Free Skye O'Malley by Bertrice Small Page B

said, “None of your naughtiness now, Master Niall. ’Tis long past time you grew up. Come along with you, and your friend too. Sit down. The bread’s just from the oven.”
    They obeyed her and sat. Niall, turning to MacGuire, explained, “Maeve was my nurse until I was seven. Then she deserted me to wed with Brian. As a boy, I used to come here often, for she bakes the best bread in the district. And for some reason her bees make the best honey you’ve ever tasted.”
    “It’s the salt air,” said Maeve. “It gives the honey a wee bit of a nip.”
    MacGuire shortly found that Lord Burke was no liar, and he said to Maeve, “If you had a daughter who could bake half as well as you do, mistress, I’d wed with her in a thrice.”
    Maeve flushed with pleasure. “If you return this way, Captain, stop for a meal with us.”
    “Thank you, mistress, and I will!”
    “The horses are ready, my lord,” called Brian from the doorway.
    Niall Burke stood up, licking a drop of honey from his finger like a small boy. “Let’s go, MacGuire. I’m anxious to be home!”
    The captain was surprised to see two fine, well-bred mounts waiting. They mounted and, with a wave to Brian, rode off.
    “Your peasants must be prosperous to have any horses at all, let alone such fine ones,” observed MacGuire as they cantered along.
    “These are our horses,” answered Burke. “We keep good horses with several specially chosen families for just such purposes as these. That way, we’re never stranded.” He then spurred his horse to a gallop. “Come on, man,” he called to the captain, who was bouncingup and down on his mount, looking decidedly uncomfortable. “I’m for home!”
    Niall Burke was to regret his haste. No sooner had he entered into the MacWilliam’s presence than the O’Malley’s letter was handed over to the great lord. MacGuire was sent off to be served refreshment, and Niall stood impatiently while the MacWilliam, his strong features darkening, skimmed over the parchment. Finally the MacWilliam snorted and, looking angrily at his son, roared, “Well, you arrogant puppy, I hope you have a helluva good explanation for your conduct! Dubhdara O’Malley’s ships are vital to the defense of this area, as is the goodwill of the Ballyhennessey O’Flahertys!”
    Niall, of course, had not read the letter. Caught off guard, he blurted like a schoolboy. “I love her, Father! I love Skye O’Malley! I tried to speak with O’Malley, and get him to call off the wedding. But his wife went into labor before I could talk to him. She had a hard birth. He was unavailable all that time, and they wed the girl ahead of schedule, practically in secret.”
    “O’Malley wouldn’t have called off the match, you young fool! It was made years ago. He was bound to it! And a damn good match it was for his youngest lass. How dared you interfere?”
    “I love her, and she loves me. She detests the O’Flaherty bastard they’ve wed her to! She always hated him, even before we met.”
    “And you felt that gave you the right to claim the droit du seigneur of the bride? Jesus, man! If you were anyone else I’d kill you! You’re lucky O’Malley has a sense of humor. The girl’s been sent to her sister’s convent to be sure your night results in nothing worse than embarrassment.”
    “I love her!” shouted Niall. “I want her marriage annulled so I may wed her. There must be a bishop in this family.”
    “Over my dead body!” roared the MacWilliam. “O’Malley’s ships are valuable to me. His wench is not. I’ll have no pirate wench mothering my grandchildren! I’ve arranged for you to wed with Darragh O’Neill, the younger sister to your late betrothed. She is thirteen, and ripe for marriage. You’ll be joined in three weeks’ time.”
    “No!”
    “Yes! Listen, you young idiot, take O’Malley’s girl as a mistress if you wish, but you cannot wed her. She already has a husband. And from what I hear of him, once he