All the Sweet Tomorrows Page 3

  Daisy needed little urging to pull the trundle from beneath the bed, unbind her soft brown hair, lie down, and fall quickly asleep; but her mistress, for all her exhaustion, lay awake and thinking. While Daisy snored, making gentle little blowing noises, Skye thought back over the last few years, and of how she had met Adam de Marisco, the lord of Lundy Island.

  Skye’s third husband, Geoffrey Southwood, the Earl of Lynmouth, had died in a spring epidemic, along with their younger son. Their older son, Robin, had been put in the custody of the Queen’s favorite, Robert Dudley, the Earl of Leicester. Dudley, however, had used his office to rape Skye, and when she had complained to the Queen, Elizabeth had bluntly told her that if she made Dudley happy, then that was that. Outraged, Skye had decided to wage her own private war on Elizabeth Tudor, to pirate the ships and the cargoes that England needed so badly to enrich its coffers. She had enlisted, for a share of the profits, the pirate lord of Lundy Island. Adam de Marisco had fallen in love with her, but believing that she could never fall in love with him, he had settled for being her friend. She had, for a brief time, been his mistress.

  When, after her marriage to Niall Burke, she had been arrested by Elizabeth Tudor for piracy, it was Adam de Marisco who had come up with the plan to free her from the Tower. She knew, despite his denials, that he still loved her. Perhaps now it was unfair of her to seek him out. Although she frequently wrote to him, it had been well over a year since they had met, and so much had happened during their separation; but he would understand why she came. She did need him so much! She needed to hear his deep, booming voice calling her “little girl”; to feel his lean hardness against her. If only she might love him the way he had always loved her—but no. It was better that she didn’t. She had been widowed four times. She was bad luck to the men who wed her. “I will never marry again,” she said drowsily to herself.

  She had not realized how tired she actually was. Padraic’s birth followed by Niall’s murder; the MacWilliam’s death; her breakneck race across Ireland to the sea. It had all taken its toll. She fell into a deep sleep; her last thoughts were of Eibhlin and whether she had breached the walls of St. Mary’s.

  * * *

  Eibhlin had, and now stood quietly before the Reverend Mother Aidan, born Aigneis O’Brien. The Reverend Mother was a short, plump woman with a plain, expressionless face. “It is very good of you to see me, Reverend Mother,” she said smoothly. She could see that she was not very welcome at St. Mary’s.

  “We could scarcely refuse our lord bishop,” was the icy reply. Reverend Mother Aidan’s smooth white hands, adorned with her plain gold wedding band and the more ornate ring of her office, moved restlessly in her lap.

  “You know why I am here?”

  “I do, but I do not understand it, my sister. Lord Burke’s death was admittedly a terrible tragedy, but your investigation cannot bring him back.” Her hands clutched at each other in an effort to still themselves. Good, Eibhlin thought, she’s nervous. I wonder what it is she hides.

  “The bishop wishes to know why Sister Mary Penitent lured Lord Burke to this convent to murder him, Reverend Mother,” Eibhlin said provocatively.

  “She did not lure him!” came the quick reply. “Dear Heaven, my sister, you make Sister Mary Penitent sound like a loose woman.” Reverend Mother Aidan flushed beet red at the boldness of her own words.

  “Perhaps lure is not a good word, Reverend Mother. Nonetheless she brought him here under false pretenses.” Eibhlin shifted her weight from one foot to the other. She was tired, having traveled all night.

  “That has not been proven!” The denial had a hollow ring.

  “It has. The bishop has in his possession the message that Sister Mary Penitent sent to Lord Burke. In it she declared that she was dying, that she wished to make her peace with him before she returned to God. Reverend Mother, be sensible,” Eibhlin said with far more patience than she was feeling. “Lord Burke had not seen Sister Mary Penitent since the day she left Burke Castle to return here. He wanted their marriage no more than she did. If she was injured by the union then so was he. He held no grudge. Obviously she did, else she would not have killed him. That is not madness. That is revenge.”

  “She is mad, my sister,” came the Reverend Mother’s shaky voice, “and what is worse, she is cursed. I am not sure that this convent is not cursed as well.” The Superior was pale now, and her breath came in shallow pants.

  Ah, Eibhlin thought, here is something new. “Please explain yourself, Reverend Mother. The bishop is most interested. And so am I.”

