Chapters 5

The MacWilliam had commanded that his vassals keep the
twelve days of Christmas with him. They came from all over
Mid-Connaught, including Dom O’Flaherty and his bride of
several months.

The hospitality was lavish, for unlike his less powerful neighbors,
the MacWilliam’s tower house had sprouted three additional inter-
connected towers over the years. Consequently he now owned a fine
stone castle, built along Norman lines around a gardened and cobbled
quadrangle. His guests were housed quite comfortably. Although
Skye’s father’s tower house was most comfortable and very well
furnished, the MacWilliam’s large castle was lavish by comparison.

There were four O’Flahertys partaking of their overlord’s gen-
erosity. Dom’s father, Gilladubh, and his younger sister, Claire, had
come with Dom and Skye. Skye frankly hoped that they could find
a husband for Claire O’Flaherty, though neither Claire’s father nor
her brother seemed to realize that, at fourteen, Claire was practically
an old maid.

The girl was pretty enough, with thick, flaxen braids, Dom’s
pale-blue eyes, and a pink-cheeked complexion. But there was some-
thing sly about her, something Skye did not like. On the one or two
occasions Skye had attempted to correct the girl for minor faults,
Claire had complained to both her father and her brother, and Skye
had been told to leave her be. Behind the doting men’s backs, Claire
had smiled smugly at her sister-in-law. But Skye had had some
measure of revenge when she caught Claire helping herself to Skye’s
jewelry. Boxing the girl’s ears soundly-which gave Skye great
pleasure-she warned her that if she stole again she would have
Claire’s head shaved.

“And if you complain to either Dom or your father, dear sister,”
Skye’s voice dripped sweetness, “you’ll be bald for a year.”

Claire O’Flaherty needed no further warning. The fierce look in
Skye’s eye convinced her that her brother’s wife was not the soft
fool she had originally thought she was. From that moment on the
two women maintained a wary truce. Now Skye was determined to
marry the girl off as quickly as possible, to get her out of her house.

Skye had known that Niall would be at the Christmas gathering.

She soon learned that he was to be their host, as his father was
suffering with gout. If Niall expected to find her heartbroken, she
would soon disabuse him of that notion. In the six months since
Dom had taken her from St. Bride’s she had made a kind of peace
with herself. She did not love her husband nor did she ever believe
she would, but she played the obedient wife.

Her mother-in-law was long dead, and the running of the
O’Flaherty household was left entirely in her hands. Claire seemed
not to care, or even have the necessary knowledge. Skye did her job
well, which pleased her father-in-law. Gilladubh O’Flaherty was an
older version of Dom, a pompous lecher with a penchant for fine
wines and good whiskey. Skye soon learned to avoid his quick
hands, once going so far as to brandish a candlestick at him and
threaten to expose his outrageous behavior.

Sitting on the MacWilliam’s fine guest bed in her petticoats and
beribboned busk, she brushed her hair with angry, vicious strokes.
Tonight Skye O’Malley would be as beautiful as she could make
herself, and she would hold her head up before the arrogant Burkes
and O’Neills. It was her good fortune to own a more magnificent
wardrobe than most women did, for her father had always delighted
in showing off her beauty.

Mag, her tiring woman, brought her gown and laid it carefully
across the foot of the bed. She held a small round mirror for her
mistress, and Skye skillfully outlined her eyes with kohl and put just
the tiniest bit of red to her cheeks, giving her fair skin a faint, healthy
blush. Her shining dark hair was smoothly parted in the center,
carefully tucked into dainty gold wire cauls, then pinned on either
side of her head. Lastly Skye applied to the deep valley between her
breasts, to her wrists, to the base of her throat, and to the back and
sides of her neck, a rare perfume made especially for her of musk
and attar of roses. Let him smell the scent of roses on her! Let him
remember, and know she cared not!

Skye stood up, and Mag hurried to help her mistress into her
gown. The tiring woman quickly laced the dress and then stood back
to survey her lady. A toothless smile split her weathered face. “Aye,
you’ll break his fickle heart, my lady! One look at you in this gown,
and he’ll wish he’d stood up to that old devil, his father!”

“Is Lady Burke so displeasing to the eye then, Mag?” asked Skye
with feigned disinterest.

Mag cackled with laughter, and hugged herself. “Nay, lady, she’s
pretty enough. It’s just that you’re so wickedly fair.”

