A Love for All Time (42 page)

Elizabeth Tudor might keep Skye O’Malley from the sea, but the very nature of Skye’s business ensured that she would be fully informed on the politics of the countries in which her ships traded. The O’Malley-Small fleet had been trading in the Levant, and in Istanbul for years. They had discreetly kept an agent in the capital of the Ottoman Empire for several years, and just three years ago they had been joined by two agents, Sir Edward Osborne and Master Richard Staper, London merchant princes who had decided, having seen the cargoes brought in by Skye and Robbie’s ships over the last several years, that perhaps revival of trade with the Levant might indeed be a good thing. The presence of the Osborne-Staper agents along with the O’Malley-Small agent had won a safe conduct for Sir Edward’s factor, William Harborne, allowing him free access to the sultan’s domains. Master Harborne would be sailing soon for Istanbul.

Skye was aware of all this. Her information was fresher, and usually quicker than the queen’s. She knew that the current sultan, Murad III, was a young man ruled by twin vices: his unquenchable lust, and towering avarice. While she could hope that he would never see Aidan, and be attracted to her, there was also the chance that he would. These thoughts, however, she retained to herself. It was easy to get Conn to Istanbul. The seemingly impossible problem was going to be extracting Aidan from the middle of the very sticky web in which she was entangled.

Skye looked at her brother. “I can get ye to Istanbul, and I can do it quickly. First, however, ye must go to Algiers, and speak with my old friend, Osman; but even before that we must consider how to regain Aidan. Ye cannot simply go to Istanbul and tell the sultan ye want yer wife back. In Islam it is not the custom to take the wife of a living man for one’s own wife or concubine, but only the most scrupulous of men practice this rule. Although the sultan is called the Defender of the Faith he may well argue that since ye are not a Muslim the rule does not necessarily apply. Actually ye cannot decide what to do until ye have discovered the position in which Aidan is situated.”

“I don’t understand,” Conn said to her.

“Osman writes that the dey is sending her to the sultan as a gift. His harem is, by tradition, large. It is entirely possible he won’t ever see her. On the other hand Sultan Murad is known for his rather large appetite for women. It is said of him that his lust has driven up the price of lovely slavewomen, and that his eunuchs keep the Istanbul bazaars emptied. Therefore she could be presented to him relatively quickly, particularly due to her status as a present from the Dey of Algiers. There is another possibility. The sultan might give her to someone he wished to honor either in Istanbul or elsewhere. The final possibility, of course, is that harshest of all. Aidan could be dead.”

“Dead?” He looked horrified.

“She could die in childbirth, Conn. She could resist her fate, and be executed. She could simply not survive the voyage to Istanbul. We must think of all of these things. Osman Bey has the means of communicating with Istanbul for he has many friends there, and is well known through the sultan’s empire. In a few days I will release the pigeon he sent with a message to Osman. I will ask him that he learn if Aidan reached Istanbul in safety, and if she still lives. Hopefully that information will await ye on yer arrival in Algiers. Then should all be well, ye must make the voyage to Istanbul. Ye cannot delay for come autumn the seas will not be pleasant as they are now.”

“And ye remember, don’t ye, my sister, how my stomach detests the sea.” He smiled.

“I remember ’tis a wee bit delicate, Conn.”

“Delicate?” He roared with laughter. “Aye, ’tis a good word for my belly at sea.
Delicate!
How I remember Brian railing at me for my seasickness when I was a boy. He couldn’t understand how I could be sick in all the wonderful excitement of a howling gale from the northeast!”

“Brian,” said Skye of her eldest half-brother who was Conn’s elder by several years, “doesn’t know the meaning of the word, delicate. He is a throwback to some Viking raider who passed through the family at one point. He is blunt, and forthright, and has all the tact of a rampaging bull. Nonetheless he’s a good man to have at yer back in a fight. I’m going to send for him, and Shane and Shamus, too, to go with ye to Istanbul.”

“He’ll not like being under Robbie’s command,” said Conn knowingly.

“No, he won’t. None of them will, but I shall make it worth their while to help ye. Privateering has given them a taste for profit,” she noted wisely. “There is no sentiment in our brothers.”

“I will furnish them with their profit, Skye. Yer kind to offer, but I am a wealthy man in my own right, and Aidan is my wife.”

