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.

“Rise, my daughter,” came a cool, cultivated voice.

“Reverend Mother, may I present my sister, Skye. Skye, this is
the Reverend Mother Ethna.”

“Thank you, Sister Eibhlin. You may return to your duties now.
Mistress Monahan from our village went into labor this morning,
and you have our permission to attend her.”

Eibhlin bowed herself out, and the Reverend Mother Ethna waved
Skye to a chair. “Welcome to St. Bride’s of the Cliffs, Lady
O’Flaherty. Your father has already apprised us of the reason for
your visit. We will endeavor to make you as comfortable as pos-
sible.”

“Thank you,” Skye said tonelessly.

Quiet brown eyes surveyed Skye, and the nun appeared to be
debating with herself. Then she said, “I was Ethna O’Neill before
I took the veil. It was my niece to whom Lord Burke was betrothed.
She never knew him, but I did. He has a most winning way about
him.” A small smile played about the corners of her mouth.

“We met but a short time ago,” said Skye, softening somewhat.
”I don’t know what happened to us, but we are in love. Da simply
would not listen. Niall wants to have my marriage annulled so we
may wed.”

The nun shook her head. “Perhaps he can arrange it, or at least
get the proceedings started while you’re here.”

“You’re the first person who’s not told me that the MacWilliam won’t let his heir marry with an O’Malley of Innisfana.”

The Reverend Mother laughed. “Ah, these men and their pride!
Take heart, my daughter. The MacWilliam is a stern man, but he
loves his son. But tell me, child, have you no feeling for your young
husband?”

“I do not love Dom, nor did I ever wish to wed with him. I
begged my father not to force me to it, even before I met Niall
Burke. In fact, I did not wish to wed at all until I met Niall. I do
not believe a woman should have to spend her life with someone
she dislikes.”

“So,” chuckled the nun, “you’re a revolutionary like your sister,
Lady O’Flaherty.”

“No. And please, I beg of you, Reverend Mother, do not call me
Lady O’Flaherty. I shall never acknowledge Dom’s name as mine.
I am Skye O’Malley!”

“Very well, Skye O’Malley, we shall try to make your stay with
us as pleasant as possible.” The nun picked up a bell and rang it
sharply. It was instantly answered by a little novice. “Sister Feldelm,
this is Skye O’Malley, Sister Eibhlin’s sister. She is sheltering with
us for several weeks. The West Tower guest suite has been prepared
for her. Will you please escort her there?”

“Yes, Reverend Mother,” said the novice, bobbing a curtsey.
”If you’ll come along with me, Mistress O’Malley.”

“You are free to go wherever you chose on the grounds, Skye,
and the chapel and public rooms of the convent are open to you.
You need not keep to your rooms.”

“Thank you.” Skye turned to follow Sister Feldelm.

“My daughter, I shall pass on to you any information I receive.”

Skye flashed her a small smile, then followed the novice out.

How sad, thought the Reverend Mother. Another young woman
pushed into an unhappy marriage. She wondered what the Mac-
William would do. She knew what he would not do. He would not
let Niall have Skye, for he sought a better match for his heir. Damn
him and the others like him for the fools they were! Hadn’t they yet
learned that overbred wenches invariably proved to be bad breeders?
A good sturdy lass of less elegant lineage made a better wife.

The Reverend Mother Ethna realized that beneath the gallant
defiance, Skye O’Malley was a frightened and desperate girl. If the
child was to be disappointed, best she learn it now so she might face
her grief with the nuns. In the time she was with them, they could,
with the grace of God, help her make peace with herself.

Alone in her apartment Skye inspected her surroundings. There
were two rooms, a good-sized dayroom, and a small bedroom. Both had fireplaces. The bedroom fireplace was set into the corner. The
room held only a big oak bed with claret velvet hangings. There was
no room for any other furniture. The size of the bed amused and
puzzled Skye until it dawned on her that the convent probably relied
on the generosity of its friends to furnish its rooms. Giggling to
herself, she wondered what the nuns thought of the great bed. It
faced the one small window in the bedroom, and looked out over
the sea.

The dayroom was a bright, pleasant room with windows on two
sides. They faced north, giving a far view of her home on Innisfana
Island, and west across the open sea into the setting sun. On the
east wall of the room was a large stone fireplace flanked by two
great carved winged angels. To the north of the fireplace was the
stout oak door that served as an entry.

On the opposite side of the fireplace a small floor-to-ceiling book-
case had been built into the wall, matching a larger one that shared
the south wall with the paneled bedroom door. Before the lead paned
western windows was a polished oak refectory table with armchairs
at the head and foot. To one side of the fireplace was a settle and
on the other a comfortable chair. There was a large carved chest,
and in the space between the windows stood a little prie-dieu with
an embroidered cushion. Skye’s trunk had been placed in the bedroom, beneath the window.

The convent’s benefactors had been more than generous. Heavy
claret-red velvet draperies hung from all the windows, and a large
Turkey carpet in reds and blues was spread across the floor, matching
a smaller one in the bedroom. Skye later learned that the O’Neills
had furnished the West Tower’s guest quarters when their own Ethna
became the head of St. Bride’s of the Cliffs.

Skye’s days quickly took on a comfortable pattern. She rose early,
and attended mass in the convent’s chapel. She was not particularly
religious, but she prayed now that Niall would soon come for her.
Afterward she obtained her own breakfast from the kitchen and went
off by herself to walk across the convent grounds. A small sailboat
belonging to the order was placed at her disposal, and Skye spent
many hours sailing and fishing to pass the time. The convent soon
enjoyed a number of fresh seafood dinners courtesy of their young
guest.