Robin had been delighted to have another man in the family again.

“What shall I call you?” he asked.

“What would you like to call me, Robin?”

“I-I don’t think I could call you ‘Papa.’ It’s what I called my father.” The boy’s voice was tremorous.

“I understand. Why don’t you call me Niall? That’s my name, and I’ve no objections if your mother doesn’t.”

For the children it had been a settled matter, but for the adults it was simply not that easy. Niall had taken over the management of the Lynmouth estates, and Skye had had no objections to that. She seemed always preoccupied. After their argument of the afternoon Niall vowed he would charm her that evening at dinner, but she did not appear at table.

“Where is your mistress?” he asked Daisy, who was eating with the other upperservants down the board. Daisy rose from her seat and came to stand beside him. She curtseyed, then said, “I believe she may have taken the boat out, my lord.”

“Her boat?”

“Aye, my lord. The boat is moored below the cliffs. My little

– brother, Wat, cares for my lady’s boat. He’ll be happy to show you the way, sir.”

Niall finished his meal, thoughtful, and then waved the boy over to him. “Did Lady Burke take her boat out, Wat?”

Wat shuffled his feet, but nodded.

“Do you know where she went?”

“Don’t know, sir.” But Wat suspected that his lady had gone to Lundy. He knew her moods by now.

“Do you think she’ll be back tonight, lad?”

“Maybe, maybe not, my lord. Sometimes she stays all night, but sometimes she comes back, late. Her and the sea is friends.” Niall smiled. “Thank you, Wat. I’d like you to show me the boat mooring now.”

“Aye, my lord,” was the obedient reply, and Niall hid another smile. The boy was obviously loyal to Skye. She engendered fierce loyalties. Niall could see that young Wat resented what he considered an intrusion into his mistress’s private life. So, as he followed the boy, Niall spoke quietly to the lad.

“Did you know that I’ve known your mistress since she was a slip of a girl? I know how good she is with boats. But I worry. You see, Wat, I love her.”

The boy said nothing, but Niall noted that the stiff set of his shoulders eased somewhat. He trotted silently along ahead of the tall Irishman until they finally reached the cave. Lord Burke’s eyebrows rose in surprise, and his lips pursed softly. It was a good-sized space and well lit to boot. He saw the wide-mouthed entrance and walked out onto the ledge, noting the steps to the water, the iron ring. Niall turned to the boy. “You can go back, Wat. I’ll stay here a bit.” The boy seemed in a quandary, but then shrugged and headed back up the stairs. It wasn’t his business to tell the gentry what to do. The April evening was warm and pleasant. Niall sat out on the ledge, the cave wall at his back, watching the sunset. The sea was calm and dark and above him he heard the mewling cries of a nest of gull babies settling in for the night. The sky now began to darken, the first pale stars twinkling tentatively as if they weren’t quite sure it was time for them to be there. Niall Burke sat quietly on the hard stones of the ledge. Soon the sky was black, the stars no longer pale but diamond-bright. A faint wind sprang up, and the air grew damp. Still, he waited. He was deeply curious. Where had she gone? Would she be back tonight? Here was a whole new aspect of Skye’s life that he hadn’t known of. It was growing cold and he wished he had thought to bring his cloak. Soon, then, as if he had voiced the thought aloud, he heard Wat saying:

“I’ve brought you a cape, m’lord, and Daisy said you were to have a flask of wine.”

Niall stood stiffly, and taking the fur-lined garment, wrapped it tightly about his chilled body. “Thank you, lad,” he said as he uncorked the flask. He drank deeply and was grateful for the warmth that hit his innards like molten rock, then spread upward. Wat nodded and lit the ledge beacons. “The mistress be late tonight. Could be she not be back till late,” he ventured.

“I’ll wait,” said Niall.

Wat disappeared back into the cave, and Niall could hear his steps as he mounted the stairs. It was quiet again, only the gentle slap of the sea against the rock of the ledge to cut the silence. The star formations overhead moved slowly across the heavens, and new ones took their place. Niall dozed, waking suddenly to find the sky gray with the early dawn, and Skye’s small boat sailing toward him. Slowly he rose, shaking his lean frame loose, and walked down the steps to take the rope she tossed casually to him. Fastening it to the ring, he reached down and pulled her up. She moved past him, and he smelled the scent of tobacco on her sea clothes. Jealousy surged up in him and he had a difficult time controlling his voice. “Where the hell were you?” he demanded.

Her blue eyes narrowed. “At sea,” she replied shortly.

“I waited all night!”

“Did you? I’m touched, but you wasted time you might have spent rutting with your Devon Rose in a warm bed.” She was mounting the stairs and he leaped after her.

“You weren’t at sea all this time,” he said flatly.

“No?” She looked over her shoulder, a mocking expression on her beautiful face.

“Not unless you’ve taken up smoking tobacco, Skye.”

“What?”

“Your clothes reek of it!”

She stopped and sniffed at her doublet. “You’re absolutely right, Niall,” she said, and continued on her way without another word. Astounded, he stood rooted to the stairs for a few moments. The bitch had a lover! It was the only possible explanation. What was it about him that sent his wives seeking other men? Nothing! he decided, slamming his fist into his palm. He remembered women who had lain panting with passion beneath him. He would not allow memories of Constanza’s treachery to obliterate good sense. Suddenly, he heard the door click shut above him and he returned to the present. The little bitch! To hold him off in the guise of mourning for Geoffrey Southwood when all the while she was sailing off to join a lover! How they must have laughed at him, she and her lover. His rage grew. Who was the man?

He mounted the stairs purposefully. There would be no more waiting. Her little game was over. And after he had settled the score with her he intended sinking her damned boat so she could not run off again. This might be Lynmouth Castle, and she might be the Countess of Lynmouth, but she was also Lady Burke, a fact he was about to bring home to her.