She was about to debate with him when she remembered Adam’s words
Yer no longer the O’Malley.
Swallowing her arguments she said, “Yer right, Conn,” and Adam’s eyes beamed with approval of her decision.

Conn’s elder brothers were sent for, and they came from Ireland, grumbling and complaining. They sailed straight into the London pool where they were met by their sister’s barge which took them to Greenwood. She watched them as they came ambling up her lawns from the house’s quay.

They were as big as their father had been. Great, shaggy men with bushy black beards, and full heads of thick, black hair. Of course Conn was handsomer by far than his brothers were in their dark plaid trews and sleeveless doeskin jerkins. Wide leather belts with ornate silver buckles girded their waists, and Brian and Shamus each wore a gold earring in their right ear while Shane had rings on every finger of both his hands. Born to the sea they respected her and loved her even more than the women to whom they were wed, crooning or cursing the wild waves they sailed in their Irish Gaelic tongue; or sometimes railing at the waters in a queer mixture of Gaelic and English that the Irish used more and more these days.

“God’s toenail,” said Conn softly. “Was it so short a time ago I was like them?”

“Four years,” replied Skye. “Do ye regret yer decisions?”

“Nay!” he said with such heartfelt expression that she almost laughed.

The brothers each in their turn embraced Skye in a bear hug, and then turned to look at their youngest sibling with something almost akin to admiration, but then Brian, the eldest, said sneeringly,

“Is this perfumed English dandy actually our brother?” Next to him Shane and Shamus grinned foolishly, ever the perfect ciphers of Brian O’Malley.

Conn drew himself up to his full height which was a good inch over the others, and looking down his elegant nose drawled lazily in his best court manner, “Conn St. Michael, Lord Bliss. Do ye think, dearest sister, that these three shaggy beasts are actually capable of following me into Barbary? Better ye let me take them to the bear gardens to fight with the dogs for they surely look like animals, and I could probably win a fortune running them.”

“Ye’ve a quick tongue for a man who’s called for our aid, little brother,” said Brian in rather good English.

“So ye actually understood me, Brian. Did the others? I’m amazed that ye finally speak and comprehend an intelligible English. Why have ye bothered after all these years I wonder.”

“Ye can’t run with the English on the Spanish Main, and not learn to speak their accursed tongue,” said Brian. “We even have a smattering of French and Spanish. Besides, having spent the last few years fighting with the English rather than against them, I have gained rather a grudging admiration of the bastards.” He eyed Conn. “They seem to have done well by ye, little brother.”

“Let us go into the house,” said Skye. “There is a great deal to discuss, and it looks like rain.”

They followed her inside, and into the library of Greenwood. There Adam de Marisco awaited them, and Brian, Shane, and Shamus O’Malley greeted him enthusiastically for he was the one Englishman whom they liked and admired. He settled them comfortably, placing goblets of rich burgundy wine from his mother’s vineyards in France in their big paws. A good fire burned in the large fireplace, taking the chill from the room on this damp August day. Skye had been correct, and drops of rain were already beginning to fling themselves against the windowpanes. They drank deeply, and in unison, and then Brian, the leader, looked up, and asked,

“Why are we here? We should be on our way back across the Atlantic at this very minute.”

“It’s a bad time of year to sail where ye were going,” Skye said dryly. “Conn needs yer help, and ’twill take ye into smoother waters for now.”

Brian swallowed another draft, and looked at Conn. “Well?” he demanded.

“As I’m certain ye know, for I wrote mother about it last winter, I was married on St. Valentine’s Day to Aidan St. Michael. Her mother was Bevin FitzGerald, the daughter of a man named Rogan FitzGerald, a cousin of Elizabeth FitzGerald, the great heiress from Kildare. Aidan’s mother died years ago, and her father last year. He left her in the queen’s care, and the queen matched us, and saw us wed. In May a man named Cavan FitzGerald, claiming to be her cousin, arrived in England. In late June my wife was kidnapped by this man.”

“Sweet Jesu!” exclaimed Brian O’Malley. This was high drama in which his brother was involved. “Let me guess,” he said. “He’s whisked the lass back home to Ireland, and is holding her for ransom. Ye want us to rescue yer bride, and hang that little FitzGerald sneak from our yardarms. ’Tis done, Conn! Ye may call yerself St. Michael now, but yer still an O’Malley to us.”

