to nudity in the bath, smirked smugly at the red-faced underlings and helped Skye up the two steps and into the big tub. Skye sunk gratefully into the bath. The sweet-smelling oily water caressed her skin and lapped about her shoulders. Daisy drew a screen about the tub, leaving her mistress to a few moments of privacy, while she guided the undermaids in the laying out of the bride’s clothing.

So, thought Skye, today is my wedding day. How different it is from the joyous day that I wed you, Khalid. Oh, my dearest lord, how I loved you. But you are gone, Khalid, and this strange English lord has caught at my heart. I may be wealthy, dear Khalid, but the honest truth is that the widow of an Algerian “merchant” is scarcely on a social footing with a belted Earl. Yet, he would make me his Countess. It’s not simply to get me in his bed, for I have already been there. He claims to love me, yet he left me without a word for weeks. Dare I trust him? Or will he break my heart? Oh, God, I wish I could know. I want to be loved, but even more I want to be safe again.

“Mistress,” scolded Daisy, “you’ve not yet begun to wash.” Daisy took up the soft cloth herself and began to scrub her mistress. Skye continued to muse silently as Daisy moved on to wash her mistress’s hair. Daisy’s chatter caused Skye to lose her train of thought and she exploded. Relenting at the hurt look on Daisy’s face, Skye confided, “I’ve wakened with a terrible headache, Daisy, and I don’t want it later on at Greenwich.”

Daisy became concerned. “Ah, m’lady, I’ll have an herbal draught made up at once. Hawise,” she turned to one of the serving maids, “ask Dame Cecily to please make up an herbal tea for m’lady’s headache.”

Skye left her tub wrapped in a large warmed bathsheet and, seated by the fire, endured Daisy’s further ministrations. Her hair was rubbed free of excess water, brushed and brushed and brushed again until it was dry, then rubbed with a piece of silk until it shone with deep blue-gold lights. Meanwhile, the second of the undermaids knelt paring her mistress’s toenails.

“What I really need is something to eat,” declared Skye. “Bring me bread, meat, and wine. I’m starving. See to it, Daisy. Jane, either the Earl will like my feet or he won’t.” She stood up and the bathsheet dropped. Daisy wrapped her mistress in a loose pink silk robe, then hurried off to see to the food. Picking up her pedicure equipment, Jane departed as well. Skye sighed with open relief. It was so lovely to be alone. But the sound of chuckling spun her around.

“Geoffrey!”

“Good morrow, wife.” He stood before the tapestry that hid the secret passage door.

“Not quite yet, my lord,” she answered sharply. “How long have you been standing there?”

“Long enough to be reminded what a magnificent creature you are, madam,” he drawled lazily, his green eyes sweeping boldly over her.

A flush stained her entire body, and she shook her cloud of hair. Did he really love her, or was it only lust to possess her? She determined to try and find out now. He could cry off when she had finished, but that was better than being owned by a man who had no real feelings for her. Walking deliberately to the door, she locked it and then said firmly, “Sit down, my lord. Will you take some wine?” He nodded, and she poured him a small goblet from her sideboard supply.

“Well, madam,” he demanded after accepting the goblet and leaning back. “What is it?”

She drew a deep breath. “How brave you are to wed with me, my lord, but are you sure you really want to take to wife the widow of one of the most notorious men in the history of Algiers? I remind you that I recall nothing whatever prior to my life with Khalid el Bey. He made me what I am. God only knows what tainted blood flows in my veins. My mother might have been mad and my father a murderer. Think carefully, my lord. Is this the sort of woman you would take to wife?”

“Why, Skye,” he drawled, “are you trying to discourage me?” She shook her head. He continued. “Did Khalid el Bey teach you to read and write?”

“No,” she answered. “I already knew.”

“What else did you know, my love?”

“Different languages, mathematics,” she said slowly. “The knowledge was just there… though I don’t remember acquiring it.” “You’ve hardly a peasant’s look,” he observed, “and you’ve been damnably well educated for a man, astoundingly for a woman. From the moment we first met I knew that we should be more to each other than simply friends.

“I wanted to know more about you and I inquired of a sea captain of my acquaintance, one who knew Robert Small and of his association with Khalid el Bey. The captain left Algiers several days after you and Small did. The story of your flight from the Turk was on every tongue in the city, particularly because your loss was said to have rendered the unfortunate man impotent.” Skye choked back her laughter with the confirmation of her revenge on Jamil. But she didn’t know whether to be angry at Geoffrey Southwood for this invasion of her privacy, or flattered that he had been so deeply interested in her. She was, above all, pleased to know that Geoffrey wanted her even though he knew of her past. “You’ve signed the marriage contract?” she asked him coolly. “Aye. Your dowry is most generous, my love. With your permission I shall put it in trust for our first son. I don’t need it,” he countered. It was her move.

