Bertrice Small: Skye O'Malley

Niall pushed, along with the family, into the bedchamber. Dom
laid his burden upon the bed. With nimble fingers the bridegroom
loosened the girl’s laces. Momentarily forgetful of his audience,
Dom caressed the soft, creamy swell of Skye’s breast. The hunger
in his pale-blue eyes was unmistakable, and Niall felt a murderous
rage well up in him.

“Now, now, my son, we’ll have none of that until tonight,”
chuckled O’Malley. “Your bride’s got to be able to stand for all the
toasts that’ll be drunk at the feast, and she’ll be in no condition if
you have her now.”

O’Flaherty flushed amid the leers and snickers. Then Eibhlin
pushed through the crowd to Skye’s side and, kneeling, began to
rub the girl’s wrists. “Molly-the wine, please. And a burnt feather.
Da, it would help if all these people left. You too, brother Dom.
If Skye is to be up to enjoy her own wedding feast, she must rest
now.”

The room slowly emptied, and Eibhlin and Molly raised Skye up.
First the feather was burnt and waved beneath her nose, then the
drugged wine was forced between her lips. Skye coughed, choked,
and opened her eyes. “You fainted,” said the nun drily.

“He… he put his tongue in my mouth, Eibhlin,” said Skye,
visibly shocked. “He… he said that I belong to him.”

“You do.”

‘No! Never to Dom O’Flaherty! Never to any man!”

Eibhlin turned. “You may leave us,” she told the reluctant Molly.
Then Eibhlin said quietly, “It’s Niall Burke, isn’t it, Skye? Dear
Lord, he didn’t take your virginity?”

Miserably, Skye shook her head. “He wanted to wed with me,
Eibhlin. He was to speak with Da.”

“But he didn’t, or if he did Da said no. You’re married to Dom
O’Flaherty, Skye. You must face it. It is your duty to be a good
wife to him. He loves you and he is your lord in the eyes of the
Church.”

“I cannot, Eibhlin! I simply cannot! I hate Dom, and I can’t bear
his touch.”

“Some women are like that, Skye. Perhaps you are one.”

“No! When Niall Burke kissed me it was perfect! I wanted him!
The way a woman wants a man… in marriage. But I don’t feel mat
way about Dom.”

“Go to sleep, little one,” said the nun soothingly. “In a few hours’
time you must hostess your wedding feast.”

Sighing, Skye lay back. The herbs were doing their work, and
suddenly she fell asleep, her face still wet with tears. Eibhlin shook
her head. What on earth possessed Da to insist on this marriage,
knowing Skye was so against it? He had always indulged his young-
est daughter, adoring her lavish beauty, delighting in her love of the
sea. He had never before forced her into something.

Eibhlin speculated. Perhaps their father wanted the last of Peigi
O’Malley’s daughters out of his house so that he could be free to
enjoy his second wife, and his five sons. At any rate, though she would never admit it to Skye, the nun shared her sister’s dislike of
O’Flaherty. He was stubborn, far too vain, and for all his fine
education, woefully ignorant. Eibhlin sighed. There was simply no
help for it. It was a man’s world, and a decent woman was either
a wife or a nun. Perhaps, she thought wistfully, it would be different
someday. Eibhlin went back to the chapel to pray for her sister.
There was nothing else she could do.

When Skye awoke several hours later, the terrible reality of her
situation swept over her once more. Her knowledge of men was
limited, but she instinctively understood that her husband was the
sort of man who preyed on the weak and helpless. Dom liked win-
ning. She must not let him know how upset she was.

Slowly she rose from the bed, feeling just slightly dizzy, and
bathed her face in rose water. Still unlaced, she breathed deeply,
clearing her head. She whirled at the sound of the door behind her,
furious that her privacy was to be so quickly disturbed. “How dare
you enter my chamber!”

He smiled lazily. “You forget, Skye pet, that I have the right to
enter your chamber whenever I choose to do so. I am your husband.”

She shivered. “I forget nothing, Dom,” she bravely answered.
He moved toward her, and her courage cracked. “Don’t come near
me!” She backed away from him, but he kept on until she felt the
edge of the bed against the backs of her legs. The look in his eyes
terrified her, and she had to force herself to stand straight, to look
directly at him. She could hear the sound of her own heart drumming
in her ears.

“Your maiden shyness pleases me-to a point, Skye.” His hand
caressed her cheek, slid down her neck to her shoulder, then gripped
the soft flesh. “I am your husband and I will brook no disobedience
from you. Your father has spoiled you badly, but I will not. I will
school you as I do the bitches in my kennel, and you will do your
duty by me. When you err, I shall punish you. Do you understand
me, Skye?”

“Yes, Dom.” Her eyes were lowered in apparent compliance, but
really to hide her smoldering hatred.

“Good,” he said, his voice softening a little. “Now come here to
me, pet.” He took her chin between his fingers and forced her head
up. His wet mouth ground on hers, and his tongue forced itself
between her clenched teeth. She shivered with revulsion. The wet
lips were on her throat. He pushed her onto the bed and, atop her,
pulled down her gown, exposing the small, perfect breasts. His
mouth opened to capture a little pink nipple, and she screamed.

He stopped, raised his eyes, and looked down on her. “Please
Dom, we must face our guests.” Groaning with frustration, he stood up slowly and, giving her a venomous look, stumbled from the
room.

Outside in the hallway he stopped a moment to catch his breath,
to massage the ache in his groin. She was right, damn her! He didn’t
dare take her until tonight, but he needed to cool the fire in his loins!
At that moment his wife’s buxom maid came around the corner.

Dom O’Flaherty’s blue eyes narrowed speculatively, and a quick
winning smile lit his features. Molly stopped, eyed him, and instantly
ascertained his need. Wordlessly she took his hand and led him
around the corner into a darkened alcove. She loosened his codpiece,
and gasped with delight. “Oh, my Lord! You’ll more than do!” Her
arms slid up around his neck and she whispered excitedly, “Give
us a kiss, love.” He bent to find her mouth, all the while fumbling
to raise her petticoats. He backed her up against the stone castle
wall, and Molly wrapped her legs about his waist. Clasping the
plump cheeks of her buttocks in his hands, Dom O’Flaherty buried
himself deep in the servant girl’s willing warmth. He worked himself
back and forth, not caring that he was banging her head against the
wall. She moaned, half with pleasure and half with pain. He obtained
his release quickly. Molly was set back down on her feet and,
straightening his garments, O’Flaherty left her without so much as
a word or a glance. Molly slipped to the floor, whimpering.

Skye, who seldom prayed outside church, was thanking every
saint in the calendar for her temporary reprieve. Tonight there would
be no reprieve. She would be forced to submit to whatever it was
men did with women. She had some vague ideas, but her sisters had
never discussed sex, and Anne had not gotten around to enlightening
her. She was going to be at Dom’s mercy.

She took her brush and removed the tangles from her hair. Then,
smoothing the wrinkles from her wedding gown, Skye opened the
door and left her room. Dom appeared from the darkness and, arm
in arm, they descended into the hall below to greet their guests.

The festivities had begun without them, and a cry went up as they
entered. Dubhdara O’Malley, already half drunk, lurched forward
and escorted his daughter and her new husband to the high board.
Skye was horrified to find herself with her husband on her right and
Lord Burke on her left.