Bertrice Small - Skye O’Malley

She was amazingly competent, highly knowledgeable in areas of
which he had little or no understanding. The men about her did her
bidding unquestioningly, and listened to her with open respect. Had
she not been his sweet Skye in the privacy of her cabin, Niall would
have been genuinely frightened of the Amazon who commanded this
small fleet. Fortunately, Niall Burke had a sense of humor, and he
quickly realized he was going to need it.

Though he shared the captain’s quarters with her, he slept alone
in a single bunk in a small side cabin with the wolfhound Inis as his
companion. The great dog had attached himself to Niall with a
singular devotion that delighted Skye, for Inis had hated Dom. Lord
Burke amused himself by training the dog. It was intelligent, but
lacked manners. Niall also spent a good deal of time in the company
of the same Captain MacGuire who had returned him to the
MacWilliam several years back.

It was MacGuire who began to teach Niall the rudiments of sea-
manship, for as he succinctly put it, “The O’Malleys are all half
fish, and if you’re to wed one, you’d best understand why they love
the sea even if you don’t.” Niall Burke listened, learned, and began
to have great admiration for those who made the sea their life.

He spent the evenings with Skye, though she would not share her
bed with him. “I am not a passenger on this voyage,” she told him.
”If I were needed in the night, and we…” Her blue eyes twinkled,
and he laughed in spite of his disappointment. To reward his patience she flung herself into his arms and kissed him ardently, her soft
breasts pressing provocatively against his pounding heart, her little
tongue darting teasingly about his mouth. Niall pushed her back,
and kicking her legs from beneath her, they fell to the big captain’s
bed. Skye felt her shirt buttons opening as if by magic, and his
mouth burned into the soft flesh of her breasts, nuzzling against a
suddenly hard nipple, sucking until the throb between her legs was
almost unbearable.

Then he lifted his head, and his silvery eyes stared down at her
with tolerant amusement. “You’re captain of this ship, Skye, but I
will, if you don’t mind, be captain in our bedchamber. If you tease
me like that again, I’ll have you on your back before you can say
’Sail ho!’ Do you understand me, sweetheart?” “Aye, Captain,” she answered, and he was flattered to see the
admiration in her eyes.

The weather remained miraculously fair as the Seagull and her
sister ships sailed farther south, avoiding the treacherous Bay of
Biscay entirely by the simple maneuver of keeping far enough out
to sea. They now sailed shoreward, rounding Cape St. Vincent,
ploughing across the Gulf of Cadiz, and through the Straits of Gi-
braltar into the Mediterranean.

They were but a few days out of Algiers when a freak storm
struck the O’Malley fleet, scattering it haphazardly. The wind and
waves were tremendous. The heavy rains soaked into the decks and
through into the below-decks area. Just when they thought them-
selves safe, the storm having died, the boom of a cannon brought
them face to face with Barbary pirates.

The pendant sent them by the Dey to insure their safe journey
had been ripped away in the storm, and they were under attack by
two ships. There was no choice but to fight. Skye’s men were
delighted. Laughingly they broke out the weapons and turned with
relish to meet the enemy. The grappling hooks flew, and the Seagull
found herself pinioned against a pirate ship. Below decks, her gun
crews worked frantically to sink the fast-closing second ship while,
above deck, Skye, sword in hand, led her men in defense of her
ship.

Horrified, admiring her courage but scared to death for her, Lord
Burke grabbed his own sword, but MacGuire held him back. “She’s
doing fine, laddie. Stay with me. You go to her now, and she’ll be
more concerned for your safety than for her ship’s. She doesn’t need
you. If she does we’ll go, but for now we’ll just defend this area
from the mangy infidels.” And clay pipe still clenched between his
teeth, he leaped forward to engage a burly, bearded, turbaned ruffian
who was attempting to gain the quarterdeck. Knowing MacGuire was right, Niall joined in the fight to keep the quarterdeck free.

The Seagull’s gun crew succeeded in sinking the second enemy
ship, and a great shout of triumph went up from the O’Malley men.
With renewed vigor they began to force the invaders from their decks
and off their ship. The grappling hooks were disengaged and, slowly,
a border of water began to appear between the two ships. The pirates
fled back to their own vessel.

