All the Sweet Tomorrows

Chapter 12

Edmond de Beaumont sighed sympathetically. "Of course Skye may bury her husband in the cathedral, M'sieur Robert. Pauvre belle! How is she?"

Robbie shrugged. "She grieves, but shows it not. Her mien is strange and distant, but I have known her for so long that I know she is in shock over the suddenness of Lord Burke's death."

Edmond nodded. "Will she see me?"

"Of course," Robbie said, "but she did say that you must tell the duc she'll not set foot in this castle."

Edmond nodded. "I understand, but I doubt he will."

"He has a wife?" Robbie prayed the answer would be yes.

"But of course!" Edmond said. "We could not take the chance of the French claiming Beaumont de Jaspre. Three months after Skye left him Nicolas was married to Madelaine di Monaco. Their first child is due within the next few weeks."

"Good!" Robbie said. "She's poised on the edge of insanity, Edmond, and she'd not be able to cope with the young duc spouting a lot of passionate nonsense at her. I'm glad that Nicolas is happy."

Edmond nodded again, but said nothing. It was better that Robert Small not know that Nicolas still hungered for Skye. He had done his duty to the duchy by marrying a young daughter of Monaco's Prince Honore. The Duchesse Madelaine was a lovely child of sixteen with pale-gold hair and soft, brown eyes. Where Skye had been tall and slender, Madelaine was petite and round. The two women were alike only in their sensitivity and intelligence. Edmond had chosen his uncle's bride carefully, seeking someone who would understand Nicolas's disappointment, and be willing to wait for it to ease. He had found the perfect candidate in Madelaine di Monaco, who adored the young duc from the first, but sensing his pain sought to soothe it.

"I hope for your sakes the babe is a boy," Robbie said pleasantly.

"Yes, we all pray for it," Edmond answered. "Still, both Nicolas and Madelaine are young and healthy. They should quickly fill the nursery of the castle."

The door to Edmond's library opened, and a lovely blond girl entered the room. "Petit ami, I heard that we had a visitor."

"Yes, Madelaine. This is an English lord, my friend Robert Small. Robert, may I present to you Madelaine, the Duchesse de Beaumont de Jaspre."

Robbie, his court manners elegant, bowed low over the little duchesse's hand. "Madame," he said. "I am honored."

"Merci, M'sieur Robert. I hope your stay in Beaumont will be a happy one."

"Alas, Madame la Duchesse, my mission is a sad one, but it need not concern one so fair."

"Robert has asked our permission to bury one of his passengers, an Irish nobleman who died aboard his ship. The gentleman's widow asked he be buried here rather than at sea," Edmond explained.

“The poor lady!" Madelaine exclaimed. "Is there something that I might do for her? Something that would give her pleasure even in her grief?"

"Merci, Madame la Duchesse," Robbie said, genuinely touched by the young girl. "Lady Burke needs nothing at the moment but a bit of peace. This incident has been very hard on her, as you can well imagine."

"I will go with Robert now, Madelaine," Edmond said, hopping down from his chair. "Where is Nicolas?"

"It is his day to sit in the Cours des Aides, Edmond. It should soon be over, though. I peeked earlier, and there were not many cases to be heard or judgments to be rendered today."

"Will you ask him to come to me when he is finished, Madelaine?"

She nodded, and then turned her sweet smile on Robbie. "Will you stay and dine with us, M'sieur Robert?"

"Alas, Madame la Duchesse, I cannot. My thanks, however." He made her a polite leg, and the young duchesse nodded toward him before departing the room. "She's lovely," he said to Edmond. "He ought to be damned happy with her!"

"She loves him," was the simple reply.

"Does she know about Skye?"

"Only that there was another woman, and that the woman and Nicolas could not marry," Edmond said. "No one in Beaumont de Jaspre would take it upon themselves to tell her about Duc Fabron's wife, for they would not hurt Madelaine."

"Good! Then with luck she need never know who Skye is."

"Unless Nicolas makes a fool of himself, Robert. He is not entirely over losing Skye."

"Surely he wouldn't risk hurting the lass, especially since she is soon to give him a child?"

"No, no, of course you are right," Edmond said, and prayed that Nicolas would behave sensibly. He walked to the table, stood on his toes to reach a decanter, and poured them each a small goblet of Beaumont rose. Then Edmond handed Robbie his glass, regained his chair, and, lifting his goblet, said, “To better days, mon ami!"

"Aye," Robbie agreed, and together they downed the wine.

As the cool, sweet liquid slid down their throats the door to Edmond de Beaumont's library swung open again, and Nicolas St. Adrian, Duc de Beaumont, strode into the room. "Where is she?" he demanded, his green eyes flashing with impatience.

"Sit down, mon oncle," Edmond warned the duc. "Sit down, and you will be told what you need to know."

Nicolas flung himself into a chair, and with a gesture of frustration ran his hand through his auburn hair. "Please," he said to Robert Small, "where is she? Is she all right?"

"Lady Burke is aboard her ship, which is anchored at quaiside in your harbor, monseigneur," Robbie said. "She has returned to Beaumont de Jaspre to ask that you allow her to bury her late husband, Lord Niall Burke, in a niche in the cathedral. She intends in several years, when the flesh has left his bones, to return those bones to his own home in Ireland. In the meantime she must inter him where she can retrieve him when the time comes. M'sieur Edmond has graciously agreed to allow Lord Burke burial space."

"Ma pauvre doucette," Nicolas said softly. "I must go to her!" He stood up, and was gone from the room before the tiny Edmond could prevent his leaving.

"Nicolas!" the dwarfs voice followed his uncle.

"Don't fret yourself, Edmond," Robbie said, an amused smile creasing his face. "Do you remember Lord de Marisco?"

“The black-haired giant? Indeed I do!" Edmond replied.

"He is with her aboard her ship, and he will not allow Nicolas either to hurt her or to make a fool of himself. It is better this way, my friend. The young duchesse will not be party to any of what transpires between those three, and Nicolas will understand once and for all that Skye is not for him."

Edmond relaxed back into his seat. "You are right, Robert! It is better this way. More wine?"

And together the two sat companionably quaffing the Beaumont rose while Nicolas St. Adrian called for his horse and then hurried from the castle down through his tiny capital to the harbor. It wasn't hard to find her vessel, for the pennant flying from its mast, the gold sea dragon upon a field of sea blue, was as clear a signal as a beacon on a black night. As he stamped up the gangplank he was met by Bran Kelly.

"M'sieur le duc," Bran said, bowing politely. "It is good to see you again."

"And you, Captain Kelly. Your good Daisy is well, I trust."

"Yes, monseigneur."

"Announce me to your mistress, Captain."

"As you will, monseigneur. Please to follow me." Bran led him across the deck to Skye's quarters, knocked at the door, and, entering, said, "Duc Nicolas to see you, m'lady."

"He may enter," came her voice, but Nicolas was already pushing past Bran into the cabin.

"Doucette!⁰

"Monseigneur." Her voice was impersonal, her gaze equally so.

Nicolas St. Adrian felt some of the confidence drain out of him. The pale, beautiful woman garbed in black who stood before him was somewhat forbidding. His remembrance was of a passionate creature whose every movement, every gesture, every word was filled with life and love. The lady before him was, however, quite distant and cool. He recognized the face, and the exquisite form, but as for the rest… "I welcome your return to Beaumont de Jaspre, madame," he said feebly.

For a second her manner softened. 'Thank you, Nicolas. I am so sorry to inflict this pain upon you, but there was nowhere else I might go. You do understand?"

He nodded slowly, and then he said quickly, "I have never stopped loving you, doucette! Never!" and his arms were about her, drawing her close to him.

