Skye O'Malley (62 page)

The sweet flow from her body told him so. With a grunt of satisfaction he rose and, lifting her slightly, took her there on the edge of the bed. Bending down, he imprisoned her between his two strong arms. He murmured into her ear. “I am now inside you, my sweet Skye. How ready you are to receive me, lovey! Your little honey oven burns my lance with the fiery flow of the passion you would like to deny me, but can’t.” He moved within her fiercely and she cried out in passion, hating herself for her weakness.

Triumph was written all over the face that loomed above her. “I want to get further inside you, lovey. Clasp your legs about me,” he ordered. Afraid to disobey him, she complied. With a groan of pure pleasure he drove so deeply that she would have sworn he touched her very womb. To her great surprise, he was concentrating on her response rather than his own. And though she hated him, her body treacherously yielded itself.

With a chuckle of satisfaction Robert Dudley suddenly withdrew from her.” I have learned to control my body, sweet Skye. I am
not quite ready yet to yield to passion. Why—we have scarce begun, my pet! You’re much too delicious an armful to devour so quickly. I am now in the mood to play with you for a while.”

He eyed her lasciviously. “What a pretty little girl Papa has. Is she a good little girl?” He looked to her questioningly, and when she looked back at him blankly, he said, “You must play along, my sweet Skye. You must call me Papa. Didn’t you and Southwood ever play such games?”

She shook her head, and he chuckled again. He sat up and pulled her onto his lap. “Such games can be fun, my pet. Come now, and tell Papa if you’re his good little girl.”

“I … yes.”

“Come, Skye, don’t be shy with me. Are You Papa’s good little girl?”

“Yes—Papa.”

“Ah ha!” He pounced upon her answer, grinning toothily. “Now here’s a small lie, sweetness. No one can ever be good all the time, now can they?”

“No—Papa.”

“Then you have lied to me, my sweet naughtiness.”

“Yes, Papa.” God, but the man was a fool!

“Then I must punish you, my wicked little girl.”

“No! Dudley, this is ridiculous!”

“Ah, wouldn’t be defiant with your papa? I shall definitely have to punish you!” And quickly Lord Dudley turned Skye over his knee and, raising his hand, began to spank her. She shrieked and tried to wriggle free but, laughing delightedly at her reaction, he paddled her harder until her bottom tingled.

She had only been spanked once before in her entire life. It had happened when her father had sent her home to learn how to be a lady instead of a sailor. She had spent the week annoying her older sister Peigi, and Peigi had finally spanked her. Skye had retaliated quickly by filling her sister’s bed full of wriggling, live crabs. No one since had ever spanked her.

“By God! By God!” she heard him pant as she tried to escape him. “That saucy backside of yours begs for spanking. How your little cheeks blush rosy for me, my pet.” Now he was lifting her up and quickly pushing her face down upon the bed.

“No! Damn you, Dudley, no!” she sobbed, knowing full well what he intended. But he was already on her, holding her down by the neck while he pushed carefully into her in the Greek fashion.

“Bastard! Boy lover!” she snarled at him, but he only laughed.

“Your little rose is tightly closed to me now, but in time ’twill stretch to receive me as eagerly as your sweet cunny does.”

For a few moments he used her thusly, and the terrible memories of her first husband and his abuses came racing back to assail her. Then he withdrew from her and, turning her over, thrust into her in proper man-woman fashion.

This time Dudley was ready to allow his own passion full control. After he had satisfied her once, he took his own release. Skye did not think it possible to hate a human being as much as she now hated him. Even once sated, he could not leave her be. Pulling her onto her side and into the curve of his arm, he stroked her perfect, small breasts, the shapely curve of her hip, the soft round of her bottom.

“Damme, sweetheart, you were fashioned for loving. That silken skin of yours would rouse a eunuch. Still, I would prefer a bit more fire from you.”

“Oh, no, my lord! You can force me to your bed with threats against me and my children and you can order me to perform whatever perversions please you, but you can never force my emotions. Do you suddenly find the possession of my person not enough for you?” She could not disguise the triumph in her voice, and she hoped it rankled him.

Lord Dudley was far too sophisticated the courtier to be easily angered by her barbs. Her very inaccessibility had intrigued him in the first place, and her distaste still did. He could force her body to yield itself, but he wanted to hear her cry of surrender echoing in his ears. At the moment, however, all he heard was defiance. He pulled her beneath him again, excited by that defiance.

