“Your name is unusual,” he noted, after a moment.
“It was what I called myself when I arrived there, though the nuns added Mary to it, thinking Skye not quite Christian.” Now why had she embroidered her tale? What did it matter if her name was Skye? Damn the man! Why didn’t he go about his business? She was almost sure that Geoffrey was around the next bend in the road. She flashed Burke a sweet smile. “I must go now, sir. My friend will be waiting.” And before he could protest she put spurs to her horse and was gone.
He could not make a display by following her, so he was forced to continue at a sedate trot. As he rounded the curve in the road, he saw her moving away accompanied by a man on a big chestnut stallion. It was likely Lord Southwood, thought Niall bitterly, remembering the gossip he had overheard last night.
Now Niall was more confused than ever. She looked and spoke like Skye O’Malley. Even her name was the same. It had to be hisSkye and yet … He shook his head. She gave no sign of recognizing him.
Then it struck him that perhaps she had survived after all, but had been despoiled by her captors, incarcerated in a harem, and was ashamed to face him. Maybe she was putting on an act for his benefit? Ah then, said his saner self, how pray tell did she escape captivity? And there was a child, too. And Captain Sir Robert Small, a most reputable man, not only supported her story, but appeared to be her protector.
Then another thought struck him. A sea captain had left her in Algiers. Had it been Dubhdara himself? Was it possible she was one of the old man’s bastards? God knows he’d had enough of them. The old satyr had never denied his urges. But if Dubhdara had done that, the question was,why?
Sighing, Niall turned his horse back toward the Strand. He had been on his way home when he saw her riding out from her house, and he followed her in order to speak with her. He was being foolish. It was just a coincidence of names and looks. He had a wife who loved him and his Skye was dead. He had to believe that. Otherwise he might well go mad.
The Earl of Lynmouth and Skye rode happily together. Geoffrey Southwood was wildly in love for the only time in his life, and he was now to have three lovely days alone with his beloved.
“You’re beautiful,” he growled, and she laughed happily, throwing back her head so that her hood fell off, exposing her face and the pure white pillar of her neck. He wanted to stop, pull her from her horse, and cover that smooth creamy throat with his kisses. “How is it,” he continued, “that you are as fair in sunlight as in moonlight? Do you know you’ve bewitched me, Señora Goya del Fuentes?”
She colored becomingly, her lashes making charcoal smudges against her pink cheeks. “My lord, you make me feel shy of you.”
“Why, Skye! Didn’t anyone ever pay you outrageous compliments?”
“My husband.” It was stated simply.
“Sweetheart, sweetheart. Iamsorry! Would you rather we went back?”
“No, Geoffrey. I don’t want to go back.”
He breathed a sigh of relief and cursed himself for a fool. This was only her first adventure, and she was hesitant. Reaching out, he took her hand and silently they rode on together. All about them the English January day was magnificent—the sky a cloudless brightblue, the sun a sharp piercing yellow, the air cold, crisp, and invigorating. Their own warm breath and the horses’ heaving breaths made tiny clouds. The Thames River valley rolled gently, on and on. The lovers seemed entirely alone in the world, like Adam and Eve.
Skye rode quietly with her thoughts. She liked this man, though she doubted she would ever love him or any other man again. Love was both a passion and a pain. She didn’t think she could bear another loss like the loss of Khalid. If she simply enjoyed Geoffrey’s company and his lovemaking, she would be safe from hurt.
As the January sun began to sink away they came to a charming small inn set upon the river bank. It was separated from the road by a low stone wall that opened into a brick courtyard. Upon either side of the entry hung an oval sign depicting a drake surrounded by several ducks. The building was whitewashed and half-timbered, with a thatched roof and lead-paned bow windows that had window boxes filled with holly and ivy. From the great brick center chimney rose a curl of gray-blue smoke. As they clattered up to the inn door an ostler ran out from the stable to take their horses. Geoffrey’s hands lingered on Skye’s waist as he lifted her from her horse, and she felt her skin tingling against her silk undergarments. Taking her hand firmly in his, he led her into the inn.
“My lord Southwood!” A tall, moon-faced man came forward. “Welcome, my lord, my lady. We received your message this morning, my lord, and your room is ready. There will be no other guests for the duration of your stay.”
“My thanks, Master Parker. I think we will have dinner as soon as it can be made ready. It’s been a cold ride.”
“Very good, my lord! Rose! Where is that lass? Rose!”
“Here, Dad!”
“Escort my lord Southwood and his lady to their room, girl.”
Rose, a very buxom young lady whose ample bosom threatened to overflow its blouse, bobbed a curtsey, and smiled saucily at the Earl. “This way, m’lord, madam,” she said, leading them not upstairs but down a short sunlit hallway and into a small wing off the main inn building. The door swung open to reveal a charming white room with a bowed window, large fireplace, and big carved oak bed with heavy green and white linen hangings. Dark beams timbered the walls and ceiling. On one side of the fireplace was a round polished table holding a brown glazed earthenware bowl filled with pine boughs. There were two matching chairs. At the foot of the bed was a blanket chest. There was a seat built into thewindow, with plump cushions of the same homespun green and white linen as the bed hangings.
Rose touched a brand to the perfectly laid fire and it blazed up instantly. “Your trunks are on either side of the bed, m’lord,” she said. “Can I bring you anything?”
Geoffrey looked to Skye. “Sweetheart?”
The little maid almost sighed her envy of the beautiful lady. “A bath,” pleaded Skye. “I can smell nothing but horses.”
He smiled down on her, then turned to Rose. “Will you see to it, love?” His big hand cupped the girl’s face, and he looked down into her bovine brown eyes.
Rose nearly fainted. “A-aye, m’lord. A b-bath. At once!”
He dropped his hand and she spun about and fled. He laughed softly, and Skye chided him, “Oh, Geoffrey, what a wicked man you are.”
He grinned at her. “I suppose I am,” he admitted. Then “I’ll bathe with you. I stink of horses too.” Reaching out, he pulled her into his arms, pushed her hood off, and loosened her hair so that it tumbled down her back in a shining black mass. One strong arm pressed her tightly against him. The other hand caressed her silken hair. She could feel herself growing weak with his touch, and fought to control her emotions. His green eyes mocked her efforts, and for a moment she became angry and struggled to escape him. He released her instantly.
