"You're shameless!" Skye cried, "and 'tis worse with you, Eibhlin, for you're a nun!"

“True," her older sister agreed, "but I'm also a woman." Then she changed the subject. "What think ye of Mistress Gwenyth?"

“That I’m overyoung to be a grandmother," Skye laughed. "Isn't it wonderful, Eibhlin! You'll be with her when her time comes, won't you?"

"Aye, Skye, I will, and believe me, Ballyhennessey is a far better place today in which to have a child than it was when you birthed Ewan and Murrough. I'll not forget the snow drifting across the floor while I tried to keep you and the baby warm."

"Ewan is nothing like his father," Skye replied. "Neither, thank God, is Murrough! They're my sons, and they are good boys."

"Tell me of my newest niece?" Eibhlin said.

Skye looked at Adam, and they smiled. "Velvet's an impossible baggage, Eibhlin, but we love her dearly!"

"In other words," Eibhlin chuckled, "she is her parents' child."

"Aye!" they both replied with one voice, and then laughed.

"When will you return to England, for I imagine you are anxious to be with your child."

"We sail tomorrow, Eibhlin. Brian has promised me he will immediately disassociate himself and the O'Malleys of Innisfana from Grace O'Malley and her pirates. 'Tis easily done right now, for the winter is upon us and they'll be no more ships to chase until spring. By then I hope to have the letters of marque for the O'Malleys, and they can sail west to play havoc with the Spanish in the New World."

Eibhlin nodded with approval. "Ye've saved those four dolts, though they know it not. If they'd continued on their merry course, they'd have ended up on the gallows for sure, and then ye'd never be free of the O'Malleys. Give Brian the office as soon as you reasonably can, Skye. 'Tis past time ye had yer own fife."

Adam silently agreed with Eibhlin O'Malley, and he was not sorry the following day to bid farewell to Brian, Shane, and Shamus O'Malley, and their mother. Anne, of course, was worried for her youngest, Conn, who was to sail with them, but Adam saw that the young man was anxious to free himself of both his mother and his three older brothers. Secretly Adam wondered if his youngest brother-in-law would ever go privateering in the New World. From Conn O'Malley's questions about Skye's trading business, Adam suspected he'd not.

They reached Devon several days later, anchoring in the harbor of Lynmouth Castle, and then rowing ashore. Daisy hurried to her cottage to see her small sons, while Skye sent out messengers to Dame Cecily at Wren Court and to the Queen saying that she had returned and would be keeping Christmas at Greenwich with her Majesty. Then she put her mind to the task of turning her brother into a gentleman worthy of the Tudor court.

Conn roared like a lion as his shaggy hair was shorn from his head, and his thick bushy beard cropped neady. He howled like a banshee to find himself in a steaming tub that smelt of lavender while his own sister, her sleeves rolled above her elbow, plied the scrubbing brush herself.

"Ye're killing me!" he yelled in Gaelic as she scrubbed his newly barbered hair.

"Speak English, you clod!" she roared back at him. "You'll be laughed right out of the damned English court unless you do!"

“To Hell with the English!"

"My sentiments, too," Skye laughed, "but you need the bastards, Conn! Besides, the court is filled with pretty girls just dying to meet a big, handsome man like yourself. If you don't speak their language, how will you communicate with them?"

"I've not done so bad to date, sister," he replied.

"With the serving girls?" she mocked him. "Haven't you ever learned the difference between a lady and a wench, little brother? You'd best if you're to be a success at court, and you'd better be a success at court, Conn. Your brothers need those letters of marque."

Conn O'Malley put his mind to becoming a gentleman. He was nineteen years old, and stood several inches over six feet in height. Like his sister, he was fair with midnight-black hair. A recalcitrant lock tumbled over his brow, giving him a look both innocent and rakish. Of all the O'Malleys he was the only one whose eyes were neither gray nor bright blue. His, instead, were a grayish green. He was an enormously handsome man with a straight nose, high forehead, and square, chiseled jaw.

He looked marvelous in decently tailored clothing, having long, elegant legs, narrow hips, slim waist, and a broad chest and shoulders. Seeing him suitably garbed a week after they had arrived, Adam swore softly, saying, "By God, the women will be throwing themselves at his feet. We'll have to fight every father and husband at court, Skye." Conn grinned back engagingly with a flash of white, white teeth. "I promise not to be too hard a man on all the little darlin's, Adam," he said.

