Skye O'Malley (12 page)

He looked down at her, so meek, so obedient. He was angry with her, and tempted to sodomize her, for he knew how she hated that particular degradation. But he feared for the child. It was
his son
, and it bound her irrevocably to him. Without the child she might run to Niall Burke and become his leman, making the O’Flahertys the laughingstock of all Connaught.

He did no more than loosen his codpiece and his organ, swollen already, burst forth. He saw her shiver again, and the feeling of power her fear gave him aroused him further. He easily found his way inside her, sliding his hands beneath her breasts to play with the very sensitive nipples while he moved himself with long smooth strokes. “Your hound does it this way to the bitches in my kennel. I’ve watched him many a time,” he murmured, biting the back of her neck. She said nothing. To her relief he was finished quickly. “I’m going back to the hall now,” he said. “Get some rest, Skye.” Fastening his clothes, he was gone.

For a few moments she lay quietly, her face wet with silent tears. Then she stood and, removing her stockings, wrapped herself in a soft woolen robe before lying down again. If she could have boiled her body she would have done so, but even that would not rid her of the memory of his touch, the smell of his lust on her skin.

She could not stop the tears from flowing. It had all been too much. Learning that her father and the MacWilliam had conspired to keep Niall from her had come close to breaking her heart all over again. It had been easier when she could simply hate Niall. Exhausted, she slept.

The sudden sound of the door latch rasping woke her and she tensed. Dom was back, and probably drunk. She lay quietly, hoping he would believe she was sleeping.

“Skye,” came the soft whisper.

“Niall!” She sat up. “Are you mad? In God’s name go quickly before Dom returns! Please, my lord!”

He shut the door quietly and drew the bolt closed. “Dom is lying in the hall in a drunken stupor with his friends. My page is watching. Should Dom awaken the lad will warn us long before he can get here.” Dearest Heaven, she was beautiful, her black cloud of hair swirling about her shoulders, her eyes enormous and dark with concern. Niall sat on the edge of the bed and drew her into his arms. “You’ve been weeping.” It was a statement.

“It was easier when I thought you’d betrayed me,” she said softly, believing he would understand.

“For me also, my darling.” He reached out and caressed her dark hair.

“Your wife—?” She had to ask.

“Is keeping one of her interminable vigils in the chapel. She does it to avoid me, but I care not. Bedding her is like bedding a dead thing.”

“Oh, Niall …” Her voice broke, and she buried her face in his shoulder.

“Skye! Ah, love, don’t weep! Damn, Skye, you’ll break my heart!” His mouth gently found hers. Sighing deeply, she slid her arms about his neck, and gave herself over into his keeping. His hand found the swell of her breast, and it seemed so natural, so right. She pulled her lips away from him long enough to whisper, “Yes, Niall! Oh, please love me!” Then her mouth fused fiercely to his again, and she was lost in a burst of searing passion that swept over her body instantly, nearly rendering her unconscious.

His hand gently caressed the ripening mound. “I wish to Heaven he were mine,” he muttered huskily. “God! You’re so beautiful with the babe growing in you, like one of the old Celtic fertility goddesses.”

“I prayed so hard,” she whispered. “When I was at St. Bride’s I prayed you’d gotten me with child. How I wept when I found it wasn’t so. Eibhlin says they feared for my sanity. Then Dom came …” her voice trailed off.

“I’ll kill him,” Niall said quietly.

“And what of your poor wife? Would you kill her also? What harm has that unfortunate creature done to either of us? You say she
was to be a nun, and from what you tell me she had a true vocation. Has she not been harmed as deeply as we?” Skye drew a deep breath and pulled away from him, her blue eyes intent. “Niall! Oh, Niall, my love! We are inescapably wed to other people. There is no hope for us. I love you, Niall, but when I return to Ballyhennessey I want never to set eyes on you again. I cannot see you and keep my love for you from the world. Dom is already suspicious. I want no trouble between the two of you, for he is foolish and apt to be treacherous. I am not so innocent as to beg that you forget me. We will not forget, either of us, but we must part.”

He pulled her back into his arms. “I cannot bear to lose you again,” he said brokenly.

“Oh, my love, you never really had me,” she answered sadly.

