Skye O'Malley Read Free

big brass andirons were filled with enormous oak logs, ready to be lit when the evening arrived. Behind the high board, prominently 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’Flahertys 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 youthink 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 choose 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 coloring, 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 unattractive, 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