What happened next was never quite clear in the minds of the
sailors who lived through it. A freak wave-a remnant of the recent
storm-hit the ship sharply, broadside, and Niall Burke found him-
self pitched overboard into the sea. He heard Skye scream his name,
and then Inis hit the water near him and swam to his side. He could
see a boat being quickly lowered, and he knew it would be only a
matter of minutes before he and the dog were safely back aboard
the Seagull.

On the ship above, Skye raved in a manner previously unknown
to her crew. “Jesu! Jesu! You idiots, hurry! Lower the boat before
he drowns! If either he or the dog is drowned I’ll keelhaul the lot
of you all the way back to Ireland!”

The boat hit the water and was swiftly rowed toward Lord Burke
and Inis, both of whom were treading water. Skye leaned from the
quarterdeck, frantically directing the rescue. In the foaming sea
Niall’s dark head bobbed next to Inis’ silvery black one. Intent on
the rescue, they all forgot about the pirates. The pirate captain and
his crew had been staring, amazed, and now the captain nodded to
one of his seaman.

The pirate was swung swiftly across the gap between the two
ships. Grasping Skye firmly about the waist, the man lifted her from
the deck of the Seagull, and the two of them swung back to the
pirate ship.

She turned on him with a shriek of fury, nails clawing, but her
captor laughed, his teeth white against his tanned face and black
beard. As she struggled with the man, she heard her own crew
shouting, but the pirates were now breaking out muskets and shooting
down into the water in an attempt to hinder the rescue of Lord Burke.
The rescue boat finally reached Niall, and he and the dog were
hauled into it.

“Thank God,” sobbed Skye. She heard Niall call her name and,
taking her captor unawares for a moment, she fought free and
shrieked, “Niall! Niall!”

He stood up in the boat and shouted desperately, “We’re coming,
beloved! We’re coming to get you!”

There was a sharp crack of a musket, and a bright blossom of
scarlet burst from Lord Burke’s chest. Skye stared in horror, then screamed endlessly as she watched him fall into the little boat. “I’ve
killed him! Oh, sweet Christ! I’ve killed him!” And with a moan
of anguish she slid down into the darkness that rose to free her of
her pain.

The garden of Khalid el Bey had been designed to be a haven
of perfect peace. Rectangular in shape, it lay directly behind
the Bey’s villa, a two-story marble building high atop the city
of Algiers. The view from both garden and villa was mag-
nificent, allowing a panoramic vista of the city below with its recently
built Turkish fort-called the Casbah-and the blue Mediterranean
lapping at its feet.

There were orange and lemon trees in the garden as well as tall,
full pines, and roses of every imaginable color. A T-shaped pool,
its longer bar interspersed with spraying fountains, ran the length
of the garden. The paths held carefully raked light gravel, and small
white marble benches were placed at intervals along them. There
were three distinct sounds in the garden of Khalid el Bey. The
tinkling of fountains, bird songs, and the murmur of the breeze in
the pines. Occasionally, the buzzing of a bee intruded itself.

The only human inhabitant of the garden at this moment was a
beautiful young woman who lay dozing on a portable chaise longue.
She wore a simple pale-blue caftan, and her slim feet were shod in
gold leather sandals. Her skin was very fair with the faintest blush
of pink on her cheeks, her eyelids softly shadowed in blue kohl. Her
thick blue-black hair lay curling in gentle disarray about her shoul-
ders.

Khalid el Bey, who had come into the garden from the villa,
stood silently watching the woman. He was a tall man in early middle years, his dark hair just beginning to silver slightly at the sides. His
skin bore a faint golden tint, which set off his short, black beard.
His amber-gold eyes were fringed in long, thick, dark lashes, unusual
in a man but most attractive. Khalid el Bey was neither fat nor thin,
but possessed a firm, well-muscled body which he exercised regu-
larly. His face was oval, the eyes set well apart, the nose long and
aristocratic, the lips thin but still sensuous.

Now, as he stood gazing quietly down on the lovely woman in
his garden, he knew that his instincts had been correct. She was
indeed a great beauty-though when she had been brought to him
two months before, one would not have known it. She had been thin
then, her hair matted and lank. And she had been suffering from
shock. Still, he had seen a valuable jewel beneath the filth, and
despite Yasmin’s objections had bought her for his House of Felicity.

She had healed slowly. He himself had spooned nourishing
chicken broth between her cracked lips during that first week. His
gentleness had communicated itself to her, and it was to him that
she first spoke.

“Who are you?”

“My name is Khalid el Bey.”

“Where am I?”

“You are at my house in the city of Algiers.”