"I, however, stopped loving you the moment I knew that my beloved Niall was alive!" she said harshly, pushing him away, freeing herself from his unwanted embrace. "For shame, Nicolas! Do you think that because my husband is dead I shall come running to you? What of your bride? What of the child she carries?"

"They mean nothing to me, doucette!" he exclaimed rashly. "You! Only you mean anything to me! I have prayed! Dear God, I have gotten down on my knees and prayed for your return to me! I have not prayed like that since I was a child!"

"You are still a child, Nicolas! A selfish little boy! Do you hear what you are saying? You are saying that you will abandon your wife and your heir for me. Where is your sense of responsibility, Nicolas? Did I teach you nothing?! Your duty is to Beaumont de Jaspre, and then to your people. You also now owe a duty to your wife, and the child that will soon be born. I do not want you. I want no man ever again. All I ask of you is that you allow me to bury my husband here. If you are not of a mind to grant me that request, then tell me now, and I will be on my way."

"Doucette, I implore you," he said, and she felt a certain pity for him.

"Nicolas," Skye said in a sad, yet patient voice, "I implore you. I implore you to give up this fantasy you seem to have about me. I loved you. I will not deny that fact, but now I question the quality of that love. I felt no reluctance in leaving you, Nicolas. I was only sad to go because I disliked hurting you.

"I would have never returned to Beaumont de Jaspre were it not for Niall. Even if I had not found him, Nicolas, I would have gone home to Ireland, or perhaps back to Elizabeth Tudor's court; but I would not have come back to you. Instinctively you must have sensed that, and you did what you should have done. You married and begat an heir." She reached out and touched his face gently. "I left the Gull this afternoon, and walked about the market by the harbor, a hood about my head so I might not be recognized. The talk is all of the little Duchesse Madelaine and her coming child, Nicolas. They say she is a madonna; and that God blessed them greatly when Duc Fabron made you his heir and you took Madelaine di Monaco to wife.

"You have done the right thing, Nicolas. Why can you not see it? Why do you seek to destroy that which has brought you the most happiness? Can you tell me truthfully that you do not love your wife?"

"Of course I love her!" he exclaimed. "One cannot know Madelaine and not love her. She is sweetness itself, but with you it was different. She is honey, but you are fire, doucette! How I crave your warmth!"

Skye allowed herself a little smile. Nicolas would ever be the romantic Frenchman. He was irrepressible. "Fire, mon brave, can destroy you," she said. "Hear me well, Nicolas. When Niall Burke died, I died. Oh, I realize that my mind and my body still function, but believe me when I tell you that I am a dead woman. There is naught left inside me but a wasteland. Go home to your wife, Nicolas, and leave me be."

He stood staring dumbly at her, and Skye would have sworn that there were tears in his forest-green eyes. Then, suddenly, from the comer of the cabin a shadow arose, and Nicolas was stunned to see a giant of a man with raven-black hair and smoky blue eyes come forth. "You have heard Lady Burke, lad. Go now."

Pure unreasoning anger swept over Nicolas, and blindly he drew his sword. "Who is this man?" he shouted at Skye. "He is your lover! I know he is your lover!" He lunged murderously at Adam.

Adam de Marisco stepped easily aside, and with a quick movement disarmed the younger man. "I am Adam de Marisco, the lord of Lundy Island, M'sieur le Duc. My own holding is larger than this tiny bit of land you call a duchy. I have known Skye for many years. I intend to marry Skye when she is over her grief. It is an honest offer which I can make her, but you cannot, monseigneur. Now you may leave this ship under your own power, as Lady Burke has asked, or I shall toss you from the upper deck if you so choose, M'sieur le Duc." He smiled affably down into Nicolas's surprised face.

"Adam!" Skye gently admonished him. Then she turned to Nicolas. "Please go, Nicolas. What was once between us is but a memory."

"Yet a sweet memory, doucette, and one I will remember all of my life." The anger had drained from him as Adam's sensible speech penetrated his brain. Gallantly he took her hand and raised it to his lips to kiss it ardently. "You are welcome in Beaumont de Jaspre as long as you choose to stay, and I shall not disturb your mourning again, Skye. Forgive the impetuosity of my behavior, doucette. I have really tried to be as you advised me to be, and I believed I was succeeding until I learned of your arrival."

Skye gently disengaged her hand from his. "You are strong of will, Nicolas. You will not backslide again. Now go home to your wife. After Niall's funeral, I do not want to see you again."

He nodded and, sending a warning look at Adam, said, "I will know if you are not good to her, Monseigneur de Marisco." Then he turned, and was quickly gone from the cabin.

"If you laugh I shall never forgive you!" Skye snapped at Adam, whose whole face was collapsing with mirth.

"I cannot help but wonder what revenge your little French cock would take on me were I to mistreat you."

"You had no right to tell him that I will marry you," she said with more spirit than he had seen her show in the last few hours.

"But you are going to marry me, Skye. I have no intention of allowing you to be used by anyone ever again."

"Even you, Adam?" she asked cruelly.

"Even me, little girl," he said affably, and Skye found herself totally nonplussed by his attitude.

Niall, Lord Burke, was placed in a wooden coffin, and the coffin put into a marble vault in the chapel of St. Anne in the duchy's cathedral. Père Henri, now Bishop of Beaumont de Jaspre, blessed the tomb and then said a mass over the remains. He had hoped to comfort Skye, and so that he might not be hurt she told him that he had; but the truth was that she felt empty. Niall was dead, and she was haunted by the thought that it had all been for nothing.

She bid Robbie and Bran Kelly a hasty farewell. "I can't go back," she told Robert Small. "Not yet. I am not ready to face either my family or my children or the Queen. Especially not the Queen, and Lord Burghley. God only knows what plan they have for me this time, Robbie, and I am not strong enough to deal with them."

"Where will you be?" he questioned her.

"With Adam. He will make no demands on me, Robbie. He is taking me to visit his mother at Archambault in the Loire Valley."

Robert Small nodded. He had never seen her so low. She would be safe with Adam de Marisco, and for now that was all that mattered. "Shall I tell the Queen if she asks where you are?"

"Can you deny Elizabeth Tudor, Robbie?"

"Yes," he said without hesitation, "I can for you, Skye lass. If asked, I shall say you are in France, but I know not where."

"Thank you, Robbie," she replied, hugging him hard.

Nicolas St. Adrian had insisted on outfitting them for their journey. "You are, whether you remember it or not, the dowager duchesse of this little kingdom of mine," he told her firmly. "I would be remiss in my duties to my late brother if I did not see that you had a coach, outriders, and your own saddle horses."

She thanked him there in the cathedral, where she had been making her good-byes. "You are generous, Nicolas."

"You will also find all your clothes packed and stored in the coach, doucette. Your Daisy would not bring them back with her to England, saying that you would have no use there for 'French feathers,' as she so tardy put it. Those feathers, however, will stand you in good stead now as you travel across France."

"You once more have my thanks," she told him.

He nodded briefly. "Go with God, doucette," he said, lifting her hand to his lips and placing a tender kiss upon it.

“Thank you, Nicolas," she said softly, "and I hope that it is a healthy son your petite duchesse carries." Then Skye turned away from the young duc and, slipping her arm through Adam's, left the cathedral.

