“It’s indecent!” he shouted at Skye. “It’s indecent and immodest for a maiden to ride astride a beast! My God, Skye! That horse of yours! When we’re married I will see that you’re more suitably mounted upon a palfrey. What ever possessed your father to let you ride mat big, black brute, I’ll never know!”
“You lost, Dom,” came the infuriatingly cool reply. “You lost the race to me, and as you always did when we were children, you try to retaliate by clouding the issue. Well, let me tell you what you can do with your bloody palfrey!”
“Skye!” Anne O’Malley’s voice was sharp with warning.
The girl looked to her stepmother, then laughed. “Oh, all right, Annie,” she acquiesed prettily, “I will try to behave myself. But, Dom O’Flaherty… hear me well. Finn is my horse. I have raised him from a colt, and I love him. If we’re to be happily married, you must accept that, for I have no intention of exchanging him for a rocking horse just to soothe your male pride.”
And while her bridegroom fumed, Skye signaled to a servant to bring some wine. As if in afterthought, she ordered some for Dom as well. Flinging himself into a chair, he glowered at her, but all the while his eyes roamed her body and he thought how beautiful she was in her dark-green silk riding habit. The skirt was divided, and the neckline open, plunging into the valley of her young breasts. Tiny beads of moisture had gathered on her chest and the sight excited him. He realized that he longed to possess this lovely young woman.