The warm water felt good. Slowly Skye rubbed the cake of scented
soap between her hands, then washed her face. Niall Burke. Niall
Burke. Her mind repeated his name like a litany. He was so tall.
He had made her feel petite, which she most certainly was not. He
had been dressed in the English fashion, with elegant parti-colored
hose and matching green pantaloons to the knee. She imagined the
rippling muscles beneath the green velvet doublet. She suddenly
wondered what it would feel like to be crushed against that broad
chest, and to her shame the little nipples on her small breasts hard-
ened, thrusting above the water.

What on earth was the matter with her? She had never had thoughts
like these before. She knew so little about what went on between
men and women, and Dom had certainly never inspired her. In fact,
for all his good looks, Dom repelled her.

Molly took the soap from Skye, finished washing her, and dried
her off with a linen towel. She had barely finished wrapping the girl
in a silken chamber robe when a knock sounded on the door. Molly
opened it, bobbed a flirtatious curtsey, and admitted Dom O’Flaherty.

He sauntered in with a lascivious look to his bride-to-be, whose
young body was well outlined by the robe. “I have to leave you for
a few days, Skye. Sir Murrough has sent word that I am needed.
I will be back in time for our wedding.”

Skye’s heart soared. He would be gone, and Lord Burke would
be here! “Go with God, Dom,” she said sweetly.

For a moment there was an awkward silence, then Dom reached
out and pulled his betrothed into his arms. “No kiss, lovey? You
would send me on my way without the least sign of affection?”

“We’re not wed yet, Dom. I don’t have to kiss you.”

“Don’t have to?” he exploded. “Christ, Skye, don’t be such a
little prude! You’ll have to do more than kiss me in a few days’
time!” Damn, but she was a sweet armful, all perfumed and warm
from the bath. He could feel his desire growing. He sought for her
mouth, but she squirmed away.

“No!”

His blue eyes narrowed in anger, but then he laughed. “All right,
lovey. But in a short time I’ll have you begging for my kisses.” He
mocked her a bow, then turned and left the room. She shuddered.

“Oh!” squealed Molly. “He’s a lusty one to be sure, mistress!
You’ll have good bedsport with him, and that’s lucky in a husband!”

“Be quiet, you little fool!” snapped Skye. “Instead of drooling
over my betrothed, fetch my new burgundy velvet gown. I intend
wearing it tonight with the rubies Da gave me.”

Molly scurried to obey. Skye O’Malley was a better mistress than
most, rarely cruel, but not above administering a slap now and then.
The maid laced her mistress into a little beribboned busk that pushed
her pretty breasts up so that they seemed almost to spill from her
pale-pink underblouse. The nearly transparent sleeves were striped
in gold. Carefully Skye drew her stockings up her shapely legs.
They were pink silk, embroidered with a flowering vine of gold
thread, and had been made in Paris. Several petticoats followed, and
then the dress. A beautiful creation of the finest, softest velvet, it
was a shimmering, jewel-red, with a full, flowing skirt. Slashed
sleeves revealed the pink-and-gold-striped sleeves of the under-
blouse.

Skye now sat, careful not to wrinkle her skirts, before her precious
mirror while Molly brushed her dark hair until it shone with bluish
lights. She was not allowed to bind it up until after her marriage.
This had been a source of great frustration to Skye, especially at
sea, but her father had been very firm about it. She might braid it,
but the braids must hang long.

“No O’Malley maiden puts her hair up until she weds,” he stated,
and there was no point in arguing.

Looking at herself in the mirror, however, she had to admit that
her long, wavy hair was beautiful. Especially now, as Molly placed
a little gold lace cap with a tiny veil on her head. Skye clasped the
ruby necklace about her throat and studied the effect. The great
stones glittered almost savagely against the creamy softness of her
bare chest, and when she caught her breath she noted with surprise
mat her breasts swelled provocatively beneath the glittering rubies.
The jeweled hair ornament was to be put aside until she wore her
hair up, but she slipped on the earrings, bracelet, and ring. Sliding
her feet into red velvet shoes, she stood.

“Lor’, mistress,” breathed Molly reverently. “I never seen you
look so beautiful! What a pity Master Dom’s not here now to see
you. You could drive a man to madness!”

Skye laughed, pleased. “Do you really think so, Molly?” Secretly
she was wondering whether Lord Burke could be driven to madness.

Her insides fluttered with fearful, delicious anticipation. She almost
flew out the door, bumping into her pretty stepmother as she did so.

“Gracious, Skye,” laughed Anne O’Malley. “If you would impress the hall, then you must not rush so. Make a grand
entrance… slowly gliding… thusly, my love.” She demonstrated
prettily.