At the foot of the steps was a fine, dark blue traveling coach with the coat of arms of Beaumont de Jaspre emblazoned on its sides. Upon the box sat a coachman and his assistant. There were a dozen armed outriders, four of whom would ride before the coach, four behind, and two on either side. There were two mounted grooms, each leading a pedigreed horse. The coachman's assistant was quickly down to open the door of the vehicle and help Skye into it. The interior was as elegant and as luxurious as the exterior, the walls padded in fine, soft, cream-colored leather, the seats done in pale-blue velvet. The windows, which could be raised or lowered, were Venetian glass edged in bright brass. On each side of the coach were delicate crystal vases filled with fragrant arrangements of dried lavender and lemon thyme, and small, carefully mounted crystal lamps, their gold holders fitted with pure beeswax tapers.

"You will find that the back of the seat facing you pulls down, madame," the coachman's assistant said. "Should you need it, there is a lap robe, as well as a basket with fruit, cheese, bread, and wine."

She nodded her thanks, and the assistant withdrew to climb back onto the box while Adam pulled himself up into the coach. The door securely shut, the vehicle rumbled slowly off across the cathedral square, through the narrow streets, and finally onto the north road that led to France and into the Loire Valley. Skye never looked back. She had done what her instinct had told her to do with Niall's body. He had not been lost to the sea, and in this she had cheated Mannanan MacLir. One day Niall Burke would come home to Ireland and be buried in Irish soil next to his father, where he belonged. She could almost feel the old MacWilliam's approval of her deed.

They rode in silence the entire day, and when evening came the coach stopped at a comfortable-looking inn. Despite the elegance of their equipage, only one room could be given them, for the inn was crowded. Adam offered to sleep in the stables with the outriders, but Skye would not hear of it.

"I think that we can share a bed platonically," she said, and he nodded.

"I think you only agree to let me in your room so you will have someone to maid you," he teased her gently. Skye had refused to take a girl from Beaumont to be her servant. She was not so helpless, she had declared, that she could not care for herself the relatively short time of their journey. Once they were at Archambault, Adam's mother would see she had someone to care for her.

They ate a simple country meal of roasted duck, artichokes with olive oil and tarragon vinegar, new bread, a soft cheese, and a bowl of early cherries. The innkeeper served them a smooth, rich Burgundy wine with their meal. Afterward they watched as a troupe of gypsies played and danced in the courtyard for the guests' coins.

When the gypsies had finally disappeared back to their encampment, Adam and Skye climbed the stairs to the inn's second floor where their room was situated. It was a cheerful, airy chamber overlooking the moonlit fields. There was a fireplace in which a small fire burned to ward off the evening's chill, a chair, and a big, comfortable bed with blue and white linen hangings. The bed had been opened by a maid, and beckoned them enticingly. Their coachman had brought Skye a small trunk that he told her contained the things she would need on her journey. 'The Duchesse Madelaine packed them herself for you, madame."

"You know the duchesse?" Skye queried him, curious.

"Ah, yes, madame. My wife is her tiring woman. We came with her from Monaco."

"Your mistress knew that I was the last Duchesse of Beaumont?"

"Yes, madame."

"You will thank her for me when you return to Beaumont de Jaspre. Her kindness is appreciated."

Skye thought about Nicolas's young wife as she opened the tiny trunk and lifted out a simple white silk nightgown. She was far wiser and more mature than Nicolas suspected. Skye smiled. Nicolas, although he didn't know it, was in very good hands, and Beaumont de Jaspre was going to prosper.

"What are you smiling about, little girl?"

She looked up at him. "Nothing, Adam. Just a woman's thoughts. Will you unhook my gown?" She felt his big hands gently undoing the fastenings.

“There," he said when he had finally undone the last of them. Adam hadn't realized the effort it would take on his part not to touch her. Am I a ravening beast, he questioned himself, that I cannot undo her gown for her without wanting to make love to her? Dear God, he loved her so very much! He wanted to take her in his arms and comfort her. He wanted to drive away all the bad times in her life, and make her remember only the good. Slowly he turned away and began to undress himself, pulling from his saddlebags a white silk nightshirt that he rarely wore. Tonight, however, it would be best to have as much as he could put between himself and Skye. When he turned back to her she was seated on the edge of the bed brushing her long black hair with a gold brush. "Would you rather I slept on the floor, little girl?" he asked in what he hoped passed for an impersonal voice. "I could easily wrap myself in the coverlet, and with a pillow for my head I should be quite comfortable."

The floor is damp," she said, looking up at him with a smile. Then her eyes widened, and Skye giggled.

Adam looked puzzled. "What is it?" he asked.

"You're wearing a nightshirt!" she exclaimed, amused.

"You're wearing a nightgown," he countered.

"I've never seen you in a nightshirt," she answered.

"I never felt the need to wear one with you, Skye," he said solemnly.

She thought a moment, and then said, "Oh," in a small voice, and her teeth caught at her bottom lip.

"I’ll sleep on the floor," he said.

"No, Adam, you'll catch your death if you do. Look! The bed is large, and comfortable." She paused a moment, then added, "And if I am not ready, or able to… to… you know what it is I say; we are two grown people who surely can control our passions. I know I am being unfair, Adam, but I need you near me! Do you understand what it is I am saying?"

"Get into bed, Skye. The night has grown chill. You need your sleep, and we have an early start."

Obediently she climbed into the big bed and snuggled down beneath the warm coverlet. Bending, Adam blew out the single candle, and only the low firelight lit the room as he slipped in next to her. For some minutes they lay in silence upon their backs, each stretched out long and stiff, and then Adam quietly reached out and took her hand in his large paw. "You say nothing, and yet I can hear you screaming with your pain, little girl. Tell me now! Tell me what is in your mind and heart. Tell me before it grows so big that there is no controlling it, and you destroy yourself."

"It was all for nothing," she said, the anguish plain in her trembling voice. "It was all for nothing, Adam." She sighed, and a shudder rippled through her slender frame. "Niall is dead. He is as dead now as he was to me two years ago; but two years ago I had learned to live with it. Do you know what I have done, Adam? I have whored. I am no better than those women who inhabit the waterfront brothels in every port. I used my body, and I have been used. I did not think when I agreed to Osman's proposal that it would be so hard, and perhaps if my husband had survived it might not have been; but Niall is dead now, and I cannot reconcile myself to the fact that it has all been for nothing."

"You got him out of Morocco, Skye. He died a free man."

It was as if she did not hear him, or if she did the facts were not enough to soothe her. "Kedar," she said. "God's blood, Adam, how I hate the very sound of his name! He was Osman's nephew, and the man whose slave I was. Look at my ankle, Adam." She stuck her foot out from beneath the coverlet, and in the dim light from the fire he could see something glittering on her ankle. "Do you know what is written on the medallion of the anklet? It says, Muna, Property of Kedar. I have not yet had the time to have a smith remove it. Property of Kedar, Adam, and I was most assuredly that. My very life depended upon his goodwill. He possessed me with a ferocity I have never known, Adam. He took everything I was forced to offer, and much I did not. I spent those months in his possession, terrified that he would devour me both body and soul with his passion, with his terrible need to consume me. He did things to me, Adam, things that I did not imagine a man could do to a woman, and it was never enough! Oh, God! I shall never be free of him! The memories of him will haunt me all my life, and the memories of my beloved Niall will haunt me, too. I see now that it would have been better if I had left him to meet his end in Morocco rather than to betray the vows we made before God when we were wed. Oh, Adam! I am so lost!"

With a low growl of anger Adam climbed from the bed and flung the covers back. Gently he lifted her ankle in one hand while with the other he snapped the gold band from her leg as if it were a ribbon. Striding to the window, he threw back the shutters and flung the offensive anklet as far as he could. Then he closed the shutters again, and calmly climbed back into the bed.

