This child, however, was a bird of paradise. Her skin was gardenia-fair, her eyes a wonderful blue, like the waters off Kerry, and
she already had a thick headful of black curls like her father’s. “No, said Seamus O’Malley softly to himself, “you are definitely not
convent material, Skye O’Malley!”

He smiled down at the babe. If she fulfilled her promise, her
beauty could be bartered for a powerful match. The Church would
be delighted to accept a less spectacular O’Malley, one whose dowry
could be enriched by sister Skye’s good fortune.

On the following day, Skye O’Malley was baptized in the family
chapel. Her mother, still weak from childbirth, was not present, but
her father and five older sisters were. Moire, aged ten, and the eldest,
became Skye’s godmother. Looking on admiringly were Peigi, nine,
Bride, seven, Eibhlin, four, and Sine, eighteen months.

When Seamus O’Malley poured the holy water on the child’s
head, Skye did not cry out as custom decreed, thus allowing the
Devil to depart her. Instead, to everyone’s shock, she made a sound
very much like a giggle, and for the first time Dubhdara O’Malley
looked at his new daughter with interest.

“So,” he chuckled, his blue eyes narrowing with speculation,
”it’s not afraid of water, is it? Well, she’s a true O’Malley at any
rate. Maybe I’ll not be giving you to the Church after all, Skye
O’Malley. What do you think, brother Seamus?”

The priest smiled back. “I think not, brother. Perhaps one of the
others will be better suited, and even has a true vocation. Time will
tell, Dubh. Time will tell.”

The O’Malley took his new daughter from his brother and cradled
her in the crook of his big arm. With his startingly bright blue eyes,
shoulder-length black hair, and bushy black beard, he very much
resembled a pirate. Indeed, his sea-roving activities bordered on
piracy. However, his fierce appearance did not frighten his new
daughter at all. She gurgled contentedly before closing her eyes and
falling asleep.