“Your pardon, Anne. I did not hurt you, did I?

“No, love, but stop so I may look at you. Dear heaven; how
lovely you are, and not yet grown. If young Dom could but see you
now…”

Skye made a face. “I don’t want to marry him, Anne!” The words
tumbled out all by themselves.

Anne O’Malley was suddenly serious and fully sympathetic. “I
know, love. I know, and I do understand.”

“Please, Anne, please speak to Da. He adores you, and he’ll
listen to you. He’d do anything for you!”

“Oh, Skye, I’ll try. You know I will. But it will do no good.
Your father is a man of his word, and he has given his word on this
marriage. You’re the last of his girls, and he wants you well settled.
Young O’FIaherty is a very good match for an O’Malley of Innisfana.”

“I hate him!” came the whispered reply. “He’s always undressing
me with his eyes.”

“Perhaps it will be different when you’re wed,” soothed Anne,
though in her heart she knew it wouldn’t. “Maidens are often fearful
of the unknown. But really, there is no cause for alarm, my love.
Tomorrow I will come and explain it all to you, Skye.”

“Speak to Da, Anne! Please, promise me you will!”

“I will, Skye. I promise I will.”

The two women moved down the steps to the main hall of the
castle, and all the while Anne was aware that Niall Burke’s eyes
were fastened to her beautiful stepdaughter. At the bottom of the
steps he was there, tucking Skye’s small hand in his arm, wordlessly
sweeping her away while Anne watched helplessly. No one else saw
the dangerous, hopeless attraction between the two. She must speak
to Dubhdara!

The floor beneath Skye’s feet seemed to have disappeared. She
was floating. Shyly she glanced down at the hand covering hers. It
was big, and square, and brown. It was magically warm, and she
could feel the strength hidden deep within it. Her heart was pounding.
Why did he affect her this way?

They walked over to the great fireplace, which was flanked by
enormous stone lions. It was red with the oak logs that now burned
merrily with an occasional crackle and snap. They stopped and observed the leaping flames for a moment. They did not look at each other, but merely stood side by side.

Finally he spoke. “Why do you tremble when I touch you?”

“I am not used to the attentions of men,” she answered him
breathlessly.

Turning her so that she faced him, he looked down at her. “I do
not understand that, Skye O’Malley, for you are outrageously fair.
Has no man, even your betrothed, whispered sweet words of love
into your little shell ear?”

“No.” Her cheeks were softly pink now, and her voice was so
low that he had to bend to hear her.

Niall Burke was enchanted. He felt something strange sweeping
over him, possessing him, rushing him onward to something his
inner voice warned against. “Look at me, sweetheart,” he com-
manded her. “I promise not to bite you, though God knows you’re
a tempting morsel.”

Shyly she raised her blue eyes to his silvery gray ones, and for
a moment Skye felt as if she were drowning. She realized he felt
it too! Neither could tear their gaze away. They were suspended in
time, their souls flowing back and forth between their bodies, twining
into one perfect being.

A great guffaw of laughter from the other side of the hall broke
the spell. With shock, Niall swore, “Christ! What is it you do to
me, little witch?” He was astounded by himself. “Turn your eyes
from me, Skye darling, before I shame us both.” He signaled a
servant bearing a tray of wine goblets and, snatching two, gave one
to Skye. He gulped down the other, welcoming the burning sensation
that spread through his stomach. It gave him something to concen-
trate on, to prevent himself from carrying this girl away from the
hall forever.

When dinner was announced, Lord Burke, as the highest-ranking
guest, was seated next to the bride-to-be. He was artful enough to
hide his troubled emotions, but the meal tasted like sawdust to him.
He was a man of the world, experienced beyond most, but the girl
had affected him as no other female had ever done. He admitted to
himself that he desperately wanted to bed the wench, but there was
a great deal more to it than that, something he had never felt before.
It had all come on him so quickly that be couldn’t understand it

Niall Burke was the only son of Rory Burke, the MacWilliam of
Middle Connaught. The MacWilliam had almost despaired of ever
having an heir. All three of his wives had died in childbirth. The
last of them, Maerid O’Brien, had given him his only child. From
the moment of his birth Niall had been a strong and healthy lad, but
the MacWilliam anxiously protected him.

His wet nurse ate at the MacWilliam’s table so that the lord of
Mid-Connaught could oversee her diet. The baby’s nursery was kept
well warmed in the winter and dry in the damp weather. No child
had ever been so well taken care of. Even his sleep was overseen
by a night nurse who sat first by his cradle, and later by his bedside,
monitoring his every bream.