Bertrice Small: Skye O'Malley

“Drink up, man. I know now how to bring her home safe.” “How?” Lord Burke gulped the smoky amber liquid down, reveling in the burning sensation that spread upward from his belly and into his veins.

‘There’s a well-hidden cove down by my lighthouse, and in that cove right now is a ship-a ship of dead men. The tidal currents around the end of the island are erratic and they drove the vessel ashore. It was found two days ago, floating half-beached in that cove. I’ve already given orders that no one is to go near the ship, and I’ve already placed in its holds my share of the booty from the Santa Maria Madre de Cristas. The men who carried the cargo to the holds for me are a family of mutes. I’ve always seen to their welfare and, as they are grateful, they will never give me away. They wouldn’t even if they could talk.

“This ship is of English design, yet the bodies aboard her appear to be Arab or Moorish. I will wager they are Barbary pirates. What killed them I know not, but if we can take the ship in tow and bring it up to London, I believe we can convince Cecil that these unfortunate dead men are part of whoever was responsible for the recent piracies. Especially considering what they’ll find in the hold. That should free Skye!”

Niall Burke’s face began to relax itself as he digested de Marisco’s idea. “It’s possible!” He thought a moment. “Did you find a log on board?”

“Yes, but it’s all in a funny kind of scrawl that bears no resemblance to any writing I’ve ever seen.”

A slow smile lit Niall’s face, crinkling the corners of his silvery eyes. “It’s probably Arabic, and you’re probably right, de Marisco! They’re Barbary pirates! We do have one problem, though. We can’t destroy the log. It would be very suspicious if no log were aboard. But if Cecil finds someone who reads Arabic the log might prove mat this is not a pirate ship. We must have that log read.” “Who the hell do you know who reads Arabic?” demanded de Marisco. He was beginning to lose confidence.

“Skye does,” answered Niall, laughing.

“Damme! Is there nothing that woman can’t do?” “I am reassured to learn mat you don’t know the answer to that, de Marisco,” said Niall, suddenly serious.

Adam de Marisco topped Niall Burke by at least two inches. He drew himself up now and, looking down on Skye’s husband, said, “Little man, I believe it’s time we cleared the air. Yes! I loved her, and possibly I always will. I was not, however, the husband for her. I knew that, and as proud as I would have been to be her husband…” His words faded, and for a moment there was total understanding between them, and then Adam de Marisco finished, “She loves you, and you are a fool if you’d believe I’d ever come between you. Now, little man, can we get on with the business of retrieving Skye from Elizabeth Tudor?”

“Dammit, de Marisco, you make me feel like a green boy with his first love. But anytime you think I’m not big enough to take you on, give me a try. Little man, indeed! Give me your hand, you damned Englishman! I’m forced to admit that I like you.” If only Skye could have seen them standing there grinning at each other, both in love with her and now both united in friendship in an effort to aid her! The two men clasped hands and two pairs of eyes, one silvery gray, the other smoky blue, met in a gaze of understanding.

“We’ll need one other man to help, and Robert Small can do it.

He’d never forgive me if we excluded htm. He can read some Arabic. Maybe he can decipher enough of the log before we present it to Cecil. At least we’ll know if the book contradicts our story. He’s just back home. His sister sent me word today and I sent back a message asking him to come to Lynmouth. Can you have that ship taken in tow to Lynmouth Bay? It’s best no one else know what we’re planning.”

“I’ll give orders at once. My mute brothers can do the job nicely,” answered de Marisco.

“What of the bodies?”

“They stink like the very devil,” observed Adam, “but I’m leaving mem aboard to give credence to our tale. Otherwise Cecil will say we made the whole thing up.”

“How will we explain the time lapse? It’s been months since the Santa Maria Madre de Cristas was taken. Where the hell has this ship been in the meantime?”

“Why she’s been a-pirating, Niall Burke! The wily infidels have been off across the sea pirating the waters of New Spain. She must have taken the Santa Maria on her way out last spring. We all know how the Moors hate the Spaniards, and cannot resist the opportunity to strike out at them.” He chuckled richly. “It’s a damn good story if I do say so myself!”

“Aye,” agreed Niall admiringly. “I’m thinking you’re wasted on your island, de Marisco. Court is obviously the place for you!” “Christ, no! I’d die penned up in that putrid city playing the gallant to that vain bitch, Bessie Tudor! Wasting my time, and my money on useless clothes, cards, and highborn, high-priced doxies. Give me Lundy, barren rock that it is, and the sea, and I’m a happy man.”

“You don’t mention sons to follow you, de Marisco. Why?” Adam de Marisco smiled wryly. “Because they’ll be none, Niall Burke,” he replied. “Fate has a grim sense of humor. When I was fourteen I was taken with a fever that rendered my seed barren. I’ve the appetite of a damned satyr where women are concerned, yet I’ve never fathered a child. I went to an old witchwoman in Devon several years ago in hopes of learning why. When she questioned me and learned of the fever I had had as a boy, she told me she couldn’t help, that the life had been burned out of my seed. She said she had heard of such cases before. With not so much as a daughter to my credit thus far, I had to believe her.

“That’s another reason helping Skye is important to me. Her little son, Robin, and I are the last living descendants of the first Southwood.” He chuckled at Niall’s incredulous look. “Aye, Irishman!

The de Mariscos are the bastard branch of the family. “The first Geoffroi de Sudbois brought over from Normandy his mistress, Mathilde de Marisco. Actually as the story has come down, he intended to wed with the lady when he made his fortune with Duke William. Like him, she was a second child, so her portion was very small. After my noble ancestor had taken Lynmouth he found it more practical to wed with the old lord’s daughter, and so the fair Gwyneth became the mother of the legitimate line. “Mathilde, however, was a bold and ambitious wench. She far preferred coming to England as Geoffroi’s mistress to remaining in Normandy as a poor relation in her brother’s house or entering some insignificant nunnery. She lived for several years in the west tower of Lynmouth Castle making poor Gwyneth’s life a hell. But then one day her eldest son was caught attempting to smother one of the legitimate Southwoods in his cradle, and the fair Gwyneth put her dainty Saxon foot down. Mathilde and her offspring had to go. Lundy belonged to Lynmouth then, and so Geoffroi deeded the island to Mathilde de Marisco, her sons, and their descendants forever. “Down through the generations the de Mariscos have wed with Southwood bastards, Southwood younger daughters, or their French cousins. In fact my grandmother and the late Geoffrey Southwood’s grandfather were brother and sister. Since I am the last of my line, the last of the bastards of Lundy, young Robin is the last of the Southwoods. I have enough family feeling to want to protect both him and his mother. They are dear to me.”

“Does Skye know this?”

“Nay. We never discussed it,” said Adam de Marisco. Niall Burke didn’t have the courage to ask why. Whatever had happened between Skye and Adam had happened before he had wed her and it was not his business. Adam de Marisco was definitely an honorable man. He looked long and hard at the lord of Lundy, and Adam returned his look. “You’re quite a man, cousin,” said Niall Burke. “Now, let’s rescue that wench of mine before she gets into further mischief.”