he was Irish, had saved the situation by bringing forth a document signed by the Pope and attested to as genuine by the Spanish ambassador. The document had dissolved Lord Burke’s betrothal contract with Skye O’Malley, who was presumed deceased. Constanza’s father had been a careful man! The Archbishop of Canterbury subsequently declared that no impediment had existed at the time of the marriage between Lord and Lady Southwood. Therefore, their son, Robert, was legal issue. The archbishop had baptized the boy himself, with the Queen and Lord Dudley acting as the child’s godparents.
But there was even more! Lord Burke had invaded the house of the prostitute, Claro, stripped her naked, and whipped her through the streets of London to the edge of the city. He left her there to brave a mob of lustful men and outraged goodwives. Returning to his own home, Burke discovered his wife, her jewels, and his head groom gone. The Queen had lifted his banishment until he could find Constanza. She seemed to have disappeared off the face of the earth. The Court agreed that the past half-month had been simply exhausting!
The Countess of Lynmouth received her guests in state, propped up in her bedchamber with its gold- embroidered rose velvet hangings. She wore a heavy cream-colored quilted satin bedgown, embroidered with pearls and turquoise in a floral design. Her beautiful dark curls were held back by a matching pearl-and-turquoise ribbon. Her pink cheeks and sparkling blue eyes attested to her good health and quick recovery. Southwood finally had a lucky marriage. The lady was a good breeder who’d probably give him a son every year or two.
Plump goosedown pillows, their lace-edged white linen covers smelling faintly of lavender, propped the Countess up. A pink coverlet that matched the rose velvet hangings was spread over the bed. Next to the canopied bed a carved and gilded walnut cradle displayed the lace-capped heir who slept, oblivious, through the admiring exclamations.
The room was a treasure trove of gifts, all tastefully displayed in honor of their donors. Chief among the gifts was a set of twelve silver cups set with sapphires, the baby’s birthstone. They were from his godmother. Lord Dudley had presented his godson with a leather case containing twelve silver spoons. The child’s crest was on the front, his birthdate on the back.
Everyone who came brought gifts. Young Robin had a dozen silver rattles of various designs and at least that number in teething rings. There were several christening cups, many lengths of excellent cloth, and a number of well-filled purses. There were gifts for Skye too. Frivolous bits of lace and ribbons, little jewelry, and nosegays of late-September flowers. Through it all, Geoffrey Southwood stood by his wife’s side watching over her with loving pride. She had been most loving since Robin’s birth, and that more than anything else she could have done, reassured Geoffrey.
But Skye did not feel sure of herself. Niall Burke had not yet come to see her, and how could she know what was really in her heart until he did? Why did he not come? And when he finally did, at last, she was totally unprepared.
Autumn had been late in coming, and even now at October’s end the trees were just at their golden peak. Geoffrey had been gone ten days, down into Devon to oversee the arrangements for his wife and son’s arrival there. The Queen had finally, though reluctantly, agreed to let Skye go at least until the spring.
Skye sat, this bright October day, beneath an apple tree in her riverside garden. Her yellow skirts were spread about her like a flower. Willow, now two and a half, played nearby under the watchful eye of her nurse. The baby slumbered on a blanket beside his mother in the warm afternoon sun. Skye was relaxed and content when Daisy came to announce, “My lord Burke has called to pay his respects, milady. He is waiting in your little library.” Skye rose slowly with far more calm than she felt. ‘Take Robin to his nurse, Daisy,” she instructed, then walked quietly across the lawn and into the house. She stopped for a moment to check her hair in a mirror, carefully tucking an errant lock into the golden net that confined her dark curls. Her hand was trembling, which didn’t surprise her, for her heart was racing wildly. Taking a deep breath, she grasped the door handle firmly, straightened her shoulders, and walked purposefully into the library.
“My lord, it is good to see you again.” Her musical voice did not waver, and she produced just the right note of cordiality. Niall turned. The silvery eyes were still bold and clear and bright, but now there were tiny wrinkles around mem. His fair skin was clear and he stood as tall and straight as ever. But there was a maturity, an alluring quiet strength about him now, growth marked by time and molded by suffering. His dark hair was accented by a bit of gray near the temples. Gone was the rash young man she remembered and in that young man’s place stood a mature and, yes, a most attractive, self-assured man.
“You’ve become even more beautiful-if that is possible. Motherhood becomes you, Skye.”
“Thank you, my lord.” She moved to the table. “Will you take wine?” How formal she sounded! Was he laughing at her? “Are you uncomfortable with me, Skye?”
“It i s… awkward, Niall. Until six weeks ago I remembered nothing beyond four years ago-in Algiers.”
“Sit down with me, Skye. Sit down and tell me what happened.
I almost lost my mind when I lost you.”
She sat across from him in a brown velvet chair and calmly began. “I was transferred from the ship that took me to another that same day. That part is hazy. They did not harm me, for the Moslems believe the mad to have been touched by God’s hand. Believing you dead, I had temporarily lost my mind. When I became aware again I was in the house of Khalid el Bey. He cared for me. He loved me. Eventually we were married.” She told her story simply, finishing with, “I was pregnant with Khalid’s child when I fled Algiers. Willow is his daughter. The rest you know.” Her eyes never left Niall’s during the recitation.
“Did you love the infidel?”
Skye felt a cold anger surge through her. How dare he speak to her that way? “Khalid el Bey was a great gentleman,” she said, slowly and deliberately. “I loved him deeply. He was kind and good, and beloved of all who knew him. How dare you refer to him that way?”
“Skye, forgive me. My own troubles have colored my feelings toward all women lately. Thank God for Khalid el Bey. Had he not rescued you, God only knows what would have happened to you.” “Why have you come, Niall?”
“I am returning home to Ireland, Skye. I thought I might carry some messages for you, and tell your family when you will return.” “I do not know when I’ll return,” she said. “I am told that Uncle Seamus has taken excellent care of the business. My life is here now. All I want are my sons. I would like them sent here to me.” “But you’re the O’Malley of Innisfana, Skye.”
“I am also the Countess of Lynmouth, Niall. But tell me, have you found your poor wife?”
“I found her. She is not well. She’ll be better off in Ireland.” He was so bitter, she realized. Fate had not dealt kindly with him. “I am sorry, Niall,” she said. “So very sorry.” “I neither need nor want your pity, Skye,” he snapped. The words he did not say hung between them: /
“Whatever your fate, Niall, mine would not have changed. I should still be married to Geoffrey now.”
“Would you?” His tone challenged her.
For the first time since she had entered the room Skye looked straight at Niall. Her sapphire-blue eyes with their hint of green snapped, “Yes, I would. Had my memory remained whole I would have moved Heaven and Hell to return to you, Niall Burke, but the thought that you were dead all but destroyed me. In my heart and mind I must have believed myself responsible for your death and I could not face what I thought I’d done. My mind went blank. Now my memory has returned and I thank God for it, for it allows me to be reunited with my sons and my family. But understand this, Niall. I cannot change what has happened during the last four years, and I am not sure I would want to change. How many women have known the love I have known?”
“Love?” he shouted at her. “More likely you mean lovemaking! That’s all you damn women think about! I would have thought Dom O’Flaherty had cured you of lust!”
“And if he had,” she shouted back, “would you have been so hot to bed me? No! You wouldn’t have wanted me.” Then her heart went out to him. “Niall, oh my poor dear, how badly you’ve been hurt! Once my lord Khalid told me of women like your Constanza. It’s a sickness with her, Niall. She cannot help what she does.” But he was infuriated by her pity. “And what is your excuse, madam. That lusty boy who howls in your nursery was no sevenmonth babe.”