Time had taught Niall Burke the value of subtlety. Reaching the door that led into his own apartment, he entered and called to his body servant. Mick came running. “A bath!” ordered his master, and the deep oak tub was filled with hot water. Niall spent a good half-hour washing, including his short-cropped dark, wavy hair. Climbing out, he toweled himself vigorously while standing before the fire. His body was still long and lean, and had matured well. He was warm and the blood raced in his veins as he thought of Skye. Mick held out his dressing gown and he wrapped it tightly about him. Then he went through the door that connected their bedchambers. Skye, too, was freshly bathed, as the tub before the fireplace bore evidence. She sat naked at her dressing table brushing her long black hair while Daisy turned back the bed. Startled by his entry, she reached for the lacy shawl that lay on the edge of the table. He snatched it away. Suddenly wary, she sprang up. “Daisy! Get out!” His voice barked the command.

“Daisy! Stay!” she countermanded desperately.

Frantically Daisy looked back and forth between the two, caught in a terrible quandary. Niall took a menacing step toward the servant woman and, with a shriek, Daisy fled, slamming the door behind her. Niall calmly threw the bolt, then leapt across the room in two strides to close and bolt the connecting door that separated their two apartments. In doing so he successfully captured Skye, who had been trying to escape through that door.

He towered above her, his handsome, craggy face dark with rage. His eyes blazed a chill, silver fire, colder than anything she had seen in those eyes before. Real fear began moving upward from her belly, and she fought to hide it from him.

Niall pinioned his wife against the door, his arms making prison bars on either side of her. Neither of them spoke for the space of several heartbeats, and he did not fail to notice the frightened pulse leaping at the base of her slender throat. At long last, Skye managed to whisper hoarsely:

“You have no right.”

“More than your lover!” he snapped, his eyes fastened on her perfect small breasts, their rosy peaks rigid with fear. Bewildered, caught off guard, she nearly stammered. “My-lover? I have no lover!”

“You stay out all night and come home with your clothes reeking of tobacco smoke and tell me you have no lover? What then, madam, is your explanation? And think not to tell me this is not my business. You’re my wife.”

Christ’s bones! she swore silently. She couldn’t tell him, for he’d never understand. How could she say, you hurt me, and I sailed off to Lundy because I have a friend there? How could she tell him that she and Adam de Marisco had spent the whole night just talking, that the reason her clothes smelled of tobacco was that Adam had recently taken up a pipe? How could she explain the lord of Lundy to a husband? Niall would never know that Adam had indeed once been her lover, for de Marisco was no more eager to tangle with Lord Burke than Skye was for him to know.

She looked up at him and was frightened by what she saw in those silver eyes. “I have no lover, Niall,” she repeated. “Then you’ve taken up tobacco, my dear?”

“Yes!” she answered him desperately.

In answer he caught her chin in one hand, and kissed her deeply, his tongue plunging swiftly into her mouth. When he released her lips he smiled cruelly. “You’re a liar, Skye! Your mouth and breath are sweet with no hint of tobacco. What else have you lied to me about? For over two months you’ve denied me with this pretense of mourning. And I, great fool that I am, believed you and respected your grief, and all the while you were sneaking off to fuck with your lover!”

Angrily he yanked her away from the door. Sweeping her up in his arms, he strode across the room to the big bed. “Well now, madam, you’ll fuck with me!” and he dumped her down onto the feather mattress.

While he undid his robe she scrambled up, only to be shoved back onto the bed. “Oh, no, my dear! What you give to him, you’ll give to me too!”

“Whoreson!” she snarled at him as his body crushed her flat, but he only laughed. Infuriated, she struggled against him like a madwoman. His mouth came down hurtfully on hers, and she clenched her teeth, tightly together. His hands tangled in her dark hair, holding her head still. She closed her eyes to blot him out, but she couldn’t close out his voice, which crooned in her ear. “Are you going to be my wife willingly, Skye, or is it going to be rape? Maybe that sort of thing excites you, eh, my darling? I’d rather you’d let me love you and that you would try to love me back.”

“Love you?” Her scorn was thick. “You sicken me! And to think that I once preferred you to Dom O’Flaherty!”

He wanted to hit her. What had happened to them? All desire left him. Rape was not his style. To her surprise, he rolled off her. But when she tried to rise he held her back. “No, madam! From now on you’ll sleep with me. But I’ll not give you further excuse to hate me by taking my rights by force. You’ll have to ask me for loving, my darling. And you will, Skye. You will.”

Relief made her brave. “Never!” she spat.

He laughed, and pulled her into his arms so he might caress her breasts. “Those two pretty apples of yours have grown plumper,” he observed.

“I thought you just said you wouldn’t make love to me unless I asked,” she said, trying to squirm away from him. “I said I wouldn’t take my ‘rights,’ Skye. I never said I didn’t intend to enjoy your delicious little person.”

“Oh!” she gasped, outraged. ‘That’s not fair!”

“You’d rather I’d rape you?” he asked in mock surprise.

“I didn’t say that!”

“Then just what is it you want of me, my darling?” She opened her mouth to speak, then shut it. Let him tease and play his stupid games. She would never yield, nor would she give him the satisfaction of protest. Niall, allowing his hands the freedom of her body, roaming the marvelous skin, noted the grim line of her mouth. He smiled to himself. She would never know how close to rape she had come.

His hands and his mouth wreaked a wonderful torture upon her, and Skye bit her lips and pressed her nails into her balled palms until the pain eased some of the unholy pleasure he forced on her. When he believed he had driven her far enough, he stopped abruptly and, rolling over, went to sleep. She lay next to him, her whole body trembling, and silently hated him as much as she had ever loved him.