Bertrice Small - Skye O’Malley

“You’re free, Skye, and that’s all any of us cared about,” he protested, embarrassed.

“I included your emeralds, the ones you took for yourself. They were added to the Gazelle’s treasure,” said Niall calmly. “You took my emeralds?”

They all waited for the explosion. But Skye began to laugh. “By God,” she said, “I’ve beaten Elizabeth Tudor well and true, and in a manner I never expected to.”

“What do you mean, Skye?” asked Robert Small. “Why, Robbie, the Queen has gained nothing except some gold, and a few cold stones, but I have the true treasure. I have the three of you. Niall, my beloved husband, and my friend Adam, and my dearest Robbie. Until Bess Tudor has a husband and loyal friends like mine, she has nothing of value at all. I pity her.” They stared wonderingly at her, realizing that Skye really did pity the Queen whom she had bested. The three men felt a burning sting behind their eyes, and each blinked rapidly, unashamed. Skye gazed at each of them long and lovingly, and her smile was as bright as the morning. “Gentlemen! I’m for home!” she cried. And wheeling her horse about, Skye O’Malley galloped off in the late-April sunshine, and down the road to Devon.