Skye O'Malley by Bertrice Small Read Free Book Online

green onions in vinegar; silver trenchers of bread and crocks of sweet butter. No one went thirsty, for silver pitchers of wine, both red and white, and earthenware pitchers of ale were placed on all the tables and kept filled.
    The last course consisted of shaped jellies in all colors, custards, fruit pies, wheels of sharp cheeses, sweet cherries from France, and oranges from Spain. The chef, hired for the occasion, had done himself splendid credit with a magnificent marzipan confection. Its top decoration depicted a married couple, the bridegroom’s codpiece conspicuously large, the bride with a coy smile upon her face, her eyes fixed on the bulge.
    Toast after toast was drunk. Some were ribald, some thoughtful. Finally Dom O’Flaherty turned to his bride. “Go prepare yourself for me, pet. I am well fed by your father’s gracious bounty. Now I would feast on your sweet flesh.”
    Her cheeks reddened and she shivered. “I must bathe,” she answered. “There was no time this morning.”
    “How long?”
    “An hour.”
    “Half, Skye. I will be denied no longer.”
    She stood, and immediately a shout went up. Gathering her skirts up, Skye fled the hall followed by her sisters and, behind them, a group of laughing young men. If they caught the bride or any of her maids, they would be allowed a kiss as forfeit. With incredibleswiftness the O’Malley sisters gained Skye’s chamber—where the young couple would spend their wedding night—and slammed the door, successfully shutting out the young men.
    Before the fireplace a small steaming tub of water stood ready.
    Skye looked gratefully to her servant. “Bless you, Molly, you anticipated me.”
    “Knew you didn’t have time before,” replied the maid, helping Skye undress. The sisters busied themselves putting Skye’s beautiful gown away and straightening the chamber. Sine took the warming pan and ran it smoothly beneath the bedcovers. “Nothing cools a man’s ardor like cold sheets,” she observed.
    Skye kept her mind on her bath. If she allowed herself to think of what was coming she would go to pieces. She glanced about her bedchamber. Aside from the flowering branches placed there in keeping with the old pagan fertility ritual, it seemed the same. The large black oak bedstead, hung with azure blue velvet, had been freshly made with fine linen sheets redolent of lavender. The tall matching armoire was now empty, of course, her clothing having been packed for transport to her new home. She washed quickly, stepping out of her tub into a warmed towel. Her lovely body was rosy from the heat of the water. Molly quickly dried her and lavishly applied scented powder with a lamb’s wool puff. The sisters sneezed as the excess filled the air.
    “Open the window a bit,” commanded Moire. “And fetch the silk robe, Molly.”
    Skye flushed. “Oh, no, Moire! Not that , for pity’s sake.”
    “Skye!” Moire’s voice was sharp. “It’s an O’Malley family custom, and we have all followed it. Lord, sister, you’re the fairest of us all. There’s nothing for you to be ashamed of, lass.”
    “But for all those leering men to see me naked!”
    “We O’Malleys are proud to show we come to our husbands unblemished. You will follow the custom as we all have.” The silk robe was loosely wrapped around the bride, and then Moire said, “Peigi, unbolt the door. I hear the men coming.”
    Peigi had no sooner stepped back from the door when it burst open and the laughing guests poured into the little room. Dom O’Flaherty had already been partially disrobed by his friends. Dubhdara O’Malley stepped up to his youngest daughter. He was very drunk, but he could yet play his part.
    He held his hand up for silence, and the room quieted. “This is the last of me daughters to be wed. As with all my girls, I am proud to show that she comes unblemished, and free of pock marks, to herbridegroom.” He nodded to Moire and Peigi, who drew the simple robe from Skye and let it