Skye O'Malley (76 page)

Skye smiled. “You’re a true friend, ma’am. But do nothing to endanger yourself or Sir John with the Queen. The Tudors, I have found, can be most unkind even to their friends. I have learned this first hand.”

“What does the Queen know of the Tower except whatever my husband tells her?” replied the good lady. And she plumped herself down in a comfortable chair before the fire. “I understand, Lady Burke, that you’ve the best malmsey in England. I am mighty partial to malmsey.”

The following morning Lady Alyce informed her husband that the poor, imprisoned Lady Burke had managed, though the dear Lord only knew how, to give birth to a wee girl child. “Both she and the little lass are very weak, and will need constant nursing for the next few months if they are to survive,” said Lady Alyce firmly. Her husband recognized her mood. She would brook no interference.

“My dear,” he said mildly, “it is all right with me if Lady Burke’s sister remains with her, but the final decision is not mine to make.”

“You have some influence, John. Use it! I don’t understand
what the Queen is about imprisoning poor Lady Burke,
and
without charges.”

“Hush, my dear! I can see that our distinguished guest has made a conquest of you, but we must trust that the Queen and Lord Burghley know what they are doing. I will send word now to the Queen.”

Elizabeth had been having one of her infrequent and painful menstrual flows when word was brought to her of Lady Deirdre Burke’s birth. “God’s nightshirt,” she swore irritably, “she has done it deliberately!”

“Done what, madam?” said Cecil.

“Had her child in the Tower! The tone of Sir John’s missive is quite sympathetic to Lady Burke, and I am not sure I like it! Why should he sound faintly disapproving of me, and tenderly concerned for that … Irish rebel?”

“New mothers and their infants always have a tendency to evoke sympathy from those around them,” Cecil soothed.

Elizabeth turned around, her lovely, long, red-gold hair swinging with her. Her face was white and pinched with pain. “You’ll not be able to question her for several weeks now! Damn! I wanted her exposed for the pirate bitch she is! D’you know that she threw Dudley out of her castle into the middle of a snowstorm last winter?”

Ho!
thought Cecil,
so that’s the reason behind this vendetta. Precious Lord Robert has been offended. Little did I think when I sought to get at the truth of the Devon pirates, that I should give Dudley an opportunity for revenge. I must think on this
. He smiled at the Queen in a kindly fashion. “Come, my dear, back into bed with you. You’re not well, and this matter will wait. You’re perfectly right. We’ll not be able to pursue the matter until Lady Burke has recovered from the birth of her daughter. Sir John’s wife, Lady Alyce, was present at the birth and says it was a hard one. I imagine it will take Lady Burke several weeks to recover.”

Elizabeth climbed back into her bed, and drew the velvet coverlet up about her. “Oh, Cecil!” she wailed. “Sometimes I think it would have been better if I’d been born a simple maid. The mantle of royalty weighs so heavily upon me, and I am but a frail creature!”

“Nay, madam, you but look frail. But when you sprang forth from your mother’s womb, of Henry Tudor’s strong seed, you had the heart of a lion. You need have no fear of your ability.”

Elizabeth sighed, “Oh, Cecil, you are my strength. I will rest
now.” She closed her eyes. “I will leave you to handle Lady Burke as you see fit.”

William Cecil smiled his wintry smile. “I will not fail you, madam.”

“You never have, old friend,” said the Queen softly as she fell asleep.

CHAPTER 25

A
DAM DE
M
ARISCO COULD NOT BELIEVE HIS INCREDIBLE
luck. For several months now, ever since he’d been summoned to Lynmouth to learn of Skye’s fate, he had felt helpless, useless, weak. Now he had the means to free her, and it was God’s own good fortune that had brought it to him. The idea of how to utilize this chance, however, was de Marisco’s own, and having the idea had instantly restored Adam’s self-confidence. Now he greeted Lord Burke, welcoming him warmly to Lundy. The big Irishman had grown haggard with worry and lack of sleep.

De Marisco pushed a dram of peat whiskey into Niall’s hand. “Drink up, man. I know now how to bring her home safe.”

“How?” Lord Burke gulped the smoky amber liquid down, reveling in the burning sensation that spread upward from his belly and into his veins.

“There’s a well-hidden cove down by my lighthouse, and in that cove right now is a ship—a ship of dead men. The tidal currents around the end of the island are erratic and they drove the vessel ashore. It was found two days ago, floating half-beached in that cove. I’ve already given orders that no one is to go near the ship, and I’ve already placed in its holds my share of the booty from the
Santa Maria Madre de Cristos
. The men who carried the cargo to the holds for me are a family of mutes. I’ve always seen to their welfare and, as they are grateful, they will never give me away. They wouldn’t even if they could talk.

