“What will people say if the sheets have no bloody stain tomor- row?”
He chuckled. “Ah, Darragh Burke, ‘tis truly innocent you are. Many a lass has played at carnal games before marriage, yet flown the bloody sheet the morning after her wedding. Move over, lass, and I’ll show you.”
Wide-eyed, she watched with amazement as he took the fruit knife from the bowl by the bed and pricked the inside of his thigh. A small trickle of blood flowed forth, staining the sheets. Darragh’s virtue was thus proved while her husband’s honor was saved and his prowess attested to.
It had been now two weeks since their wedding night. Darragh reasoned that her virginity had been saved forever, and as she had long ago dedicated that precious gift to God, she had no intention of giving it to Niall. She would keep his house, but that was all. Niall’s kindness on their wedding night seemed a weakness she could continue to exploit.
Once again, as he had every night since their wedding, Niall gently tried to make love to his wife. Darragh’s inexperience pre- vented her knowing how patient her husband really was. She was determined that he would not succeed, but he was equally determined he would. If he must be married to this girl then she would mother his children. Now Darragh informed him that she would be his bride in name only. Her virginity belonged to God.
“You cannot force me as you did poor Skye O’Malley, my lord. I can but imagine the poor woman’s shame!” she finished right- eously.
At the mention of Skye’s name Niall’s head whirled, and he stared with revulsion at the cold, pious, feelingless creature they had wedded him to. A tiny, fair-skinned, flat-chested girl with watery blue eyes, white-blond hair, and a prim mouth was his wife. The comparison between her and Skye with her gardenia skin, flowing blue-black hair, and blue-green eyes was ludicrous! Skye, with her sweetly rounded small breasts, rosebud mouth, and innocently eager passion. Skye! Dom O’Flaherty’s willing wife… who had given Niall a night of bliss only to destroy his happiness almost imme- diately with a cold letter. He groaned. Skye would soon give Dom sons! And so, he decided with growing anger, would Darragh O’Neill Burke give her husband sons.
Seeing the grim purpose in his silvery eyes, Darragh fell to her knees clutching her rosary beads, her lips moving silently in prayer. Niall angrily snatched away the beads and, pulling Darragh to her feet, ripped the white linen nightgown from her. Catching her in his arms, he kissed her deeply, forcing the narrow lips open. She fought him, clawing at him with surprisingly sharp nails, squirming wildly. Darragh truly believed that God would strike her husband with a bolt of lightning for his impudence, and she prayed it would kill him. As they fell back onto the bed and she felt his great manhood penetrate her maidenhead, Darragh called on every saint in the cal- endar to avenge her. But soon she was moaning at him to continue, her skinny legs wrapping around him, her lean hips finding the rhythm and moving with it.
Afterward he felt disgusted with himself, and with her as well. He had never in his life forced a woman, but she had driven him to it with her denial of him, and the mention of his beloved, treach- erous Skye.
Women! They were all alike. They said one thing, meant another. Beside him, his wife sniveled and complained, “You hurt me! You hurt me!”
“It always hurts the first time, Darragh. It’ll get better now.”
“You’re never going to do that to me again. Never!”
“There’ll be no immaculate conceptions in this family, wife, and besides, you enjoyed it. I know when a woman likes it, my dear. And like it or not, it’s your duty to give me sons. You might even admit to liking it eventually. There’s nothing wrong with a woman taking pleasure with her husband.”
“Never!” she spat at him as he pulled her back into his arms. His big hand stroked her tense body soothingly. “I’ll endure it, for it is obviously God’s will, but I’ll hate it every time you stick that awful thing inside me.”
“Have it your own way, my dear,” he said. “Just remember that I was no more anxious for this marriage than you were. I would just as soon you stayed in your convent.” And he thrust into her again, making her cry out. “Give me a couple of sons, Darragh, and I’ll leave you in peace forever.”
And down the coast, across the water on Innishturk Island, Dom O’Flaherty bent over his beautiful wife, pumping smoothly. Skye was too sensuous a woman to deny her body its release. She let herself begin to fall away into a lovely world of sweet sensations, and then she heard her husband moan. He collapsed atop her. She had not reached her own heaven, but he didn’t care. Niall had cared. She turned her head away from Dom, a tear sliding unchecked down her cheek. Damn Niall. Would he never stop haunting her?
Chapters 5
The MacWilliam had commanded that his vassals keep the twelve days of Christmas with him. They came from all over Mid-Connaught, including Dom O’Flaherty and his bride of several months.
The hospitality was lavish, for unlike his less powerful neighbors, the MacWilliam’s tower house had sprouted three additional inter- connected towers over the years. Consequently he now owned a fine stone castle, built along Norman lines around a gardened and cobbled quadrangle. His guests were housed quite comfortably. Although Skye’s father’s tower house was most comfortable and very well furnished, the MacWilliam’s large castle was lavish by comparison.
There were four O’Flahertys partaking of their overlord’s gen- erosity. Dom’s father, Gilladubh, and his younger sister, Claire, had come with Dom and Skye. Skye frankly hoped that they could find a husband for Claire O’Flaherty, though neither Claire’s father nor her brother seemed to realize that, at fourteen, Claire was practically an old maid.
The girl was pretty enough, with thick, flaxen braids, Dom’s pale-blue eyes, and a pink-cheeked complexion. But there was some- thing sly about her, something Skye did not like. On the one or two occasions Skye had attempted to correct the girl for minor faults, Claire had complained to both her father and her brother, and Skye had been told to leave her be. Behind the doting men’s backs, Claire had smiled smugly at her sister-in-law. But Skye had had some measure of revenge when she caught Claire helping herself to Skye’s jewelry. Boxing the girl’s ears soundly-which gave Skye great pleasure-she warned her that if she stole again she would have Claire’s head shaved.
“And if you complain to either Dom or your father, dear sister,” Skye’s voice dripped sweetness, “you’ll be bald for a year.”
Claire O’Flaherty needed no further warning. The fierce look in Skye’s eye convinced her that her brother’s wife was not the soft fool she had originally thought she was. From that moment on the two women maintained a wary truce. Now Skye was determined to marry the girl off as quickly as possible, to get her out of her house.
Skye had known that Niall would be at the Christmas gathering.
She soon learned that he was to be their host, as his father was suffering with gout. If Niall expected to find her heartbroken, she would soon disabuse him of that notion. In the six months since Dom had taken her from St. Bride’s she had made a kind of peace with herself. She did not love her husband nor did she ever believe she would, but she played the obedient wife.