Skye O'Malley: A Love For All Time Part 11

"Will it always be like this, Conn?" she asked him artlessly.

"G.o.d's nightshirt, my love, I hope so!" he answered her fervently. Then he drew the coverlet over them again. "Now go to sleep, sweeting."

"Will we not do it again, my lord?"

Now it was his turn to laugh. "Yer a greedy wench, Aidan," he teasingly scolded her. "I'll need a bit of rest before we love again, sweetheart, and so will ye. We have our whole lives before us. We have forever!"

My love. He had called her "my love"! Of course, she reasoned with herself, he hadn't really meant it. It was simply a term men used she supposed when in an intimate situation. Still, how sweet the words had sounded to her. He seemed pleased with her, with their coupling; and Lord help her she had certainly enjoyed his lovemaking. As sleepy as she now found herself she felt her cheeks grow warm with the memory of her own boldness in encouraging him onward. Yet he had not seemed displeased or shocked by her actions. She would have to ask Skye come morning for her beautiful sister-in-law certainly seemed to be knowledgeable when it came to the amatory arts. Aidan's eyes closed. She felt warm and safe, and eminently satisfied with her lot in life.

PART 2.

LORD BLISS' BRIDE

Chapter 5.

Rogan FitzGerald stood several inches over six feet in height, but he was, in spite of his seventy-eight years, as straight as a young man, lacking the hunch of old age. He was clearheaded, too, despite the great deal he had drunk that night. It was as if he hadn't touched a drop. Comfortably sprawled in the tapestry-chair at the head of the high board he watched the familiar activity about him. The women cl.u.s.tered together gossiping; the men by the fire dicing and drinking; the children scampering about the hall at some game or other.

Outside the tall stone round tower that was his home he could hear the howl of the spring storm that lashed the land this late April night. In the ma.s.sive fireplace the flames leapt and blew wildly as the wind swept down the chimney with a mournful swoosh. He could almost imagine the keening of the banshee in that wind. His time on this earth was fast drawing to a close, and he knew it, but it mattered not a whit to him. There was nothing left, and his Ceara was already gone on before him.

The door to the hall flew open, and two heavily m.u.f.fled men entered the room. Since the hour was late, and the weather outside so terrible, it was considered unusual that anyone would be out in it and abroad. A silence fell upon the hall, and its occupants looked up curiously.

Rogan waved the visitors forward while shouting to the others, "Get out, now, all of ye! Get out! 'Tis still my house, and I'll have some privacy in it, I will!"

No one argued with him for the old man had an evil temper when aroused, and had never been loath to use his fists on relatives or retainers alike. All but the two chosen hurried from the hall while a servant quickly took their sodden capes and quietly exited lest he incur his master's wrath. The old man waved his guests toward the high board.

"Help yerselves to wine, and sit down," he invited.

"Yer looking well, uncle," said the younger of the two men.

"I'll live to see the dawn, Cavan, me boy. Is this the Spaniard?"

"Aye. May I present to ye Seor Miguel de Guaras, uncle."

"Ye may! Welcome to Ireland! Tis a brave man ye are disembarking in weather like this."

"There was no choice, my lord," the Spaniard replied. "The English are very vigilant about the coast, even in this weather. It was necessary that I leave my ship today as I did, or return to Spain and disappoint my master, the king. As my brother, Antonio, has already done that by managing to get himself arrested by the English, I must now uphold the family ' honor." Miguel de Guaras lifted the goblet to his lips, and drank, putting it down with a grimace, a fact noted by his host who smiled grimly.

When the two men had seated themselves Rogan FitzGerald looked directly at the Spaniard, and said, "All right, what does yer King Philip want with me? I'm mystified as to how he even knows about me. I'm no grand lordling, just the master of Ballycoille, a town of no importance at all. What are we to Spain's might?"

"Has it not been said, my lord, that the least shall be first?" Seor de Guaras replied, but when Rogan looked blankly at him he quickly continued, "Ye have a granddaughter, my lord."

"I have several granddaughters, and a few great-granddaughters, too, if I recall correctly."

