Skye O'Malley (9 page)

Skye, Lady O’Flaherty

He wanted desperately to deny what he read. And, after all, he had never seen her writing. Was it a forgery? The hand, however, was sweetly rounded and feminine, and he recognized the imprint on the wax seal as the one she wore on a ring. Perhaps they had forced her to write this message. But he knew how stubborn Skye was. They could have burned her feet with hot irons and she’d not have written it, had she not wished to do so. Damn her! Damn her! Was that all he meant to her? A shameful night? Damn her for the fickle bitch she was! Anguished beyond anything he had ever known, Niall blinked back his tears and said hoarsely, “I’ll marry Darragh O’Neill.” Then he dropped the letter and strode from the room without a backward glance.

The MacWilliam waited a moment to be sure his son had gone, then said, “You can come out now, Captain MacGuire. Go back and tell the O’Malley that his strategy worked. My son will be wed in three weeks’ time, and will give him no further trouble.”

MacGuire bowed, nodded wordlessly, and departed.

Alone, the MacWilliam felt a twinge of conscience. He loved his son deeply, and hated denying him anything. Still, when given the choice between an O’Neill and an O’Malley for his daughter-in-law, there was only one choice the MacWilliam could make. Yes, Niall would settle down quite nicely with Darragh O’Neill. By this time next year he would have a grandson.

CHAPTER 4

A
N ESPECIALLY NICE THING CAME OF
S
KYE’S STAY AT
S
T
. Bride’s. Walking on the beach one day, she came across an injured young wolfhound, not quite full grown. The poor creature was half starved, its ribs plainly visible. Its fur was so filthy and matted with salt that it was difficult to tell the dog’s true color. Its leg had been caught in a rock crevice. Hearing the weak bark, Skye ran to the dog, who looked up at her hopefully and thumped his long tail in a friendly fashion.

“Ah, poor beastie,” murmured Skye sympathetically, and set about freeing the dog. Carefully she removed the small rocks about the animal’s leg. And then, as gently as she could, she drew the leg from its prison. The dog winced, but did not growl. Skye patted him. “There, love, come along now and let’s find some food for you.” The dog fought his way to his feet and limped, stumbling a little, after her.

The nuns were as sympathetic as Skye had been, and allowed the dog into the convent. His origin and owner remained a mystery. The island peasants would not dare claim the royal canine. Peasants kept only working dogs, such as terriers, mastiffs, and mongrels. The Irish wolfhound, that great killer of wolves and other predators, belonged to the ruling class, as did Irish setters.

Skye named the dog Inis, after the favorite hound of Partholan, an early settler in Ireland. Inis attached himself to her with a singular devotion. He walked out with her in the mornings, sailed with her in the convent’s little boat, and slept with her at night, spreading his great lanky frame across the foot of her bed. Within a few weeks he had regained his normal adult weight, one hundred sixty pounds, and stood thirty-eight inches high. Bathed, his fur became a shining silvery gray that reminded Skye of Niall’s eyes. Inis’s ears and the feathers on his legs were black. The hound was Skye’s slave, his soulful eyes lighting up with pleasure each time he looked at her.

Skye needed the dog’s love, for Niall Burke appeared to have forgotten her entirely. And then there came the day when her show of blood arrived right on schedule. She wept into Inis’s soft neck, her heartbreak complete.

The Reverend Mother Ethna sent a message to the young
O’Flaherty informing him that his wife was not pregnant and a week later Dom arrived to claim his wife. The Reverend Mother personally showed him into Skye’s apartment. “I would have come sooner,” he said, smiling smugly, “but I was obliged to attend Niall Burke’s wedding to Darragh O’Neill.”

Skye fainted. When she came to she was lying on the settle. She heard Dom speaking solicitously to the nun. “I did not realize the news of Lord Burke’s marriage would so unsettle my lady.”

“Did you not, my lord?” said Ethna O’Neill coolly.

O’Flaherty smiled and, ignoring the nun’s sarcasm, continued. “I realize it is unusual for a gentleman to spend the night in your convent, but I really do not think my wife should be moved until the shock wears off.”

The Reverend Mother Ethna had decided she did not like Dom O’Flaherty, but she did agree with him that Skye should not be moved right now. She was forced to assure him that, though it was unusual, it was not forbidden him to spend the night under St. Bride’s roof. He was welcome. Dom thanked her politely, then asked if she would take his wife’s hound, see that it was fed, and have it put in the stables with his men and horses. Inis, who had taken an instant dislike to Dom, was removed under protest.