  “Sit down, sit down, my sister,” the Reverend Mother finally invited Eibhlin, who willingly complied. When both women were settled the convent’s Superior began her story. “From girlhood Sister Mary Penitent was always more devout than the others. Her devotion almost bordered on the hysterical. Still, she was obedient and gentle, a perfect daughter of the Church. When she returned to us after her marriage was annulled we received her joyfully; and although more nervous than she had been in the past, she seemed to readjust quickly to our simple convent life.

  “There was nothing out of the ordinary here until several months ago when Sister Mary Claire came to us. She seemed to single out Sister Mary Penitent from among us, and was with her at every opportunity. Suddenly the poor girl was jumping at every sound, and weeping at the slightest provocation. We tried to learn what was troubling her, but she claimed it was nothing. After Lord Burke’s murder Sister Mary Claire disappeared, and we have not seen or heard of her since. We fear that poor Sister Mary Penitent has … has killed her also, though why we do not know, may God have mercy upon both their souls.” Reverend Mother Aidan sought the comfort of her beads.

  “This Sister Mary Claire, Reverend Mother. Where did she come from? Surely you did not allow a stranger into your house?” Eibhlin’s instincts were already alert.

  “She claimed to have come from our sister house at Ballycarrick, which was destroyed several months ago by the English. We did not know that any of our sisters there had survived, for it was said they barricaded themselves within their church, and that the English put it to torch, killing them all. Sister Mary Claire claimed that she was in the nearby village nursing an old woman when the English came. She said the people hid her until she could reach us. It was not unlikely, my sister. It has happened a hundred times in Ireland this year.”

  Eibhlin’s heartbeat had increased in tempo as the convent’s head spoke. Sister Mary Claire! It couldn’t be! It couldn’t be! Yet it was the sort of foul trick that Dom O’Flaherty’s sister Claire would involve herself in for sweet revenge’s sake. “Tell me, Reverend Mother, what did this Sister Mary Claire look like? Can you describe her to me?”

  “She had blue eyes, a fair complexion, and blond hair,” came the reply.

  “Blond hair, Reverend Mother?” Eibhlin was growing more sure.

  “She said she had not yet taken her final vows, that she had a year to go before that holy day.”

  Claire O’Flaherty! It simply had to be Claire O’Flaherty reaching out once more with her evil hand to strike at Skye and Niall. “Reverend Mother, I must now speak with Sister Mary Penitent. I have no other choice!” Eibhlin said urgently.

  The Mother Superior sighed resignedly and reached for the small silver bell by her hand. To the nun who answered its call, she said, “Please take Sister Eibhlin, the bishop’s representative, to Sister Mary Penitent’s cell.”

  Eibhlin rose and followed the obedient nun from the Reverend Mother’s closet and through the halls of the convent. Her guide finally stopped before a simple cell, and said, “In there, my sister.”

  Eibhlin carefully lifted the dark linen covering that hung across the doorway and moved quietly into the plain tiny room. It was no different than the cells within her own convent; whitewashed walls with no decoration other than a crucifix, and no furniture other than a simple pallet bed set on the floor. Kneeling now before the cross was Darragh O’Neil, deep in prayer. Eibhlin waited
politely for a few moments and then spoke softly.

  “Sister Mary Penitent, I am Sister Eibhlin, the bishop’s representative. I have come to speak with you on the matter of Lord Burke’s death.”

  At first Eibhlin thought that Darragh did not hear her, but then the kneeling woman crossed herself and rose from her prayers. Eibhlin had never seen Darragh O’Neil before. She looked nothing like her aunt, who was the Superior at Eibhlin’s island convent of St. Bride’s. Ethna O’Neil was a beautiful and serene woman, but her niece’s face was pinched and tortured. She was clearly suffering, and putting an arm about her, Eibhlin helped to seat her upon the pallet bed. Joining her there, she looked again upon the woman’s face and knew that Darragh was sane for the moment, but how long she would remain sane she could not tell. She did know that she must act quickly if she was to learn the truth.

  “Sister Mary Penitent,” she repeated softly, “I am Sister Eibhlin, the bishop’s representative.”

  “You’re an O’Malley,” came the dull, despairing reply, “and His Grace the Bishop is another O’Malley. Have you come to wreak your vengeance upon me?”

  Looking at this poor creature so obviously enslaved by her fears, Eibhlin suddenly felt sorry for Darragh O’Neil. “It is not our place to punish you, my sister,” she said. “Only God truly knows what is in your heart and soul; but the bishop must know why you have done this terrible deed. Why did you kill Lord Burke, Sister Mary Penitent? Why did you throw his body into the sea?”

