Moire looked up from her embroidery to gaze with pleasure about the hall. It had never looked so nice in their mother’s time for she, poor soul, had spent much of her life in her own rooms.
The stone floors were always well swept now, the rushes changed weekly. The oak trestles were polished to a mellow golden hue, reflecting the great silver candlesticks with their pure beeswax tapers. The big brass andirons were filled with enormous oak logs, ready to be lit when the evening arrived. Behind the high board, promi- nently displayed, hung a large new tapestry depicting Saint Brendan the Monk on a sky-blue background, guiding his ship across the western seas. Anne had designed it, and had been working on it almost every evening. of her married life. It had been a labor of love, for the second Lady O’Malley adored not only her bluff, big husband, but their sons and their home as well.
Moire’s eyes lit upon several big colorful porcelain bowls filled with roses. Their pungent, spicy scent gave the room a wonderful exotic smell. Moire wrinkled her nose with pleasure and said to Anne, “The bowls are new?”
“Aye,” came the reply. “Your father brought them back from his last voyage. He is so good to me, Moire.”
“And why not?” demanded Moire. “You are good to him, Anne.”
“Where is Skye?” interrupted Peigi.
“Out riding with young Dom. I am surprised at your father in pursuing this betrothal. They do not suit at all.”
“They were promised in the cradle,” explained Moire. “It wasn’t easy for Da to find husbands for us all, for we’ve none of us large dowries. Skye’s marrying the heir to the Ballyhennessey O’Flaherty’s is the best match of us all.”
Anne shook her head. “I fear this match. Your sister is a very independent girl.”
“And it’s all Da’s fault for he has spoiled her terribly,” said Peigi. ”She should have been married off two years ago at thirteen, like the rest of us. But no, Skye did not want it. He lets her have her way all the time!”
“That’s not so, Peigi,” Eibhlin chided her sister. “Anne is correct when she says that Skye and Dom do not suit. Skye is not like us in temperament. We favor our mother while she favors Da. Dom is simply neither strong enough nor sensitive enough to be Skye’s husband.”
“Hoity-toity, sister,” said Peigi sourly. “It amazes me how much the wee nun knows about human nature.”
“Indeed and I do,” replied Eibhlin calmly, “for whom do you think the poor women of my district pour out their unhappiness to, Peigi? Certainly not the priest! He tells them it is their Christian duty to be abused by their menfolk! And then he adds to their guilt by giving them a penance.”
The sisters look shocked, and Anne broke the tension by laughing, ”You’re more a rebel than a holy woman, stepdaughter.”
Eibhlin sighed. “You speak the truth, Anne, and it troubles me greatly. But though I try I cannot seem to change.”
Anne O’Malley leaned over and fondly patted her stepdaughter on the hand. “Being a woman is never, ever easy,” she said wisely, ”no matter what role we chose to play in life.”
The two young women smiled fondly at each other with complete understanding. Then everyone looked startled as they heard shouting in the entry hall below them. As the noise came toward them up the steps the O’Malley sisters glanced knowingly at each other. They recognized the voices of Dom O’Flaherty and their sister, Skye.
As the two burst into the main hall, Anne O’Malley was again struck by the beauty of the two young people. She had never seen two more physically perfect people, and perhaps this was why her husband insisted on the match. Anne shivered with apprehension.
Dom O’Flaherty threw his riding gloves on a table. At eighteen he was of medium height, slender, with beautifully shaped arms, hands, and legs. Having inherited his French grandmother’s color- ing, he had glorious, close-cropped, curly golden hair, and sky-blue eyes. He affected a tailored short beard that hugged the perfectly sculpted sides of his face and ended in a softly rounded point. Because he was angry, however, his fair skin was now an unattrac- tive, mottled red. His handsome face with its long, straight nose and narrow lips was contorted with rage.
“It’s indecent!” he shouted at Skye. “It’s indecent and immodest for a maiden to ride astride a beast! My God, Skye! That horse of yours! When we’re married I will see that you’re more suitably mounted upon a palfrey. What ever possessed your father to let you ride mat big, black brute, I’ll never know!”
“You lost, Dom,” came the infuriatingly cool reply. “You lost the race to me, and as you always did when we were children, you try to retaliate by clouding the issue. Well, let me tell you what you can do with your bloody palfrey!”
“Skye!” Anne O’Malley’s voice was sharp with warning.
The girl looked to her stepmother, then laughed. “Oh, all right, Annie,” she acquiesed prettily, “I will try to behave myself. But, Dom O’Flaherty… hear me well. Finn is my horse. I have raised him from a colt, and I love him. If we’re to be happily married, you must accept that, for I have no intention of exchanging him for a rocking horse just to soothe your male pride.”
And while her bridegroom fumed, Skye signaled to a servant to bring some wine. As if in afterthought, she ordered some for Dom as well. Flinging himself into a chair, he glowered at her, but all the while his eyes roamed her body and he thought how beautiful she was in her dark-green silk riding habit. The skirt was divided, and the neckline open, plunging into the valley of her young breasts. Tiny beads of moisture had gathered on her chest and the sight excited him. He realized that he longed to possess this lovely young woman.
At fifteen Skye O’Malley was well on the way to fulfilling the promise of unequaled beauty that she had shown at birth. She stood every bit as tall as her betrothed. Like him, she was beautifully proportioned, with a slim waist that moved into softly rounded hips. Her breasts were small but full. She had a heart-shaped face. Her eyes were still the color of the seas off the Kerry coast, sometimes pure blue, sometimes dark, sometimes azure with a faint hint of green. They were fringed in thick ebony lashes that brushed tender pink cheeks. Her nose was slim, turning up just slightly at the tip. And if you looked carefully you could see a few soft, golden freckles across the bridge of her nose. The red mouth was surprisingly se- ductive with a full lower lip, and when she laughed she revealed small, perfect white teeth. Her skin was the color of cream and seemed even fairer by the contrasting mass of blue-black hair that tumbled about her shoulders.
She excited Dom very much, although he, it seemed, did not interest her. She far preferred galloping that great black stallion of hers at breakneck speed about the countryside, or sailing off with her father on some piratical adventure. The realization was quite a shock to his pride.
Dom O’Flaherty was not used to indifference from the fair sex. Women ordinarily made fools of themselves over him, and he was very proud of his sexual prowess.
Dom tried to console himself with the thought that once he bedded her she would soon be tamed. Hot-tempered virgins usually turned out to be passionate lovers. He licked his thin lips in anticipation, and quaffed his. goblet of wine. He was not aware that his betrothed was eying him with disgust. Dom O’Flaherty would run to fat in his middle years, Skye decided.
Again from the entry below came the noises of arrival. Anne O’Malley rose to her feet with a smile. “Your father is back,” she said, “and it sounds like he brings guests.”
Two large wolfhounds, several setters, and a large terrier all bounded into the hall. One of the wolfhounds trotted up to Anne and dropped two small velvet bags at her feet. Bending, Lady O’Malley picked up the bags and, loosening the strings, poured the contents of one bag into her cupped hand. She stared at the sapphire- and-diamond necklace that nestled in her palm. “Holy Mary!” she gasped.