Bertrice Small - Skye O’Malley

Gathering her to him, he crooned low, “Ah, Skye! Sweet Skye!
You are perfection, my little love. Pure perfection! I love you so,
sweetheart.”

Her blue-green eyes were heavy with exhaustion, but they shone
with love. “Give me a son, Niall!” she whispered fiercely.

Tenderly he stroked her cheek. “In time, my darling. In time.
Now sleep, Skye, my love. In the morning we will face the world
with the shocking news mat we would be together. We will need
to be well rested to meet the uproar that’s sure to follow.”

“You meant it when you said you wouldn’t leave me?” Her voice
trembled.

“Aye, sweetheart! Only the devil himself can separate us now,
Skye.”

“I’d go with you into Hell itself, Niall,” she answered passion-
ately.

At last, enclosed in each other’s arms, they fell asleep, trusting
the power of their love.

In the gray half-light before dawn Niall Burke and Skye lay
sleeping. Heart hammering, the little pot boy crawled through
the unshuttered window and for a brief moment stared quite
openmouthed at the two people lying on the bed. Both were
naked. The man was on his stomach, face down, his arm flung
across the woman. She was curled on her side. The pot boy, who
was rarely freed from his kitchen, thought the two were the most
beautiful sight he had ever seen. He felt saddened at what he must
do. The woman stirred in her sleep and, guiltily recalling his duty,
the boy tiptoed across the room. Softly sliding the bolt back, he
opened the door.

Dubhdara O’Malley and three of his men-at-arms came silently
into the room. O’Malley nodded to his retainers. Niall Burke was
swiftly pulled off the bed, a cloth stuffed into his mouth. Then he was half-dragged, half-carried out of the room, the door shut softly
but firmly behind him. Fiercely Niall struggled against his captors,
who hustled him down into the main hall of the castle. He was not
afraid, for he knew that if it had been his life they sought he would
already be dead.

“You’ll not yell, my lord?” O’Malley asked him when they en-
tered a room down the hall.

Niall shook his head. His arms were freed and the gag was pulled
from his mouth. He took up the goblet of ale placed at his hand.
Drinking it, he began to dress in his clothes, which the little pot boy
had thoughtfully brought along. Niall Burke was furious, but arguing
with the O’Malley stark naked put him at a disadvantage. His an-
tagonist spoke first.

“You will be on your way immediately, my lord. Young
O’Flaherty has spent an unhappy night, drinking and abusing Skye’s
maid. The sight of you now could drive him to rashness. I should
not like to answer to the MacWilliam if his heir were harmed.”

Niall yanked on his boots. “I want Skye’s marriage annulled,
O’Malley! For three days I tried to get to you, to ask you to call off
this marriage. I love Skye, and she loves me. I want her to wife.
I’ll see that O’Flaherty is pacified with a new bride and a large bribe.
Why do you think I did what I did last night? To amuse myself,
man? I love your daughter, O’Malley, and I hope my action will
force O’Flaherty to give her up.”

Dubhdara O’Malley looked amazed. “Laddie, laddie! If I have
nothing else in this world I have my good name and my good word.
The word of Dubhdara O’Malley has never been questioned because
it is as good as gold. I have never broken my word! I will not do
so now. Skye was betrothed to Dom as a child. Even if I had
postponed the marriage, your father would not permit you to marry
an O’Malley of Innisfana. For you, it will be an O’Neill, an
O’Donnell, or an O’Brien-daughters of the high aristocracy. Not
my little lass.”

Niall’s silver eyes flashed. “She is fit to be a queen, O’Malley!”

“Ah, laddie, you’ll get no argument from me on that account!
But my daughter is Dom O’Flaherty’s wife till death parts them.
You’ve exercised the droit du seigneur on the bride. There is nothing
else here for you. Go home. Leave me to mend the broken fences,
and my child’s broken heart.”

“I will not leave without Skye, O’Malley! She comes with me!”

The master of the castle barely nodded to his men. Niall Burke
was tapped lightly on his head, rendering him unconscious. “Carry
him to the boat, and tell Captain MacGuire to take him home.

