Skye O'Malley by Bertrice Small

skin a faint, healthy blush. Her shining dark hair was smoothly parted in the center, carefully tucked into dainty gold wire cauls, then pinned on either side of her head. Lastly Skye applied to the deep valley between her breasts, to her wrists, to the base of her throat, and to the back and sides of her neck, a rare perfume made especially for her of musk and attar of roses. Let him smell the scent of roses on her! Let him remember, and know she cared not!
    Skye stood up, and Mag hurried to help her mistress into her gown. The tiring woman quickly laced the dress and then stood back to survey her lady. A toothless smile split her weathered face.“Aye, you’ll break his fickle heart, my lady! One look at you in this gown, and he’ll wish he’d stood up to that old devil, his father!”
    “Is Lady Burke so displeasing to the eye then, Mag?” asked Skye with feigned disinterest.
    Mag cackled with laughter, and hugged herself. “Nay, lady, she’s pretty enough. It’s just that you’re so wickedly fair.”
    Skye smiled a little cat’s smile. “Get my jewel case, you old crone!” she ordered affectionately and, when the woman hurried to obey, snatched up the mirror. Holding it away from herself, she studied her reflection. The gown of deep-blue velvet was beautiful, and its low, square neckline revealed her snow-white breasts. The bodice flowed into a full skirt, parting in the center to reveal a Persian blue underskirt of heavy satin, embroidered in gold and silver thread. Her shoes matched her gown, but her stockings were pure silk, and matched the underskirt right down to the embroidery. Skye twirled slightly, and was pleased to see that the stockings would show to great advantage during the dancing.
    Mag held open the jewel case and Skye lifted out a sapphire necklace, the large square stones interspersed with round gold medallions, twelve in all, each representing a sign of the zodiac. At the bottom of the necklace a large pink pearl teardrop hung provocatively between her breasts. There were sapphires in her ears and she wore three rings, a sapphire, an emerald, and a large baroque pearl.
    Dom strode into the room and asked jealously, “Are you dressing to please Niall Burke, Skye?”
    “Rather to please you, my lord,” she said smoothly, “but if my gown displeases you I will change to whatever gives you pleasure.”
    He eyed her carefully. He knew there wouldn’t be a woman at tonight’s banquet to compare with her. She would be the fairest creature in the hall. And she belonged to him! He would be the envy of every man there. Roughly he pulled her into his arms and buried his face in the warm scented cleft between her breasts.
    “Don’t!” Her voice was sharp. Familiarity had removed her fear of him, and now only a veiled contempt remained. “Don’t, Dom. You’ll put me in disarray.” He stepped away from her. “How handsome you look,” she quickly noted. “Your sky-blue velvet goes quite well with my deep blue.”
    “Day and midnight,” he said, offering her his arm.
    She laughed. “Careful, my lord, you verge on the poetical. Your fine Paris education may not have gone for nought after all.”
    The banquet hall of the MacWilliam’s castle was a great room with heavy beamed ceilings and four fireplaces. They blazed now with giant-sized logs. Tall narrow windows gave views of the snow-covered countryside, the plainness of the hills and fields broken at intervals by large stands of black, bare trees. To the west the hills were stained orange-red with the sunset. The room was crowded with elegantly dressed guests. Servants scurried to and fro with trays of wine, amid a low steady hum of voices.
    As they entered the hall the majordomo announced them and Skye felt the eyes of the entire room on them. The story of her wedding night was yet spoken of throughout the district, and now the nobility of Mid-Connaught watched to see the first meeting of the O’Flahertys and the Burkes since that