“This ship is of English design, yet the bodies aboard her appear to be Arab or Moorish. I will wager they are Barbary pirates. What killed them I know not, but if we can take the ship in tow and bring it up to London, I believe we can convince Cecil that these unfortunate dead men are part of whoever was responsible for the recent piracies. Especially considering what they’ll find in the hold. That should free Skye!”

Niall Burke’s face began to relax itself as he digested de Marisco’s idea. “It’s possible!” He thought a moment. “Did you find a log on board?”

“Yes, but it’s all in a funny kind of scrawl that bears no resemblance to any writing I’ve ever seen.”

A slow smile lit Niall’s face, crinkling the corners of his silvery eyes. “It’s probably Arabic, and you’re probably right, de Marisco! They’re Barbary pirates! We do have one problem, though. We can’t destroy the log. It would be very suspicious if no log were aboard. But if Cecil finds someone who reads Arabic the log might prove that this is not a pirate ship. We must have that log read.”

“Who the hell do you know who reads Arabic?” demanded de Marisco. He was beginning to lose confidence.

“Skye does,” answered Niall, laughing.

“Damme! Is there nothing that woman can’t do?”

“I am reassured to learn that you don’t know the answer to that, de Marisco,” said Niall, suddenly serious.

Adam de Marisco topped Niall Burke by at least two inches. He drew himself up now and, looking down on Skye’s husband, said, “Little man, I believe it’s time we cleared the air. Yes! I loved her, and possibly I always will. I was not, however, the husband for her. I knew that, and as proud as I would have been to be her husband …” His words faded, and for a moment there was total understanding between them, and then Adam de Marisco finished, “She loves you, and you are a fool if you’d believe I’d ever come between you. Now, little man, can we get on with the business of retrieving Skye from Elizabeth Tudor?”

“Dammit, de Marisco, you make me feel like a green boy with his first love. But anytime you think I’m not big enough to take you on, give me a try. Little man, indeed! Give me your hand, you damned Englishman! I’m forced to admit that I like you.”

If only Skye could have seen them standing there grinning at each other, both in love with her and now both united in friendship in an effort to aid her! The two men clasped hands and two pairs of eyes, one silvery gray, the other smoky blue, met in a gaze of understanding.

“We’ll need one other man to help, and Robert Small can do it. He’d never forgive me if we excluded him. He can read some Arabic. Maybe he can decipher enough of the log before we present it to Cecil. At least we’ll know if the book contradicts our story. He’s just back home. His sister sent me word today and I sent back a message asking him to come to Lynmouth. Can you have
that ship taken in tow to Lynmouth Bay? It’s best no one else know what we’re planning.”

“I’ll give orders at once. My mute brothers can do the job nicely,” answered de Marisco.

“What of the bodies?”

“They stink like the very devil,” observed Adam, “but I’m leaving them aboard to give credence to our tale. Otherwise Cecil will say we made the whole thing up.”

“How will we explain the time lapse? It’s been months since the
Santa Maria Madre de Cristos
was taken. Where the hell has this ship been in the meantime?”

“Why she’s been a-pirating, Niall Burke! The wily infidels have been off across the sea pirating the waters of New Spain. She must have taken the
Santa Maria
on her way out last spring. We all know how the Moors hate the Spaniards, and cannot resist the opportunity to strike out at them.” He chuckled richly. “It’s a damn good story if I do say so myself!”

“Aye,” agreed Niall admiringly. “I’m thinking you’re wasted on your island, de Marisco. Court is obviously the place for you!”

“Christ, no! I’d die penned up in that putrid city playing the gallant to that vain bitch, Bessie Tudor! Wasting my time, and my money on useless clothes, cards, and highborn, high-priced doxies. Give me Lundy, barren rock that it is, and the sea, and I’m a happy man.”

“You don’t mention sons to follow you, de Marisco. Why?”

Adam de Marisco smiled wryly. “Because they’ll be none, Niall Burke,” he replied. “Fate has a grim sense of humor. When I was fourteen I was taken with a fever that rendered my seed barren. I’ve the appetite of a damned satyr where women are concerned, yet I’ve never fathered a child. I went to an old witchwoman in Devon several years ago in hopes of learning why. When she questioned me and learned of the fever I had had as a boy, she told me she couldn’t help, that the life had been burned out of my seed. She said she had heard of such cases before. With not so much as a daughter to my credit thus far, I had to believe her.

