“I have been in mourning.”
“For a man dead a year. We have been wed two and a half months.”
“Dead a year today,” she said, her voice trembling. “Would it were you instead of Geoffrey.” And she ran from the room so he could not see her weeping.
Niall swore softly. He had liked Geoffrey Southwood, but he was fast becoming sick of his ghost. He had thought that she would thaw and accept their marriage sooner or later. Instead she had grown colder and more distant with each passing day. They could not leave Lynmouth until little Robin was six or seven and could be sent to page in another household. In the meantime, he must live in Geoffrey Southwood’s house, fathering Geoffrey Southwood’s son, but not husbanding Geoffrey Southwood’s widow who was nowhiswife.
The children had accepted him easily enough. Willow had said flatly, “You’re my third father, y’know. The first died before I was born, and the second just last year. I hope you’ll stay longer.”
“I shall do my best,” he had told her gravely.
Robin had been delighted to have another man in the family again. “What shall I call you?” he asked.
“What would you like to call me, Robin?”
“I—I don’t think I could call you ‘Papa.’ It’s what I called my father.” The boy’s voice was tremorous.
“I understand. Why don’t you call me Niall? That’s my name, and I’ve no objections if your mother doesn’t.”
For the children it had been a settled matter, but for the adults it was simply not that easy. Niall had taken over the management of the Lynmouth estates, and Skye had had no objections to that. She seemed always preoccupied. After their argument of the afternoon Niall vowed he would charm her that evening at dinner, but she did not appear at table.
“Where is your mistress?” he asked Daisy, who was eating with the other upperservants down the board. Daisy rose from her seat and came to stand beside him. She curtseyed, then said, “I believe she may have taken the boat out, my lord.”
“Her boat?”
“Aye, my lord. The boat is moored below the cliffs. My little brother, Wat, cares for my lady’s boat. He’ll be happy to show you the way, sir.”
Niall finished his meal, thoughtful, and then waved the boy over to him. “Did Lady Burke take her boat out, Wat?”
Wat shuffled his feet, but nodded.
“Do you know where she went?”
“Don’t know, sir.” But Wat suspected that his lady had gone to Lundy. He knew her moods by now.
“Do you think she’ll be back tonight, lad?”
“Maybe, maybe not, my lord. Sometimes she stays all night, but sometimes she comes back, late. Her and the sea is friends.”
Niall smiled. “Thank you, Wat. I’d like you to show me the boat mooring now.”
“Aye, my lord,” was the obedient reply, and Niall hid another smile. The boy was obviously loyal to Skye. She engendered fierce loyalties. Niall could see that young Wat resented what he considered an intrusion into his mistress’s private life. So, as he followed the boy, Niall spoke quietly to the lad.
“Did you know that I’ve known your mistress since she was a slip of a girl? I know how good she is with boats. But I worry. You see, Wat, I love her.”
The boy said nothing, but Niall noted that the stiff set of his shoulders eased somewhat. He trotted silently along ahead of the tall Irishman until they finally reached the cave. Lord Burke’s eyebrows rose in surprise, and his lips pursed softly. It was a good-sized space and well lit to boot. He saw the wide-mouthed entrance and walked out onto the ledge, noting the steps to the water, the iron ring. Niall turned to the boy. “You can go back, Wat. I’ll stay here abit.” The boy seemed in a quandary, but then shrugged and headed back up the stairs. It wasn’t his business to tell the gentry what to do.
The April evening was warm and pleasant. Niall sat out on the ledge, the cave wall at his back, watching the sunset. The sea was calm and dark and above him he heard the mewling cries of a nest of gull babies settling in for the night. The sky now began to darken, the first pale stars twinkling tentatively as if they weren’t quite sure it was time for them to be there. Niall Burke sat quietly on the hard stones of the ledge. Soon the sky was black, the stars no longer pale but diamond-bright. A faint wind sprang up, and the air grew damp. Still, he waited. He was deeply curious. Where had she gone? Would she be back tonight? Here was a whole new aspect of Skye’s life that he hadn’t known of. It was growing cold and he wished he had thought to bring his cloak. Soon, then, as if he had voiced the thought aloud, he heard Wat saying:
“I’ve brought you a cape, m’lord, and Daisy said you were to have a flask of wine.”
Niall stood stiffly, and taking the fur-lined garment, wrapped it tightly about his chilled body. “Thank you, lad,” he said as he uncorked the flask. He drank deeply and was grateful for the warmth that hit his innards like molten rock, then spread upward. Wat nodded and lit the ledge beacons. “The mistress be late tonight. Could be she not be back till late,” he ventured.
“I’ll wait,” said Niall.
Wat disappeared back into the cave, and Niall could hear his steps as he mounted the stairs. It was quiet again, only the gentle slap of the sea against the rock of the ledge to cut the silence. The star formations overhead moved slowly across the heavens, and new ones took their place. Niall dozed, waking suddenly to find the sky gray with the early dawn, and Skye’s small boat sailing toward him. Slowly he rose, shaking his lean frame loose, and walked down the steps to take the rope she tossed casually to him. Fastening it to the ring, he reached down and pulled her up. She moved past him, and he smelled the scent of tobacco on her sea clothes. Jealousy surged up in him and he had a difficult time controlling his voice.
“Where the hell were you?” he demanded.