"This would be yer daughter's child."

"Bevin's la.s.s?" His eyes misted over as he remembered the daughter he hadn't seen since he had sent her to wed the rich English milord, a man his own age, back twenty-five years ago. She had been so very beautiful, his youngest child, and but for the fact he had nothing with which to dower her, and the Englishman had been willing to take her that way, he should have never allowed it. Still in all she had been happy. She had written him each Michaelmas telling him of life with her husband and children until the year she had died. Only one of those children had reached adulthood. A girl. A girl named Aidan!

"I have a granddaughter named Aidan, aye," he said.

"She is an heiress of considerable wealth," said the Spaniard. "Her father died last summer leaving her a ward of the crown, and she was married off this St. Valentine's Day past to Master Conn O'Malley. Do ye know the O'Malleys of Innisfana Island, my lord?"

"By reputation only," was the reply. "They're great mariners, I'm told, as was their father before them."

"They are traitors to Ireland, and the Holy Mother Church," said Seor de Guaras vehemently. "They sail under the protection of the heretic b.a.s.t.a.r.d who rules England, usurping the rightful place of its true queen, Mary of Scotland, who even as we speak languishes in cruel captivity despite the righteous protests of my master, Philip of Spain."

And how does that concern me, and mine?" snapped Rogan. "The la.s.s was raised to he an Englishwoman, and regrettable as I find it, she is her father's daughter as it should be. If I remember correctly her husband is the youngest of Dubhdara O'Malley's children which would mean he had nothing. The girl is a good match for him, and he at least is no pirate. What does all this matter to Spain, Seor de Guaras, and give me no more blather about the Holy Mother Church. It is a game of power yer master King Philip plays for all his piety." Rogan took a deep draft of his goblet, and looked straight at the Spanish agent.

Miguel de Guaras did not flinch under the flinty gaze of the Irishman. Instead he picked up his own goblet, and managed to swallow down some of the disgusting brew within without shuddering. Drawing a breath he said, "For many years the O'Malleys of Innisfana have been a thorn in Spain's side, my lord. Their ships have successfully pillaged Spain's merchant fleet in the New World for the last several years, robbing us of much gold. Their sister, one Lady de Marisco, along with her business partner, Sir Robert Small, has built a trading network that interferes with Spain's business, but worse is of value to Elizabeth Tudor. My master has vowed to bring these pirates to their knees once and for all; to take from the usurper the wealth the O'Malleys supply her with; to sow dissent between England and the O'Malleys; and to totally destroy them. My master, Spain, needs your help to do this, my lord."

"I have no quarrel with the O'Malleys of Innisfana," said Rogan FitzGerald.

"They are rich, my lord, and you are poor. By marrying your granddaughter to the least of them they have siphoned off her wealth for themselves when you might have had it by wedding the girl to your nephew, Cavan.

"Conn O'Malley, or Lord Bliss as he is now known, is an Anglicized Irishman who licks the slipper of the English queen as no true patriot would do."

Rogan FitzGerald's face darkened with outrage as the Spaniard had fully intended.

"Help us, my lord! We intend to make it appear as if Conn O'Malley is involved in a plot against Elizabeth Tudor to bring Mary of Scotland to the English throne. He will, of course, be caught, imprisoned, and eventually executed. His entire family will then come under suspicion of disloyalty as a consequence. The queen is certain to revoke the letters of marque the O'Malley brothers now carry, and England will be robbed of needed revenues. The brothers, hotheads all, will, ot course, then turn on their former masters causing great chaos. Their sister's trading company will be ruined by royal displeasure, and your granddaughter will be a widow ripe for the plucking.

"Cavan will make her an excellent second husband, and once in control of her wealth those monies can be used to fund a successful uprising against the English. You will have Spain's aid in this, my lord, I vow it. We will supply you with weapons, and horses. All ye need do is use your granddaughter's wealth to pay yer soldiers, and that wealth will buy many mercenaries.