Skye turned and, pressing her head into his shoulder, began to weep. Stunned, Adam wrapped his arms about her and let her cry. Tears, he knew, were a catharsis. There was nothing else he could do, for he could never completely wipe away the terrible memories she would retain of her time with Kedar. Gradually her sobs died, and her breathing evened out and she slept nesded against him. Adam also slept then, only to be awakened by piteous cries as Skye, caught in the middle of a dream, relived some of her Moroccan adventure. He did things to me, Adam, things that I did not imagine a man could do to a woman, she had said. He was both horrified and shamed by what a member of his sex had done to her. Skye was a woman to be cherished and adored. She was a good companion and a brave comrade. She had been made to be loved, and she was the best friend he had ever had. It both pained and angered him that she had suffered so.

It took them eight days to reach Archambault from Beaumont, and during those eight days Adam learned in detail Skye's adventures in Morocco. After that first night he had insisted that she tell him everything, and as more and more of her agony came to the surface, the less violent her nightmares became. As he listened he realized how very much he loved her. This time she was not going to get away from him, and the afternoon they neared his mother and stepfather's château through the exquisitely rolling green countryside of the Loire River Valley he told her so.

"You are going to marry me, Skye."

"I will never marry again, Adam. I have had all I can of belonging to a man. I will be my own mistress until I die. Please try to understand that, my darling."

"I understand that you have had a terrible experience, Skye, but I am determined that you will be my wife. Being married to me will not make you my property. You will always be your own woman; but you will be my wife as well. I love you, little girl. I have for so very long a time. My greatest treasures are my good name and my honor. I would bestow my name upon you."

"How cruel you make me feel to refuse such a magnificent gift, Adam, but no. I must be free! Please try to understand."

He sighed. "You need time, Skye, and I am willing to give you all the time you need."

"You are impossible!" she scolded him.

"I am a man in love," he countered. "You are the first woman I have asked to marry me in twenty-two years, Skye."

"Oh no, Adam de Marisco," she cried, outraged. "You shall not make me feel guilty because the daughter of some obscure count once refused your suit! You know better where I am concerned."

"You will marry me!" he laughed, pulling her into his arms and nuzzling her neck with his lips. "Dammit, little girl, I love the smell of you!"

She pushed half-heartedly against his chest. "I won't!" she said stubbornly. Yet Skye felt lighter of heart than she had in months. Adam de Marisco was so very good for her, and she knew it.

Suddenly he was serious again, and he gently tipped her face up to his, his thumb and forefinger on her chin. His smoky blue eyes seemed to envelope her, and she thought for a startled moment that she might faint, but she didn't. Instead her heart raced madly, and a faint flush touched her skin as he murmured in his deep voice, "I adore you, you sapphire-eyed Celtic witch!" And then his mouth was closing over hers in a tender and melting kiss that left her both breathless and near to tears. "You see," he teased her when he had lifted his lips from hers, "you are yet alive, and still very much a woman, little girl."

She was surprised. When Niall had died she had thought that she could never again stomach a man's touch. Not after Kedar and his excesses. Still, this was Adam, her dearest and most beloved of friends; but deep in her heart Skye knew that was not the whole truth. She had always loved Adam in her fashion, and she strongly suspected that love was now deepening in a far different way. I will not give up my freedom, she thought furiously to herself. I won't!

Adam's mouth was smiling knowingly at her, and she hit him upon the chest with her fist. "I will be my own woman, you ass! I will never again belong to anyone but myself! Stop smiling, Adam! Oh, I hate you when you are smug!"

He began to laugh, and his laughter warmed her, much to her outrage. "In the end, little girl, you will marry me," he said in a voice deep and tender with his love for her. “You may take your time, Skye; whatever time you need to admit to what you know in your own heart. God only knows I have proved a patient man where you are concerned."

"Hah!" she snapped at him. "How many times did you turn me away, Adam de Marisco? Twice, as I recall, and now suddenly it is I who would turn you away, but you will be patient. I swear to you I will not marry again! I will learn to use men as they use women. I wonder how patient you will feel when you see me flirting with another man, Adam."

He grinned infuriatingly at her. "Get it out of your system, little girl, and when you are ready to be sensible again I will be waiting patiently for you, as I always have."

"Ohhh!" God's bones, he was making her so angry. He was treating her as if she were a child instead of a woman of thirty-one who had just come through a terrible experience. Skye drew in a deep breath to scold him further, but he forestalled her, saying:

"Look, there is Archambault!"

Unable to resist, Skye looked through the coach window. There on a gentle hill that rose above the River Cher, she saw a charming small château with its steep red-tiled roof, its four rounded corner towers, and very French dormer windows. Below it along the river were the vineyards of Archambault, and behind them a generous estate of fields and woodlands. It was a perfect summer's day with a cloudless, deep-blue sky and bright golden sun. The river ran cheerfully by the green vines and ripening fields of maize and wheat. The forest was in full leaf. There were cattle grazing in the fields, and sheep, too. It was altogether the most peaceful scene Skye had ever seen. She had not believed that there was any place on this earth that peaceful.

The coach rumbled onward up the hill to the château, drawing to a stop before a tier of steps crowned with carved and gilded double doors of weathered oak. As the vehicle stopped, the doors to the château were swung open by a liveried servant, and several footmen came running down the steps followed by a rather beautiful woman in a taffeta gown the color of purple primroses, its low-necked bodice embroidered in silver and crystal beads. The woman's hair was coiffed as Skye wore hers, parted in the middle, drawn back and gathered into an elegant chignon. There were pearls in her hair.

"Adam!"

"Maman!" He sprang from the coach, and caught her up in a bear hug of an embrace, squeezing her until she shrieked, and kissing her soundly upon both cheeks.

"Put me down, you great oaf!" she scolded him laughingly. "You are destroying my coiffure, and what will your lovely Skye think of me if you do!"

"She will think what I think. She will think you are the most beautiful, the most marvelous mother in the whole world!" He set her gently on her feet.

Gabrielle de Saville's glance softened with the fondness a mother harbors for her firstborn, then quickly she demanded, "Well, where is she, my son? Where is this paragon you have written me about?"

Skye felt her cheeks coloring as she heard Adam's mother's words. As she stepped down from the coach, her small hand in Adam's big one, she had no idea of how lovely she looked. She was wearing a simple light silk traveling dress of leaf green with a soft scooped neck and comfortable hanging sleeves, which were cool for coach travel. She had only a simple strand of pearls about her neck and matching earbobs in her ears. She looked fresh and very beautiful.

"Maman, may I present to you Skye, Lady Burke, better known as Skye O'Malley. Skye, my mother, the Comtesse de Cher."

"You will call me Gaby, my dear," Adam's mother said graciously, "and I shall call you Skye. You are every bit as fair as Adam has written. Welcome to Archambault! I hope you will stay with us for a long visit."

Skye blinked back her sudden tears. "Madame… Gaby… your welcome is most kind. I am so grateful for your hospitality."

Gaby de Saville put a motherly arm about Skye. "There, my dear, you are safe now. Here at Archambault nothing will hurt you. Adam has written to me a little bit about your bravery and how you sought to rescue your poor husband from Morocco. I am so sorry about his death."

Skye bowed her head.

"Come," said the comtesse, "we must not stand here. The family is gathered inside waiting to meet you."