They were alone. Dom O’Flaherty walked to the settle and said coldly, “I know you’ve recovered your swoon, Skye. Now get up and greet your lord and master properly.”

Slowly, she rose and placed a quick kiss on his mouth. He chuckled and with lightning swiftness pulled her close. She tensed and he laughed. “Ah, yes. You don’t like me, do you, wife? How unfortunate for you for you’ll soon be spreading yourself wide for my pleasure, and my pleasure alone. And when I’m deep inside you I’ll wipe all thought of Niall Burke from your mind!” His mouth ground down on hers, and she beat her clenched fists against his chest. Then suddenly she was rescued by a knock on the door. Dom smothered a curse and called out sharply, “Come in!”

Two nuns, each laden down with a tray of steaming food, hurried in, their eyes lowered. Placing their trays on the great refectory table, they hurried out as quickly.

Skye pulled from her husband’s grasp. “How thoughtful!” she exclaimed brightly. “We have been sent supper.”

“I’ve no appetite for food yet,” he said in a surly tone.

She raised the cover of a dish. “Look! Boiled shrimp! And here’s a lovely capon, and a small joint of mutton! If we don’t eat it now, it will get cold.”

“Let it!” He came swiftly up behind her and loosened her laces, sliding his hands around to cup her breasts. “This is what I’m hungry for, Skye,” he said, squeezing her flesh. “The food will wait. Your laces are loosened. Go into the bedroom, finish undressing, and wait for me in the bed.”

She closed her eyes to squeeze back tears. “Oh, Dom!” she pleaded. “Not here! I’ll do whatever you want me to, but not here in this holy house. Not here!”

“I hadn’t considered it that way,” he said thoughtfully, “but the idea of fucking you in a convent appeals to me. Shall we pretend you’re a young nun about to be ravaged by a Viking chief?” She blanched at his sacrilege, and he snarled, “Quickly, Skye! I’m hot for you—having been denied my marital rights for over a month!” He punctuated his words with a light slap to her cheek.

She wanted to fight him, but she had been so badly broken by the news of Niall’s marriage that she couldn’t find the spirit. She fled into the bedroom and, with shaking fingers, pulled her clothes off and climbed into the big bed. A moment later, Dom entered the room, drinking from a goblet of wine. Placing the goblet on the nightstand, he undressed swiftly, letting his clothes fall where they dropped. When he turned to enter the bed she bit back a cry of terror. Niall had been a big man, but Skye’s husband was unnaturally large, enormous. Seeing her fear, he chuckled. “The wenches in Paris call me Le Taureau! Do you know what that means?”

Terrified, she nodded. “The bull.” Her voice was a whisper.

“Aye, the
bull
!” he said proudly. “And I am, wife! Now spread yourself wide. I’ve got something for you!” He tore back the covers she clutched to her breasts. The sight of her naked body inflamed his lust, and he flung himself on her.

Skye managed to gasp, “But Dom! I am not ready!”

He raised himself above her, and gazed down at her. “You’re not ready?” His look was incredulous. Had he not been so astounded he might have hit her. “You do not have to be ready, Skye. I am!”

And she felt herself being ripped asunder by his monster sex. Before she could cry out, his hand clapped over her mouth. He pushed himself into her, muttering all the while, “You’re tight as a drum, woman! Burke’s cock must be no bigger than a worm, to have left you so tight!” He grunted his pleasure while, beneath him, her eyes reflected pain and fright. She tried to lie still, hoping to ease the pain, but she couldn’t. She writhed in an effort to escape him, and mistaking her actions for growing passion, he laughed. “I
knew it! Beneath all the ladylike manners you’ve the makings of a good whore! I’m a lucky man!” And he drove deeper and harder into her. “Don’t fear, lovey,” he panted, “I’ll teach you many a good trick to please us both!” Then, with a growl of pleasure, he collapsed.

For a moment they lay sandwiched together, then O’Flaherty got up and, returning to the dayroom, poured himself more wine. Skye felt tears gushing down her cheeks, but she made no sound for fear of angering him. She heard him lifting the covers of the dishes, sampling the food. He didn’t think to offer her any.