For a few minutes longer they clung to each other, unwilling for the bittersweet interlude to end. Then, kissing her tenderly, he laid her back against the pillows. “I’ll find other times during this visit when we can talk,” he said. “Promise me one thing, though. Promise me you’ll ask my help should you
ever
need it. I will not rest easy if you do not give me your word, Skye, and swear to it. I’ll not have O’Flaherty mistreating you.”

“I do not fear Dom. As long as I play the beautiful and docile wife for him in public, his vanity is fed enough.” She would not tell him the truth, tell him of her husband’s degrading ways in their bed, for it would only infuriate Niall and there was nothing he could do about it. “Sit with me but a moment longer,” she begged. Smiling, he took her hand. She closed her eyes. Soon she was asleep. Gently drawing the featherbedding over her, he unbolted the door and slipped from the room.

Making his way back to the banquet hall, Niall dismissed his page for the night. Then, turning to seek his own quarters, he almost collided with a young squire. “Your pardon, my lord, but the MacWilliam would see you.” Niall nodded and immediately sought the old man’s rooms.

He found his father sitting up in bed, a nightcap upon his leonine head. His gouty foot was freshly bound, and he held a goblet in his hand. Niall bent and sniffed the cup. “I thought malmsey was bad for your foot,” he noted.

“That quack of a doctor tells me everything is bad for my foot. I suppose if I could still fuck he’d tell me that was bad for my foot also,” was the flinty retort. The MacWilliam paused. “I would say that the beauteous young Lady O’Flaherty is bad for more than your foot, Niall, my son.”

The two men eyed each other, and the MacWilliam sighed. “I was wrong to force you into marriage with the O’Neill lass. I can see O’Malley’s girl would have made you a better wife. Christ! Wed seven months, and already with child! And she carries the babe well. What a breeder! She’ll give O’Flaherty a houseful of sons, and still have a waist a man could span with his two hands. And what a beauty … that hair, and those Kerry-blue eyes, and those marvelous tits! Damme, I wish I weren’t so old!”

Niall laughed, but his father now continued in a more serious tone. “Keep away from her, Niall. O’Flaherty won’t wear the horns of a cuckold gracefully. He’d kill you if he catches you with his wife. I know you were with her in her bedchamber tonight while her husband lay drunk in the hall. Be careful, lad! You’re my only son, my heir, and I love you. Until you get a legitimate son, we’re not safe.”

“Rest easy, Father. Skye and I but talked. If we had done it in public the gossips would have had a field day.”

“You
talked?!
God’s nightshirt! If I were twenty years younger and alone with that beauty, it would not have been talking I’d have been doing!”

Again Niall laughed. “Come, Father, she’s six months gone with child.”

“There are ways, boy.”

“I know, and perhaps if the child were mine—but it’s not. Besides,” and here Niall eyed his father firmly, “finding out the trick that you and O’Malley played to separate us has made Skye very vulnerable. I would not hurt her further. I love her.”

“If she lost the babe then she’d be free of O’Flaherty,” said the old man slyly. “His wife, yes, but free to come to you … and she would. I’d recognize any bastards she gave you as my heirs, for I strongly doubt the O’Neill girl will ever conceive.”

“Don’t tempt me, Father. If you think Skye worthy to bear our heirs, then surely she is worthy of our name as well. You see her as nothing but a brood mare who will secure our immortality, but I love Skye. I have never wanted any woman but her for my wife.” He took a deep, ragged breath. “But O’Flaherty is strong and healthy. He will probably live forever. She and I have no hope.”

“His death could be arranged … but you’re too noble for your own good, Niall! Love has made you a weakling. If you don’t mean to claim the woman for your own, then keep away from her else her husband kills you in a fit of jealous rage,” growled the old man.

“Or I kill him,” mused Lord Burke quietly.

CHAPTER 6

S
KYE’S SON
, E
WAN, WAS BORN IN EARLY SPRING
. E
IBHLIN HELPED
deliver her new nephew, having come to the O’Flahertys’ immediately after Twelfth Night. Eibhlin was shocked by the poverty of the O’Flahertys’ tower house. Anne had, of course, repeated Skye’s descriptions of her home, but the nun had assumed that Skye’s bitter disappointment over her marriage caused her to exaggerate. Now she saw that everything Anne had reported was dismayingly true.

