“You foolish goose! Whatever made you think such a thing? Once you were firmly wed there was nothing I could do. I only wish your father had waited. Even though he was firmly set on the match, perhaps I could have prevented the afterward.”
“No,” said Skye softly. “At least with Niall Burke I learned that love can be sweet—not true, but sweet. Had it not been for him, I might have gone my whole life believing all men were animals.”
“Some men are more vigorous in bed than others, Skye.”
“Dom is a pig,” was the flat reply.
“Why do you hate Niall if you’re grateful to him?”
Skye’s eyes blazed blue fire, and her voice was rock hard. “Because he betrayed me! Because he swore he loved me! Because he promised to have my marriage annulled, to wed with me. Instead he crept from my side before the dawn without even so much as a good-bye kiss and rode merrily home to wed his high O’Neill! I willneverforgive him for that, Anne!Never!”
In the silence that followed, Anne O’Malley struggled terribly with her conscience. She knew the full truth. Finally she decided that silence was the best policy. To tell Skye the truth now would do nothing more than hurt and anger her further. Nothing could be changed now. Skye was wed, and pregnant with her husband’s child. Niall Burke was wed. If either of them learned now of the deception that had been practiced on them it would only causegreater unhappiness. Who knew what those two strong-willed, passionate people would do if they ever learned the truth?
Anne was saved from further talk by the announcement that dinner was served. Once in the banquet hall they separated, for in deference to the O’Malley’s value to the MacWilliam, O’Malley and his wife were seated higher up on the board than Skye and Dom, who were seated much below the salt. Dom, however, cared not one whit, for thanks to his wife’s beauty and wit, he was very much the center of a gay group of young people, some of whom were well-endowed wenches with bold eyes. He anticipated a pleasant Twelve Days of Christmas.
And Skye sparkled, determined to show Niall how indifferent she was. It seemed to those who sat in the more favored places at the table that those below the salt were having a far better time than those above it. There was simply no denying that young Lady O’Flaherty was a delightful and charming beauty.
Skye ate carefully, taking of the first course only a thin slice of fresh salmon, and of the second only the wing of a lemoned capon. She ate two small pieces of newly baked brown bread, liberally spreading the butter across it with her thumb. Around her, the other guests gorged themselves on dish after dish, but Skye was revolted by the overrich menu. When the sweet was served she enjoyed a small tart of dried peaches, licking the clotted cream from about her mouth like a child. Watching her from the high board, Niall longed to kiss that mouth as much as he longed to strangle her for her perfidy.
As the meal drew to a close, more of those seated above the salt began drifting farther down the table to cluster about Skye. Occasionally great bursts of laughter issued forth from the group. When the dancing began Skye refused all but the least strenuous dances, but even so she never lacked for partners. She moved proudly, and with much grace, her gown showing to great advantage. Her blue eyes sparkled, and her smile flashed again and again.
At the high board Niall Burke sprawled in his chair, glowering, his big hand clutching his jewel-studded goblet so hard it was a wonder the stem was not bent. His silver-gray eyes, pantherlike, half closed, followed her wherever she went. Occasionally he took great gulps of the dark red wine, emptying and refilling his cup several times. She was beautiful, damn her, and even in her present state outrageously desirable.
“Young Lady O’Flaherty is most popular,” ventured Darragh.
“Aye,” he growled, suddenly standing up and striding awayfrom his wife to join the dancers. The young man partnering Skye suddenly felt a hard hand on his shoulder. Looking up to see his scowling, black-browed host, the young man quickly stepped aside. Niall clamped an arm about her waist and took one of her hands in his. Her smile faltered, but she never missed a step.
“Should you be dancing?”
“I am expecting a child, my lord. I am not mortally ill with a wasting sickness.”
“You’ve changed, Skye.”
“Nay, my lord. I have simply learned not to put my faith in pillow talk.”
They separated, and she wove in and out of the figure, meeting him again on the other side.
“I find it hard,” he said, “to understand the workings of a fickle woman’s mind. You behave as though I rejected you instead of the other way around.”
“You betrayed me. You left me without even a good-bye, and hurried home to wed and bed your ‘dead’ fiancée! I had no chance to reject you, but I do now!”
“I was not betrothed to Darragh O’Neill until after your marriage, Skye. It was her dead sister, Ceit, who was to be my wife.”
Again they were separated by the figure. When they met again, he said, “I would never have wed Darragh had it not been for your letter.”
Skye stopped dead. “What letter?” she demanded of him.
One look at her face told Niall Burke that something was very wrong, but they were in a roomful of people, some of whom were eying them with speculative curiosity. “But of course you’re exhausted, in your condition, Lady O’Flaherty. Allow me to escort you to a seat, and get you some chilled wine,” he said loudly, leading her from the floor. He found her a seat within a windowed alcove. Though they were plainly visible to the entire room, they had the privacy to talk without being overheard. Niall snatched two goblets of wine from a passing valet, and handed her one.
Understanding the need for deception, she leaned back with half-closed eyes feigning exhaustion. Her heart was hammering, not from weariness but from the sudden realization that they had probably been tricked. “What letter?” she asked again.
“I did not leave you willingly, Skye. Your father sent a little lad up the vine outside your window, and the boy opened your bedchamber door to the O’Malley and his men. I was gagged, and taken from the room. I explained our plight to your father, but hewould not listen. Rather he had me knocked unconscious, and taken home by one Captain MacGuire. The next day I was given a letter in which you repudiated our relationship. For God’s sake, Skye, the handwriting was feminine, and I recognized the seal as the one on your own ring.”
“We all have these rings, Niall. All my sisters, even Eibhlin.”
“I did not know,” he sighed deeply. “It would seem, my love, that those two old spiders, our fathers, have gotten their way by foul means. Damn them both!”
“Do you love her, Niall?”