  Darragh O’Neil lifted her eyes to meet those of Eibhlin O’Malley. The pale-blue eyes were filled with pain and guilt and totally lacking hope. “I did not want to kill him,” she said slowly, “but Sister Mary Claire told me that if I did not he would draw me once again into carnal bondage, into his lustful power. I had to kill him! If I had not he would have taken me back! She said it!” Darragh’s voice had now risen to a frightened pitch.

  “But why would you believe such a thing, my sister?” Eibhlin gently inquired. “You had neither seen nor communicated with Lord Burke since the day you left Burke Castle. For most of your marriage you did not cohabit as a man and wife do. Why did you believe the slanders of this strange woman whom you barely knew?”

  “She knew the truth!” Darragh O’Neil declared. “She came from the convent at Ballycarrick. Lord Burke managed those lands for a royal ward, and ’twas known that he was a bold, lustful man unable to keep his hands from any woman who took his fancy. Why, Sister Mary Claire told me that he even raped two novices of her convent! Raped and bewitched them so totally the Mother Superior at Ballycarrick was forced to drive the two poor damned souls from her convent, for Lord Burke had roused their baser instincts so uncontrollably that they did terrible and shameful things to themselves and each other in plain sight of their gentle sisters. It was wicked! As she left the convent, one of the two women shouted that Lord Burke had developed a taste for nuns; that his first wife was a nun; that he had told her he intended reclaiming her and making her his leman! I could not let him do that to me! I could not! Surely you, a woman called to God as I was also called, understand that.”

  Eibhlin was frankly curious as to what else Claire O’Flaherty had told poor Darragh to rouse her enough to commit murder; and so she asked her.

  Darragh’s weak blue eyes grew round, and she lowered her voice. “It was not so much the telling,” she said. “She showed me. Several times she came to my cell in darkest night, and she showed me what Lord Burke had done to those two novices, what he would do to me. She sucked and bit my poor breasts until they were sore, and she put her long fingers inside of me, pushing them back and forth just like he used to put his big weapon within me when I was forced to be his wife. God! How I hated it when he climbed atop me! I couldn’t let him do that to me again! Not again!” She shuddered her revulsion.

  Darragh was trembling now, and Eibhlin, angry as she was, hid her anger for fear of frightening the unfortunate creature any further. “How could you believe her, Sister Mary Penitent?” she asked. “Lord Burke has a beautiful wife, and two fine children. Why would he want other women? In the time in which you lived at Burke Castle did he ever mistreat the servant women or the peasants? He has never been a man to abuse women. What made you believe the woman who called herself Sister Mary Claire?”

  “Lord Burke’s wife is dead,” Darragh said. “Sister Mary Claire told me that Skye O’Malley is dead in childbirth.”

  “My sister is very much alive,” Eibhlin replied.

  Darragh shook her head in the negative. “No,” she said firmly. “Skye O’Malley is dead, and Lord Burke was a wicked and lustful man. I could not let him force me back into carnal bondage. I could not!”

  Darragh O’Neil was quickly sliding away again into her mindless and mad world. “Why did you throw his body into the sea?” Eibhlin asked quickly. “What has happened to Sister Mary Claire? Please tell me.”

  For a brief moment Darragh’s reason returned, pricked by the urgency in Eibhlin’s voice. “We lay his body on the beach for the incoming tide. There was so much blood. So much blood. The sea was lapping at his feet the last time I turned to look at him. He’ll not come back to get me now, that wicked lustful man!”

  “Sister Mary Claire?” persisted Eibhlin.

  “Is she not still here?” was the reply. “We returned from the beach together. She was my friend.” Darragh’s eyes grew vacant again, and she arose from the bed, knelt before the crucifix upon the wall, her rosary clutched tightly in her hands. “I must pray that the Devil will not be too harsh on Lord Burke,” she said in a suddenly prim voice. “It is my duty to pray for him despite his many sins.”

  Eibhlin could see that she had lost the unfortunate woman’s attention. She knew now what she needed to know. The half-mad Darragh O’Neil had been used by the vengeful Claire O’Flaherty to murder Niall Burke. It was a pity that Niall hadn’t killed the woman himself the last time they had locked horns in London. He had had the Queen’s blessing to dispose of her, but instead he had simply driven her from the city and, he had supposed, from his life. It had never occurred to Niall, for he was simply not that kind of man, that Claire would seek to harm him further.