As they walked up the steps and into the château Skye looked admiringly at Adam's mother. She had borne her eldest son when she was fifteen. She was now fifty-seven, yet her thick, dark blond hair was still full of warm golden lights, and her eyes, the same smoky blue as her son's, were bright and knowing. She was nearly as tall as Skye herself, and she was as slender as a girl, with fine, full breasts. Adam, Skye decided, did not look like his mother except for the color of his eyes and his nose, for Gaby de Saville had given her son her aristocratic, elegant French nose. The comtesse's face was that of a little cat, though, with a pointed chin, and a provocative rosebud of a mouth. As they followed her into a lovely salon with long windows looking out onto a colorful garden of brightly colored flowers Skye thought that she was going to have a friend in this charming Frenchwoman.

The salon was filled with chattering people who all stopped in mid-sentence and stared as they entered the room. In the moment of heavy silence that followed a scholarly looking man detached himself from the group and hurried forward to place an arm about the comtesse.

"Skye, my dear, this is my husband, Antoine de Saville, Comte de Cher."

"M'sieur le Comte, you are so kind to offer me your hospitality," Skye said, holding out her hand to be kissed. She liked the look of this balding, somewhat paunchy man whose brown eyes twinkled appreciatively at her.

"Madame, how could I refuse such beauty," the comte said, kissing Skye's hand fervently.

His greeting seemed a signal for the room to erupt. "Adam!" three of the women shrieked, flinging themselves at him. With a delighted roar Adam de Marisco managed to envelope them all in a crushing embrace.

"Mes enfants! Mes enfant*!" Gaby cried. "You must wait to greet your brother until after I have introduced our guest.

"Pardon, maman," the three said with one voice as they stepped away from Adam.

"Skye, my dear, these three ill-mannered creatures are my daughters. This is Isabeau, and Clarice, and Musette."

The three women curtseyed, as did Skye in return. She knew that Isabeau Rochouart, and Clarice St. Justine were Adam's full sisters, children, like him, of Gaby's first marriage to John de Marisco. The two sisters looked like their mother, but their hair was dark, as was their brother's. Musette de Saville Sancerre was Adam's half-sister, and she, a miniature of her mother, was just twenty-five, the youngest of Gaby's children.

Now the others came forward to be introduced. Alexandre de Saville, the oldest child of the comtesse's second marriage, a widower with three young children. Yves de Saville and his wife, Marie-Jeanne, with their children. Robert Sancerre, Musette's husband, and their three children. Then there was Isabeau's husband, Louis, and their daughter, Matilde, who was sixteen. The last to be introduced was Henri St. Justine. He and Clarice were the parents of four children ranging in age from nineteen to eleven, and they had all come to see their Uncle Adam.

Skye was both delighted and astounded by the size of Adam de Marisco's family. This was certainly a side of him that she had never known or even suspected existed. For her, he had always been the rather lonely island lord whose mother had remarried and lived in France. He had mentioned his sisters, Isabeau and Clarice, in passing, but she had never realized that his mother had had a second family, and that Adam was so obviously beloved by them all, even his two younger half-brothers. She stood now almost shyly as they clustered about him, kissing and hugging him, and chattering all their news.

Then she felt a hand on her arm, and she was led off to a comfortable settle. 'They will all talk at him for the next ten minutes until they realize he is really here, and intends to stay for a time," said the Comte Antoine de Saville, smiling at her.

"I did not realize that his family was so large," Skye said.

"He does not talk about them?"

"No," she answered slowly, "but now I suspect he kept this knowledge to himself lest he grow lonely for you while living by himself on Lundy. He would not neglect his small holding."

"Perhaps now," the comte said, "that will change, madame."

"Of course it will, darling," Gaby said, seating herself next to them. "Adam tells me that he plans to wed with our lovely Skye."

"No!" The word burst harshly forth from between her lips as Skye reddened with embarrassment.

"Oh dear," Gaby murmured, looking equally chagrined.

"You don't understand, Gaby," Skye said in an effort to explain. "I love Adam, but I will not marry again. Each of my husbands has suffered death. I am a jinx! Besides, I want to be my own woman now, not someone's possession. Has Adam told you that I spent close to a year in the harem of a wealthy Moroccan in my effort to rescue my husband? For the Arabs a woman is a possession like a sword, or a hawk, or a garment; and I was treated exactly like that. I have had all I can take of that sort of treatment at a man's hands, and I have been most frank with Adam about it. Still he persists!"

"You say you love him, my dear," Gaby said.

"I do! It is a strange love, for it has grown during the time I have been happily married to others, yet love Adam I do. I want his happiness, Gaby, but I am not that happiness. He must understand that!"

"Of course, my dear, of course," Adam's mother soothed. "Men can be so obstinate when it comes to women. They simply do not understand us." She smiled at Skye, thinking what a lovely daughter-in-law she would be. The Irishwoman was everything Adam had written of her. She was beautiful, intelligent, and warm. That she did not know her own mind right now was most apparent to Gaby de Saville. When the shock of her experiences in Morocco and the death of her husband had worn off, then she would see clearly that Adam de Marisco was the only man for her. "We are going up to Paris in a few weeks," she said brightly to Skye. "King Henri of Navarre is marrying with our own Princesse Marguérite de Valois on the eighteenth of August. You will naturally come with us."

"I should love it!" Skye exclaimed. "I have never been to Paris."

"Then that is settled," Gaby replied. She stood up. "Come, my dear, I will show you to your apartments now. You must be exhausted after eight days on the road."

“I am," Skye admitted. "We passed through some lovely cities- Avignon, Lyons, Nevers, Bourges-but we didn't stop. Adam very much wanted to get to Archambault to see you all."

Gaby de Saville led her guest from the salon, where Adam was still surrounded by his family. Catching Skye's eye as she passed him, he grinned and shrugged helplessly, and she was forced to smile back at him. He blew her a kiss with his fingertips. "He is a good son," the comtesse was saying as they moved up the main staircase of the château to the bedroom floors. "You have no idea how hurt and ashamed he was when that wretched Athenais Boussac spurned him, and then, not satisfied with merely refusing my son, made his bad luck a public thing. He has, of course, told you of her?"

"I have heard the story," Skye replied. "He never mentioned her name to me."

"How like my Adam! A gentleman even in regard to that one!"

"She was a fool, Gaby! The fact that he cannot sire a child has had nothing to do with his abilities as a man." Skye stopped a moment as they reached the carved door of what was to be her apartment while at Archambault. "You know that we have been lovers, Adam and I."

"But of course, my dear!" the comtesse laughed.

"It does not shock you?"

"You are both free of any spouses, and of an age, my dear Skye, if you will forgive my mentioning it, that should allow you both to choose your own course in life. You and my son are good for each other, and despite what you say, I suspect that one day I shall welcome you as my belle-fille. No!" Gaby put two fingers on Skye's lips to stifle her protest. "Do not argue with me, my dear. Leave me some hope!"

Skye had to laugh. Gaby's attitude was so very much like Adam's. "Now," she said, "I know where Adam gets his stubbornness."

Gaby chuckled back as she opened the door to the chamber and ushered Skye into the small salon. "His father was equally pigheaded," she said. "Oh, the fights John and I used to have! They fairly made the old walls of Lundy Castle ring. He's been dead over thirty years now, my dear, and I still miss him! Without my dearest and kindly Antoine I don't know what I would have done."

"Then Lundy was still whole when Adam was young?" Skye looked about the little salon. It was a most charming room with its linenfold paneling and a wall of diamond-paned windows that overlooked the river and the fields. There was a small fireplace flanked by stone greyhounds with a fire already laid and ready to light.

"Yes," the comtesse replied. "John de Marisco unfortunately got into an argument with Henry Tudor over the favors of a rather amply charmed lady of the court. She was more than willing to take on both King and courtier. The King, however, was not of a mind to share even a temporary mistress. In a temper King Harry sent one of his ships out of Bideford, and they blew the castle almost to bits. Both my husband and the lady in question happened to be in residence at the time. They were killed."

