Bertrice Small - Skye O'Malley

Lord Burke and Robert Small howled and Adam, bested, joined good-naturedly in their laughter. The innkeeper hurried over with a towel, relieved to see that his daughter’s impertinence would not bring awful retribution down upon him. “Your pardon, my lord, but Joan is a headstrong girl. As my youngest, she has been spoiled terrible. Get into the kitchen, girl!”

“Don’t send her away. She’s the prettiest thing we’ve seen in days, and she’s a good girl to keep herself for her future husband,” responded Niall. Then he turned to the girl. “But sweetheart, no more ale over de Marisco. You’ll give him a helluva chill, and I haven’t time to nurse him.”

“He’s just to keep his roving hands to himself, me lord,” returned Joan, tossing her chestnut curls boldly.

“He will,” promised Niall, and Adam nodded gravely. They finished their meal in peace. Soon, ready to go, their cloaks drawn tightly about them, their hats pulled down over their eyes, they paid the reckoning and headed for the door. Joan was sweeping the floor near the doorway and, unable to resist, de Marisco pulled the startled girl into his arms and captured her cherry-red mouth in a passionate kiss. He kissed her slowly, lingenngly, expertly parting her lips to fence with her tongue until her initial resistance became eager compliance.

Satisfied, Adam let her go gently, steadying the swaying girl as he dropped a gold coin down her bodice. “Don’t settle for any less than that, my pigeon. You’ll be a long time married,” he told the starry-eyed young girl. Then he was gone.

The day was as unpleasantly cold as the previous one had been, and when they finally stopped for the night they were chilled to the bone, exhausted, and still forty miles from London. The inn was noisy and crowded. The food and the service were poor.

“I’m for going on tonight,” said Niall. “We can rent fresh horses here, and exchange them for ours another time. I’d rather spend a few more wet hours on the road and then sleep in a clean bed, free of the fear of being robbed.”

His two companions nodded and Robbie noted, “You’re apt to be recognized here, Niall. We’re too close to London to suit me.” So after supper they rode on through the rainy, windswept night, finally arriving at Greenwood at two o’clock in the morning. Niall had thought it best not to stay at Lynmouth House, for fear of drawing notice. The startled gatekeeper let them in, recognizing Robbie.

Niall cautioned the old man that he was not to speak to anyone of their arrival. If asked, he was to deny that they had been there. The lady Skye’s life depended upon it. The gatekeeper looked to Robbie for confirmation. He nodded solemnly.

The sleepy house servants were confused, but as easily reassured by Robert Small. The maidservants scurried about preparing three bedchambers and laying fires. Three tall oak tubs were set up by the fire in the kitchen and the three men soaked the chill from their bones. The motherly housekeeper prepared a hot mulled wine punch and served sliced ham on warm bread. Clean, dry, wrapped in dressing gowns that had belonged to the late Lord Southwood, the three sat at the table eating, drinking, and talking.

When their beds were ready they went quickly to their bedrooms. Niall was grateful that the sheets had been warmed, but as he lay there, strangely wakeful, he knew it was a different warmth he needed. His body ached for a woman. No, not a woman. Skye. Since she had left the previous autumn he had remained totally faithful. Caught up in the business of running her estates, caring for her children, and trying to free her, he hadn’t had time to serve his own needs.

In the morning he and Robbie and de Marisco would force the issue with Cecil and the Queen. Niall wanted his wife and child back! The child! Was it the boy that his father and he had wanted for so long? He’d know in a few hours. Niall sighed deeply and suddenly he was asleep.

The sun was up when he awoke and immediately yanked the bellpull. Shortly a little maid appeared with hot water for washing. “Are Sir Robert and Lord de Marisco awake yet?” he asked. “Just, m’lord,” she bobbed a curtsey. “Your bells rang within minutes of each other.”

“Have the clothes I brought in my saddlebags been freshened?”

“Aye, m’lord. I’ll bring them right up.”

He washed and then dressed carefully. His clothes, selected shrewdly for this occasion, were rich, but subdued. His shirt was the purest white silk, his doublet of deep-blue velvet, embroidered discreetly in silver. His hose were striped silver and blue. And he wore a heavy silver chain with a silver and sapphire pendant. Smooth-shaven, his jaw showed a strong determination that William Cecil would find hard to miss.

Niall broke his fast in his room with fresh bread, cheese, and ale. He then joined de Marisco and Robbie. Walking to the bottom of the garden, they hailed a waterman for the trip down the river to Greenwich Palace, where the Queen was currently in residence. Niall kept his cloak wrapped well about him, obscuring his features. The rain had stopped, but the day remained gray and threatening. They arrived at Greenwich and, disembarking, hurried into the palace. Luck was with them: Cecil had not yet arrived in his closet, and on duty was only one young secretary who failed to recognize any of the three. When the chancellor arrived in his long, furred black velvet robe, he was immediately surrounded by the three men and borne off to his private-rooms.

Unafraid, Lord Burghley settled himself comfortably at his desk and said to the anxious secretary, “I am not to be disturbed, Master Morgan.” The secretary bowed out, and Cecil turned to his three visitors. He eyed them dispassionately, then spoke. “My lord Burke, I distinctly remember forbidding you London.”

“I’ve come to bring my wife and child home, m’lord. You have had Lady Burke here almost six months and I’ve not yet been informed of the charges against her.”

“She is under suspicion, my lord.”

“For six months? And of what?”

“Piracy,” was the cool reply.

“What! You’re mad, man!”

“Niall, Niall!” Robbie spoke. “Cecil, my friend, be reasonable. Lady Burke is a beautiful woman who, I’ve no doubt, has stolen many hearts. But ships? I think not. Proof?”

Cecil frowned and Robbie almost shouted with glee. They still had no proof! “I will be frank with you, Cecil. I thought piracy was your suspicion, because of the O’Malley ships. Poor Niall refuses to see the logic of it.”

“And you do?” said Cecil.

“Indeed I do. The O’Malley of Innisfana has access to ships and a knowledge of shipping lanes and schedules. Add to that her isolated coastal castle, and you have all the ingredients for piracy-except, of course, one important one.”

“What is missing, Sir Robert?” Cecil was fascinated.

“Motive, my lord,” said Robbie. “Where is Lady Burke’s motive?

She is already one of the wealthiest women in England, possibly the wealthiest, and she is not greedy for more riches. Everyone knows her to be generous and charitable. She is not a seeker of thrills. So why would she risk her son’s inheritance and her own position, by breaking the Queen’s law? Above all things, my dear Cecil, Skye is a good mother.

“No… there are no grounds for your suspicions, nor justification for holding her. None besides Bess Tudor’s jealous spite, and you know it, Cecil.”

Cecil looked both annoyed and uncomfortable. “The piracies ceased with Lady Burke’s arrest,” he said.

Niall’s look was as black as a storm cloud, but Robert Small put a steadying hand on him. “The piracies stopped over a year ago, more than six months before you arrested Lady Burke.” “The Santa Maria Madre de Cristas was taken off Ireland late last spring!”