She ignored his last remark. “Have you ever tried to trot with one leg slung over a pommel, Da? The last time I tried it I ended up with bruises all over my—”
“Skye! We’ve guests!”
For the first time her attention was drawn to the man by his side.
“My Lord,” she heard her father say, “this is my youngest daughter, Skye, who will shortly be the bride of young O’Flaherty. Skye, this is Niall, Lord Burke, the MacWilliam’s heir.”
“Niall an iarain, Niall of the Iron,” she said softly. This was a famous man, the secret dream lover of half the maidens in Ireland.
“I see my reputation precedes me, my lady Skye.”
“It is an open secret that you are Captain Revenge, and that you conduct those daring raids against the English who live in the Dublin Pale. Of course, no one would dare accuse you of this.”
“Yet you, my lady, do not fear me,” he murmured, holding her fast with his gaze until she blushed.
The voice was deep and sure, but as smooth as fine velvet. She shivered. She raised her eyes to his. They were a silvery gray, and she imagined that in anger they would be colder than the far northern sea, but in the heat of passion they would be fiery warm like rich wine. Guilty color flooded her cheeks at these immodest thoughts. The gray eyes twinkled infuriatingly, as if reading her mind.
He towered over her by a good eight inches. His smoothly shaven face had been tanned by the outdoors. The short-cropped hair was as midnight dark as her own.
Raising her hand, he kissed it. It was all she could do not to snatch it away, for his lips burned her flesh like a brand. Sweet Mary, she thought, he’s so much more sophisticated than Dom, yet he’s only ten years older than I am.
“My lord, welcome to Innisfana,” she murmured politely. Dear God! Was that husky, breathless voice hers? And why was Anne staring at her so strangely?
Her father’s voice brought her back to reality. “These are for your dowry, poppet,” he said, handing her a marvelous collection of rubies set in gold. They were a necklace, earrings, bracelets, a ring, and a hair ornament. Everyone exclaimed, and Dom O’Flaherty congratulated himself as though he had been personally responsible for choosing his bride.
Skye clutched the jewelry to her. Thanking her father, she left the hall.Damn!thought Anne O’Malley. She has been attracted to Lord Burke. And why not? Now why couldn’t Dubh have betrothed her to a strong, fierce man like Lord Burke instead of that vain boy, O’Flaherty?
Skye walked up the stairs to her chamber with what she hoped was great dignity. She was quite surprised that she could move at all, for her legs were shaking terribly. She was very confused, and not just a little frightened by her reaction to Lord Burke. She hoped shehadn’t behaved like a green maid, but never had she had this kind of a reaction to a man.
She had never seen Niall Burke before, though his romantic and military escapades were legend. As she had dared to say aloud minutes before, he was known to some as the famous Captain Revenge, who caused havoc for the English and their Irish allies whenever he felt that their policies were not serving Ireland.
Captain Revenge exacted a high penalty from English overlords who dealt unfairly with their native Irish underlings. Once, in an escapade later to have all of Ireland laughing up its sleeve, Captain Revenge had made love to the daughter of an important English nobleman who had estates in Ireland. Having learned the layout of her father’s castle from the love-besotted girl, Captain Revenge ransacked the castle’s treasure room and used the nobleman’s store to pay the taxes of several impoverished Irish families. The English accepted the money and rendered receipts. When the deception was uncovered, it was too late for anything to be done, and the English fumed with impotent rage. Certainly they suspected the connection between Captain Revenge and Niall, Lord Burke. But what could anyone do? London’s policy was that the overload of Mid-Connaught was not to be antagonized. He was, after all, an ally—an ally to the English being anybody not openly waging war against England. And too, they asked themselves, what possible real damage could one high-spirited young man do?
He was indeed a fascinating man, thought Skye, and when their eyes met there had been a moment of deep recognition.
Safe in her room, she watched as Molly, her maid, prepared her bath. Molly thought the lady Skye bathed too much, but Molly had to admit that her mistress smelled better than anyone she knew. She took the riding clothes from the girl and, brushing them, put them in the wardrobe. Skye divested herself of her undergarments, pinned her long hair up, and climbed into the tub.
The warm water felt good. Slowly Skye rubbed the cake of scented soap between her hands, then washed her face. Niall Burke. Niall Burke. Her mind repeated his name like a litany. He was so tall. He had made her feel petite, which she most certainly was not. He had been dressed in the English fashion, with elegant particolored hose and matching green pantaloons to the knee. She imagined the rippling muscles beneath the green velvet doublet. She suddenly wondered what it would feel like to be crushed against that broad chest, and to her shame the little nipples on her small breasts hardened, thrusting above the water.
What on earth was the matter with her? She had never had thoughts like these before. She knew so little about what went on between men and women, and Dom had certainly never inspired her. In fact, for all his good looks, Dom repelled her.
Molly took the soap from Skye, finished washing her, and dried her off with a linen towel. She had barely finished wrapping the girl in a silken chamber robe when a knock sounded on the door. Molly opened it, bobbed a flirtatious curtsey, and admitted Dom O’Flaherty.
He sauntered in with a lascivious look to his bride-to-be, whose young body was well outlined by the robe. “I have to leave you for a few days, Skye. Sir Murrough has sent word that I am needed. I will be back in time for our wedding.”
Skye’s heart soared. He would be gone, and Lord Burke would be here! “Go with God, Dom,” she said sweetly.
For a moment there was an awkward silence, then Dom reached out and pulled his betrothed into his arms. “No kiss, lovey? You would send me on my way without the least sign of affection?”
“We’re not wed yet, Dom. I don’t have to kiss you.”
“Don’t have to?” he exploded. “Christ, Skye, don’t be such a little prude! You’ll have to do more than kiss me in a few days’ time!” Damn, but she was a sweet armful, all perfumed and warm from the bath. He could feel his desire growing. He sought for her mouth, but she squirmed away.
“No!”
His blue eyes narrowed in anger, but then he laughed. “All right, lovey. But in a short time I’ll have you begging for my kisses.” He mocked her a bow, then turned and left the room. She shuddered.
“Oh!” squealed Molly. “He’s a lusty one to be sure, mistress! You’ll have good bedsport with him, and that’s lucky in a husband!”
