Dom O’Flaherty’s light-blue eyes widened, then narrowed. He turned to his father-in-law. “What the hell treachery is this, O’Malley? It’s bad enough that Burke demanded the droit du seigneur of my bride before the entire district. Now it appears she was in collusion with him!” He whirled on Skye. “You little bitch! How long has it been going on? How long have you been whoring with Burke? I ought to beat you black and blue!”
Skye eyed her husband coldly. Her voice was calm and level. ”I met Niall but a few days ago, Dom. Yes, we are in love. I do not understand how it happened, but it did. I do not particularly like you, Dom, but I would not have hurt or embarrassed you deliber- ately. Niall Burke wants to marry me. Give me an annulment. You don’t love me. Niall will arrange for you to have a new and noble bride, and a fat financial settlement to soothe your wounded pride.”
Dom looked as if she had lost her mind. “Have you given me a half-wit to wife, O’Malley?” He turned on Skye. “Listen, you little fool! The MacWilliam isn’t about to let his heir marry with the likes of you. Niall Burke is a rake. He wanted only to fuck with you, which I’ve no doubt he did quite well if his reputation is warranted. It’s over! Now you’ll go with Eibhlin to Innishturk until I’m sure Burke’s seed did not take root. When you come home to me, Skye, you’ll be a proper wife-like me or no-and you’ll go no more awhoring. Get out of my sight now, woman!”
“Da!”
“Obey your husband, Skye. He is your master now.”
“Never!”
Dom O’Flaherty leaped the distance between them and, grasping Skye by the arm, slapped her brutally several times. Shocked, for her father had never hit her, she could only try and protect herself from his blows. “Whore! I warned you what would happen if you disobeyed me!” He shook her hard. Furious and fearful both, Skye pulled away angrily.
“Whoreson!” she hissed. “Hit me again and I’ll stick a knife into your black heart!”
“Enough!” roared O’Malley, stepping between the two. “Enough, Dom!” His voice was sharp. “Eibhlin, take your sister to the boat, and go”
Skye’s eyes were almost black in anger. “I’ll not forgive you for. this, Da,” she said quietly. Shooting him a look of pure hatred, she left the hall with her sister.
Outside, the day was chill and gray. The wind whipped the women’s cloaks about them as they hurried across the drawbridge and through the rose garden. For a moment Skye stopped. Her eyes softened and swam with tears. Plucking a red rose, she inhaled its fragrance, sighed, and continued on her way, carefully picking her way down the path that led from the cliff top to the damp beach below. A sailboat and two of her father’s men waited on the beach. She could see her trunk already in the boat. One of the men helped Eibhlin into the little craft. Skye brushed aid aside, clambering up into the craft and seating herself in the stern. She took a firm grip on the tiller. While one sailor pushed the boat from the damp sand, the other hoisted the sail.
The sailor Connor grinned, nodded, and sat back when Skye took the tiller. They’d be at Innishturk Island in a jig time, for no one could sail a boat like Mistress Skye. The other sailor, newer to O’Malley’s service, sat silently.
Skye tacked the boat smartly across the castle’s sheltered cove and nosed it into the open sea. The day was turning fair, and there was a good breeze. The small boat skimmed across the deep blue waves. Innishturk, but a few nautical miles away, was easily visible. Skye carefully set her course to bring the craft in on the piece of coast closest to Eibhlin’s convent.
Eibhlin wanted desperately to talk to her, but Skye suddenly looked older, and very forbidding. The young nun was suddenly sad. What could she possibly say to cheer her sister? What did you say to a woman forcibly married to one man when she deeply loved another? Once again, Eibhlin felt the frustration of being a woman in a man’s world. Again she asked herself why it was so.
Then Eibhlin saw a terrible bruise beginning to form on Skye’s left cheekbone. Silently the nun dipped her handkerchief in the icy cold sea and, squeezing it out, wordlessly handed it to her sister. A brief smile was her thanks, as Skye took the wet cloth and held it to her injured face.
Innishturk came closer, then closer, and soon the little boat was scudding up onto the beach. Eibhlin was lifted out. In her element now, she commanded, “Bring Mistress Skye’s trunk, Connor. Padraic, you stay with the boat.”
“Yes, Sister.” “Aye, Sister.”
Skye swung herself over the side of the boat and dropped lightly to the sand. She knew the way quite well, for she had often come with her father to see Eibhlin. Silently she trudged up the path from the beach. At the cliff top she undid a small wicket gate, and held it open for her sister and the panting Connor. The gate swung shut, and they were on the convent grounds.
Ahead of them stood St. Bride’s of the Cliffs, built over one hundred years before. The convent was built around a quadrangle, the four towers of its corners rising stark against the sky. The dark gray stones of the main building were weathered by the wind and the sea. There were several outbuildings for the convent livestock, a bakehouse and a washhouse. At the convent portal-a double oaken door bounded in brass-they stopped.
“Connor will have to wait here,” said Eibhlin. “I’ll send someone to bring your trunk.”
“I’ll wait with him,” said Skye quietly. “If I am to be cloistered for a month I’d just as soon postpone my captivity.”
Eibhlin did not argue. She pulled on the bell. When it was an- swered by the portress, she entered hurriedly.
Alone with Skye, Connor observed, “Strange place for a hon- eymoon if you ask me.”
“I didn’t!” snapped Skye, “but it’s as good a place as any when you’re wed to the wrong man. Repeat that, you old gossip, and I’m sure to be beaten for it.”
“The O’Malley never laid a hand on you in your life, lass!”
“No, he didn’t, but the little bastard he’s married me to did. The bruise on my cheek is a mark of his affection.”
Connor saw nothing wrong with a man occasionally giving his woman a clout to keep her in line, but he was truly shocked mat a bridegroom would beat his bride of one day. Mistress Skye was not just any lass. She was special. Besides, he was related to her maid, Molly, who’d barely survived her night with O’Flaherty. Better to warn the young mistress.
“I’d best say this straight out, lass, so’s you’ll be on your guard. O’Flaherty took Molly to his bed last night. Fair killed her too. Made her do all kinds of things no decent man would ask of a woman. Then he beat her half to death and kicked her out. When you’ve got to go back to him, be careful.”
Skye’s face betrayed no emotion. “Will Molly be all right?”
“Her bruises will heal.”
‘Tell her if she chooses not to serve me anymore I’ll understand. If that is her decision she may remain at the castle to serve my stepmother. Tell the lady Anne that I will need a stout serving woman of middle years and plain countenance. If I am forced to return to him, I would not expose another young girl to O’Flaherty.”
The convent portal creaked open again and Eibhlin came forward, escorted by two stout nuns. Skye bid Connor farewell, then followed her sister through the door. Her trunk would be brought in by the other nuns.
The two sisters walked silently through the long hallway until they came to a heavy oak door. Eibhlin rapped on the door. A voice bid them enter, and they obeyed.
Seated in a chair was one of the most beautiful women Skye had ever seen. Her oval face was serene beneath the white wimple, with its starched and pleated white wings. Her black habit was relieved of its severity by a stiff white rectangle of a bib upon which rested an ebony crucifix banded in silver, a silver lily on its face. Kneeling, Eibhlin caught the aristocratic hand and kissed the silver-and-onyx ring of office.