Skye smiled a little cat’s smile. “Get my jewel case, you old
crone!” she ordered affectionately and, when the woman hurried to
obey, snatched up the mirror. Holding it away from herself, she studied her reflection. The gown of deep-blue velvet was beautiful,
and its low, square neckline revealed her snow-white breasts. The
bodice flowed into a full skirt, parting in the center to reveal a
Persian blue underskirt of heavy satin, embroidered in gold and
silver thread. Her shoes matched her gown, but her stockings were
pure silk, and matched the underskirt right down to the embroidery.
Skye twirled slightly, and was pleased to see that the stockings
would show to great advantage during the dancing.

Mag held open the jewel case and Skye lifted out a sapphire
necklace, the large square stones interspersed with round gold me-
dallions, twelve in all, each representing a sign of the zodiac. At
the bottom of the necklace a large pink pearl teardrop hung pro-
vocatively between her breasts. There were sapphires in her ears and
she wore three rings, a sapphire, an emerald, and a large baroque
pearl.

Dom strode into the room and asked jealously, “Are you dressing
to please Niall Burke, Skye?”

“Rather to please you, my lord,” she said smoothly, “but if my
gown displeases you I will change to whatever gives you pleasure.”

He eyed her carefully. He knew there wouldn’t be a woman at
tonight’s banquet to compare with her. She would be the fairest
creature in the hall. And she belonged to him! He would be the envy
of every man there. Roughly he pulled her into his arms and buried
his face in the warm scented cleft between her breasts.

“Don’t!” Her voice was sharp. Familiarity had removed her fear
of him, and now only a veiled contempt remained. “Don’t, Dom.
You’ll put me in disarray.” He stepped away from her. “How handsome you look,” she quickly noted. “Your sky-blue velvet goes quite
well with my deep blue.”

“Day and midnight,” he said, offering her his arm.

She laughed. “Careful, my lord, you verge on the poetical. Your
fine Paris education may have not gone for nought after all.”

The banquet hall of the MacWilliam’s castle was a great room
with heavy beamed ceilings and four fireplaces. They blazed now
with giant-sized logs. Tall narrow windows gave views of the snow-
covered countryside, the plainness of the hills and fields broken at
intervals by large stands of black, bare trees. To the west the hills
were stained orange-red with the sunset. The room was crowded
with elegantly dressed guests. Servants scurried to and fro with trays
of wine, amid a low steady hum of voices.

As they entered the hall the majordomo announced them and Skye
felt the eyes of the entire room on them. The story of her wedding
night was yet spoken of throughout the district, and now the nobility of Mid-Connaught watched to see the first meeting of the O’Flahertys
and the Burkes since that fateful day of last May. The gossips had
to admit that Skye and Dom were an outrageously handsome couple.

Skye and Dom moved with a stately slow pace as they proceeded
down the length of the hall to greet their host and hostess, Niall and
Darragh. Skye kept her head high, her face expressionless, her glance
at a point just above the top of Niall’s head. For a brief instant she
gave in to her curiosity and glanced at his face. His silver-gray eyes
were ice, and sent a wave of bitter coldness sweeping over her to
penetrate the very core of her heart.

She was puzzled. She had expected a smug smile, certainly not
this disdain. She was discomfited by his attitude, but a quick glimpse
of the tiny woman at his side restored her confidence. She felt joy
surge through her with the knowledge that Darragh Burke was, for
all her noble breeding, no beauty.

They had reached the dais now, and Skye looked past Niall and
his wife to where the MacWilliam sat, his painful leg cushioned
upon a stool. She flashed Niall’s father a brilliant smile, her even
little teeth almost blinding in their whiteness. The old man let his
glance sweep over her, and it gave her great pleasure to see the
regret in his eyes. Now they both knew that he had made a mistake.
She swept him a graceful curtsey. “My lord.”

It amused him to realize how quickly she had read his thoughts.
He enjoyed a worthy adversary, and she would make one. If he had
been twenty years younger he would have made an attempt to bed
her himself. “My friend, Gilly O’Flaherty, tells me you’re a good
wife to his boy,” growled the MacWilliam.

“I am,” she answered him coolly.

“I thought you were happiest being a pirate wench.”

“I am that too, when I can, my lord.”

“And are you good at that too, Lady O’Flaherty?”

“I’m good at whatever I set my mind to, my lord.”

He chuckled. “Welcome to you, and to your husband,” and then
his eyes crinkled wickedly. “Undoubtedly you both remember my
son. Niall.”

She felt Dom stiffen beside her, and she squeezed his hand re-
assuringly. They would not even acknowledge the insult. Dom’s
good manners asserted themselves with the knowledge his wife stood
by him. The two men bowed curtly to each other.