Bertrice Small - Skye O'Malley

“Good evening, Mistress O’Flaherty. My best wishes on your
future happiness,” he said formally.

“Thank you, my lord,” she answered. She dared not look at him
lest she begin to weep again, but her hand shook as she reached for
her goblet. Noting this, his heart contracted painfully.

The O’Malley of Innisfana had spared no expense. Huge bowls
of raw oysters, platters of prawns and shrimp boiled in white wine and herbs, were set on all the tables. Whole sea trout broiled and
stuffed, first with salmon then with smaller fresh-water trout, and
finally with small shellfish, were placed at intervals on the tables.
The bridegroom stuffed himself with raw oysters, loudly reminding
everyone of their aphrodisiac quality.

The next course consisted of whole swans, capons in a lemon-
ginger sauce, larded ducks, plump golden broiled pigeons, whole
baby lambs, sides of half-cooked beef dripping their fat and bloody
juices, potted rabbits, small pasties of minced meats, bowls of new
lettuces and small green onions in vinegar, silver trenchers of bread
and crocks of sweet butter. No one went thirsty, for silver pitchers
of wine, both red and white, and earthenware pitchers of ale were
placed on all the tables and kept filled.

The last course consisted of shaped jellies in all colors, custards,
fruit pies, wheels of sharp cheeses, sweet cherries from France, and
oranges from Spain. The chef, hired for the occasion, had done
himself splendid credit with a magnificent marzipan confection. Its
top decoration depicted a married couple, the bridegroom’s codpiece
conspicuously large, the bride with a coy smile upon her face, her
eyes fixed on the bulge.

Toast after toast was drunk. Some were ribald, some thoughtful.
Finally Dom O’Flaherty turned to his bride. “Go prepare yourself
for me, pet. I am well fed by your father’s gracious bounty. Now
I would feast on your sweet flesh.”

Her cheeks reddened and she shivered. “I must bathe,” she an-
swered. “There was no time this morning.”

“How long?”

“An hour.”

“Half, Skye. I will be denied no longer.”

She stood, and immediately a shout went up. Gathering her skirts
up, Skye fled the hall followed by her sisters and, behind them, a
group of laughing young men. If they caught the bride or any of her
maids, they would be allowed a kiss as forfeit. With incredible
swiftness the O’Malley sisters gained Skye’s chamber-where the
young couple would spend their wedding night-and slammed the
door, successfully shutting out the young men.

Before the fireplace a small steaming tub of water stood ready.

Skye looked gratefully to her servant. “Bless you, Molly, you
anticipated me.”

“Knew you didn’t have time before,” replied the maid, helping
Skye undress. The sisters busied themselves putting Skye’s beautiful
gown away and straightening the chamber. Sine took the warming
pan and ran it smoothly beneath the bedcovers. “Nothing cools a
man’s ardor like cold sheets,” she observed.

Skye kept her mind on her bath. If she allowed herself to think
of what was coming she would go to pieces. She glanced about her
bedchamber. Aside from the flowering branches placed there in
keeping with the old pagan fertility ritual, it seemed the same. The
large black oak bedstead, hung with azure blue velvet, had been
freshly made with fine linen sheets redolent of lavender. The tall
matching armoire was now empty, of course, her clothing having
been packed for transport to her new home. She washed quickly,
stepping out of her tub into a warmed towel. Her lovely body was
rosy from the heat of the water. Molly quickly dried her and lavishly
applied scented powder with a lamb’s wool puff. The sisters sneezed.
as the excess filled the air.

“Open the window a bit,” commanded Moire. “And fetch the silk
robe, Molly.”

Skye flushed. “Oh, no, Moire!,Not that, for pity’s sake.”

“Skye!” Moire’s voice was sharp. “It’s an O’Malley family cus-
tom, and we have all followed it. Lord, sister, you’re the fairest of
us all. There’s nothing for you to be ashamed of, lass.”

“But for all those leering men to see me naked!”

“We O’Malleys are proud to show we come to our husbands
unblemished. You will follow the custom as we all have.” The silk
robe was loosely wrapped around the bride, and then Moire said,
”Peigi, unbolt the door. I hear the men coming.”

Peigi had no sooner stepped back from the door when it burst
open and the laughing guests poured into the little room. Dom
O’Flaherty had already been partially disrobed by his friends. Dubhdara

O’Malley stepped up to his youngest daughter. He was very
drunk, but he could yet play his part.

He held his hand up for silence, and the room quieted. “This is
the last of me daughters to be wed. As with all my girls. I am proud
to show that she comes unblemished, and free of pock marks, to her
bridegroom.” He nodded to Moire and Peigi, who drew the simple
robe from Skye and let it slip to the floor. The girl was now com-
pletely naked. As she turned, the sisters held up Skye’s long dark
tresses to show the assembled guests that nothing was hidden beneath
her hair. In the candlelight, her beautiful body glowed like mother-
of-pearl.

An audible sigh rippled through the room as the men and women
admired and envied the young virgin’s perfection. The bridegroom
was visibly affected. Skye was exquisite, with her small, pink-tipped
breasts, her slim, long legs ending in slender, high-arched feet.

Suddenly the guests were thrown into shock as Niall Burke pushed
forward, boldly allowed his silver eyes to slide over the bride, and announced, “O’Malley! As your overlord I claim the droit du seigneur of this woman.”

The master of Innisfana swallowed hard. “A poor jest, my lord,”
he replied, now very sober. He was hoping to God that Burke was
only drunk, but he knew Burke wasn’t. “My daughter’s no peasant
wench,” he stated firmly.

Lord Burke drew himself up to his full imposing height. His
proud glance swept the room. “I am your overlord, Dubhdara
O’Malley. You swore obedience to me on my tenth birthday. It was
by my most generous hand that you received this barony of Innisfana.
Our laws demand that you comply with my request.”

“No!” shouted Dom. “She’s mine! Mine! And I am not your
vassal.”

Lord Burke looked scornfully at the younger man. “I will remind
you, O’Flaherty, that your family owes obedience to my father-
whose deputy I am. I claim the droit du seigneur of your bride. Will
either of you gentlemen endanger your families and insult me over
a girl’s maidenhead? Besides, O’Flaherty, when I am finished
schooling her she’ll be much more to your taste. You are not, I
understand, very good with virgins.”

There was a sharp intake of breath around the room. Dubhdara
O’Malley shifted uncomfortably. Then suddenly it came to him that
the final decision rested with his new son-in-law. “I yield to you,
my lord,” he said quickly, nearly sighing with relief.

The complete silence in the hot little room was finally broken by
Dom’s voice. “I’ll pay a penalty, my lord,” said Dom. “You have
but to name it.”

Niall Burke eyed Dom arrogantly, then drawled, “Your life, or
the wench’s maidenhead.”

A gasp went up. This was high drama, the sort of thing that
would be spoken of for years to come in both the halls and hovels
of Ireland. Why was Lord Burke so intent on having the bride? To
be sure, she was a lovely creature, but it was very rare for an overlord
to claim the droit du seigneur of a vassal’s bride.