“Whoreson!” she hissed.

“Bitch!” His mouth savaged hers as she raked her nails down his back, and bit at his lip. “Owwww!” Dudley pulled away from her but laughed when he saw the look of battle in her eye. “Little Irish barbarian,” he murmured in her ear. “I fully intend taming you, and I will!”

“You’ll grow old trying, my lord!”

“Why sweet Skye, you give me hope,” he shot back, deliberately twisting her words as he jammed his knee between her soft thighs, forcing them open. Now Skye tried to claw at his eyes, and Robert Dudley caught her hands and, pulling them above her head, successfully immobilized her while he once again assaulted her. Then, sated for the moment, he turned on his side and fell asleep, one leg thrown carelessly over her body, imprisoning her.

She lay rigid with fury. He was not going to leave her alone. Her coldness intrigued him, yet if she could pretend passion, he would be equally intrigued. Dear God, if only the Queen would answer her letter favorably so she could get out of this!

The Earl of Leicester stayed two days and three nights at Lynmouth, and there was only one thing upon which he and his hostess agreed during that time. That agreement centered about little Lord Southwood. “He’s Geoffrey’s son, and no doubt about it!” said Dudley admiringly. “By God, if he were mine I’d burst my buttons. You’ve bred a fine son, madam. Are your Irish sons as fine? I have not yet had the opportunity to greet them.”

“They are in Ireland,” she answered.

“I was given to understand that they were here with you.”

“Only part time,” she said sweetly. “Ewan is, after all, the O’Flaherty of Ballyhennessey. It is necessary that he and his younger brother remain on his estates part of the year. They have taken their betrothed wives with them, and are at present in the safe custody of my uncle, the Bishop of Connaught, and my stepmother, Lady Anne O’Malley.”

“Their betrothed wives?”

“Gwyneth and Joan Southwood. Geoffrey and I betrothed our children over a year ago. They all adore each other. Is it not fortunate?” Her beautiful face radiated innocence.

“Southwood had another daughter. Where is she?” Robert Dudley’s voice was very carefully controlled.

“Susan? Susan is with Lord and Lady Trevenyan’s household down in Cornwall. She was matched with their heir a long time ago. I do believe Lady Trevenyan and Susan’s mother were cousins.”

“So only your daughter and son are here? You’re clever, my sweet Skye. Far cleverer, frankly, than I had anticipated. Still I do hold the trump card with Robin, don’t I?” He smiled. “I must return to Court today lest my dear Bess grow suspicious, but I will return as soon as I can. When I do I will look forward to more pleasant hours in your bed.”

She made a face at him, and he laughed as he raised her hand to his mouth, and kissed her fingertips. Soon Dudley took his leave, slowly kissing her hand again. Smiling for the benefit of her servants, she said in an undertone, “You’re a pig, my lord.”

Dudley laughed again, and rode off as he had come. Singing.

Free of him at last, Skye fled her castle and walked the cliffs above the sea. The bright day and the brisk clean wind helped to lift some of her melancholy, but she still felt dirtied. She had almost
forgotten that men like Dudley existed. Dom O’Flaherty had been like Dudley, though lacking his refinements. But Dom had been dead for many years and in the love and tenderness and warmth of men like Khalid and Geoffrey she had almost forgotten that there were men whose sexual satisfaction was gained only by the pain and shame they inflicted.

The next day, however, Skye had a happy surprise. Robert Small had returned from his long voyage. Stopping at Wren Court only long enough to assure Dame Cecily of his safety, he came directly to Lynmouth. From her favorite retreat high upon the open battlements, she recognized his dearly familiar form upon his little bay gelding. Gathering up her skirts, Skye flew from the top of the castle down the winding flights of stairs out into the courtyard and onto the drawbridge.

“Robbie! Oh, Robbie! You’re safe! And you’re home!” She was laughing with joy, sobbing with relief, and overwhelmingly glad to see her small protector. Everything was always all right when Robbie was home to look after her.

The gelding stopped, and the little man slipped from its back to gather the beautiful woman into his arms. They hugged each other in full view of the entire castle, and then Robert Small kissed her soundly on both cheeks. “How is it possible that you’ve grown prettier, my lass?”

“Oh, Robbie, your tongue is so smooth that I sometimes think you’re Irish.”

He chuckled, and slipped his arm through hers. “I find that I have an Irish thirst right now. Will you take me into your fine house, and offer me a bit of wine to clear the Devon dust from my throat?”