"There is already an actual plot afoot, engineered and funded by the French, to free Mary of Scotland, and place her upon England's throne. Think of it, my lord! England will be under siege from the north! The French will land on both their south and east coasts. Ireland will be in revolt to the west! They cannot possibly direct their attentions to it all, and will first seek to defend their homeland which will, of course, be their main concern. It is Ireland's best chance to be free, to finally rid itself of foreign shackles."

Rogan FitzGerald felt the blood hammering in his veins with new vigor. Ireland to be free! Free of the hated English! Was it as simple as the Spaniard said, or was Spain again using Ireland to stir up England? Then, too, there was his granddaughter, Bevin's child. What matter, he quickly decided. He didn't know the girl, and she was an Englishwoman besides. Besides no true patriot, and he considered himself as loyal an Irishman as any, would allow even blood to stand between Ireland and her freedom. She might grieve her O'Malley husband, but one husband was very much alike as another, and he would give her Cavan to a.s.suage her. Her estates in England could be sold to raise further monies, and she and Cavan would come home to a free Ireland. The more he thought on it the better he liked the idea.

Both the Spanish agent, and Cavan FitzGerald watched Rogan curiously, and waited, each wrapped within their own thoughts. The Spaniard considered his brother, a valuable agent for Spain, now rotting in London's Tower because he had been careless, or had he been? Antonio had been in England for seven years before he was caught. Were the English growing more vigilant? More clever? It was up to him to redeem the family's honor, and this plot of King Philip's was very dear to his majesty's heart. The king was an incredible ruler, Miguel de Guaras thought admiringly. He knew things of which most monarchs were not even aware, and little details fascinated him the most. Having been given all the details that could be gathered about their family, the King had conceived this plot against the O'Malleys. And it was he who had given Miguel de Guaras the opportunity to remove the stain from his own family's honor by carrying out this mission.

Cavan FitzGerald cared nothing for Spain's politics. He was far more interested in the prospect of a rich wife, and respectability. Each was equally important to him having been born on the wrong side of the FitzGerald blanket. His father had been Rogan's youngest brother, a priest. His mother had been Father Barra's heartmate, and she had died shortly after his birth. Cavan's father was a good man in his own way. He might have given the infant away to an orphanage, leaving it anonymously by the convent's door, but instead he had acknowledged his paternity, and asked his elder brother's wife to raise the baby. Ceara FitzGeraid, mother of twelve, had agreed for her youngest, Bevin, was ten at the time.

Bevin filled Cavan's earliest memories; a beautiful smiling la.s.s with luxuriant hair, and a gentle manner about her. If her daughter was anything like her he would be quite happy, but it was the girl's wealth that actually meant more to him. All his life he had been forced to meekly accept the taunts and sly innuendos of his cousins. They did not dare to tease him before his uncle, whose favorite he was, but he had taken his share of unkindness. It wasn't until he was grown, and had beaten senseless each of his male cousins that Cavan was grudgingly accepted, but even now he felt a stranger amongst them. He was thirty years old, but since all in Ballycoille knew of his birth, and he had nothing other than a handsome face and his uncle's tenuous favor to recommend him, there had been no match made for him. Now if he played his part right in this

Spanish plot he would have a wife at long last, and although Rogan could

think what he might, the girl's wealth would not go down a rabbit hole

to fund the old man's foolish dreams. It would stay in his hands, and he

would be powerful at last for Cavan FitzGerald knew one certainty.

Money was power.

"Tell me," said Rogan FitzGerald, "tell me how ye intend to entrap my granddaughter's husband. I a.s.sume that Cavan will be involved."

"Aye, my lord," said Miguel de Guaras. "Although your nephew looks nothing like Conn O'Malley he is of the same height and build. It is he who will deal with the English, but he will be masked, and heavily m.u.f.fled so that they will not see his face. All they will know is that they do business with a tall man, with the sound of Ireland in his speech who calls himself Conn O'Malley. You need know nothing else of this business."

"I need to know if my nephew will be safe! He is most dear to me."

"He will be safe," was the reply.

