Skye O'Malley (61 page)

Ewan and Murrough O’Flaherty had been sent home to Ireland, along with the twins, Gwyneth and Joan Southwood. Over a year previously, Skye and Geoffrey had betrothed these children to each. The twins had expressed the desire to remain together, and the boys were quite fond of them. The four would all be safe in Anne O’Malley’s care and would marry in a few more years. The twins’ nine-year-old sister, Susan Southwood, was sent to the household of Lord Trevenyan in Cornwall to learn the housewifely arts from his wife. She would be wed to the Trevenyan heir, an excellent match for both young people.

Only Willow and Robin remained with their mother. Skye had plans for the little Earl, but she would need the Queen’s permission to carry them out. She had therefore waited to approach Elizabeth until she knew Lord Dudley was away from Court. Willow could
easily be removed from Lynmouth. In case of danger the Smalls at Wren Court would protect her. If Skye had to fight Robert Dudley, it would be on her terms, not his: the children would not become weapons in his hands.

Below her, she could hear the thudding of the horses’ hooves as they passed over the wooden drawbridge, then clattered into the castle courtyard. Gathering her cloak about her, she left the ramparts and hurried to her own apartment to await word from her majordomo that Lord Dudley had arrived. When the announcement came she calmly smoothed her skirts and descended to the Great Hall to greet her unwelcome guest.

As she entered the room Robert Dudley felt a momentary stab of compassion. She had grown thinner and looked tired. Yet despite the changes, she was still the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. Her black silk mourning gown was enormously becoming and the jet-edged cap framed her heart-shaped face in an outrageously flattering way. Widowhood became her, thought Robert Dudley.

“Welcome to Lynmouth, my lord.” Her voice held no warmth.

“Am I truly welcome, my dear Skye?” he inquired playfully, kissing her hand.

“The Queen’s majesty is always welcome in this house, my lord Dudley, and you represent the Queen. I trust your men have been suitably cared for by my people?”

“Thank you, madam, yes.”

“You will wish to see the Earl,” she said. “At the moment, however, his lordship is asleep. I shall send him to you in the morning when he awakens. I apologize for our being unable to entertain you, Lord Dudley, but this house is in deepest mourning. You will excuse me now, sir.”

Dudley felt a surge of quick anger. He was being dismissed like a servant. “No, madam, I will not excuse you,” he snapped.

“My lord!” Skye looked outraged. “I would pray for my husband! You have no right to deny me the solace of prayer.”

“Would not a flesh-and-blood man be a better solace, sweet Skye?”

Her beautiful blue eyes widened. “
You? After Southwood?
Oh, Dudley!” she laughed harshly. “If you seek to amuse me, sir, you have certainly succeeded, and I thank you. I have not laughed once since my Geoffrey died.”

He flushed a dull red color. “You try my patience, madam!”

“And you try mine,” she snapped. “How dare you come into
my house and suggest what you suggest? It was bad enough that you attacked my virtue when Geoffrey was alive, but to continue to assault me in my grief is despicable!”

“Madam, I will have you.” There it was. Blunt and open.

“Never.”

“Let me remind you that I am your son’s governor.”

“But not mine!”

“I can have the boy removed from here at any time. And unless you cooperate, I shall.”

“I shall appeal to the Queen!”

“On what grounds, sweet Skye? I have only to tell Bess that you are suffering from acute melancholia brought on by Southwood’s death. That I think your moods are bad for the children. Better yet, the children shall remain here at Lynmouth, but I shall remove you to London! What will you tell the Queen, and which one of us will she believe?”

“No!” She was helpless until the Queen replied to her last letter and she was free of Dudley. She dare not take the chance of being separated from Robin and Willow. Dudley smiled, knowing that she had assessed the situation intelligently and knew she had no choice.

“You will have supper with me, and afterward I will have you,” he crowed triumphantly.

“I pray that you excuse me from supper. What you force me to is distasteful, and I find I have no appetite. I will come to you, for I will not take you into the bed I shared with my husband. Give me a few hours to compose myself.”

He nodded. “Very well, sweet Skye. I will excuse you from supper. I shall eat in my rooms, and you will come to me at ten o’clock tonight. Is it agreed?”