MacGuire’s to put this letter directly into the MacWilliam’s hand,
and await a reply,” O’Malley said tersely.

O’Malley sat watching a moment as his most honored guest was
slung over the shoulder of one of his men and removed from the
hall. Then, without a backward glance, O’Malley returned to his
daughter’s bedchamber. He shook her awake gently’. “Skye, lass!
Wake up now.”

Slowly her blue eyes opened, then widened in surprise. “Da?”
Her gaze quickly swept the room, and her voice became a frightened
whisper. “Niall?”

“Gone, Skye. Niall Burke has gone home.”

“No! He promised we would never be parted! He promised!”

“Men frequently make promises in the heat of passion that they
have no intention of keeping,” said the O’Malley brutally. “Get up
and get dressed, daughter. You’ll go with Eibhlin to her convent on
Innishturk until Dom’s temper cools, and we’re sure you don’t carry
Burke’s bastard. I’ll send someone to help you dress.”

“You’re lying to me, Da! What have you done with Niall?”

“I’m not lying, Skye. Burke has gone home.”

“Where’s Molly?”

“She’s sick this morning,” O’Malley said as he left the room.

Skye sat numbed. He had promised they would not be parted!
He had meant it! She knew he had meant it! Where was he? Had
they killed him? Oh, God, no! She began to tremble. No. Of course
they hadn’t killed him. Her father would not kill his overlord’s heir.

Perhaps, said an evil voice in her head, perhaps he is telling you
the truth. After all, your experience with men is not great. Perhaps
the great lord’s heir has amused himself with you, and has now gone
back to his own. Her heart began to hammer fiercely, and for a
moment she thought she would faint. Then, from deep inside, Skye
called on the reservoir of strength she had built up over the years.
If she listened to doubt she would go mad. She must trust to her
intuition. Skye O’Malley would not give in to panic.

Climbing from the bed, she walked naked across the chamber and
drew her clothing from a leather-bound trunk. She began to dress,
first pulling on her underclothes, then a skirtlike object. This garment
was a design of Skye’s own fashioning. O’Malley had objected to
his daughter wearing men’s clothing, but Skye had felt hampered
aboard ship by long skirts. So she had made her skirts into wide
pants that came below the knee. Beneath, she wore hose and knee-length leather boots. She had cut her chemises off at the waist,
hemmed them, and worn them beneath her silk shirts.

Washed and dressed, her long black hair braided and affixed atop her head, she gathered up a dark plaid cloak and left the room. She
found a man-at-arms waiting, and directed him to fetch the small
trunk in her room and see it safely stowed in the waiting boat.

Regally, she descended the stairs. Below, in the castle’s main
hall, her father, her sister Eibhlin, and Dom awaited her. Dom looked
terrible. His eyes were badly bloodshot and puffy, and his face was
marked with several scratches and bruises. She steeled herself for
the confrontation. “Good morning, Dom.” He eyed her angrily,
nodded, but said nothing. She shrugged, then turned to her father.
”I am ready to go, Da, but before I do I want to know the truth.
Niall would not have left me unless forced.”

Dom O’Flaherty’s light-blue eyes widened, then narrowed. He
turned to his father-in-law. “What the hell treachery is this,
O’Malley? It’s bad enough that Burke demanded the droit du seigneur of my bride before the entire district. Now it appears she was
in collusion with him!” He whirled on Skye. “You little bitch! How
long has it been going on? How long have you been whoring with
Burke? I ought to beat you black and blue!”

Skye eyed her husband coldly. Her voice was calm and level.
”I met Niall but a few days ago, Dom. Yes, we are in love. I do
not understand how it happened, but it did. I do not particularly like
you, Dom, but I would not have hurt or embarrassed you deliber-
ately. Niall Burke wants to marry me. Give me an annulment. You
don’t love me. Niall will arrange for you to have a new and noble
bride, and a fat financial settlement to soothe your wounded pride.”