"Ye've given me a new lease on life, Seor de Guaras," said Rogan FitzGerald. "I believed myself close to death, but now I shall live at least long enough to see blessed Ireland free! I shall die happy then!" Reaching out he splashed wine from the decanter upon the table into the three goblets, and picking his up toasted, "Ireland! G.o.d bless her!"

His companions raised their goblets in reply, though neither said a word before they drank down their wine. But Rogan FitzGerald did not notice for his head was filled with an old man's dreams of glory.

Just before dawn the lord and lady of Pearroc Royal exited their home where a tousle-headed, sleepy-eyed stableboy stood holding their mounts. Cupping his hand Conn bent, and boosted his wife into her saddle. When he stood to see her safe her gray eyes met his green ones, and he knew for certain what he had not dared admit to himself these last few weeks. He was in love with her. He wanted to tell her so, but despite her pa.s.sion in their bedchamber, she still held herself somewhat distant from him. To admit his love when she did not feel the same was to play the fool, and he could not do it.

He broke off their gaze, and as she gathered her reins into her hands he mounted his own horse. "Go back to yer bed, lad," he said in a kindly voice to the stableboy. "The sun's not yet up, and when we return we'll stable our own beasts."

Together they walked their animals from the stableyard, and then breaking into a gentle canter headed out across the open fields to the hills beyond. The air was very still and clear; the sky a flat blue-gray that told them nothing of the day to come.

"Yer a madwoman, Lady Bliss," he told her teasingly. "Who else but a madwoman would come out to see the sunrise?"

" 'Tis May madness," she laughed at him. "Ever since I can remember I have arisen on May Day to see the sunrise. When I was a little girl I would come with my parents, and then we brought my sisters. When they were gone Papa and I came every year until he was too ill to ride, and I came alone. 'Tis tradition with me, Conn. My luck! Do ye understand?"

"Aye, sweetheart, I understand. Luck is something the Irish are very superst.i.tious about. Where did this custom come from?"

"My mother brought it with her from Ireland, but other than that I don't know. She used to say ye'd have good luck for a full twelve months if ye but rose to see the sunrise on May Day. This year past has certainly brought me good luck, my lord. Although my father died, I went to court, and fetched me back a fine husband!"

Conn laughed so loudly that not only did the horses' ears lie back, and their mounts dance skittishly; but he startled a game bird off her nest, and she flew fluttering into the dawn sky with an indignant squawk. That set Aidan to laughing, and they both laughed until they were weak with their mirth.

The sky had suddenly begun to glow, a deep rose pink sweeping up from the horizon, and spreading outward across the vast roof of the heavens with thick fingers of color. They hurried their horses in order to arrive at the crest of the hill that Aidan had promised would offer them the best view. Reaching it they could see a wide band of gold, edged in deep purple rolling up behind the pink. Above them the flat sky was now a bright blue, and there was just the faintest hint of a breeze. Drawing their horses to a stop they watched silently as the rich colors poured across the horizon, and then, heralded by a burst of red orange the round ball of the sun arose in a fiery blaze.

How many sunrises had he seen, and yet he had never really seen one, Conn thought. Instinctively he reached out for her hand, and took it in his, squeezing it gently. She squeezed back.

"I knew ye would understand," she said to him softly. "Now we will both have luck this year."

Loosing her hand he swung off his mount, and lifted her down. Then hand in hand they walked quietly to the top of the hill just a little distance, leaving their animals to graze amid the new gra.s.s. Spreading his cloak upon the dewy ground Conn turned back to his wife, and drew her into his arms. Slowly he bent his head, and kissed her deeply and pa.s.sionately. Her arms slipped up around his neck, and she molded herself to him, pressing herself hungrily against him. As if a signal had been given they slipped to their knees, facing one another. With gentle fingers he undid the ties to her cape, and let it fall to the ground. His seeking fingers unb.u.t.toned the little pearl b.u.t.tons that held her white silk shirt together, unlaced her lawn chemise, pushed the fabrics off her shoulders to bare her lovely b.r.e.a.s.t.s. Aidan lay back, and for a long moment Conn simply gazed upon her beautiful body. Then his fingers reached out to lovingly tease her nipples into prominence, and when they thrust boldly toward the dawn sky Conn began to fondle her b.r.e.a.s.t.s with his hands. She murmured and sighed beneath his touch arousing him so unbearably that he loosened his own clothes, and raised up her deep green velvet riding skirt above her silken thighs.