One winged dark eyebrow raised slightly. “You read the contract, didn’t you? My wealth remains mine.”

“Of course, my dear. I will dower any children we have. I know you’ll want to provide for Willow. But if you had not a pennypiece, Skye, I’d have gladly dowered your daughter.”

“Yet, it was said that you refused to dower your own.” “They were Mary’s brats,” he replied bitterly. “Little brown wrens like their mother, obviously capable of bearing only daughters. The three who survived the pox, however, seem to have something of me in them. They’ll be good company for Willow, and since I can see from the mutinous expression in your eyes that you’ll give me trouble unless I dower my daughters, I promise to do so.” “I shall be a good mother to your children, Geoffrey.” “I know that, Skye.” He rose and moved toward her, the longing in his eyes almost too painful to behold, but she held him at arm’s length.

“Not yet, Geoffrey. Please, not yet.”

“You have not forgiven me then.” It was a statement. “I can understand your not writing to me from Devon. It must have been terrible for you there. Yet when you returned you sent no word, and I had to learn from de Grenville of your misfortunes. And he said the Queen was arranging a match for you with an heiress. What was I to think?”

“You might have trusted me, Skye.”

“How could you expect my trust after I learned of the infamous wager that you made with Dickon?”

“Damn, Skye. I never meant to collect from him! Surely you see that the wager happened before you and I truly met.” “Your reputation preceded you, my lord. Geoffrey Southwood, the Angel Earl, the great cocksman, and breaker of hearts.” “Enough, dammit. Woman, you argue with too much logic. I love you, Skye. I will always love you. In a few short hours we are to be wed. Let us forget what is past and begin afresh. We are well matched, madam.” He held out his hand to her then. Slowly, after a long, agonized wait, she took it.

“One question,” he said, “and I shall never ask this question again. Did you love him?”

“Yes,” she replied gravely. “I loved him. I awoke from some unremembered horror to find safety with him. He gave me a name, an identity, a reason for living. He was my husband, he was my lover, he was my best friend. I will never forget him.” She continued after a silence. “I find it strange to say this, but though Khalid el Bey will always hold a claim on a part of my heart, I love you also, Geoffrey. Why else would I have been so angry and so hurt?” The lime-green eyes regarded her now with hope as well as longing.

“Then I am forgiven, Skye?”

The smile she offered was tremulous. “Perhaps, my lord,” she said mischievously.

“Madam, you try my patience,” he growled, but his lips twitched at the corners and his eyes were bright with both relief and mirth. “You had best cultivate patience, my lord, for I will be no meek wife, Geoffrey. I will be an equal partner with you in this marriage. Equal in all things.”

She was more trusting now, and immediately he took advantage. Pulling her toward him, he wrapped both his arms about her, then bent to find her lips. A delicious tremor shot through her and she sighed deeply. “Madam,” he said, kissing the comers of her mouth, her eyelids, the tip of her nose, “it’s a cool, wet day, and were we not to be wed in just a few hours I should take you to bed right now.”

“Do you require several hours, my lord?” Her face was a study in innocence.

“Vixen!” he murmured huskily, burying his face in the scented tangle of her hair. She felt his kisses burning into the satiny skin of her neck. With a low moan she threw her head back and his lips devoured her throat, setting her pulse to racing. “Beware, madam. Tonight I shall seek revenge for your sharp tongue. But today when you enter the Queen’s chapel, you will look chaste, not newly tumbled.” He loosed her slowly and she swayed unsteadily. He laughed softly and, turning, departed through the secret door behind the tapestry.

Skye stood trembling. Dear God, how he could arouse her. And he knew it. She became aware of pounding at the door. “Mistress Skye! Mistress Skye! Are you all right?” She flew to the door and opened it to find Daisy, Hawise. and Jane standing there with anxious faces.

“I wanted to be alone,” she conjured as best she could. They gave her funny looks, then continued into the room bearing a breakfast, which was placed on a small table. Two footmen followed and removed the tub. Jane folded the screen and put it away while Daisy and Hawise drew the breakfast table and a chair up near the fire.

“Cook says you are to eat everything. Knowing how you’ve picked at your food lately, and you’ll not eat much later,” said Daisy. “Also, it will be hours before the bridal feast.”