"How terrible for you!" Skye sympathized.

“The loss of the castle, or the loss of my husband?" was the reply.

"Both," Skye said.

Gaby de Saville laughed. "Yes," she answered, "it was terrible. John occasionally strayed, and I knew it, but then I am a Frenchwoman, and we are taught to ignore such things. Still, this particular piece of foolishness cost my children their home, and Adam his full birthright. The King was furious, and could not bear the sight of us, having transferred his anger to all the de Mariscos now that John was dead. When Adam, then but eleven, accused the King of murdering his father, our fate in England was sealed. We were banned from court, and having no other place to go, I brought my children home to France. We were welcomed at King François's court, as my father had been one of his most trusted advisors in his younger days. The King gave us a small pension, took Adam on as a page for Queen Eleanor, and the next thing I knew he arranged a marriage for me with my dear Antoine." She smiled. "Sometimes things work out for the best, even when it doesn't seem they will."

"Sometimes," Skye agreed, "and then again sometimes not."

The comtesse, ignoring the last part of Skye's remark, said pleasantly, "I hope you will be comfortable here, my dear. Your bedchamber is to the right, and Adam's to the left. I see that you have not traveled with a servant, and so I shall choose a competent woman for you, if I may."

"Please, Gaby, do. I did not take my Daisy to Morocco with me, as the dangers involved were far too great. She is now back in England, and I did not like to bring a girl from Beaumont de Jaspre only to have to send her back." A mischievous smile turned up the corners of her lovely mouth. "Adam has been a most helpful maid to me these last few days."

Gaby laughed. "A role in which I do not see my son as successful, but I shall take your word for it, Skye. Is there anything I might get you now?"

"Oh, if I might only have a bath! It was impossible along the road, and my hair and the very pores of my skin are filled with dust."

The comtesse nodded with understanding. "I shall see to it immediately, my dear. Now, I shall leave you to yourself. A servant will attend you presently." Then with a quick smile Gaby turned and was gone, closing the door behind her.

Skye looked more closely at the salon. The wide floorboards of the room were clean and polished, and the windows were hung with natural-colored linen drapes with a rose and green design. On one wall was a long dark oak table flanked by chairs on either side, and on either side of the fireplace were tall wooden chairs, their high backs and seat cushions embroidered in rose and cream tapestry. Before the fireplace was a fine oak settle with a dark green tapestried seat cushion. Built-in bookcases filled with leather-bound volumes lined another wall of the salon. Skye smiled to herself. She was not of a mind to read right now, but she would eventually see what reading matter the de Savilles had furnished this guest apartment with.

There was a door on the bookcase wall, and opening it, Skye peered into a tiny, windowless chamber furnished with a narrow cot and a small trunk. This would be a servant's room. Walking to the end of the room, she opened the door to what Gaby had said would be Adam's room. It was a medium-sized chamber with a small fireplace, a bed, and a small candlestand. Next to the fireplace was another door, and Skye walked through it to find herself in her own bedchamber. This room was furnished with a much larger bed, two candlestands, and a comfortable chair by its fireplace. It had two other doors, one leading back into the salon, and one opening into a fair-sized garderobe. Skye looked with pleasure at the bedchamber's dusky rose velvet drapes and bed hangings. High-breasted stone maidens flanked the small fireplace, and upon the mantel was centered a little bowl of pink roses that perfumed the room. The windows looked out over the gardens with woodlands beyond. There was a warmth about the room that appealed to Skye, and she knew that she was going to be happy here.

"Bonjour!" The voice came from the salon, and Skye hurried back into the main room of the apartment to confront a tiny, black-eyed woman of middle years dressed neady in the clothing of an upper servant.

"Good day," she said.

"Bonjour, madame. I am Mignon," the woman smiled. "Madame la Comtesse has sent me to take care of you." She turned quickly as she heard the door opening behind her. "Ahh! The footmen with your bath, madame. Into the bedchamber, mes amis! Vite! Vite!" She hurried ahead of them, leaving Skye standing rather amused.

The footmen who struggled with the bulky oak tub were followed by a brisk procession of their fellows, each lugging two buckets of steaming water until, finally, the tub was filled. Mignon stood in the bedchamber door, and said, "Come, madame. I am ready to begin." Skye nodded, and walked into her bedchamber. Mignon had flung the windows wide, and the soft warm summer air was easily dispelling the dampness of the room and mingling the fragrance of the cut roses in the bowl with the many flowers blooming in the gardens below.

Mignon quickly undressed her new mistress, saying as she did so, "I have prepared a basin of warm water, madame, and I will first wash your hair. Mon Dieu! Never have I seen so much dust! Did you roll in it, like a naughty puppy?"

Skye laughed. "I might as well have," she said ruefully. "It was eight days of travel, and no rain to hold the dust down on the roads."

"We do not need the rains now," Mignon replied. "The more sun, the sweeter the grapes, the better the wines this harvest." Gently she pushed Skye over so that her long dark hair was in the porcelain basin. Then with quick, deft movements she began washing Skye's hair.

Skye sniffed disbelievingly. "Damask roses!" she exclaimed.

"Mais oui" came the calm reply. "Is it not your scent?"

"Yes, but how did you know?"

"Madame la Comtesse told me." Mignon rinsed, and began a second washing.

How much had Adam told his mother about her? Skye wondered. Obviously he had written quite a bit to Gaby. Skye was touched. He really did love her, she thought, and realized that when he had turned her away saying that she needed a greater, more powerful husband than he could be, he had done so because of that love. Khalid, Geoffrey, Niall-all had loved her deeply; but had they loved her as much as Adam de Marisco obviously did? Comparison was unfair in this instance, Skye knew, yet she was touched by his devotion to her, and sad that she could not accept his proposal. Adam deserved to be happy, but could she bring herself to marry again? Not now. Perhaps, and the thought slipped into her mind unbidden, much to her annoyance, perhaps later. He had said he would wait, but would he? Suddenly Adam de Marisco was of a mind to marry, and he might grow tired of a woman who could not make up her mind. Well, if he did, Skye thought mutinously, then so be it! She had had all she could bear of being owned.

Mignon was now wringing out Skye's long black hair, having emptied a final bucket of rinse water over her head. Vigorously she toweled her mistress's waist-length hair, then politely said, "If you will sit for a few moments, madame, here on the window seat with your hair spread out in the sun, I shall prepare your bath for you."

Skye stretched herself so she might lie straight out, the back of her head resting upon the windowsill while her flowing hair fell over it and blew in the gentle breeze. Having clean hair felt wonderful, and Skye closed her eyes for a moment in the bright sunlight, humming lazily to herself as Mignon poured the bath oil into the waiting tub and mixed it with a wooden paddle. It was several long minutes before the scent suited the tiny Frenchwoman, and by that time Skye's mane was almost completely dry.

"Sit up, madame," Mignon said with a cluck of satisfaction. Swiftly she pinned the hair atop her mistress's head. "You will find your tub perfection," she said as she helped Skye up a pair of steps and down into the water.

"Ohh, yes," Skye murmured as the hot, fragrant water soaked into her skin and tired muscles.

Mignon chuckled. "Eight days in a jouncing coach is exhausting," she said sympathetically.

"Could I soak for a few minutes?" Skye begged, and Mignon smiled.

"Of course, madame! I will begin to unpack your things, which the footmen have brought up to the garderobe. I am going to find you a comfortable robe de chambre so you may rest for a few hours until the evening meal. I have ordered up some fruit, cheese, bread, and wine for you, as I suspect that you are hungry." Then she was off to the garderobe as Skye's thanks rang out.