“Yes, my lord.” She turned from him and quickly left the room. If it had not been for the children she would have thrown herself from the castle heights. No! She would have plunged a dagger into his chest, and thrown his body into the sea! Why should she suffer because of that revolting man?

Daisy waited for her in Skye’s bedroom. “From the look on your face I’d say Lord Dudley’s not changed his tune.” Skye had taken her tiring woman into her confidence because she believed she might need Daisy’s aid.

Skye explained wearily, “He has threatened to send me from the children unless I yield myself. I must, of course, especially since I don’t believe he knows yet that the five older children are gone.
When he learns of that all hell is apt to break loose around us, Daisy.”

“Unless, of course, you please him. He’ll be more amenable if he thinks he’s won you over,” observed Daisy.

“If the Queen agrees to my suggestion for Robin’s future, then the fine Lord Dudley will have nothing to blackmail me with at all.”

“But in the meantime you’ve got to warm his bed, and he’ll not be happy if you are aloof with him.”

“How can I receive him warmly, Daisy? I despise the man! How could I take a ridiculous popinjay like that for a lover after my darling Geoffrey?”

“Alas, madam, it’s not a matter of what you want. The Earl would want you to protect little Robin’s inheritance,” said the ever-practical Daisy. “Lord Dudley has the power now. Men always do.”

“Not always,” said Skye softly. For the first time in several years she was experiencing her youth again, in her memory. Safe in Geoffrey’s love, she had almost forgotten that she was the O’Malley of Innisfana. Now she was trapped, for Robin was an English peer, and she could not steal his ancient heritage in order to return to her own. But there might be a way out of this, if only the Queen agreed to her plan. For tonight, however, there was no escaping Lord Dudley. She shuddered.

“I’ve had the girls draw your bath, my lady,” said Daisy quietly. “There’ll be breast of capon, salad, and fresh strawberries with cream for your supper after your bath.”

Skye nodded absently. Undressing automatically, she stepped into her tub. The warm water was fragrant with her favorite scent, roses. Daisy carefully pinned up her hair, and Skye sank deep into the water. She did not think Dudley meant to flaunt her before the world. Elizabeth Tudor could not be used that way. Too, it had been less than two years since Dudley had finally received his earldom. Therefore, he would plan to leave Skye in Devon, taking his pleasure of her on occasional trips down to see to the “welfare” of his godson, the Queen’s ward. He would have to be very careful lest he rouse the suspicions of the Queen regarding his true motives.

Taking the soap from a small porcelain dish, she chuckled to herself, realizing that her daily bathing was a habit picked up in Algiers. Many of the English Court ladies were just as shy of soap and water as their kitchen help. She rose from the tub, and Daisy wrapped a warmed towel about her. Stepping from the tub, Skye sat down on a bench by her fire. Two little undermaids carefully
rubbed the beads of moisture from Skye’s shoulders and then, kneeling, dried her feet. Skye stood up, dropping her towel, her slender arms raised above her head. Daisy, armed with a thick lamb’s wool puff, liberally dusted her mistress with rose powder, muttering all the while, “Indecent is what it is! In her middle twenties, five babes, and she still has the figure of a young girl!”

Skye laughed. Though Daisy was younger than she was by a good five years, she was, in the manner of a beloved servant, maternal in her feelings toward her mistress. Still smiling, Skye took up the crystal flacon of attar of roses and daubed the scent on herself, suddenly remembering Yasmin and the women in the House of Felicity.
I seem to have gone backward instead of forward
, she thought wryly.

Daisy held out the gown, and Skye slipped into it. Of coral silk, it had wide flowing sleeves, a very low, scooped neckline, and a full skirt that fell in graceful folds. There was no waistline. The gown fastened beneath the breasts, molding them. How Geoffrey would have loved this gown, she thought, blinking back tears. She had had it made in London last winter, and had not had a chance to wear it before he died. For a moment she considered tearing it off rather than wear it before Robert Dudley. But she realized that nearly everything she touched would hold memories of Geoffrey.

“You may all leave me now,” Skye said. “Good night, girls.” The door closed behind the three, and she glanced toward the mantel clock. An hour to go. She nibbled on a bit of supper, surprised to find that she had an appetite. The strawberries tasted particularly good, and it came to her that she hadn’t really tasted food since Geoffrey had died. She had eaten because she had to, but she might have been eating dried leaves.