The masonry of the tower house was in poor repair and there were drafts everywhere. The floors were covered by nothing except dirty, much-used rushes. The few wall hangings were threadbare and virtually useless for warmth, let alone comfort. The furniture was sparse as well. Eibhlin was puzzled. She knew that her father and stepmother had sent a number of fine pieces along to Skye, but when she questioned her younger sister all she got was a mumbled answer about Gilly and Dom and their endless debts.

Having her sister with her made it a happy winter for Skye. Ewan’s birth was a relaxed and easy one, and Eibhlin left four weeks afterward. She returned within several months to aid her sister once again, for Skye’s second son, Murrough, was separated from his brother by but ten months.

Murrough made his entry into the world during a brutal midwinter storm. Fortunately this birth was also an easy one, for Eibhlin had other factors beside the baby to contend with. The strong winds had blown so hard that the floors of O’Flaherty House were covered with half an inch of snow in some places. It had blown through cracked walls and the sheepskin-covered windows. The fires had gone out several times, and Eibhlin had been hard-pressed to keep her sister and the newborn boy warm and dry. Eibhlin was angry. She was ashamed that her sister should live this way. Skye’s dowry gone to pay gaming debts, or for wine, or to buy gifts for the women Dom and his father amused themselves with. Eibhlin made herself a vow: Skye would have no more babes, especially so quickly, until Dom grew up and took his responsibilities seriously.

“Ten months between babes is too soon,” she scolded. “Now you must rest at least a year or two before conceiving again.”

“Tell Dom,” said Skye weakly. “He’ll be on me within the
month. Despite his whores, he harbors a constant lust for me. Besides, I thought I could not conceive as long as I nursed Ewan.”

“An old wives’ tale that has done more harm than you can imagine,” replied Eibhlin. “And I shall talk to Dom myself. Then I’ll give you the recipe for a potion that will prevent conception.”

“Eibhlin!” Skye was both amused and shocked. “And you a nun! How on earth do you know such things?”

“I have as much knowledge as a doctor,” replied Eibhlin. “More perhaps, since I have also learned midwifery and herbal medicine from the old ones. Doctors scorn these things, but they are wrong to do so. I can tell you several ways to prevent conception.”

“But does not the Church forbid such wicked practices, my sister?”

The nun answered forcefully, “The Church has not seen innocent babes dying of starvation because there are too many mouths in the family to feed. They have not seen little children and their sickly mothers freezing to death, blue with the cold, because there are not enough blankets or clothes in the hovels they call houses—not even food or wood for warmth! What do the well-fed priests and bishops, snug in their stone houses on this snowy night, know of these poor souls and their endless torments?

“I help where I can, Skye. For those innocent and superstitious poor I offer a ‘tonic’ to help them regain their strength after the ordeal of several births. They know not what I give them. If they did, they would not take it because they truly believe the Church’s threat of eternal damnation. You, sister, are not so foolish.”

“No, Eibhlin, I am not. And I want no more of Dom’s children. I will not be made old before my time, nor shall I nurse this child knowing what I do now. One of Dom’s women gave birth but a month ago. She has breasts like udders, and it will amuse me to have her nurse both Dom’s son and his bastard. She can live in the nursery with both boys and have Ewan’s wet nurse for company.”

“You’ve grown hard, Skye.”

“If I were not, Eibhlin, I should not be able to survive in this house. You have been here enough to know what the O’Flahertys are like.”

The nun nodded. “Have you had any luck in finding a husband for Claire?”

“None, and I’m not likely to unless I can convince Da to dower her. Gilly and Dom have gambled away the dowry left to Claire by her mother. There’s nothing left. And if I didn’t know better,
I would swear she was a half-wit, for she cares not. The few young men who have come calling have been met with indifference. One is too fat, another too lean. This one is a buffoon, but that one lacks a sense of humor. One is too ardent in his wooing, and another has no blood in his veins. I don’t understand her at all! She has no religious vocation, no passion for anyone so far as I can see. Nor does she seem to desire to control her own life, as I did. She cares for nothing.”

“Perhaps she is merely content to stay with her father and brother. Some women are like that.”

Skye looked candidly at her sister. “Do you really think Claire O’Flaherty is like that, Eibhlin?”

“No,” came the quick reply. “She’s a sly and secretive girl for all she looks like an angle. There is something …” and here Eibhlin hesitated, loath to criticize yet genuinely concerned. “There is something unwholesome about Claire,” she finally finished.