The main meal of the day was served at two in the afternoon,
and Skye ate it alone in her dayroom. The evening meal was served
after vespers, and sometimes Eibhlin joined her young sister. Oth-
erwise Skye was again alone.

The convent had a surprisingly fine library, and the bookshelves in Skye’s dayroom were also well filled. On very wet days, she
read. Skye O’Malley was a well-educated woman for her day. She
could speak her native Gaelic as well as English, French, and Latin.
She could write, and though she might not sew as fine a seam as
her sisters did, her needlework was passable and she could knit.

She knew how to run a household, understanding provisioning,
salting, conserving, preserving, soap-making, and perfume-making.
She knew the rudiments of brewing and household medicine. She
had been taught to keep accounts, for O’Malley firmly believed that
the only way to avoid being cheated by one’s own steward was to
do one’s own household accounts. And as if that were not enough,
Skye was one of the finest navigators her father had ever sailed with.
The O’Malley often joked that he thought his daughter could smell
out her ship’s destination.

Though she saw the nuns as she moved through the uneventful
pattern of her days, Skye actually spent most of her time alone. The
order of St. Bride’s was not a cloistered one, nor was it a begging
order. The nuns were workers, devoted first to their God and second
to the poor. Some of the nuns were teachers and others gave medical
aid to the surrounding area. The rest farmed for the convent, cooked,
knitted, sewed, and did the farm and household chores.

Skye adapted instantly, and entered into the spirit of the convent,
doing her share of fishing, snaring rabbits, and one day even bringing
down a young buck. The venison was a rare treat for the nuns.

Skye needed that constant physical activity. Had she not worked
so hard she might never have slept. Why had Niall not communicated
with her? Surely he understood the anguish she was feeling. He
could not, she was sure, have made love to her with such exquisite
delicacy while intending to leave her forever.

It might have eased her mind to know that Niall Burke suffered
no less than she did. He had clawed his way up through the swirling
darkness to discover himself trussed like a damned Christmas goose
on a cockle of a boat that was bouncing all over the ocean. The
bearded captain of the little boat gave him a wicked but sympathetic
grin.

“So, you’re awake, me lord.”

“Where the hell am I?” snarled Niall. “Unloose me at once!”

The captain looked unhappy. “Ah, now, your worship, I can’t
do that. If I were to unloose you, and you became violent, which
I can see you’re sure to do, I’d be in terrible trouble. Take Lord
Burke home to the MacWilliam was what the O’Malley told me to
do, and that’s just what I’ll do.”

“At least sit me up, man, and give me a dram. I’m cramped, my head feels like the little people are mining gold inside it, and I’m
not sure I won’t be seasick.”

Captain MacGuire chuckled. “All right, lad. You don’t ask a
great deal of a man, and I’m no fool to make you any more uncom-
fortable than you already are.” Bending, he hauled Niall into a sitting
position, his back against the mast, and held a flask to his lips.

Niall gratefully swallowed several gulps of the smoky, peat-
scented whiskey. It hit the pit of his stomach like a burning rock,
but almost immediately it began to spread its warmth through his
cramped, wet body. “So the O’Malley sent me home?” he said
thoughtfully.

“Aye, me lord, and you’ve slept as peaceful as a babe most of
the way. We’re just about there.”

Niall craned his neck and looked to the coast, but he was not a
sailor and the distant landscape looked all the same to him. “How
long?” he demanded.

“A bit,” came the infuriatingly vague answer. “See that little point
over there? Once we’re around it you’re home. That’s where we’ll
land, and then I’ll walk you from there. I’ve a message to deliver
to the MacWilliam.”

“Walk!” Niall exploded. “We’ll take the first available horses we
can find. The MacWilliam’s stronghold is a good stretch of the legs
from the sea, man. Do you ride?”

“About as good as you sail, laddie.”

“Then God help you, MacGuire! You’ll soon be as uncomfortable
as I am now!”

When they finally reached shore the captain untied his passenger
and helped him from the boat. Niall Burke rubbed his wrists where
the ropes had chafed him. He was anxious to be home so he might
speak with his father. He clambered up the hillside from the beach.

Without even looking to see if MacGuire was with him, Niall
strode quickly away, following a faint path. After about a half-hour
they came in view of a thatched roofed farmhouse. Next to the
farmhouse bloomed a kitchen garden of herbs, carrots, and other
root vegetables, cress, and a few bright flowers. The nearby fields,
well kept, were already colored with barley and rye. And in a pasture
just beyond the garden a dozen sleek horses grazed peacefully. There
was no sign of life, though MacGuire could have sworn he had seen
smoke coming from the chimney. “Ho! The house! ‘Tis Niall Burke,
and a friend.”