Aidan felt the cool morning air touch her skin, felt his hands removing themselves from her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, and sliding up her legs, her thighs, her hips. She adored the mystical power he seemed to have over her that made her desire him so desperately. He slid between her legs, and she opened her arms to him welcomingly, eager to have him penetrate her as he quickly did. Oh Conn, she thought, I love ye so very much! If only I dared to tell ye. If ye would only love me back!

He groaned as he pushed himself into her tightness, thrusting as deeply as he could go, and finding himself yet unsatisfied. It wasn't enough to simply possess her willing body. He wanted more! He wanted her to love him, and unable to help himself he half-sobbed, half-cried out, "Ahh, Aidan, sweeting! Love me as I love ye, my darling! Love me!"

Lost as she was in her own pa.s.sion Aidan heard him. Or did she? She shuddered with her first release, and then he said again, "I love ye, Aidan. Can ye not love me, too?" She tumbled from her mountain, her gray eyes flying open. "Ye love me? Ye really love me?"

He looked down into her face, and suddenly she could see the truth in his wonderful green eyes. He loved her! He really loved her! The tears slipped unbidden from her eyes, and coursed down her face. His face fell. "Ye don't love me," he said tonelessly.

"Don't love ye?" she gasped. "I have loved ye from the first moment I laid eyes on ye, ye mad Irishman! From the very first day I came to court. Of course I love ye!"

Happiness ran riot in his heart and mind. "Ye love me? Then why didn't ye tell me, Aidan?"

"Because ye didn't love me when we were first married. Because I didn't want to be like all those silly women who made such fools of themselves over ye at court!"

He was astounded by her confession for she had kept her secret well. Never had he even suspected she might love him. Never had it occurred to him that she might harbor the same feelings that he himself nurtured.

Aidan pulled his head down to her and kissed him, whispering against his mouth as she did so, "My lord! Will ye not finish what ye began?"

"Nay, sweeting," he said withdrawing from her. "Not here. I want to take ye home, and into our bedchamber where I may keep ye for the next fortnight, upon yer back, and hot for me." Readjusting his own clothes he pulled her skirts down.

"But I'm already hot for ye, Conn!" she wailed.

With a chuckle Conn drew his wife onto her feet, and lifted her into her saddle. "I am pleased to hear it, madame, but a short ride will make ye even more eager."

"Yer a b.a.s.t.a.r.d, my lord!" she hissed at him, suddenly furious. This was just what she had feared. He was certain of her now, and would take advantage. Yanking her horse about she kicked it into a trot, and headed off down the hill. Reaching the bottom she encouraged her mount to a gallop, outdistancing her husband whom she had caught unawares.

"Aidan! Aidan, dammit, wait!" What the h.e.l.l was the matter with the woman? he thought. Had he not admitted he loved her, was completely within her power? He urged his horse after her as they both raced for home.

The friction of the saddle was driving her mad. She wanted to kill him for doing this to her! She was going to lock herself in their bedchamber, and not come out for a month! Then he might know how she felt, for she knew he would not dare to amuse himself with the maidservants. Gaining the stableyard she rode directly into the stable with her horse, and slipping off its back she led the beast into its stall, and quickly unsaddled it.

"Aidan!" His stallion filled the doorway.

"Go to h.e.l.l!" she spat at him.

"What in G.o.d's name has gotten into ye, woman? I love ye, and ye love me. We're going to go to our own chamber, and make sweet love for the rest of the day, sweeting."

"Ye were making love to me, Conn! Making love to me beneath the dawn sky upon my favorite hill, and then just because I admitted my folly in loving ye ye stop, yank me up, and say we'll go home to make love! I am not one of yer creatures to be used! I am yer wife, Conn, and if ye ever do that to me again, I'll cut yer ears off, I swear it!"