“That’s another reason helping Skye is important to me. Her little son, Robin, and I are the last living descendants of the first Southwood.” He chuckled at Niall’s incredulous look. “Aye, Irishman! The de Mariscos are the bastard branch of the family.

“The first Geoffroi de Sudbois brought over from Normandy his mistress, Mathilde de Marisco. Actually as the story has come down, he intended to wed with the lady when he made his fortune
with Duke William. Like him, she was a second child, so her portion was very small. After my noble ancestor had taken Lynmouth he found it more practical to wed with the old lord’s daughter, and so the fair Gwyneth became the mother of the legitimate line.

“Mathilde, however, was a bold and ambitious wench. She far preferred coming to England as Geoffroi’s mistress to remaining in Normandy as a poor relation in her brother’s house or entering some insignificant nunnery. She lived for several years in the west tower of Lynmouth Castle making poor Gwyneth’s life a hell. But then one day her eldest son was caught attempting to smother one of the legitimate Southwoods in his cradle, and the fair Gwyneth put her dainty Saxon foot down. Mathilde and her offspring had to go. Lundy belonged to Lynmouth then, and so Geoffroi deeded the island to Mathilde de Marisco, her sons, and their descendants forever.

“Down through the generations the de Mariscos have wed with Southwood bastards, Southwood younger daughters, or their French cousins. In fact my grandmother and the late Geoffrey Southwood’s grandfather were brother and sister. Since I am the last of my line, the last of the bastards of Lundy, young Robin is the last of the Southwoods. I have enough family feeling to want to protect both him and his mother. They are dear to me.”

“Does Skye know this?”

“Nay. We never discussed it,” said Adam de Marisco.

Niall Burke didn’t have the courage to ask why. Whatever had happened between Skye and Adam had happened before he had wed her and it was not his business. Adam de Marisco was definitely an honorable man. He looked long and hard at the lord of Lundy, and Adam returned his look. “You’re quite a man, cousin,” said Niall Burke. “Now, let’s rescue that wench of mine before she gets into further mischief.”

Several hours later Niall found himself and his host aboard a ship towing the Moorish vessel toward the Devon coast. Robert Small awaited them at Lynmouth. The little man was furious.

“I leave you to care for Skye, and come home from a short and profitable voyage to find her in the Tower of London! Is this how you watch over her? And you, Adam de Marisco! You’re no better, going along with her foolishness! You are the ones who should be in London, not my Skye! I understand from my sister that she was with child. She must have delivered it months ago! Is the Tower the place for a new mother, and my niece or nephew? Do you even know whether the babe is male or female?”

“Dammit, Robbie, be silent!” roared Niall. “Sit down and listen to me! Skye is perfectly safe. There is no evidence against her. I was forbidden London, or even Ireland. I was told to remain at Lynmouth, and Skye begged me to comply for Robin’s sake. She doesn’t wish to cost him his inheritance. My child was safely delivered last December 12th, but I know not its gender, for even de Grenville was not allowed to see Skye, though he says Cecil had promised him he might.

“There has been no way to help Skye safely until recently. Now I will risk the Queen’s displeasure and go to London, for de Marisco has solved the dilemma. For pity’s sake, Adam, tell him before he strangles us both.”

Slowly, carefully, Adam de Marisco outlined his plan.

“It’s possible,” Robert Small nodded thoughtfully. “Have you the log?”

Adam de Marisco brought the flat book to Robbie, and he opened it. “Yes,” he said immediately. “It’s Arabic.” He was silent for a few minutes as he perused the log. Then he said slowly. “The ship is the
Gazelle …
out of Algiers … and she has been a-pirating.” His spirits rose. “They picked up some men in a longboat several weeks ago, and shortly after that their crew began sickening and dying. The men in the longboat perished almost immediately. This last entry was made ten days ago. It says simply: ‘Allah have mercy.’ ” Robbie looked up. “The poor devils.” He pushed the pages back, reading swiftly here and there, and suddenly his weathered face split into a smile. “Here’s a piece of luck! An entry made early last spring says, ‘Took a cursed Spaniard today,’ and their heading that day was in the Atlantic off the coast of Ireland! They were on their way out then. The rest of the book has many entries of piracy against the ‘infidel,’ but they were primarily Spaniard-hunters, which is greatly to our good. If Cecil is suspicious enough, and can find someone who reads Arabic, this should confirm your story. I’ll go through the rest of the log more carefully tomorrow to be sure there’s nothing that could harm Skye. In the meantime, send the
Gazelle
off to London tonight. We’ll have to wait until she arrives before we do. Otherwise we lose the element of surprise.”