“I’m grateful for yer attitude, brother,” said Conn quietly, “but, ’tis not quite the way it happened. Cavan FitzGerald has taken my wife to Algiers, and sold her into slavery.” Then as his three elder brothers stared silent, surprised, and openmouthed, he explained what had happened, ending with “I’ll be going first to Algiers, and then on to Istanbul to rescue Aidan. I need the best men I can find to go with me, and who’s better than the sons of Dubhdara O’Malley? I’ll make it worth yer while financially, and best of all, brothers, ye’ll have more than enough adventure to last ye a lifetime. ’Twill be a nice change from the Spanish, I’m thinking.”

For several long minutes Brian O’Malley and his shaggy brothers sat mutely, and then Brian said, “We’ll take not a pennypiece from ye, Conn, in this venture. If we should pick up a little profit along the way then so much the better, but yer wife is our kin, and we can’t take reward from ye for aiding our own sister.”

“I’d rather ye accepted my offer of payment,” said Conn. “Ye can’t raise hell in Turkish waters, Brian. It could endanger Skye’s trading company with the sultan. I can’t do that.”

“Och, man, don’t ye worry yer head,” said Brian with a grin. “We’ll just take a few fat Barbary merchants from the Turks off Gibraltar on our way home. ’Twill pay us for our time, and nothing more.”

Skye laughed. “Why, Brian,” she said, “I can see ye’ve developed a sophisticated sense of humor these last years. One thing, however, and I know ’twill chafe ye a bit, but Sir Robert Small must be in charge of this expedition. It isn’t that he’s a better seaman for he isn’t, but he has traded back and forth in the Levant for years, and knows their ways and customs. I hope that ye understand.”

“Of course, I understand, Skye,” said Brian goodnaturedly. “What the hell do we know of Barbary, or the Turks? Yer Robbie will be invaluable to us, and I promise we’ll follow his lead in all matters even if we are better sailors than that little Englishman. When do we leave?”

“I’ll want yer ships turned out, scrubbed down, repaired, and provisioned at Conn’s expense,” said Skye. “With luck we can be ready within ten days to sail. I’ll put my people aboard to do the work. Let your men spend the time raising all the hell they want for once ye sail ye must impose tight discipline on them.”

Brian nodded. “I’ll not disagree with any of that, Skye.”

“Ye’ll all stay here at Greenwood,” she said. “There’s no plague in London despite the summer’s heat.”

“Do ye think we might get to see the queen?” asked Shane O’Malley. “They say she is the fairest woman in Christendom.”

“The queen is never in London during this time of year,” said Skye to her disappointed brother. “She spends the summer months on progress visiting other parts of her realm. Her people enjoy seeing her.”

He looked disapppointed. “I didn’t ever expect to put my foot on the soil of this land, but since I’m here I had at least hoped to get a glimpse of the witch’s daughter,” Shane said.

Skye looked at Adam and both repressed their laughter. Then Skye said, “Elizabeth Tudor’s mother wasn’t a witch, Shane. She was simply a rather determined woman as is her daughter.”

“Well then,” he answered her, “what is there to do in this stinking city?”

“I think ye’d enjoy the bear gardens that Conn mentioned earlier. In the summer there are many outdoor entertainments in and around the city. There are archery contests which I think might be of interest to ye; there are fairs and some of the best inns in the world are here in London. Both Conn and Adam can show ye about during yer stay.”

The three O’Malley brothers nodded, and Brian said, “Are there women to be had, Skye? We’ve heard that London whores are buxom and bonnie.”

Adam chuckled. “Aye, our lasses have a reputation for being very friendly, Brian. Of course, ’tis been many a year since I’ve found it necessary, or even desirable to avail myself of such company.” He looked to Conn. “Yer experience is surely more recent than mine.”

Conn couldn’t help but grin. “Aye,” he admitted without any reluctance, “it is, and I’ll be glad to steer my big brothers in the right direction. One thing, however, Brian. A good whore is an expensive whore. You must understand that. I’ll have no embarrassing haggling about the price particularly after ye’ve partaken of the merchandise.”

“In other words,” said Brian dryly, “ye don’t want us acting like the country bumpkins ye consider us to be.”

Conn never batted an eye. “Aye,” he said, and Brian laughed.