Dom looked as if she had lost her mind. “Have you given me a
half-wit to wife, O’Malley?” He turned on Skye. “Listen, you little
fool! The MacWilliam isn’t about to let his heir marry with the likes
of you. Niall Burke is a rake. He wanted only to fuck with you,
which I’ve no doubt he did quite well if his reputation is warranted.
It’s over! Now you’ll go with Eibhlin to Innishturk until I’m sure
Burke’s seed did not take root. When you come home to me, Skye,
you’ll be a proper wife-like me or no-and you’ll go no more
awhoring. Get out of my sight now, woman!”

“Da!”

“Obey your husband, Skye. He is your master now.”

“Never!”

Dom O’Flaherty leaped the distance between them and, grasping
Skye by the arm, slapped her brutally several times. Shocked, for
her father had never hit her, she could only try and protect herself
from his blows. “Whore! I warned you what would happen if you
disobeyed me!” He shook her hard. Furious and fearful both, Skye
pulled away angrily.

“Whoreson!” she hissed. “Hit me again and I’ll stick a knife into
your black heart!”

“Enough!” roared O’Malley, stepping between the two. “Enough,
Dom!” His voice was sharp. “Eibhlin, take your sister to the boat,
and go”

Skye’s eyes were almost black in anger. “I’ll not forgive you for.
this, Da,” she said quietly. Shooting him a look of pure hatred, she
left the hall with her sister.

Outside, the day was chill and gray. The wind whipped the
women’s cloaks about them as they hurried across the drawbridge
and through the rose garden. For a moment Skye stopped. Her eyes
softened and swam with tears. Plucking a red rose, she inhaled its
fragrance, sighed, and continued on her way, carefully picking her
way down the path that led from the cliff top to the damp beach
below. A sailboat and two of her father’s men waited on the beach.
She could see her trunk already in the boat. One of the men helped
Eibhlin into the little craft. Skye brushed aid aside, clambering up
into the craft and seating herself in the stern. She took a firm grip
on the tiller. While one sailor pushed the boat from the damp sand,
the other hoisted the sail.

The sailor Connor grinned, nodded, and sat back when Skye took
the tiller. They’d be at Innishturk Island in a jig time, for no one
could sail a boat like Mistress Skye. The other sailor, newer to
O’Malley’s service, sat silently.

Skye tacked the boat smartly across the castle’s sheltered cove
and nosed it into the open sea. The day was turning fair, and there
was a good breeze. The small boat skimmed across the deep blue
waves. Innishturk, but a few nautical miles away, was easily visible.
Skye carefully set her course to bring the craft in on the piece of
coast closest to Eibhlin’s convent.

Eibhlin wanted desperately to talk to her, but Skye suddenly
looked older, and very forbidding. The young nun was suddenly
sad. What could she possibly say to cheer her sister? What did you
say to a woman forcibly married to one man when she deeply loved
another? Once again, Eibhlin felt the frustration of being a woman
in a man’s world. Again she asked herself why it was so.

Then Eibhlin saw a terrible bruise beginning to form on Skye’s
left cheekbone. Silently the nun dipped her handkerchief in the icy
cold sea and, squeezing it out, wordlessly handed it to her sister.
A brief smile was her thanks, as Skye took the wet cloth and held
it to her injured face.

Innishturk came closer, then closer, and soon the little boat was
scudding up onto the beach. Eibhlin was lifted out. In her element now, she commanded, “Bring Mistress Skye’s trunk, Connor. Padraic, you stay with the boat.”

“Yes, Sister.” “Aye, Sister.”

Skye swung herself over the side of the boat and dropped lightly
to the sand. She knew the way quite well, for she had often come
with her father to see Eibhlin. Silently she trudged up the path from
the beach. At the cliff top she undid a small wicket gate, and held
it open for her sister and the panting Connor. The gate swung shut,
and they were on the convent grounds.

Ahead of them stood St. Bride’s of the Cliffs, built over one
hundred years before. The convent was built around a quadrangle,
the four towers of its corners rising stark against the sky. The dark
gray stones of the main building were weathered by the wind and
the sea. There were several outbuildings for the convent livestock,
a bakehouse and a washhouse. At the convent portal-a double
oaken door bounded in brass-they stopped.