After a long moment the farmhouse door swung open, and a big
man stepped out. He called back out into the house, “It’s all right,
Maeve. It’s his lordship.” The man came forward, a grin on his face, and clasped Niall’s hand in his own large bearlike paw. “Wel-
come, my lord! How may we serve you?”

“I need two horses, Brian. This evil-looking fellow is Captain
MacGuire, one of the O’Malley’s men. He’ll return the horses to
you later.”

“At once, my lord. If you’re not in too great a hurry, the wife
is just taking bread from the oven.”

Niall Burke’s silvery eyes crinkled in appreciation. “Ah,” he
breathed. “Maeve’s bread with her own honey! Come on, MacGuire!
I’ve a treat for you, despite the fact that you’ve treated me badly.”
The captain in his wake, he burst through the door and swept up a
sparrow of a woman into his embrace. He held her high above him,
lowering her to smack kisses on both of her flushed cheeks while
she laughed and scolded him to put her down. “I’ve come for your
virtue-and your fine bread, Maeve love!” he teased, returning her
to her feet.

She gave him a friendly whack, and said, “None of your naught-
iness now, Master Niall. Tis long past time you grew up. Come
along with you, and your friend too. Sit down. The bread’s just
from the oven.”

They obeyed her and sat. Niall, turning to MacGuire, explained,
”Maeve was my nurse until I was seven. Then she deserted me to
wed with Brian. As a boy, I used to come here often, for she bakes
the best bread in the district. And for some reason her bees make
the best honey you’ve ever tasted.”

“It’s the salt air,” said Maeve. “It gives the honey a wee bit of
a nip.”

MacGuire shortly found that Lord Burke was no liar, and he said
to Maeve, “If you had a daughter who could bake half as well as
you do, mistress, I’d wed with her in a thrice.”

Maeve flushed with pleasure. “If you return this way, Captain,
stop for a meal with us.”

“Thank you, mistress, and I will!”

“The horses are ready, my lord,” called Brian from the doorway.

Niall Burke stood up, licking a drop of honey from his finger
like a small boy. “Let’s go, MacGuire. I’m anxious to be home!”

The captain was surprised to see two fine, well-bred mounts
waiting. They mounted and, with a wave to Brian, rode off.

“Your peasants must be prosperous to have any horses at all, let
alone such fine ones,” observed MacGuire as they cantered along.

“These are our horses,” answered Burke. “We keep good horses
with several specially chosen families for just such purposes as these.
That way, we’re never stranded.” He then spurred his horse to a
gallop. “Come on, man,” he called to the captain, who was bouncing up and down on his mount, looking decidedly uncomfortable. “I’m
for home!”

Niall Burke was to regret his haste. No sooner had he entered
into the MacWilliam’s presence than the O’Malley’s letter was
handed over to the great lord. MacGuire was sent off to be served
refreshment, and Niall stood impatiently while the MacWilliam, his
strong features darkening, skimmed over the parchment. Finally the
MacWilliam snorted and, looking angrily at his son, roared, “Well,
you arrogant puppy, I hope you have a helluva good explanation for
your conduct! Dubhdara O’Malley’s ships are vital to the defense
of this area, as is the goodwill of the Ballyhennessey O’Flahertys!”

Niall, of course, had not read the letter. Caught off guard, he
blurted like a schoolboy. “I love her, Father! I love Skye O’Malley!
I tried to speak with O’Malley, and get him to call off the wedding.
But his wife went into labor before I could talk to him. She had a
hard birth. He was unavailable all that time, and they wed the girl
ahead of schedule, practically in secret.”

“O’Malley wouldn’t have called off the match, you young fool!
It was made years ago. He was bound to it! And a damn good match
it was for his youngest lass. How dared you interfere?”

“I love her, and she loves me. She detests the O’Flaherty bastard
they’ve wed her to! She always hated him, even before we met.”

“And you felt that gave you the right to claim the droit du seigneur
of the bride? Jesus, man! If you were anyone else I’d kill you!
You’re lucky O’Malley has a sense of humor. The girl’s been sent
to her sister’s convent to be sure your night results in nothing worse
man embarrassment.”

“I love her!” shouted Niall. “I want her marriage annulled so I
may wed her. There must be a bishop in this family.”

“Over my dead body!” roared the MacWilliam. “O’Malley’s ships
are valuable to me. His wench is not. I’ll have no pirate wench
mothering my grandchildren! I’ve arranged for you to wed with
Darragh O’Neill, the younger sister to your late betrothed. She is
thirteen, and ripe for marriage. You’ll be joined in three weeks’
time.”