Coming back into the small bedroom, clutching a chicken leg, Dom sat on the side of the bed. He patted her backside. Skye feigned sleep, hoping he would leave her in peace. She heard the sound of his slow, methodical munching, and then the leg bone hit the floor. “Spread yourself!”

Resistance was useless. She was his wife, his chattel. She obeyed and was once again subjected to pain and degradation. When he was through this time he rolled off her and fell asleep on his back, snoring contentedly. Skye waited until she was sure he slept soundly, then crept from the bed. She could barely walk, but she would have crawled on her hands and knees to get out of that room.

Gaining the dayroom she shakily poured herself some wine, spilling half on the table. Adding some more wood to the fire, she collapsed into the large chair.

Niall! His gentle hands, his loving mouth! He had sought to please her while teaching her to please him. Damn him! Damn him! She had been betrayed. They had all been right. The great lord’s heir had only been amusing himself with her, and his lust for her innocence was no less foul than Dom’s lust to subdue her. A hand dropped on her shoulder, and she started, looking up with dread.

“I woke, and you were gone,” he said plaintively. “You’re weeping! Still sad I’m not Niall, eh?” She wiped at the tears guiltily, quickly shaking her head, and his tone softened a bit. “I probably hurt you,” he said matter-of-factly. “Well, don’t worry, Skye. It’ll get easier with use, and you’ll soon stretch to take my bulk. Come on, lovey. Let’s fuck a bit more, for if you can’t sleep then I’ve not used you enough. Besides,” he chuckled lasciviously, “you’re a far sweeter piece than I thought you would be.”

All the rest of the night, while she endured her husband’s embraces, she hated Niall Burke with a growing fury, and considered
how she would revenge herself on him one day. Oh, yes, he would pay for her broken dreams.

And a similar scene was being enacted miles away, at the stronghold of the MacWilliam.

Darragh O’Neill Burke had been destined for the Church since her birth. Her eldest sister had been betrothed and eventually wed to an O’Connell. Her middle sister had been betrothed to Niall Burke. But Ceit had died suddenly last winter, and Darragh, who had been in her beloved St. Mary’s convent since the age of five, was brought home to take her middle sister’s place in the marriage bed.

It was a particularly tragic choice, for Darragh O’Neill had a true religious vocation. When it was decided that she would replace her sister, Darragh was two days from taking her final vows. Her father and his troupe of men had arrived with much noise and shouting, just in time to prevent Darragh’s blond hair from being shorn. O’Neill had waived the return of Darragh’s dowry from the religious order, knowing that this would make Darragh’s mother superior more easily amenable to his change of plan. He lost nothing by it, as the money had been paid in full eight years prior, just as Ceit’s dowry had been paid to the MacWilliams at the time of her betrothal.

The mother superior explained the change to the horrified young nun, saying smoothly that God and Our Lady had quite obviously made other plans for Darragh. Darragh must accept God’s will with good grace. She would leave the convent immediately and wed Lord Burke. Weeping bitterly, the girl obeyed.

Thus Niall Burke was greeted on his wedding day by a pale girl whose red-rimmed eyes gave evidence of much weeping. As he had not been fully informed of her religious commitment, he was annoyed that she should face the marriage with so little enthusiasm.

Later that evening, when the bride and groom went to bed, Darragh fainted at the sight of her naked husband. Niall gently elicited an explanation from Darragh. Touched, he gently stroked the pale blond hair. “I think that, under the circumstances, there’s no need for us to hurry the physical side of our marriage,” he said quietly. “Let us take time to know one another better.”

The truth of the matter was that Niall had no taste for raping unwilling virgins. And he cursed both their fathers for their blind stupidity. The girl had a deep religious commitment, and he questioned whether she would ever get over that. He laughed bitterly.
They had torn him from the woman he loved, who would gladly have given him sons, because his father didn’t think her highborn enough! And in her place they had given him a dedicated nun! It was too funny, and he would have laughed again had he not become aware that his new wife still seemed troubled.

“What will people say if the sheets have no bloody stain tomorrow?”

He chuckled. “Ah, Darragh Burke, ’tis truly innocent you are. Many a lass has played at carnal games before marriage, yet flown the bloody sheet the morning after her wedding. Move over, lass, and I’ll show you.”

Wide-eyed, she watched with amazement as he took the fruit knife from the bowl by the bed and pricked the inside of his thigh. A small trickle of blood flowed forth, staining the sheets. Darragh’s virtue was thus proved while her husband’s honor was saved and his prowess attested to.