"God help us," Adam muttered.

Conn was quick, and he easily learned all that Skye and Adam could teach him. Dame Cecily worked with him too, drilling him in his speech so that by the time they were ready to depart for Greenwich, Conn spoke English fluently, albeit with a soft trace of a brogue. It only added to his charm.

They departed for London several days before Christmas, and riding within the coach with Skye and Adam, Conn O'Malley could scarce be pulled away from the windows. His young eyes devoured the passing countryside with its neat farms and orchards and houses. The same eyes widened as they passed through the towns with their bustling shops and open markets and four-story houses. He had never in his young life seen the like of it, and he was fascinated by it all. He asked questions unceasingly, and Skye suddenly realized how different this last child of her father's was from his siblings. He was, she decided, more like herself and Eibhlin than any of the others. She could just imagine Brian seated in Conn's place, a dour face on him, grumbling the entire way. Skye was rather happy to get to know Conn better, and she found that she liked him.

"Look, Conn!" Leaning out the coach window, Skye pointed. "London!"

Conn O'Malley's jaw dropped in honest surprise as the city came into his view. The churches were enormous with spires that soared skyward as high as the mountains in his homeland. The houses were all jammed in together along with the shops, and there were more people than he'd ever seen in one place at one time. The noise was ferocious, but it was the stink of the streets that surprised him more than anything else.

"'Tis worse than an unshoveled cow byre," he said.

Adam laughed. "In a sense that's exactly what it is, Conn. The sanitation isn't the best in London. You'd best be careful when walking the streets lest you get the contents of a slop jar poured over you. Should you hear the cry of " ‘Ware!’ get out of the way, lad!"

"Where are we going?" Conn asked his sister. Not realizing the size of London, he hadn't thought of where they might stay, assuming it would be another of the comfortable inns they had stopped at along the way. Now he wasn't quite so sure.

"I have a house in a small village just bordering the city, called Chiswick on the Strand. The house is on the river, and within easy barge ride of Greenwich. Your nephew, the Earl of Lynmouth, has a house next door to mine. His is very grand, but mine is quite simple. You'll be comfortable there, brother."

Conn O'Malley's eyes widened again as the coach trotted smartly through the gates at Greenwood. A small man holding the gates open doffed his cap respectfully, and an equally small lady with a smiling face curtseyed from the gatehouse door. Skye waved gaily at both of them. "'Tis Bates and his wife," she said to her brother. Conn sat still and silently. The coach made its way through the beautifully landscaped park and up the curving drive to the house. Skye's brother took in the lovely house of mellowed pink brick, partly covered in shiny green ivy.

Before the house now stood several men in green-and-white livery, who hurried to open the carriage door, take down the steps, and help the occupants forth. As they entered the house a slightly more elegant liveried man hurried forward, saying, "Welcome home, m'lady!"

"Thank you, Walters," Skye replied. 'This is my youngest brother, Master Conn O'Malley. He's come to court."

"Welcome, sir," was Walters's reply. Then he turned back to Skye and Adam. "A message came for you from Greenwich with Lord Burghley's man. It was verbal, and I was asked to repeat it to you. You are to let Lord Burghley know as soon as you arrive in London. He will inform Her Majesty, and a date will be set for you to be received at Greenwich."

"Send someone at once," Adam instructed. "I’ve not a doubt the Queen is anxious to see us."

"Very good, m'lord."

Skye moved up the main staircase of her house to the library, her husband and her brother following. Behind them the baggage was being brought in, and Daisy busily directed the footmen with each piece. Velvet, in the arms of her nurse, Nora, a younger cousin of Daisy's, was carried up to her nursery to be put to bed. As Nora hurried past Conn, he stopped her long enough to place a soft kiss upon his niece's head.

"Good night, kitten," he said softly. "Have happy dreams."

"You spoil her," Skye noted, but she was pleased that Conn had developed such a deep affection for her little daughter, an affection that was quite mutual, for Velvet adored her handsome uncle. Velvet, her mother thought, liked all the gentlemen, and Lord knew the men were easily enamored of her child.

"You're smiling," Adam said as he poured them each a goblet of red wine.

"I’m thinking that Velvet already knows her powers with regard to the gentlemen," Skye replied.