She paced the room nervously, wishing that her monthly courses were upon her so she might have refused Dudley. Oh, good God! Why had she not told him that? It would have mattered very little. He would simply have waited until she could receive him. Better to get it over with now.

She thought for a moment on the man who awaited her, seeking to find something about him that would make her ordeal less terrible. She could not deny that he was handsome. Tall and well formed, his complexion fair, his hair and elegant mustache a reddish-ginger color, his eyes velvet brown. But his eyes were too close together, hinting of a slyness she had seen exhibited more than once. And although his manners were perfect, there was a marked arrogance about the man. Far worse was his ambition which, like
his love of himself, was monumental. She could not like him and that was all there was to it.

It lacked five minutes to the hour when Skye wrapped a dark velvet cloak about her shoulders and left her apartment. The castle was quiet, everyone but the watch being asleep. Lord Dudley had been placed in the east wing of the castle, far from Skye’s rooms in the southwest sector. She walked swiftly, praying she would encounter no one who might witness her shame. Pausing a moment outside Lord Dudley’s bedchamber, she drew a deep breath and then, before she could allow herself to flee, reached out and opened the door.

He turned from the fireplace and grinned toothily at her. Outside on the castle heights the watch was just calling the hour. “How prompt you are, my dear. May I attribute it to your eagerness to be with me?” He chuckled. Walking toward her, he reached out and took her cloak and let it slide to the floor. “By God, madam!” he swore softly. “You choose your gowns with care!” Pulling her into his arms, he kissed her hard. She struggled instinctively, but he pinioned her tightly against his chest, saying fiercely, “No, madam! There’ll be none of that! You may play the grieving widow publicly, but don’t tell me that you’re not really hot for a man between your legs. Geoffrey Southwood was a man who loved a woman well, and you’ve not had any loving in several months. Unless, of course,” and he leered unpleasantly at her, “there’s a willing stable boy about.”

“You’re a bastard, Dudley,” she spat at him.

“No stable boy?” he mused. “Then you’ll give yourself willingly to me, sweet Skye.” Drawing her to a wall mirror, he stood her before it and, positioning himself behind her, carefully drew the coral silk down over her shoulders. His fingers caressed the smooth skin, and then suddenly his lips were burning into the bare flesh. “Southwood always bragged about your skin,” he murmured, intoxicated by the softness of her.

Skye felt her flesh crawl under this first assault, and his references to Geoffrey almost made her swoon. “Please, my lord,” she said low so he might not hear the tremor in her voice, “If you have any feeling for me at all, do not speak of Geoffrey to me.”

Lord Dudley glanced up at her curiously. Shrugging, he drew her gown down a little more, exposing her breasts. His left arm held her tightly against him while his right snaked forward to cup her right breast. “Exquisite,” he said with the appreciation of an experienced connoisseur. “Just a handful, but more would be wasted.”

Skye closed her eyes, forcing back tears as the gown slipped
lower, and his hand followed it, sliding over her belly. Then the gown was lying on the floor and she was completely naked. Dudley’s breathing quickened and became harsh. He pushed her forward over his arm, and his free hand roamed her bottom. But when he attempted to insert his finger within her she squirmed away from him crying, “No!”

Dudley chuckled, pleased, and undid his deep-brown dressing gown. “We’ll eventually do that too, my sweet Skye, but first things first.” He was now as naked as she was and she looked to his sex with fear. He did not fail to notice. He was not overly thick, but he did have the longest manroot she had ever seen.

“I want you to sit on the edge of the bed,” he commanded, and when she did he continued, “now lie back, my sweet Skye. Yes, that’s it.” He slid his hands beneath her buttocks and drew her down toward him. He spread her legs wide.

She knew then what he intended, which did not lessen the shock when he knelt before her and put his head between her legs. He fastened his mouth to her. She shuddered, which he misinterpreted as the beginnings of her passion. To her anguish, Skye was remembering when Geoffrey had first loved her thusly, his mouth and tongue using her gently with feathery, tenderly passionate touches. Dudley, however, feasted greedily on the succulent pink flesh, his tongue thrusting and stabbing at her provocatively. He demanded a response. Skye bit her lips until they bled. He was rousing her, and she could not help but respond.