Skye was frantic with unfulfilled passion. She had never known such love as this. Or had she? Her mind whirled in confusion, but Khalid’s warm body soon overcame that. What difference did it make if she had loved before? Khalid was her husband. He loved her, and she loved him. Why should she torture herself with vague, flickering memories? All that mattered was now.
“Skye! Skye! Come with me, my darling! Now! Now!”
She met his ardor with her own, soaring as he did. Afterward, as she lay sated, she said quietly, “I want a child, Khalid.”
He smiled in the darkness. This was further proof of her love. ”I shall endeavor, my love, to give you everything you want- especially children.”
Suddenly she laughed happily and, propping herself up on an elbow, looked down into his golden eyes. “I love you, and am loved in return,” she said. “Whatever has been before in my life can matter little in the light of this love. If it were important, then surely I should have remembered it all by now. I know who I am. I am Skye, the beloved wife of Khalid el Bey, the great Whoremaster of Algiers.”
Chapter 11
Niall Burke lay weakly back upon the scented linen pillows and, focusing his silvery eyes clearly for the first time in weeks, gazed out at the distant blue mountains. The landscape outside his window was a riot of lush vegetation. Pink and red hibiscus, cloyingly sweet gardenias, spicy roses, and crisp lav- ender were all growing in a wild mass that spread upward from the gardens to the flowering vines that clung to the villa wall. It was all so vibrant.
Now, totally immersed in the sights and smells, the shrieking of the darting parrots, Niall knew he would live. And fervently he wished he were dead.
The carved oak door of his room opened then, admitting a young girl whose big eyes lit up at the sight of him.
“Ah, Senor Niall. At last you are fully awake. I am Constanza Maria Alcudia Cuidadela. My papa is the governor of this island, and you are in his house.” She put a tray on the nearby table.
Feeling like a fool, Niall was forced to ask, “What island is this?”
The girl blushed in pretty pink confusion. “Oh, senor, forgive me! You are on the island of Mallorca.”
“How did I come to be here?”
“You were brought to us from the fleet in which you traveled by a Captain MacGuire. He explained you are a great lord.”
Niall forced back a small smile. “Is MacGuire still here, Senorita Constanza?”
“Si, Senor Niall. Although the rest of your fleet sailed weeks ago, he refused to leave you. He said his mistress would not forgive him if he did. Would you like to see him?”
Niall nodded and the girl pulled the embroidered bellpull by his bed. “Fetch the Irish captain at once, Ana,” she instructed the an- swering servant, then moved to straighten Niall’s pillows. She wore a rose fragrance, which caused a sharp pain to tear through Niall. Constanza poured something from the frosty majollica pitcher into a silver goblet.
“It is the juice of the oranges from our garden,” she said. “Drink it. It will give you strength.” She gracefully handed the goblet to him, then sat and drew a small embroidery frame from a hidden pocket in her gown and began to stitch.
He drank, and was pleasantly surprised by the cool, tart sweetness that slid down his parched throat. He studied the seated girl over the goblet. She was, he decided, about fifteen, and very lovely. She was quite petite, with a tiny waist and generous breasts. Her skin was a pale golden shade, her hair a darker gold, and her eyes were the color of purple pansies.
He let his eyes wander about the room. It was spacious and pleasant with white walls and a red tile floor. On one wall was a large dark wood armoire with intricately carved doors, and a long walnut table stood before the French doors opposite his silk-draped bed. There were two chairs by the table and an embroidered chaise Iongue by the bed.
“Is the juice good, Senor Niall? May I pour you more?”
“Thank you,” he answered politely. Dammit to hell, where was MacGuire? As if in answer to his silent summons, the door flew open to admit the captain and Inis. With a joyous bark, the dog leaped onto the bed and lay down beside Niall, his tail thumping happily.
“So, lad, you’ve decided to remain among the living! Praise be to God!”
“Skye? Where is she?” MacGuire looked most uncomfortable.
Sighing, he admitted, “We don’t know where the O’Malley is, my lord. When the infidels shot you down our first concern was to get you safely aboard. We knew they couldn’t outrun us. But no sooner had we gotten you back to the ship man a damned rain squall hit, and we lost the bastards in a fog bank. We were nearer Mallorca, and so we brought you here. The rest went on to Algiers, but alas, sir, no trace has been found yet of the O’Malley.”
For a moment, all was silence. Then Niall said, fiercely and simply, “I’ll find her! I’ll find her!” And he swung his legs over the edge of the bed trying to rise. Inis whined.
Constanza Alcudia Cuidadela rose swiftly and sped to his side. ”No, No! Senor Niall. You will reopen your wound. It is still not totally healed.” She slipped an arm about his back and gently forced him back to the bed. “Fetch my papa immediately,” she hissed angrily at the stricken captain. “Ana, help me get the senor back into bed.” She fussed about him like a little mother hen, puffing the pillows and smoothing the coverlet, and despite his anxiety he was amused by this little creature whose concern for him was so touching. “For shame, senor!” she scolded. “Ana and I have worked so hard to make you well! Why do you allow your captain to agitate you? If you cannot remain calm then I will not let him in to see you again.”
He realized then that, although he was speaking Spanish with her, he had spoken Gaelic with MacGuire. She hadn’tunderstood. He felt suddenly weak, but wanted her to understand. “My betrothed wife was kidnapped when I was injured,” he said. “MacGuire tells me she has not yet been found.” It was several moments before she spoke.
“You love her very much, Senor Niall?”
“Yes, Senorita Constanza,” he replied gently. “I love her very much.”
“Then I shall make a novena to the Holy Virgin that she is found soon,” the girl said gravely, and Niall thought again how sweet the child was.
MacGuire quickly returned bringing an older gentleman with him. The man was of medium height with a short, dark, tailored beard, dark hair, and the coldest black eyes Niall had ever seen. He was dressed richly but soberly, his short velvet cape edged in a wide band of deep brown fur.
“Lord Burke,” the voice was as cold as the eyes. “I am the Conde
Francisco Cuidadela, and I am happy to see you conscious at last. Captain MacGuire tells me, however, that you are agitated about your betrothed. It is best that you hear the truth now.”
“Papa!” the girl’s voice was pleading. “Senor Niall is not yet strong enough.”
“Silence, Constanza! How dare you presume to advise me? You will come to me after vespers for punishment, and then you are to spend the night in the chapel meditating on filial respect and obe- dience.”
The girl hung her head, beaten. “Yes, Papa,” she whispered.
“Your betrothed wife is lost to you forever, Lord Burke, and the sooner you are able to accept this the better off you will be. Should she be found you could not possibly want her back. If she is alive, she has by now been defiled by the infidel, and no decent Catholic could live with that.”