From the incomparable New York Times bestselling author Bertrice Small comes a heroine as breathtaking as she is legendary. Indomitable and bold in an era of royalty and rogues, Skye O’Malley is a woman who embraces her unbridled sensuality as valiantly as she fights for her children, her lovers, her empire. A woman of justice and honor, she will match wits with and challenge the most dangerous and powerful woman of her time: Queen Elizabeth I. Though Skye is the object of every man’s fantasy, only a handful have had the thrill of tasting her enticing passions–men whose own daring adventures match her exotic forays into a world of lust, longing, and remarkable destiny. Skye’s is a stunning tale that reaches from the emerald hills of Ireland to the lush palaces of Algiers to the helm of a shipping empire, where she will wage her greatest battle for love and vengeance against the crown itself. Praise for Skye O'Malley “Small creates cover-to-cover passion, a keen sense of history, and suspense.” — Publishers Weekly “Small continues to prove herself worthy of the title queen of sensuality!” —Literary Times “Small creates cover-to-cover passion, a keen sense of history, and suspense.” — Publishers Weekly “Small continues to prove herself worthy of the title queen of sensuality!” —Literary Times Bertrice Small  was the  New York Times  bestselling author of more than fifty novels. Among her numerous awards, she was the recipient of the RWA Nora Roberts Lifetime Achievement Award. She lived on the North Fork of the eastern end of Long Island, New York, until her death in 2015. Chapter 1 It was a perfect early summer day in the year 1555. Innisfana Island, its great green cliffs tumbling into the deep and sparkling blue sea, shone clear at the mouth of O’Malley Bay. English weather, the Irish inhabitants of the region called it, and it was nearly the only English thing they approved of. There was a slight breeze, and in the skies above the island the gulls and terns soared and swooped, their eerie skrees the only counterpoint to the breaking surf. Standing tall against the horizon was O’Malley Castle, a typical tower house of dark gray stone. Rising several stories high, it commanded a view of the sea from all its windows. It had a wide moat, and beyond that moat was—of all things—a rose garden, planted by the late Lady O’Malley. After her death, now four years past, the new Lady O’Malley kept the garden up. Now in full bloom, it was a riot of yellows, pinks, reds, and whites, a perfect background for the wedding of the youngest daughter. Inside the tower house, in the main hall, the five older daughters of the O’Malley family sat happily gossiping with their pretty stepmother while they sewed and embroidered the bride’s trousseau. It had been a long time since they had all been together. Now, each had her own home, and they all met only on special occasions. They were as similar now as they had been as children. Medium-tall, they all ran to partridge plump. It was the kind of comfortable figure that kept a man warm on a cold night. Each was fair-skinned with soft peach-colored cheeks, serious gray eyes, and long, straight, light-brown hair. None was beautiful, but none was ugly, either. The eldest, Moire, was twenty-five, and had been married for twelve years. She was mother to nine living children, seven sons. Moire stood high in her father’s favor. Peigi, at twenty-three, had been married ten years and was mother to nine sons. Peigi stood even higher in her father’s favor. Bride, twenty-one, had been married eight years, and had only four children, two of whom were boys. Dubhdara tolerated Bride, and constantly exhorted her to greater productivity. “You’re more like your mother than the others,” he would say ominously. Eibhlin, eighteen, was the only one with a religious calling. She had been such a quiet little thing that they hadn’t even suspected her piety until the boy to whom she was to be wed succumbed to an attack of measles the year Eibhlin was twelve. As O’Malley considered a possible replacement bridegroom for his fourth daughter, Eibhlin begged to be allowed to enter a convent. She genuinely desired that life. Because her uncle Seamus, now bishop of Murrisk, was present for the talk, Dubhdara O’Malley was forced to give his consent. Eibhlin entered her convent at thirteen, and had just recently taken final vows. Sine O’Malley Butler was sixteen, wed three years, and the mother of one boy. She was eight months pregnant but she would not have missed Skye’s wedding. The married sisters were dressed in simply cut, full-skirted silk dresses with bell sleeves and low, scooped necklines. Moire was in a deep, rich blue, Peigi in scarlet, Bride in violet, and Sine in golden yellow. The lacy frill of their chemises peeked elegantly up through the low bodices. Eibhlin struck the only somber note. Her all-covering black linen gown was relieved only by a severe white starched re