Skye O'Malley Read Online Free PDF

“No, sweetheart! Don’t regret, or be afraid of me. God, not that! I could not bear it!”
    “I … I don’t understand,” she whispered. “I don’t understand what is happening to me.”
    “To us, sweetheart! It’s happening to me too, Skye! I barely know you, but I’m in love with you. I have never been in love before, Skye, but I know that I am in love with you.”
    “No!” Tears rolled down her cheeks. “You must not say these things to me, my lord. In a few days’ time I am to wed with Dom O’Flaherty.”
    “But you don’t love him, Skye!”
    “My lord Burke! You know the way of these things. I have been betrothed since the cradle.”
    “I will speak to your father at once, sweetheart. You must not marry young O’Flaherty!”
    She looked at him wonderingly. “Are you not contracted, my lord?”
    “She died before we could be wed. I did not even know her. Come, sweetheart, I would kiss you again.” His mouth swooped down, and Skye gave a small cry of joy as she yielded herself wholly to him.
    It was utter madness, yet he loved her! This great and famous man loved her! And dear God! she loved him. She, the level-headed Skye, had fallen in love at first sight. She could feel his powerful body restraining itself in its desire, and she loved him the more, for if he tried to take her now she would give herself gladly, and he must surely know it.
    Reluctantly he loosed her, his eyes warm and caressing. “Skye, sweet Skye! How you intoxicate me, my love! Come, sweetheart.Let us return before I lose my head.” He took her hand and led her slowly back to the castle.
    Anne O’Malley watched them enter the hall, and silently she despaired. Skye’s cheeks were flushed, her lips softly bruised with recent kisses, her eyes dreamy with anticipation. Anne rose from her chair. She had to talk with her husband! Suddenly a pain tore through her belly, her waters broke, soaking her stockings, shoes, and her petticoats. “The baby!” she cried, doubling over clutching her swollen middle. Instantly she was surrounded by the women. Dubhdara O’Malley shouldered his way through the crowd and, picking up his wife, carried her out of the hall and upstairs to their bedchamber.
    No one could believe that a woman who had borne three children so easily would have such a difficult labor with the fourth, but Anne O’Malley struggled for two days. Eibhlin, trained in midwifery, worked hard. But the child was large, and turned the wrong way.
    Four times the young nun turned the baby to the correct position, and four times the infant reversed itself. Finally, in desperation, Eibhlin turned the baby a fifth time and, finding its small shoulder, gently grasped it and drew the child slowly down the birth canal. After that, Anne was able to finish the job. As Anne had predicted, it was a son. The boy weighed over ten pounds. He would be named Conn.
    Dubhdara O’Malley came to his young wife’s bedside. They had bathed her and put her between clean, lavender-scented sheets. She had been given a nourishing drink of beef broth mixed with red wine and herbs, which would stop the bleeding and help her sleep. She was exhausted.
    The room emptied. O’Malley bent and kissed his wife’s cheek. He looked somewhat older, for he had suffered untold agonies at the possibility of losing this loving woman.
    “No more, Annie! I am happy to settle for five sons, and the bonniest wife in Ireland! I don’t want to lose you, love.”
    She smiled weakly and patted his hand. Then suddenly she remembered her promise. “Skye …” she began weakly.
    For a moment he looked puzzled, then his brow cleared. “Skye? Ah, yes! The wedding is scheduled for tomorrow. You’d not have it called off, eh love? Well, don’t worry, Annie. Skye will be wed tomorrow, never fear. You just rest and get strong, and if you’re awake before tomorrow evening I’ll send the bride and groom in to visit you.”
    She tried to speak, tried to tell him that he must