What a jewel, Skye thought, and how fortunate she was that Mignon was available to serve her. Skye sighed, and snuggled down deep into the warmth. She could feel the very pores in her skin welcoming the heat and the silken bath oil. How foolish those poor women were who thought bathing was injurious to health, and covered their body odors in layers of perfume. Bathing was truly heaven-sent, and nothing cleaned a body like soap and water.

"Do you want company?"

Skye didn't even bother to open her eyes. "Not now, Adam," she pleaded prettily. "I don't know the last time I so enjoyed a bath."

His deep laughter rumbled about the room. Her refusal did not, he knew, stem from prudishness, or a cold nature. She simply did not wish to share her tub this time. Her enjoyment was plainly written upon her face. "I've already instructed old Guillaume to have a tub prepared for me, but I stopped on the chance you might be willing to share, little girl. I will be back when I have bathed."

When she opened her eyes briefly he was already gone. Why was he coming back? Then the truth dawned on her. For almost two weeks she had slept in the same bed with him, and other than hold her close in the night he had made no move to touch her. Adam was a man, however, and he had his needs as she had hers. He wanted her; she had not needed to see his face or the look in his eyes to know that. She had heard the longing in his voice. Adam was the one man she would never use, Skye thought seriously. If he wanted to make love to her, then they should make love. She smiled to herself, and then a tiny frown creased her brow as she remembered that no man had made love to her since Kedar.

"Are you ready to be washed, madame?"

Skye jumped at the sound of Mignon's voice. "Y-yes," she managed to answer as her eyes flew open.

"I am sorry, madame," Mignon apologized. "I did not mean to startle you."

"It's all right," Skye assured the tiring woman. "I was merely thinking."

"About M'sieur Adam?" Mignon inquired slyly. "I have known him since he was a boy. He is, how you say it, formidable! Magnifique! Un grand homme passionné! He is your lover?"

"She is to be my wife, you nosy creature," Adam chuckled from the door that connected their two rooms. "She is in mourning now for her last husband, but we have known each other a long while, Mignon, and Skye will marry me sometime next year."

"M'sieur Adam!" Mignon dropped the sea sponge with which she had been washing Skye's back, and clapped her hands together with delight. Then she ran to him, took his face in her two hands, and kissed him on both cheeks. "Bon chance, M'sieur Adam!" she exclaimed. "I am so happy for you! Did I not tell you those long years ago when that wretched Mam'selle Athenais spurned you that somewhere there was a wife for you. Madame Skye is far more beautiful than that other one!"

"She has a good heart too, Mignon," Adam said seriously.

"You are impossible!" Skye fussed at him. "Go and bathe, you great fool. You stink of half the roads of France! Mignon, this water grows cold!"

With another chuckle Adam disappeared back through the connecting door into his own room. Mignon, realizing the truth of Skye's complaint about the bath water, clucked and fussed as she swiftly washed her new mistress, then assisted her from the tub to dry her. "Madame la Comtesse tells me we are to go to Paris for the royal wedding," she chatted. "I did not think to be included in that journey. What a tale to tell my grandchildren!"

"You are married?" Skye was surprised.

“To Guillaume, who valets M'sieur Adam. He is much older than I, of course, but we have been married many years. I had my two babies before I came to be a tiring woman. When Comtesse Gabrielle married with M'sieur Antoine and brought her children to the château, Guillaume was assigned to be M'sieur Adam's valet. Now my husband is retired, but when he learned that M'sieur Adam would be visiting nothing would do but that he serve his old master. We have several grandchildren, madame, and they will enjoy the tales we will bring back of the royal wedding in Paris."

Skye smiled, remembering how very much Daisy enjoyed the galas and entertainments at court. "A wedding is a wedding,'' she said. "I expect this one will be far more lavish, nothing more. Still, perhaps we can find some special treat to bring back to the little ones."

"Madame! You are too kind!"

"I have children too, Mignon, and I know that even the smallest of gifts delights them."

Mignon fairly hummed with approval of her new mistress as she helped Skye into a pale-rose silk caftan with tiny pearl buttons. Seating her, Mignon unpinned Skye's hair and began to brush it out. Only faintly damp, it shone with soft blue lights and was sweet with the scent of roses. At last the tiring woman was satisfied. "There, madame, it is done. Now where shall I serve you? In the salon?"

"No," Skye said. "I am weary. Bring me a small piece of bread with a bit of cheese and a little wine. I will eat it here by the window, and then rest."

Mignon hurried to do as she was bid, and when she had placed the plate and goblet by Skye's side, she said, "Your gowns are frightfully wrinkled from all that travel. While you rest I shall see if I can get one in decent condition for you to wear tonight."

"Merci, Mignon," Skye replied as the woman departed the room.

She chewed slowly, savoring the fresh, crisp bread with its covering of soft, ripe cheese. The golden wine was sweet and very mellow to her taste. Her gaze moved out through the windows into the gardens below, where several children were playing under the careful supervision of three nursemaids. For a moment Skye wondered how her own children were faring. Then she shook her head irritably. They were all safe, and well fed, and warm, and clothed. They survived quite well without her. Quick tears sprang forth from her beautiful eyes. She was being unfair to her children. They survived without her because they had to, but she knew that they didn't like being apart from their mother any more than she liked being apart from them. Still, she was not quite ready to return to England: not yet ready to be a mother again, to pit her wits against those of Elizabeth Tudor. The last two years had been very harsh, and she needed time to regain her strength. She brushed the remaining crumbs from her lap, drained the goblet of the last sip of wine, and, standing up, walked over to the bed and lay down.

God's bones, she was tired, and her head had barely hit the down pillows when she was asleep. She had no idea how long she slept, but she awoke to find the shadows long in the room, and Adam snoring lightly by her side. She gazed down on him for a moment, and then smiled. He was such a big man. He made her feel small, which she most certainly was not. There were the faintest flecks of silver in his shaggy black hair now, and she wondered how many of them she had given him. Strange, she thought, she had never noticed how beautifully sculpted the planes of his face were. The skin stretched over his high cheekbones was smooth, although tanned with the sun of the outdoor life he preferred living. She liked the way he wore his beard now, clipped close and coming down from the round of his mustache, which enhanced his sensuous mouth. He was such a handsome man.

"Do you intend to eat me, or just paint me, little girl?" he inquired humorously as he opened his eyes and looked up at her.

"I was just deciding what a handsome man you are," she said frankly.

"You mean you never noticed until now?" he demanded in a slightly aggrieved tone.

"No," she giggled, "but gazing at you in sleep, I looked closer than I ever have. I’ve always thought you were handsome, but on more acute inspection I have decided you are very handsome."

She was resting on an elbow looking down at him as she spoke, and now his arm came up to draw her down to him. "Come here to me, little girl," he said in a low, deep voice, and then his mouth was finding hers, tenderly kissing it, gently seeking a response that he knew existed, despite her protests. For a moment Skye was startled, even surprised, although she had been expecting him to ask to make love to her. Then she realized that it was because for the first time in well over a year she was being kissed with love, not just lust. This was not Kedar with his voracious appetites for her body, with his insane passion to possess her totally. This was Adam- Adam, her gentle giant who had loved her for so long. She felt her tears flow unbidden as a mixture of joy and relief flooded her. He lifted his head slowly, and tenderly began to lick the tears away. Skye shivered at the pure sensuousness of his simple action, knowing at the same moment that she wanted him not just for now, but for all time.

