“No!”
“Be reasonable, Lord Burke. Captain MacGuire tells me the lady was a widow. Without the protection of virginity-for purity brings a very high price among the infidels-she was probably raped by at least the captain and officers of the ship that kidnapped her. If she survived that and was beautiful, then rest assured that she was sold into slavery. If she is still alive, she now graces some pasha’s bed. It is not possible mat you could want a woman like that back, even if she could be found. Under these circumstances, the holy Church would not hold you to your betrothal. The lady is as lost to you as if she were dead, and in all likelihood she is dead.”
“Get out!”
The Conde bowed from the waist. “Your grief is understandable, Lord Burke. I shall leave you to it. You will soon see the wisdom of my words. Come, Constanza!” And he swept from the room, his daughter meekly behind him.
Niall Burke watched the door close behind the Conde and his daughter. For a moment the silence hung heavy in the room, then he said grimly, “All right MacGuire, talk! I’m no child to be whee- dled, and if I’ve lived this long, you can bloody well be sure I’m going to survive. Where is the O’Malley fleet, and what’s this non- sense about Skye being lost forever, and how the hell long have I been here anyway? Speak up, man, or I’ll tear the tongue from your head!”
“You’ve been ill six weeks, my lord.”
“Jesu!” swore Niall.
“The fleet went directly to Algiers and we were able to obtain an immediate audience with the Dey. He was most sympathetic and sent to every slave merchant in the city, offering a king’s ransom for the O’Malley’s return, or at least information leading to her return. It was like hollering down a rabbit hole, my lord-not even an echo. The Dey came to the same conclusion the Conde has. She never reached Algiers alive. What other answer is there?” Here his voice broke, and he wiped his eyes with the back of his hand.
In truth, MacGuire was more distressed by something he dared not tell the seriously ill Lord Burke. It seemed that there was one other possibility about the O’Malley’s fate. The Dey had told him that Skye might have reached Algiers alive and then been sold pri- vately. Private sale of captives was strictly illegal because it cheated several people, including the Dey himself, of their shares in the purchase price. But private sales were managed, especially sales of beautiful women. MacGuire reasoned that, if this had happened to Skye, then the Dey would not be able to trace her.
“I don’t want to believe it, my lord, but if Mistress Skye is alive then where is she?”
Niall Burke was stunned. Skye dead? No! Not Skye. Not his vibrant Skye with her Kerry-blue eyes and her proud spirit. No! His shoulders began to shake as the dry sobs took hold and racked him mercilessly. Stumbling from the bed, he lurched across the room, through the French doors and out onto the terrace. All around him everything throbbed with life and they said his Skye was dead! Clutching the cool marble balustrade, he howled his frustration and anger at the unfairness of it all, howled and shouted until his voice was so hoarse that he made no sounds at all.
He felt an arm about him, heard a soft voice making soothing sounds he could not comprehend, allowed himself to be led back inside where he barely reached the bed before he collapsed, uncon- scious. Constanza Cuidadela shook her head as she drew the covers over him. She felt his forehead.
“The fever is back, Captain MacGuire. You must sit with him tonight for my father will not excuse me from my punishment. I will tell you what to do.”
MacGuire nodded. “He’s not an easy man, your father.”
The girl did not reply. She went quietly about her business, caring for the unconscious Niall. Smoothing the pillows first, she next tucked the sheets about her patient and, finally, placed the frosted pitcher on the bedside table.
“You can do very little, Captain, except to keep him as quiet and as comfortable as possible. Ana will bring a basin of scented water shortly, and she’ll come again during the night.” The vespers bells began to toll, and Constanza said, “I must go. When the fever breaks, change his nightshirt and the sheets. Ana will help.” And then she was gone.
MacGuire tended Niall throughout the night. Strangely, Niall was not restless, but lay ominously quiet as the burning fever consumed his big body. Diligently the O’Malley captain cared for his charge, bathing his forehead regularly with the cool, scented water, gently forcing the sweet juice down his throat. During the night, the servant woman, Ana, appeared regularly, bringing fresh water and juice for the sick man. Once she brought a tray for MacGuire with a small cold chicken, bread, fruit, and a carafe of sweet golden wine.
As she silently placed his tray on the long walnut table, MacGuire asked, “How is the lass?”
Ana’s black eyes blazed. “She prays in the chapel for your master, senor,” she said tersely. Then she left.
MacGuire ate hungrily, drank half the carafe, and returned to Niall’s bedside. Toward dawn he dozed in his chair only to be startled awake by a great cry of anguish. Lord Burke sat straight up in the bed, his eyes tightly shut, the tears pouring down his face. He sobbed bitterly, “Skye! Skye! Don’t leave me, beloved! Come back! Come back!”
MacGuire was immobilized for a moment by the terrible anguish. Then he reached out and shook the weeping man gently. “My lord! My lord! It’s only a bad dream.”
Gradually Niall quieted, and finally he lay back. His forehead was cool to the touch. Relieved, MacGuire struggled to change his sleeping friend’s damp nightshirt.
After the first mass of the new day, Constanza appeared to check on her patient. Ana was with her. Constanza praised the worn cap- tain. “You have done well, Captain MacGuire. Go and rest. I will tend to Senor Niall now.”
“But you had no rest either, lass,” protested MacGuire. “You must sleep. He’s out of danger now. A servant can keep watch.” He put a fatherly arm about her to lead her toward the door, and was shocked when she winced. A thin red line began to show through the sleeve of her gown, and the captain’s eyes widened.
“Aye!” snapped Ana. “The Conde beat my sweet Constanza last night.”
“Ana!” The girl was flushed with shame. “He is my father, and it is a father’s duty to chastise an erring child. I challenged his authority. I was wrong.”
“She is a saint, my nina. The Conde enjoys hurting her!”
“Ana! Please! If you are overheard he will send you away, and you are all I have.”
The serving woman compressed her lips tightly, sighed, and nod- ded. MacGuire spoke again. “Has the Conde gone to his duties as the island’s governor?” The women nodded. “Then, Senorita Constanza, I shall strike a bargain with you. I shall keep watch over Lord Burke until the afternoon siesta while you sleep upon the chaise longue. When afternoon comes, I shall go to my own rooms.”
Ana smiled broadly. The captain was muy simpatico to her Constanza.
Therefore, to Ana, he was a good man, a man to be trusted. A few minutes later she left the young girl sleeping comfortably, MacGuire guarding both Constanza and Niall.
In the late afternoon when the long mauve shadows were begin- ning to form and the midday heat to abate, Niall Burke opened his silvery eyes again. He instantly remembered where he was and the circumstances that had brought him here. A great burst of sadness washed through him, and he sighed deeply.