Bertrice Small - Skye O’Malley

“Stop the coach!” she commanded imperiously. “You!” Her accusing finger pointed at the older of the two footmen. “You stink of onions! Ride up top. I am close to fainting.”

Accustomed to obeying orders, the man called to the driver to stop and scrambled up the coach’s side to join the driver. As the vehicle began to move again Constanza wordlessly fell to her knees before the remaining footman, fumbled with his livery and, bending her head, took his organ into her mouth. The boy could only gasp with surprise as his mistress’s insistent lips and tongue drove him. When he thought his delight could be no greater, she rose and, lifting her skirts, impaled herself on him. The footman swiftly tore her bodice open and pushed his face into her breasts. He kissed, sucked, and bit on them, prodding her to frenzy as she jogged up and down on him. She spent twice, then, when she was weak and languid, the footman became emboldened. Lifting her up, he turned her over and shoved her face down on the opposite seat. Her skirts pushed above her waist, her little white bottom glowed pale and he entered her from behind. His beefy hands fumbled beneath her, squeezing her breasts rhythmically with each stroke of his rod as he murmured the foulest of obscenities in her ear. A moment before his climax he reached one hand beneath her to tweak at the little button of her sensuality, and they shuddered their satisfaction in unison. He had barely drained when she bucked him away from her, straightened her skirts, and sat calmly down to lace her bodice. “Fix your livery!” she hissed. “And remember that one word will cost you your position.” She was calmer now than she had been all evening, and now she was able to think.

When they reached the house, she sought Ana. “He knows all,” Constanza announced without preamble. “That fool Basingstoke provoked a duel. Niall killed him, but we’ve been banished from both Court and England.”

“Santa Maria protect us! Ah, nina, I warned you! My lord will surely kill you now!”

“I’d rather he did. But he is taking us to Ireland and I am to be forever imprisoned in my apartment there while I breed his heirs!” “Get down on your knees, nina, and thank the Holy Mother! The lord is merciful.”

“No! No, duenna! I will not be locked up! You must help me escape!”

“Nina, nina! Be reasonable! My lord is willing to forgive you.

Where could you go?’

“Perhaps Harry will help me.”

“No, nina! You have been fortunate. Be a good wife now.” They argued for close to an hour, Ana urging restraint, Constanza becoming more frantic. Then suddenly the door was flung open, and Lord Burke strode in. “Good! You are both here. Ana, I am pensioning you off and sending you back to Mallorca.”

“No!” cried both women in unison. Ana flung herself at Lord Burke’s feet. “Please, my lord, no! Constanza is my baby! I cannot leave her! Do not make me, I beg you!”

Niall Burke lifted up the weeping woman. “Ana, it is precisely because of you love for Constanza that I must send you away. You knew of her perfidy, and yet you protected her. You would do so again. Had you come to me immediately, this scandal.might have been avoided.”

“Please, my lord-“

“Ana, no more.” His voice was stem but kindly. “It is because of your love for my wife and the care you have given her that I pension you rather than send you onto the streets. Bid your mistress farewell now. You’ll leave in the morning and carry with you my instructions to my agent in Mallorca.”

Helplessly, Ana hugged Constanza to her, the tears running down her worn old face. “Nina, do as I have bid you, for the sake of the love I bore both you, and your poor mother.”

“Do not leave me, duenna! Do not leave me!” Constanza wept.

“Niall! Please, I beg you!”

Lord Burke separated the two women. “Neither of you can be trusted,” he said wearily, and firmly escorted Ana from the room, stopping to lock the door behind him before he walked Ana to her room.

“My lord,” she pleaded once more.

“Adios, Ana. God go with you.”

“Be kind to her, my lord.”

“I have let her live to bear my sons, Ana, yet I am not sure I am wise in doing so.”

As Ana departed the next morning she remembered the sadness in his voice. From an upper floor of the house Constanza waved to her, calling, “Adios, Ana mia. Vaya con Dios!”

Ana was taken by coach to the London docks, and escorted aboard a Mallorca-bound vessel. On her person she carried two letters. One was to the governor, Constanza’s father. It explained that the climate of England had proved detrimental to Ana’s health and, as Ireland was no warmer. Lord Burke was pensioning off his wife’s loyal retainer. She would be given a cottage on Constanza’s dowry lands, and an annual stipend. The second letter directed Lord Burke’s Mallorcan agent to make the proper arrangements for Ana. The vessel on which Ana traveled was fortunate. As there were few ships in the London Pool, it sailed within two days. Ana’s thoughts, however, remained behind in England, with her mistress.

A line of brightly decorated carriages extended down the Strand from the entry of Lynmouth House. Gaily caparisoned horses, their elegant riders bandying the latest gossip, rode past the carriages and up the driveway of the beautiful riverside mansion. Lady South wood, two weeks past childbirth, was receiving. Everyone sought to congratulate the Queen’s favorite lady on the birth of the Lynmouth heir.

The truth had been broadcast about the lovely Countess of Lynmouth. She had not been raised in a French convent. She was in fact an Irish heiress who had suffered from a complete loss of memory since being kidnaped by pirates! She had been betrothed to the Irish Lord Burke at the time of her disappearance. The same Lord Burke whose wife provoked the terrible duel that killed poor Basingstoke. It was all too delightfully scandalous.