  Claire O’Flaherty! Eibhlin arose from the pallet bed where she had been sitting with Darragh O’Neil, and walked from the tiny cell. Claire O’Flaherty! Skye’s sister-in-law from her first marriage, whose incestuous relationship with her brother, Dom, had driven Skye to leave her husband. Claire O’Flaherty! She was the most evil, the most wicked, the most venal woman Eibhlin had ever known. If the Devil had truly fathered a daughter, then Claire O’Flaherty was that daughter.

  “M’lady!” Daisy shook Skye’s shoulder firmly. “M’lady, you will have to awaken.”

  Slowly Skye opened her marvelous blue-green eyes and, turning over onto her back, gazed up at her servant. “How long have I slept?”

  “Almost a full two days, m’lady, and Captain Kelly says we’ll be at Lundy shortly before sunset. I thought you might want to freshen yourself.”

  Looking down at her travel-stained garments, Skye grimaced. The edges of her doubled-legged skirt and her sturdy woollen hose were filthy. How could her hose be so dirty when she wore boots over them? She shook her head. The boots, she noted, stood cleaned by her bed. She swung her legs over the edge of the bed and stood up. Her silk shirt was stained beneath the arms and her doublet was wrinkled. “Oh, Daisy, I am a disaster,” she said, shaking her head.

  Daisy chuckled. “A bath will fix you right up, m’lady. They loaded an extra keg of water aboard for you in Waterford, and it’s heating in the galley right this minute. Captain Kelly understands your peculiarities. I’ll have a man bring the water in, along with a small tub, m’lady.”

  “Get me something to eat too, Daisy. I’m famished!” Skye’s stomach rumbled in confirmation of this statement.

  While Daisy saw to her meal and her bath, Skye walked outside and around the deck, greeting her men as she went. The breeze was still brisk and fresh an
d clean with the first early days of spring. Straining her eyes, she could just begin to make out the far dark rock that was Lundy Island. In less than two hours she would be there; and he would comfort her as he had so many times before. Skye returned to the master’s cabin of the ship, where a seaman was just exiting after having delivered the small oak tub and the hot water.

  Skye stripped off her grimy garments, handing them to Daisy as she did so. Completely nude, she stepped into the little tub and sat down. “Ahhh,” she breathed, pleased, “that is so good, Daisy. I didn’t feel my aches until just now.” Reaching out, she picked up the small cake of rose-scented soap that Daisy had left on the floor by the tub, and began to lather it between her hands. Daisy moved in behind her mistress, pinning her marvelous dark hair atop her head. Then, taking the soap from Skye, she briskly washed her back and commanded her to stand so she might wash her buttocks and long legs. Quickly she rinsed Skye, commenting, “It’s too chilly in this cabin for you to remain for a soak, m’lady. We can’t have you getting sick now, can we?” The tiring woman reached for the large rough towel upon the bed, and wrapped it about Skye as she stepped from the tub. Swiftly Daisy rubbed her down, bringing a rosy flush of color to Skye’s gardenia skin, and then said, “Get back into that bed, m’lady, until you’re good and warm again. I’ve got nut-brown ale, fresh bread, and some fine cheese for you to feast upon.”

  Skye settled herself and began hungrily to eat Daisy’s simple but filling offerings. “Well, I’m clean, but I’ll have to get back into those filthy clothes of mine, worse luck!”

  Daisy smiled. “I had a feeling that you’d not reach Devon without a stop at Lundy, I did. The cabin boy is brushing the mud from your skirt and your hose, and I’ve a clean shirt for you in my saddlebags, along with some fresh undergarments.”

  Skye flashed her tiring woman and old friend a grateful look. How well the faithful Daisy knew her. When she had finished eating and brushed the crumbs from Captain Kelly’s bed, she arose again and began to dress. The clean silk underthings and cream-colored shirt felt good against her skin. Daisy handed her first the finely knit dark green woollen hose and then her matching double-legged skirt. Amazingly, they were clean now and quite restored to respectability. Daisy helped her lady back into her knee-high boots, while Skye fastened a wide leather belt about her tiny waist. The belt’s buckle was a greenish bronze oval inlaid with black and gold enamel in a Celtic design. Skye sat again upon the bed while Daisy brushed her long black hair out, freeing it of its sleep tangles. Then she pulled it back and twisted it into one long, plump braid, which she fastened with a bit of dark wool.