Skye nodded. “Agreed!”
“I’ll be on my way then, m’lady,” said the captain, and, bowing to them both, he was gone.
Bran Kelly rode without rest from London to Bideford where he took command of one of the ships of the O’Malley-Small fleet to sail across the Irish Sea, around Cape Clear, and up the western flank of Ireland to Innisfana Island where he knew he would find word of Michael O’Malley, who was now bishop of Mid-Connaught as his late uncle Seamus had been before him.
As luck would have it, the bishop was visiting his stepmother at his ancestral home. Learning of his niece’s fate and that of Bran Kelly’s daughter, Michael O’Malley packed at once, and two weeks after he had left London, Bran Kelly returned with Skye O’Malley’s younger brother.
The bishop of Mid-Connaught, once a tall, thin youth with pink cheeks and an earnest air about him, had grown into a bluff, hearty man with twinkling blue eyes, his dark hair very closely cropped as befitted a churchman, and a worldly air of assurance about him. His cheeks, however, were still pink from his heritage. His sister Skye had, fifteen years earlier, passed on her title “the O’Malley” to him despite his clerical standing. It always amused Michael that he had ended up with the responsibility that had actually been rightfully his all along. His father had died when he was just a small boy and, knowing Michael’s desire to be a priest, had passed him over in favor of his sister, Skye. Skye, however, had given him back his inheritance after bearing the family responsibilities upon her own shoulders for many, many years. Michael, in turn, had chosen a nephew who would eventually supplant him, but which nephew he would not tell for fear that the boy would become big-headed by knowing his future position. Privately he had discussed his choice with Skye, and she had agreed that their half brother Brian’s second son, Ahern, was the perfect choice. Michael O’Malley would pass on his authority when he thought his nephew ready, but for now he retained it and allowed the boy the opportunity to grow and to savor life.
“Don’t you ever change?” he now demanded of his sister, giving her a bear hug that suddenly reminded her of their father.
Gazing at him, she realized that his increased girth made him look very much like their father as well, although she had never noticed it until now. “You suddenly resemble Da,” she said.
“Aye, so Mother Anne tells me. Our stepmother sends you her greetings.” He paused. “I hear I’m to go to Paris.”
“And afterwards to India, brother,” she said quietly.
“For a man who’s never been out of Ireland but for a bit of study in Rome and Paris ’tis a big leap, sister Skye.” He plumped himself down into a comfortable chair by the fire and took a goblet of wine from the servant who preferred it.
“You’re our only hope, Michael. If the Mughal’s capital were on the sea, or even near it, I should not need your help; but ’tis hundreds of miles inland. The Jesuits are in great favor with Akbar. They must understand that ’twas one of their order who involved my child in this disaster, and now they must aid us in retrieving her.”
“You’ll be expected to pay, Skye. You know that?”
Skye raised an eloquent eyebrow. “I always pay for what I seriously desire, Michael, but I’ll pay not a penny piece into the Jesuit coffers until I know that my child is safe! Make sure your friends in Paris understand that, Michael.”
“What of my niece’s husband? Is he anxious to have his wife back from what is certain to be a very carnal captivity?”
“Yes,” said Skye tersely, in a tone that decided Michael O’Malley to press his sister no further on that point.
“I am not quite certain,” he said, “that I fully understand how Velvet got herself in this position. What was she doing in India with Murrough, and where was her bridegroom?”
“The situation in which Velvet finds herself was brought about by a mixture of stubbornness, pride, gossip, misinformation, and the usual sort of general mayhem that in another case could have caused a war!”
A deep rumble of laughter rocked the bishop. “In other words, sister, the human condition. Say on!”
Skye launched into the tale of Velvet’s troubles. Michael listened with rapt attention, not interrupting until she came to the Portuguese governor’s act of sending Velvet to the Grand Mughal as a gift.
“What possessed the governor to do such a terrible thing?” wondered Michael aloud.
“When Adam and I were imprisoned in Bombay by the Portuguese, they separated us for a time. The governor placed me in his house, where he made indecent overtures toward me that I most firmly rebuffed. I was then put back with Adam in the local prison, a disgusting place, but far preferable!”
“Your rebuff of that proud don must have been a fierce one that he would take such a revenge as to send your child, a Catholic noblewoman, into such a degrading situation.”
“My rebuff of him was no more than he deserved!” snapped Skye.
“I’ve not a doubt,” replied her brother, his bright blue eyes atwinkle. “Well,” he said, sighing, “now I see the matter clearly, sister Skye, but ’twill take a great deal of clever negotiation on our part to get the Jesuits to aid us. To begin with they will deny any responsibility.”
“Michael, I don’t care how you do it! You’re the youngest bishop Ireland’s ever had, and I’ve always contended that you’re wasted there when your talents could be put to better use in Rome. You’ve a friend, I remember, who is high up within the Jesuit ranks, and I know that he’s in Paris.”
“Bearach O’Dowd.” Michael smiled with the memory. “His aunt was married to a distant O’Malley cousin who lived on Innisfana, and he used to come to visit in the summers with his sister, Caitlin. We used to take her fishing with us and then make her clean our catch. Bearach and I studied for the priesthood together in Rome. Aye, he’s a Jesuit, and he is in Paris. Bearach always had a taste for the finer things.”
“Will he help us?” Skye asked.
“Aye. He’s an honest man, though clever. He’ll be shocked by Father Ourique’s behavior, but I’ll wager he’ll end up with at least part of your Portuguese ransom for the Paris order, probably from the Portuguese governor’s portion, as well as whatever we pay him!”
“Do not delay, Michael. Every day that passes Velvet is further lost to us. She believes Alex is dead, and the Grand Mughal, I am told, is a kind man. If she falls in love with him, she will suffer not only from losing him, but from her guilt at returning to Alex with knowledge of another man.”
“Perhaps you worry needlessly, my sister,” the bishop counseled. “Do not Eastern potentates have vast harems? In all likelihood Velvet has lost herself in the crowd.”
