“Now, now, my son, we’ll have none of that until tonight,” chuckled O’Malley. “Your bride’s got to be able to stand for all the toasts that’ll be drunk at the feast, and she’ll be in no condition if you have her now.”
O’Flaherty flushed amid the leers and snickers. Then Eibhlin pushed through the crowd to Skye’s side and, kneeling, began to rub the girl’s wrists. “Molly-the wine, please. And a burnt feather. Da, it would help if all these people left. You too, brother Dom. If Skye is to be up to enjoy her own wedding feast, she must rest now.”
The room slowly emptied, and Eibhlin and Molly raised Skye up. First the feather was burnt and waved beneath her nose, then the drugged wine was forced between her lips. Skye coughed, choked, and opened her eyes. “You fainted,” said the nun drily.
“He… he put his tongue in my mouth, Eibhlin,” said Skye, visibly shocked. “He… he said that I belong to him.”
“You do.”
‘No! Never to Dom O’Flaherty! Never to any man!”
Eibhlin turned. “You may leave us,” she told the reluctant Molly. Then Eibhlin said quietly, “It’s Niall Burke, isn’t it, Skye? Dear Lord, he didn’t take your virginity?”
Miserably, Skye shook her head. “He wanted to wed with me, Eibhlin. He was to speak with Da.”
“But he didn’t, or if he did Da said no. You’re married to Dom O’Flaherty, Skye. You must face it. It is your duty to be a good wife to him. He loves you and he is your lord in the eyes of the Church.”
“I cannot, Eibhlin! I simply cannot! I hate Dom, and I can’t bear his touch.”
“Some women are like that, Skye. Perhaps you are one.”
“No! When Niall Burke kissed me it was perfect! I wanted him! The way a woman wants a man… in marriage. But I don’t feel mat way about Dom.”
“Go to sleep, little one,” said the nun soothingly. “In a few hours’ time you must hostess your wedding feast.”
Sighing, Skye lay back. The herbs were doing their work, and suddenly she fell asleep, her face still wet with tears. Eibhlin shook her head. What on earth possessed Da to insist on this marriage, knowing Skye was so against it? He had always indulged his young- est daughter, adoring her lavish beauty, delighting in her love of the sea. He had never before forced her into something.
Eibhlin speculated. Perhaps their father wanted the last of Peigi O’Malley’s daughters out of his house so that he could be free to enjoy his second wife, and his five sons. At any rate, though she would never admit it to Skye, the nun shared her sister’s dislike of O’Flaherty. He was stubborn, far too vain, and for all his fine education, woefully ignorant. Eibhlin sighed. There was simply no help for it. It was a man’s world, and a decent woman was either a wife or a nun. Perhaps, she thought wistfully, it would be different someday. Eibhlin went back to the chapel to pray for her sister. There was nothing else she could do.
When Skye awoke several hours later, the terrible reality of her situation swept over her once more. Her knowledge of men was limited, but she instinctively understood that her husband was the sort of man who preyed on the weak and helpless. Dom liked win- ning. She must not let him know how upset she was.
Slowly she rose from the bed, feeling just slightly dizzy, and bathed her face in rose water. Still unlaced, she breathed deeply, clearing her head. She whirled at the sound of the door behind her, furious that her privacy was to be so quickly disturbed. “How dare you enter my chamber!”
He smiled lazily. “You forget, Skye pet, that I have the right to enter your chamber whenever I choose to do so. I am your husband.”
She shivered. “I forget nothing, Dom,” she bravely answered. He moved toward her, and her courage cracked. “Don’t come near me!” She backed away from him, but he kept on until she felt the edge of the bed against the backs of her legs. The look in his eyes terrified her, and she had to force herself to stand straight, to look directly at him. She could hear the sound of her own heart drumming in her ears.
“Your maiden shyness pleases me-to a point, Skye.” His hand caressed her cheek, slid down her neck to her shoulder, then gripped the soft flesh. “I am your husband and I will brook no disobedience from you. Your father has spoiled you badly, but I will not. I will school you as I do the bitches in my kennel, and you will do your duty by me. When you err, I shall punish you. Do you understand me, Skye?”
“Yes, Dom.” Her eyes were lowered in apparent compliance, but really to hide her smoldering hatred.
“Good,” he said, his voice softening a little. “Now come here to me, pet.” He took her chin between his fingers and forced her head up. His wet mouth ground on hers, and his tongue forced itself between her clenched teeth. She shivered with revulsion. The wet lips were on her throat. He pushed her onto the bed and, atop her, pulled down her gown, exposing the small, perfect breasts. His mouth opened to capture a little pink nipple, and she screamed.
He stopped, raised his eyes, and looked down on her. “Please Dom, we must face our guests.” Groaning with frustration, he stood up slowly and, giving her a venomous look, stumbled from the room.
Outside in the hallway he stopped a moment to catch his breath, to massage the ache in his groin. She was right, damn her! He didn’t dare take her until tonight, but he needed to cool the fire in his loins! At that moment his wife’s buxom maid came around the corner.
Dom O’Flaherty’s blue eyes narrowed speculatively, and a quick winning smile lit his features. Molly stopped, eyed him, and instantly ascertained his need. Wordlessly she took his hand and led him around the corner into a darkened alcove. She loosened his codpiece, and gasped with delight. “Oh, my Lord! You’ll more than do!” Her arms slid up around his neck and she whispered excitedly, “Give us a kiss, love.” He bent to find her mouth, all the while fumbling to raise her petticoats. He backed her up against the stone castle wall, and Molly wrapped her legs about his waist. Clasping the plump cheeks of her buttocks in his hands, Dom O’Flaherty buried himself deep in the servant girl’s willing warmth. He worked himself back and forth, not caring that he was banging her head against the wall. She moaned, half with pleasure and half with pain. He obtained his release quickly. Molly was set back down on her feet and, straightening his garments, O’Flaherty left her without so much as a word or a glance. Molly slipped to the floor, whimpering.
Skye, who seldom prayed outside church, was thanking every saint in the calendar for her temporary reprieve. Tonight there would be no reprieve. She would be forced to submit to whatever it was men did with women. She had some vague ideas, but her sisters had never discussed sex, and Anne had not gotten around to enlightening her. She was going to be at Dom’s mercy.
She took her brush and removed the tangles from her hair. Then, smoothing the wrinkles from her wedding gown, Skye opened the door and left her room. Dom appeared from the darkness and, arm in arm, they descended into the hall below to greet their guests.
The festivities had begun without them, and a cry went up as they entered. Dubhdara O’Malley, already half drunk, lurched forward and escorted his daughter and her new husband to the high board. Skye was horrified to find herself with her husband on her right and Lord Burke on her left.
“Good evening, Mistress O’Flaherty. My best wishes on your future happiness,” he said formally.
“Thank you, my lord,” she answered. She dared not look at him lest she begin to weep again, but her hand shook as she reached for her goblet. Noting this, his heart contracted painfully.