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call it off, that the wedding of Skye and Dom would be a terrible mistake. But the herbs and exhaustion had taken effect. Anne struggled to speak, but could not. Her eyes slowly closed and she couldn’t open them again. Anne O’Malley had fallen into a deep, drug-induced sleep.

CHAPTER 2
    D UBHDARA O’M ALLEY STOOD LOOKING DOWN AT HIS SLEEPING daughter. It shocked even him to realize how beautiful Skye really was, and he wished he had the name and the fortune to assure her a nobler husband than young O’Flaherty.
    He bore no love for the English, but he knew that their royal court was at this moment the center of the earth, and he thought how Skye would shine there.
    Still, he hadn’t done badly by her. Her husband would be the next chief of the Ballyhennessey O’Flahertys, and Skye would be mother to the chief after Dom. He had her safely settled. He’d miss her, though. Well, he chuckled to himself, why not admit he had a special place in his heart for the lass? She was pure O’Malley. Himself in female form, and like none of his other children.
    For a few minutes more he watched her in silent wonder, and then he gently shook her by the shoulder. “Wake up, Skye! Wake up, lassie.”
    She resisted, having no desire to be yanked from the dream in which she and Niall were kissing. He persisted, however, and finally she opened her eyes a bit. “Da? What’s the matter?”
    “Annie’s been delivered of a fine, healthy son, poppet. But she’s fair worn with the effort. Still, she doesn’t want your marriage postponed. The wedding feast will go on as scheduled, but you and Dom are to be married in an hour in the family chapel. Get up, Skye lass! This is your wedding day!”
    She was instantly awake. “No, Da! No! Anne promised—”
    “It’s all right, love,” he interrupted. “It’s all right with Anne. She’s sorry to miss the festivities, but she knows that, with a castle full of guests, we couldn’t postpone it.”
    Skye sat up, her long dark hair tumbling about her white shoulders. Her eyes were enormous and deep blue in her heart-shaped face. He shifted his eyes uncomfortably from the perfection of her small breasts, visible through the thin lawn of her shift. “Da! Listento me, please! I do not want to marry Dom O’Flaherty! Oh, why won’t you listen to me?!”
    Dubhdara O’Malley sat down on the edge of his favorite child’s bed. “Now, poppet, we’ve been over this before. Of course you’re going to marry Dom. He’s a fine young man, and it’s a good match for you. These bridal nerves are natural, but you must not give way.”
    Why didn’t he understand? “No, please, Da! No! I hate Dom! I cannot … I will not marry him!” There was an hysterical edge to her voice.
    “Skye!” His voice had become stern. “Enough, now! I have postponed this wedding for two years in hopes you would outgrow your willfulness, but no more, poppet! You’ve no reason to cry off, no religious calling, only silly maiden fears that will have vanished by this time tomorrow.” He stood up. “Make yourself beautiful for Dom, poppet.” And he left her.
    Skye began to weep, a combination of frustration, anger, and fear. Great, gulping sobs of anguish poured hot and salty from her eyes until they were almost swollen shut. Molly, finding her young mistress in this shocking state, turned about and sought the lady Eibhlin. The young nun came instantly and, taking her younger sister into her loving arms, tried to soothe her. When the sobs had finally abated, Eibhlin laid her sister back on her pillows and mixed some herbs in a goblet of wine that she made Skye drink. The medication would soothe her. Eibhlin had seen cases of bridal nerves before.
    Next the nun took soft pads of linen soaked in rose water, and lay them on Skye’s closed eyes.
    “It will take the swelling down,” she told Molly. “We’ll let her rest for half an hour, then dress her for the wedding.”
    Very soon thereafter, Skye O’Malley stood