The O’Malley of Innisfana had spared no expense. Huge bowls of raw oysters, platters of prawns and shrimp boiled in white wine and herbs, were set on all the tables. Whole sea trout broiled and stuffed, first with salmon then with smaller fresh-water trout, and finally with small shellfish, were placed at intervals on the tables. The bridegroom stuffed himself with raw oysters, loudly reminding everyone of their aphrodisiac quality.
The next course consisted of whole swans, capons in a lemon- ginger sauce, larded ducks, plump golden broiled pigeons, whole baby lambs, sides of half-cooked beef dripping their fat and bloody juices, potted rabbits, small pasties of minced meats, bowls of new lettuces and small green onions in vinegar, silver trenchers of bread and crocks of sweet butter. No one went thirsty, for silver pitchers of wine, both red and white, and earthenware pitchers of ale were placed on all the tables and kept filled.
The last course consisted of shaped jellies in all colors, custards, fruit pies, wheels of sharp cheeses, sweet cherries from France, and oranges from Spain. The chef, hired for the occasion, had done himself splendid credit with a magnificent marzipan confection. Its top decoration depicted a married couple, the bridegroom’s codpiece conspicuously large, the bride with a coy smile upon her face, her eyes fixed on the bulge.
Toast after toast was drunk. Some were ribald, some thoughtful. Finally Dom O’Flaherty turned to his bride. “Go prepare yourself for me, pet. I am well fed by your father’s gracious bounty. Now I would feast on your sweet flesh.”
Her cheeks reddened and she shivered. “I must bathe,” she an- swered. “There was no time this morning.”
“How long?”
“An hour.”
“Half, Skye. I will be denied no longer.”
She stood, and immediately a shout went up. Gathering her skirts up, Skye fled the hall followed by her sisters and, behind them, a group of laughing young men. If they caught the bride or any of her maids, they would be allowed a kiss as forfeit. With incredible swiftness the O’Malley sisters gained Skye’s chamber-where the young couple would spend their wedding night-and slammed the door, successfully shutting out the young men.
Before the fireplace a small steaming tub of water stood ready.
Skye looked gratefully to her servant. “Bless you, Molly, you anticipated me.”
“Knew you didn’t have time before,” replied the maid, helping Skye undress. The sisters busied themselves putting Skye’s beautiful gown away and straightening the chamber. Sine took the warming pan and ran it smoothly beneath the bedcovers. “Nothing cools a man’s ardor like cold sheets,” she observed.
Skye kept her mind on her bath. If she allowed herself to think of what was coming she would go to pieces. She glanced about her bedchamber. Aside from the flowering branches placed there in keeping with the old pagan fertility ritual, it seemed the same. The large black oak bedstead, hung with azure blue velvet, had been freshly made with fine linen sheets redolent of lavender. The tall matching armoire was now empty, of course, her clothing having been packed for transport to her new home. She washed quickly, stepping out of her tub into a warmed towel. Her lovely body was rosy from the heat of the water. Molly quickly dried her and lavishly applied scented powder with a lamb’s wool puff. The sisters sneezed. as the excess filled the air.
“Open the window a bit,” commanded Moire. “And fetch the silk robe, Molly.”
Skye flushed. “Oh, no, Moire!,Not that, for pity’s sake.”
“Skye!” Moire’s voice was sharp. “It’s an O’Malley family cus- tom, and we have all followed it. Lord, sister, you’re the fairest of us all. There’s nothing for you to be ashamed of, lass.”
“But for all those leering men to see me naked!”
“We O’Malleys are proud to show we come to our husbands unblemished. You will follow the custom as we all have.” The silk robe was loosely wrapped around the bride, and then Moire said, ”Peigi, unbolt the door. I hear the men coming.”
Peigi had no sooner stepped back from the door when it burst open and the laughing guests poured into the little room. Dom O’Flaherty had already been partially disrobed by his friends. Dubhdara
O’Malley stepped up to his youngest daughter. He was very drunk, but he could yet play his part.
He held his hand up for silence, and the room quieted. “This is the last of me daughters to be wed. As with all my girls. I am proud to show that she comes unblemished, and free of pock marks, to her bridegroom.” He nodded to Moire and Peigi, who drew the simple robe from Skye and let it slip to the floor. The girl was now com- pletely naked. As she turned, the sisters held up Skye’s long dark tresses to show the assembled guests that nothing was hidden beneath her hair. In the candlelight, her beautiful body glowed like mother- of-pearl.
An audible sigh rippled through the room as the men and women admired and envied the young virgin’s perfection. The bridegroom was visibly affected. Skye was exquisite, with her small, pink-tipped breasts, her slim, long legs ending in slender, high-arched feet.
Suddenly the guests were thrown into shock as Niall Burke pushed forward, boldly allowed his silver eyes to slide over the bride, and announced, “O’Malley! As your overlord I claim the droit du seigneur of this woman.”
The master of Innisfana swallowed hard. “A poor jest, my lord,” he replied, now very sober. He was hoping to God that Burke was only drunk, but he knew Burke wasn’t. “My daughter’s no peasant wench,” he stated firmly.
Lord Burke drew himself up to his full imposing height. His proud glance swept the room. “I am your overlord, Dubhdara O’Malley. You swore obedience to me on my tenth birthday. It was by my most generous hand that you received this barony of Innisfana. Our laws demand that you comply with my request.”
“No!” shouted Dom. “She’s mine! Mine! And I am not your vassal.”
Lord Burke looked scornfully at the younger man. “I will remind you, O’Flaherty, that your family owes obedience to my father- whose deputy I am. I claim the droit du seigneur of your bride. Will either of you gentlemen endanger your families and insult me over a girl’s maidenhead? Besides, O’Flaherty, when I am finished schooling her she’ll be much more to your taste. You are not, I understand, very good with virgins.”
There was a sharp intake of breath around the room. Dubhdara O’Malley shifted uncomfortably. Then suddenly it came to him that the final decision rested with his new son-in-law. “I yield to you, my lord,” he said quickly, nearly sighing with relief.
The complete silence in the hot little room was finally broken by Dom’s voice. “I’ll pay a penalty, my lord,” said Dom. “You have but to name it.”
Niall Burke eyed Dom arrogantly, then drawled, “Your life, or the wench’s maidenhead.”
A gasp went up. This was high drama, the sort of thing that would be spoken of for years to come in both the halls and hovels of Ireland. Why was Lord Burke so intent on having the bride? To be sure, she was a lovely creature, but it was very rare for an overlord to claim the droit du seigneur of a vassal’s bride.
Dom O’Flaherty whitened, then reddened, with fear and helpless rage. His eyes swept over Skye, then back to Lord Burke. He pictured them locked in an embrace. Damn the bastard! thought Dom. He’s got me trapped! At last he said savagely, “I yield. And damn you to hell, my lord Burke!” Turning, he stamped from the chamber, followed quickly by the O’Malley and the rest of the guests.
Niall Burke walked slowly to the door of the room and, shutting it, slammed the bolt home. Turning back, he looked at Skye. Throughout the whole exchange, she had remained as silent and still as a hiding rabbit. “I do mean to take you,” he said quietly.