it, the servants visibly relaxed. 'Anne, you've worked a miracle!'
'No miracle, only proper cleaning, and the return of the pretties with which I once decorated this hall.'
Coming in for the evening meal, Skye's brothers were equally pleased, and even Maggie shyly admitted carpets upon the stone floors were nicer than rushes. The meal was a simple one, for Anne did not set an elaborate table. There were mussels boiled in white wine, baby lamb roasted with rosemary, and a bowl of cress. There was fresh bread and a tub of sweet butter, a hard cheese and a dish of apples. The men ate heartily, washing it all down with brown ale. Eibhlin O'Malley had come from her convent on Innishturk to see her sister, and after the meal the four women sat companiona-bly talking about the fire while the men remained at the table drinking and, from the sound of the ribald laughter, telling stories a lady should not hear. Skye could not help but notice how well her brothers got on with Adam, and it gave her great pleasure. The O'Malley brothers might not realize it, but they were taking their first step along the road to tolerance. They had accepted an Englishman into their midst without any trouble at all.
Skye was surprised when Brian came to her amid the chatter of the women, and drew her aside. 'My brothers and I have been talking this afternoon about what you said. Do you really think the English Queen would give us letters of marque?'
'Yes, but make no mistake, Brian, 'tis for her good as well as yours.'
'Ye mean she'll be getting a share of the booty we capture?'
'Aye, but she'll also be getting the O'Malleys of Innisfana off of her royal neck. If there is one thing Elizabeth Tudor believes in, little brother, it is peace. She wants no wars, for she knows that wars destroy a country's economy.
“There is one other tiling about the Queen, Brian,' Skye continued. 'You'll have to come with me to England if you're to get your letters of marque.'
'Never!' Brian shouted, and everyone in the hall turned to look at him. 'I’ll not leave blessed Ireland to set foot in that accursed land!'
'Don't be an ignorant and superstitious fool, Brian!' Skye retorted as quickly. 'You'll come with me to England, and present yourself before the Queen. You can't ask Elizabeth Tudor for a favor from afar.'
'I’d rather not ask her for anything,' Brian grumbled.
'You'll be a rich man in no time, Brian,' Skye wheedled him. 'You can then afford to build a whole new wing onto the house just for yourself and Maggie and the children. Wouldn't you like that, Maggie?' Skye appealed to her young sister-in-law.
'Aye, I would!' Maggie said bluntly.
'You'd all be rich,' Skye promised her half-brothers, 'and then you could each build a wing onto the house and marry the lass of your choice, for with gold in your pockets you'd have a choice and be a desirable match to any father's eye. Isn't that better than the cheap chances you take with Grace O'Malley?'
'I’ll not go to England,' Brian said firmly.
The Queen won't give you the letters of marque sight unseen,' Skye argued.
“I’ll go.'
They all turned to look at Skye's youngest brother, Conn. 'You'll go?' she said.
'Aye,' Conn replied. “I’ve a mind to see England, and the red-haired virgin vixen who rules it. Will I do, Skye?' He grinned engagingly at his sister.
Skye looked him over critically. Conn was the youngest, but he was the biggest, standing almost as tall as Adam. Cleaned up, his beard barbered decently, elegant clothes upon his back, and a quick course in manners, he might very well do. Elizabeth did like clever and attractive young men, and Skye had to admit that Conn was both. 'Aye,' she said. 'You'll do quite well.' She looked at Brian and the others. 'Do you have any objections to Conn going?'
'Nay,' they replied with one voice, all obviously relieved not to have to go themselves.
'It's settled then,' Skye said.
'When will you leave?' Brian asked.
'Not for several days,' Skye answered him. 'I want to see Ewan and Gwyneth and our uncle, the bishop. I'll send a message off tomorrow, however, to tell Bess Tudor that we're corning to pay her a call.'
The next morning Skye arose early to write to the Queen.
Skye watched dispassionately as the thick green sealing wax dripped onto the folded letter, and she pressed the O'Malley ring of office into the hot puddle before it hardened. The letter was dispatched immediately aboard one of her ships, captained by Bran Kelly. She was relieved to have the letter off, and the matter settled. She walked back into the bedchamber, crawled back beneath the down coverlet, and sighed.
Adam reached out and pulled her into his embrace, his arm cradling her, settling her head against his shoulder. 'What is it, little girl?' he asked, kissing the top of her head.
'I find I'm losing my taste for adventure,' she said.
He understood her completely. 'You've borne a heavy burden all alone, and for a very long time, Skye. 'Tis no wonder you're weary, sweetheart, but will you not rely on me now? Let me shoulder some of the load, or at least help you with it.'
'Oh, Adam, how can I involve you in this? You're English.'
'English, Irish,' he replied. 'It matters not, Skye. You are a woman; I, a man. We love each other, and because we do one's problems become the other's. It's really that simple. Your brothers' nationality has nothing to do with their being pigheaded. I’ve known Frenchmen, and Devonmen, and other Englishmen just as stubborn. It's simply their nature, and together you and I will overcome that nature. I am encouraged that Conn desires to see the Tudor court.'
'Let's take him back to Lynmouth first,' she said. 'We'll have to clean him up, and get him outfitted, and teach him how to behave, for I’ll not have the court laughing at him. Like as not, Conn would kill half a dozen men should he feel insulted. I’m not introducing him into Elizabeth Tudor's world to cause havoc and be sneered at as a typical Irisher. I want those letters of marque for the O'Malleys.'
'You'll get them, Skye.'
'I wish I was as sure as you are, Adam.'
Adam chuckled. 'If Conn is half the charmer I suspect he is, the Queen will melt. Besides, being a practical woman, she will be relieved to have the O'Malleys of Innisfana off harrying the Spanish instead of the English.'
Skye smiled to herself, realizing the simple truth of Adam's words, and she snuggled harder against him. 'Then I'll not worry, my husband, and instead I shall concentrate on indulging my baser appetites,' she murmured, sliding her hand beneath his nightshirt. With teasing hands she fondled him, caressing and cupping him, and feeling him grow hard beneath her touch.
Adam lay very still, only the sudden quickening of his breath indication at first of her success. He loved the way she touched him with her hot and gentle little hands. In his lifetime he could not remember any woman rousing him as completely and as quickly as Skye could. When she moved herself down to take him in her mouth he groaned with unashamed pleasure at her actions, and fought to maintain his control, for now he desperately desired to possess and be possessed. 'Ahh, my Celtic witch, ride me!' he finally begged her, and Skye willingly obeyed her husband's request, lifting her head from his manhood, kissing its throbbing scarlet head, and then mounting him to plunge downward so that he was enclosed by her eager sheath. Reaching up, Adam played gently with her beautiful breasts, tormenting the little nipples so that they thrust and quivered with his touch. Watching her through half- closed eyes, he was amused to find her own eyes closed.
Drawing her closer, he raised his head up and took one of those little peaks into his mouth. Balanced on one elbow, he cupped her breast in his other hand, loving it thoroughly as he did so. His tongue encircled the tautness,
