Robbie’s sinking feeling deepened. What had they done? Not just to her, but to Niall Burke as well? He did not regret his advice. Marriage had been the only solution. But the Bishop of Connaught had acted high-handedly. Robbie suddenly realized that he knew her better even than her own family did. Well, why not? When Skye had left them she was still a girl, her character just beginning to form. They still thought of her as a young girl. Those two sly old men hadn’t stopped to realize that a cleric and a provincial nobleman could scarcely conceive of the kind of life Skye had led in the last several years. What could they know of men like Khalid el Bey? He sighed. God, how much simpler it would have been if Khalid had lived. Skye would have had a dozen of his children and grown pleasingly plump on Turkish pastries. Then he chuckled at himself for being a fool. She simply wasn’t that kind of woman.
“You cannot hold Lord Burke responsible for this situation.Though I am sure the idea of finally being wed to you has him ecstatic.”
“He of all people should have known better than to wed with me without my personal consent.”
“Perhaps your uncle convinced him that he had it.”
In actuality Niall Burke had been astounded when, arriving home from a hunting trip, he had found Seamus O’Malley and his father sitting together getting companionably drunk.
“Behold! The bridegroom cometh,” chuckled the bishop.
Niall Burke felt his anger rise. “I warned you,” he snarled at his father, “I warned you to make no matches for me!”
The old man snickered. “You are being married February third, my son.”
“The hell I am!” was the outraged reply.
“My niece will be so disappointed,” the bishop cackled, and the MacWilliam joined in his laughter, the two old men doubling up like fools.
Niall wondered if the smoky peat whiskey they were drinking had been tainted. His bewilderment caused the two to laugh harder, tears running from their rheumy eyes and down the worn old faces. Finally the bishop wheezed, “My niece, Skye, has given me her permission to arrange another marriage for her, now that Lord Southwood is dead. Your father and I have decided that since you were once intended to wed, you should do so now.”
“And Skye is coming to Ireland to wed me?” Niall was incredulous.
“No. We’re celebrating the marriage by proxy on February third. You are to go to England, for she’ll not come to Ireland and rob her little son, the Earl, of his rightful inheritance.”
“What’s the hurry?” Niall was suspicious, knowing these two old schemers for what they were.
“Lent, my lad. You know we cannot celebrate a marriage in that solemn season. D’you truly want to wait till after Easter to wed and bed Skye? After all these years?”
“Very well then,” said Niall. “I agree.”
“He agrees!” wheezed the MacWilliam with helpless mirth.
“Praise be to God!” cackled the bishop, gasping for air. Niall Burke thought them both drunk, or mad, or possibly both.
The contracts were signed the following day, and all Niall could think about from that point on was that Skye would soon be his. How sweetly modest she still was, even after all this time. What an adorable creature to have her uncle arrange the match instead ofmaking the contracts herself. After all, she was hardly a maiden and not likely to be shy of him. His mind was so full of memories of Skye that the woman he had known so unhappily in England faded and the girl he had known so long ago took her place.
Consequently he was unprepared for the cold woman who greeted him at Lynmouth Castle. It was but a few weeks after their marriage, when the winter weather had cleared. He had left the MacWilliam’s stronghold to travel across Ireland and take an O’Malley ship from the east coast town of Cobh to Bideford. In Bideford he repeated what he had done several years prior, and hired a horse for the ride to Lynmouth. He came alone, unheralded, without an escort. Riding across the lowered drawbridge into the courtyard, he said to the servant who ran out to greet him, “Tell the Countess that her husband has arrived.” The servant’s mouth dropped open, then he turned and ran.
Niall Burke calmly stripped off his riding gloves and strode into the castle. As he entered the hall, Skye came toward him. She was dressed totally in black. She was cool and elegant and very formal. “You should have told us you were coming, my lord. Have my servants seen to your retainers?”
“I have none. I came as soon as the weather cleared. There was no time to send word ahead.”
“We’ll have rooms readied for you, my lord.” He looked puzzled and she explained, “My husband is not dead a full year, my lord. I am still in mourning.”
“I am your husband, Skye.”
She smiled frostily. “My late husband,” she amended in a tone meant to convey how crassly he was behaving.
“Then why did you marry now, Skye?”
“My uncle had my permission to seek possiblecandidatesfor a marriage for me and nothing more. Instead he arranged this proxy marriage. I did not even know of the wedding until two days ago.”
“You didn’t want to marry me?”
“It is of little importance to me whom I wed, though I should have preferred having a choice. You see, Lord Burke, it was necessary that I take a husband.” She told him about Dudley and her need to protect both herself and her children.
Her words stunned him, and as their import sunk in he was torn between anger, pity, and laughter. In his eagerness to regain her, he had accepted a simple explanation for a situation that he ought to have known was not simple. From her icy demeanor, he decided that the MacWilliam would have a long wait for a grandchild.Oh, he could shout and bluster about his marital rights, but he suspected that would gain him only scorn. He decided that he would play the gentleman and wait. A rueful smile touched the corners of his mouth, for it seemed he was forever waiting for Skye O’Malley.