Scandal bred scandal. Some cousins of Geoffrey Southwood’s, the ones who stood to inherit his title and estates if he died without male issue, then petitioned the Archbishop of Canterbury to declare the Earl’s current marriage null and void and his new son, Robert, a bastard. Their justification was Skye’s previous contact with Lord Burke! The uproar that followed was monumental, with Geoffrey Southwood calling his cousin out and badly wounding him in a duel. It was still not certain whether the foolish man would live. Lord Burke, a gentleman even if he was Irish, had saved the situation by bringing forth a document signed by the Pope and attested to as genuine by the Spanish ambassador. The document had dissolved Lord Burke’s betrothal contract with Skye O’Malley, who was presumed deceased. Constanza’s father had been a careful man! The Archbishop of Canterbury subsequently declared that no impediment had existed at the time of the marriage between Lord and Lady Southwood. Therefore, their son, Robert, was legal issue. The archbishop had baptized the boy himself, with the Queen and Lord Dudley acting as the child’s godparents.

But there was even more! Lord Burke had invaded the house of the prostitute, Claro, stripped her naked, and whipped her through the streets of London to the edge of the city. He left her there to brave a mob of lustful men and outraged goodwives. Returning to his own home, Burke discovered his wife, her jewels, and his head groom gone. The Queen had lifted his banishment until he could find Constanza. She seemed to have disappeared off the face of the earth. The Court agreed that the past half-month had been simply exhausting!

The Countess of Lynmouth received her guests in state, propped up in her bedchamber with its gold-embroidered rose velvet hangings. She wore a heavy cream-colored quilted satin bedgown, embroidered with pearls and turquoise in a floral design. Her beautiful dark curls were held back by a matching pearl-and-turquoise ribbon. Her pink cheeks and sparkling blue eyes attested to her good health and quick recovery. Southwood finally had a lucky marriage. The lady was a good breeder who’d probably give him a son every year or two.

Plump goosedown pillows, their lace-edged white linen covers smelling faintly of lavender, propped the Countess up. A pink coverlet that matched the rose velvet hangings was spread over the bed. Next to the canopied bed a carved and gilded walnut cradle displayed the lace-capped heir who slept, oblivious, through the admiring exclamations.

The room was a treasure trove of gifts, all tastefully displayed in honor of their donors. Chief among the gifts was a set of twelve silver cups set with sapphires, the baby’s birthstone. They were from his godmother. Lord Dudley had presented his godson with a leather case containing twelve silver spoons. The child’s crest was on the front, his birthdate on the back.

Everyone who came brought gifts. Young Robin had a dozen silver rattles of various designs and at least that number in teething rings. There were several christening cups, many lengths of excellent cloth, and a number of well-filled purses. There were gifts for Skye too. Frivolous bits of lace and ribbons, little jewelry, and nosegays of late-September flowers. Through it all, Geoffrey Southwood stood by his wife’s side watching over her with loving pride. She had been most loving since Robin’s birth, and that more than anything else she could have done, reassured Geoffrey.

But Skye did not feel sure of herself. Niall Burke had not yet come to see her, and how could she know what was really in her heart until he did? Why did he not come? And when he finally did, at last, she was totally unprepared.

Autumn had been late in coming, and even now at October’s end the trees were just at their golden peak. Geoffrey had been gone ten days, down into Devon to oversee the arrangements for his wife and son’s arrival there. The Queen had finally, though reluctantly, agreed to let Skye go at least until the spring.

Skye sat, this bright October day, beneath an apple tree in her riverside garden. Her yellow skirts were spread about her like a flower. Willow, now two and a half, played nearby under the watchful eye of her nurse. The baby slumbered on a blanket beside his mother in the warm afternoon sun. Skye was relaxed and content when Daisy came to announce, “My lord Burke has called to pay his respects, milady. He is waiting in your little library.” Skye rose slowly with far more calm than she felt. ‘Take Robin to his nurse, Daisy,” she instructed, then walked quietly across the lawn and into the house. She stopped for a moment to check her hair in a mirror, carefully tucking an errant lock into the golden net that confined her dark curls. Her hand was trembling, which didn’t surprise her, for her heart was racing wildly. Taking a deep breath, she grasped the door handle firmly, straightened her shoulders, and walked purposefully into the library.

“My lord, it is good to see you again.” Her musical voice did not waver, and she produced just the right note of cordiality. Niall turned. The silvery eyes were still bold and clear and bright, but now there were tiny wrinkles around mem. His fair skin was clear and he stood as tall and straight as ever. But there was a maturity, an alluring quiet strength about him now, growth marked by time and molded by suffering. His dark hair was accented by a bit of gray near the temples. Gone was the rash young man she remembered and in that young man’s place stood a mature and, yes, a most attractive, self-assured man.

“You’ve become even more beautiful-if that is possible. Motherhood becomes you, Skye.”

“Thank you, my lord.” She moved to the table. “Will you take wine?” How formal she sounded! Was he laughing at her? “Are you uncomfortable with me, Skye?”

“It i s… awkward, Niall. Until six weeks ago I remembered nothing beyond four years ago-in Algiers.”

“Sit down with me, Skye. Sit down and tell me what happened.

I almost lost my mind when I lost you.”

She sat across from him in a brown velvet chair and calmly began. “I was transferred from the ship that took me to another that same day. That part is hazy. They did not harm me, for the Moslems believe the mad to have been touched by God’s hand. Believing you dead, I had temporarily lost my mind. When I became aware again I was in the house of Khalid el Bey. He cared for me. He loved me. Eventually we were married.” She told her story simply, finishing with, “I was pregnant with Khalid’s child when I fled Algiers. Willow is his daughter. The rest you know.” Her eyes never left Niall’s during the recitation.

“Did you love the infidel?”

Skye felt a cold anger surge through her. How dare he speak to her that way? “Khalid el Bey was a great gentleman,” she said, slowly and deliberately. “I loved him deeply. He was kind and good, and beloved of all who knew him. How dare you refer to him that way?”