She laughed. It was a clear and happy sound, one she had not made since she had lost Geoffrey and their younger son. Leading Robbie to the Great Hall, she sat him down and brought him the wine herself. He took a deep draught and then said quietly, “I was sorry to learn about Geoffrey, and the child.”

“Who told you? De Grenville?”

“Yes. He met me in Bideford. Damn, Skye, sorry is … hardly a good enough way to—”

“Say nothing, Robbie. We’re friends. I know what is in your heart.”

“The Queen’s confirmed your son as heir?”

Skye looked hard at her old friend. “Yes, but she’s overridden Geoffrey’s will and made Robert Dudley my son’s guardian.”

The sea captain frowned, beginning to understand that trouble was in the air. “From your tone, Skye, I think I am home just in time. Must I again rescue the poor widow?”

“I think this time I must rescue myself, Robbie.” She stood and began to pace while she explained. “Geoffrey and I left Court after Robin was born, and retired here to Devon. My uncle sent my Irish sons to us, and we were a happy family—my sons, his daughters, and our two boys. Then Geoffrey died, and Johnny. The Queen was quick to recognize Robin as Geoffrey’s legitimate successor, but she sent the Earl of Leicester as his guardian. It is my supreme misfortune that Robert Dudley covets me.”

“Why, the damned lecher,” cried Robbie. “Is not Bess enough woman for him?”

“The Queen has most certainly not yielded her person, Robbie. She wants him, I believe, but dares not compromise herself. Still, she dotes on him and spoils him fearfully. She will hear not a word against him. How can I dare tell her that he has forced me, and will continue to do so as long as he can use my son to control me?”

“The bastard!” said Robert Small fiercely. “You mean that he’s already—?”

“Aye, Robbie.
He’s already
.” Then she said grimly, “But I may yet outsmart Lord Dudley. Geoffrey and I had spoken of betrothing Robin to de Grenville’s littlest daughter, Alison. If I can gain the Queen’s permission to this match, then I shall ask that de Grenville be made Robin’s governor. I have written to Her Majesty about this, but it will be weeks before she replies.”

“Then go up to London and obtain her permission during a personal audience.”

“What?”

“Go up to London, lass! I will go with you. I must anyway in order to report the success of our mission to the Queen. It is our trading company that made the voyage, and what would be more natural than that we both report to Elizabeth?”

“Successful? We were successful! How successful? Lord bless me, Robbie, it should have been my first thought!”

He laughed. “Nay, love, you’ve had other troubles. But now I’ll make those troubles disappear! Not a ship lost, Skye! Not one! D’you know the odds against that? Five men though, in a bad storm in the Indian Ocean. Other than that, we might have been sailing in a millpond. I’ve never encountered such good weather. The holds of all the ships are crammed to overflowing with spices. I’ve a
fortune in rare jewels. And, as an extra bonus, m’dear, when we stopped to take on water at a small African port I obtained us a fine cargo of ivory! If you hadn’t been a rich woman before, Skye, you are now! And the Queen’s coffers will not suffer by this, either.”

Her blue eyes sparkled with delight. “Can you be ready to leave tomorrow, Robbie?”

“Aye, lass, I can. Give me a good hot dinner and an unbroken night’s rest, and I’ll be ready.”

Suddenly the door to the room burst open and Willow ran in, followed by a small blond boy. “Uncle Robbie! Uncle Robbie!” She launched herself straight at him.

Robert Small caught her up, his weathered face split in a wide grin. “Willow, lass! Can it truly be you? Why, you’re half grown!” He kissed her soundly on both cheeks, then put her down.

Willow flushed with pleasure, then smoothed her gown. “I am now seven,” she said importantly.

“Are you indeed? How proud your father would have been of you. You have the look of him.” His air of being impressed was just what the child wanted. “Now tell me, lass, who is this wee lad?”

Willow drew the boy out, and said gravely, “May I present my brother, Robin, sir. He is the Earl of Lynmouth.”

Robert Small made an elegant leg to the child. “M’lord, I am honored to make your acquaintance. I knew your late father, may God assoil him, and I respected him greatly.”

The boy looked up shyly, and the little captain was struck dumb. The boy was his father’s image. Seeing Geoffrey Southwood looking at him through this small boy’s eyes was very disconcerting. “May I call you Uncle Robbie too?” came the shy question.