“But does not the Church forbid such wicked practices, my sister?”
The nun answered forcefully, “The Church has not seen innocent babes dying of starvation because there are too many mouths in the family to feed. They have not seen little children and their sickly mothers freezing to death, blue with the cold, because there are not enough blankets or clothes in the hovels they call houses—not even food or wood for warmth! What do the well-fed priests and bishops, snug in their stone houses on this snowy night, know of these poor souls and their endless torments?
“I help where I can, Skye. For those innocent and superstitious poor I offer a ‘tonic’ to help them regain their strength after the ordeal of several births. They know not what I give them. If they did, they would not take it because they truly believe the Church’s threat of eternal damnation. You, sister, are not so foolish.”
“No, Eibhlin, I am not. And I want no more of Dom’s children. I will not be made old before my time, nor shall I nurse this child knowing what I do now. One of Dom’s women gave birth but a month ago. She has breasts like udders, and it will amuse me to have her nurse both Dom’s son and his bastard. She can live in the nursery with both boys and have Ewan’s wet nurse for company.”
“You’ve grown hard, Skye.”
“If I were not, Eibhlin, I should not be able to survive in this house. You have been here enough to know what the O’Flahertys are like.”
The nun nodded. “Have you had any luck in finding a husband for Claire?”
“None, and I’m not likely to unless I can convince Da to dower her. Gilly and Dom have gambled away the dowry left to Claire by her mother. There’s nothing left. And if I didn’t know better,I would swear she was a half-wit, for she cares not. The few young men who have come calling have been met with indifference. One is too fat, another too lean. This one is a buffoon, but that one lacks a sense of humor. One is too ardent in his wooing, and another has no blood in his veins. I don’t understand her at all! She has no religious vocation, no passion for anyone so far as I can see. Nor does she seem to desire to control her own life, as I did. She cares for nothing.”
“Perhaps she is merely content to stay with her father and brother. Some women are like that.”
Skye looked candidly at her sister. “Do you really think Claire O’Flaherty is like that, Eibhlin?”
“No,” came the quick reply. “She’s a sly and secretive girl for all she looks like an angle. There is something …” and here Eibhlin hesitated, loath to criticize yet genuinely concerned. “There is something unwholesome about Claire,” she finally finished.
Skye agreed. But there seemed nothing she could do with Claire unless she could find a husband for her. What bothered Skye most was that Claire always appeared to be laughing at her, hugging some secret to herself that she would not share with anyone else, least of all Skye.
Eibhlin soon left to return to St. Bride’s, but she talked to Dom first. He said later, “Since your sister tells me your health will suffer if I get another son on you, you can hardly complain if I seek diversion elsewhere.”
“Have I ever complained before?” she asked him, amused, hiding her delight in the knowledge that she would be spared.
“Nay, you’re a good lass, and you’ve given me two fine boys.”
Skye smiled sweetly, and bit her tongue to keep from laughing. Dom saw her only as a credit to himself. She had become, he thought, exactly what he’d always wished her to be—a gracious chatelaine and a good breeder. He was willing to be generous now, to leave her alone for the time being.
Her life now took on a sameness, giving her the peace she craved. She worked to run the estate so that it supported them all and still paid the MacWilliam his annual tribute as their overlord. Neither Dom nor his father cared what she did as long as they had the time and the wherewithal to pursue their own pleasures.
She drove her peasants hard, though she was fair. Used to the laxity of the O’Flahertys, they had gotten out of hand. At first they resented her, but when winter came and the peasants found themselveswarm, dry, and well fed for the first time in years, they blessed their lady. She had managed the miracle of preparing them for winter.
Then Ewan was past two, and Murrough sixteen months, and one day Skye realized that in all those sixteen months Dom still hadn’t come near her. Silently she blessed the woman or women who were keeping her husband amused. And it came to her that it had been many months since she had heard any gossip linking Dom with any particular woman. It was a disquieting thought.
It was June again, and Skye was eighteen. The weather was unusually sunny and warm for Ireland. Her healthy, fully healed young body was beginning to crave loving once again, even Dom’s. Though they had been invited twice more to spend Twelfth Night with the MacWilliam, she had kept to Ballyhennessey, using her pregnancy as an excuse not to travel, and playing ill the second time.
She dared not see Niall again, although both her mind and her body craved him with a desperation that almost tore her apart. With the knowledge imparted to her by Eibhlin, she might easily have become his mistress, with no one the wiser. The temptation had been fierce, but she held herself in too high a regard to be anything less than his cherished wife.
Dom and his father had attended the Twelfth Night revelries. Skye had insisted that they go to the MacWilliam’s castle, leaving her behind with her babes. Though she had impressed upon the two men the importance of every opportunity in finding Claire a husband, they had returned both times to say that no suitable husband could be found. Skye could not understand it. Thanks to Dubhdara O’Malley, Claire now had a respectable dowry that neither her father nor her brother could steal. Either the girl was being too fussy, or else there was someone in Claire’s life whom she knew was not suitable, but foolishly sought after anyway. Skye was determined to find out what was going on, for Claire O’Flaherty was seventeen now and Skye did not want to have her with them the rest of their days.
Skye picked her time carefully, choosing an evening, after the meal, when both Gilly and Dom had disappeared. She had seen Claire head for her own rooms at the very top of the tower house. Skye had never been there before. She had never been asked, and there had never before been a reason to violate Claire’s privacy.
When the house had quieted, she slowly climbed the stairs to her sister-in-law’s apartment. Entering the dayroom, Skye was shocked tofind many of her long-missing dowry items. The windows were hung with the French velvets she had planned to use in her own chambers. The small polished oak sideboard Dubhdara and Anne had had made particularly for her stood against one wall. On it was her small silver tray with her hand-blown Venetian goblets and decanters! “God’s nightshirt!” she swore under her breath. “I’ll skin the sly bitch!” Dear God! There were her silver bowls and candlesticks! Stunned, then furious, Skye was about to storm off to seek out her husband and demand an explanation when she heard laughter and the murmur of voices—one very definitely masculine—from the bedchamber above.
So, she thought, Mistress Claire does have a lover! Well, whoever he is he’ll soon find he has himself a new wife, unless, God forbid, he already has one. Serf or lord, she’ll wed him! Silently Skye crept up the stairs, reaching the little landing, then neared the bedchamber’s half-open door. The closer she got the more vividly she heard the sounds of vigorous lovemaking. Reaching the door, she peeked into the room.
What she saw confirmed her suspicions. Claire and a man, both naked, were intertwined. Color flooded Skye’s face at the sight of Claire’s long, white legs wrapped tightly about her lover. He brutally rammed himself into the writhing, straining woman. Claire began to moan.
“Harder, Dom! Harder! Yes, yes, brother darling! It’s so good! So good!”
Skye felt the first wave of nausea sweep over her as she clung to the door. Dom! Claire’s lover was Dom! Her own brother! Slowly Skye slipped to the floor, still clutching the door, faint with the sight.
“Whore!” Dom growled. “What a little whore you are, sweet sister mine. Shall I fuck you until you can’t stand up? I’ve done it before, haven’t I? Tonight, however, it pleases me to fuck you till you beg me for mercy, and then you’ll pleasure me in a hundred other ways I can invent!”
“Yes, yes …” breathed Claire. “Whatever you want, my darling! I’ll do whatever you want! Oh, Dom, don’t I always?”