She wanted to laugh at how foolish she had been in her grief over Niall's death. Adam had understood, bless him. He had understood the pain, and the disappointment, and the anger that had welled up in her, and he had loved her nonetheless, and said he could be patient. Men were born to die, and if she had lost previous husbands it had only been in the fabric of life. Do not tight your fate so hard, Osman had always warned her. With a sudden burst of clarity Skye knew that Adam de Marisco was her fate.

"Oh, Adam," she whispered almost brokenly, "I love you!"

He lifted his great head, and with a mischievous grin he replied, "I know that, little girl. Why do you think I was so damned willing to be patient? You simply needed time to come to yourself again."

She hit at him weakly with her fist. "How could you know when I didn't?" she demanded.

"You knew too, Skye O'Malley, you knew that you loved me. You were just not willing to admit to it. I was sure, being the sensible creature you are, that eventually you would." With a smooth action he turned her so that she now lay upon her back, and he hovered over her. "I love you, my Celtic witch. I have loved you from the first, but you were not ready then to love me. In my foolishness I thought that you should be married to a more powerful, more important man, but I was wrong, little girl. I am the only man for you, Skye!" He bent his leonine head down and brushed her mouth with his very lightly, sending a pleasant tingle through her. "Yes, I am the only man for you, my darling, and you are the only woman for me!"

"I am still not sure that I want to marry again," she said softly.

“That feeling will pass," he said with such certainty that she had to laugh.

"Adam!"

"Well, it will! Besides, we should wait a year."

"A whole year?" she teased him.

"Well," he reconsidered, "perhaps not a whole year. After all, little girl, Niall was presumed dead over three years ago, and the Queen gave you no time to mourn then."

“That is why I need a little time now, Adam," was her reply. "I was hustied into marriage with the Duc de Beaumont de Jaspre three months after Niall's alleged murder. It was indecent of Elizabeth Tudor, but I needed her help, and she needed a bride to send to the duc. Give me time now, my darling. We will go up to Paris with your family, and enjoy all the festivities that go with the marriage of a royal princess and an heir to France's throne. We do not need to be married to have a good time, my darling Adam!" Her eyes twinkled humorously at him. "We have never needed to be wed to have a good time, my lord of Lundy!"

"You are a minx," he said, and his own eyes twinkled back at her. Then his hand moved to the little pearl buttons on her rose-colored caftan. "Do you remember the last time that you wore this for me?" he asked. Skye shook her head in the negative. "When I came to London just before you departed for Beaumont de Jaspre. You told me that you were being sold into marriage, a loveless marriage, and that before you went we would spend our time together loving each other so we might have sweet memories. Do you remember now, Skye?" He bared a soft, round breast and, bending, kissed it tenderly.

"Yes," she whispered. "I remember, Adam."

"Did he love you, your duc?" His tongue flicked out to begin a tortuous encirclement of her sensitive nipple.

Skye shivered as the warmth of his tongue and the cool air of the early evening worked together to bring her nipple to a hard point. "Fabron did not know how to love," she gasped as he bared her other breast and began to tease at it. "He was a sad man. Damn, Adam! You will drive me wild! Stop!"

"I adore you wild!" he chuckled indulgently.

Her answer was to fumble with the laces on his silk shirt, and successful at that, slip her hands inside to caress his broad back. She could feel the hard muscles beneath his skin tense as he restrained himself. Wickedly she ran her sharp nails lightly down the skin, and heard with total satisfaction his sharp intake of breath. She impishly caught at the lobe of his ear and gently bit it.

"Wench," he growled with mock fierceness, "you shall pay for that liberty!"

"Make me!" she taunted, and then squealed as he yanked the caftan apart, baring her to his fiery gaze.

His hands slid with delicious familiarity over her torso, and to his vast amusement she sighed with great delight. "Wanton!" he muttered at her.

"You don't understand, Adam," she said. 'The last time a man made love to me it was not because he loved me. It was because I belonged to him, and he sought to relieve his lust. When you touch me it is with love. Oh, my darling Adam, I want you to touch me with love! I want you to make love to me! I so very much need to be loved again as a woman, and not as a possession!"

His smoky blue eyes gazed down into hers. "It is not a very hard task you set me, Skye," he said softly.

"Love me," she repeated as softly, and his mouth again descended upon hers to make her his warm and willing captive. Her arms slipped up around his neck to draw him even closer, her round and tender breasts pressed hard against his furred chest. He had never kissed her with such deep passion, his sensuous mouth seemingly welded to hers, sending alternate shivers and waves of heat throughout her body. He demanded much, yet he gave as well, and Skye felt herself soaring under the sweet pressure of his lips. She yielded herself to him, to his care, and he kissed her hungrily, muttering fiercely against her mouth, "I love you! I love you, my sweet Skye!"

Then they heard it, the insistent knocking at the bedchamber door. With a smothered curse Adam broke away from her, roaring, "What is it, dammit?!"

The door opened. "It is time that you begin to ready yourselves for the evening meal, mes enfants," Mignon said calmly with all the smug privilege of an upper servant of long standing.

"Go away, Mignon!"

"Non, M'sieur Adam! Your maman has had the cooks preparing for days for your arrival. She would be most distressed if you did not appear in the dining hall tonight." Her cherry-black eyes twinkled. "You had best eat, mon chou! I suspect you will need all your strength for later." She chuckled. "Up with you now, and go to Guillaume. He is waiting to dress you."

Grumbling about no privacy and being treated like a lad not yet breeched, Adam de Marisco got up and, with a regretful look at Skye, left the room.

With a pretty blush Skye drew the two edges of her caftan together and sat up. "Were you able to salvage one of my gowns?" she asked in an attempt to change the subject and save her dignity.

"Oui, madame," came the cheerful reply, "and madame must not be embarrassed. We French understand about love, and it is most obvious that you and M'sieur Adam love each other. Then, too, you are betrothed, and who is to gainsay you if you love a little while you wait to wed." She smiled at Skye. "Come now, madame. I have managed to ready a lovely silk gown for you the blue-green color of the sea. Let me bring you your jewelry case so you may decide what you will wear with it."

"I have no jewelry case with my clothes," Skye said. "My jewels went back to England with my tiring woman."

"Perhaps she forgot, madame, for there is a small carved ivory box among your things," Mignon replied.

Skye shook her head. She did not remember an ivory box, and it was not like Daisy to forget her jewelry. "Bring it to me," she commanded.

Mignon disappeared into the garderobe a moment, returning quickly with a rectangular box carved of creamy ivory. "There you are, madame," she said, placing the box in Skye's lap.

As the maidservant turned away to finish her chores, Skye turned the little gold key that was in the lock, opened the box, and gasped with a mixture of shock and surprise as the lid raised to reveal the contents. Stuck within the lid was a folded parchment, and prilling it out, Skye opened it to read: Doucette, I had these made for you when I thought you might return to me. Since I will not give my wife jewelry made for another woman, I beg that you take this small offering that was meant only for you. Nicolas.

Skye gently put the parchment aside and concentrated on the jewelry before her. There was a marvelous assortment of pink-tinged pearls and a huge ring set in gold. And there was an absolutely stunning necklace of diamonds with matching earrings; a collection of hair ornaments of diamonds, pearls, and rubies set in gold; several more rings; bracelets, and additional earrings of sapphires, emeralds, and rubies set in gold. It was a small fortune, and for a moment she wasn't sure what she should do with it.

It had been wonderfully kind of Nicolas to send along the jewelry, but could she keep it? She was to marry another man. He was a married man. Then common sense took over. He had had the jewelry made for her before he married Madelaine, and before she agreed to marry Adam. He might have kept it, but he had chosen to give it to her, anyway. She would consider it a wedding gift, and tell Adam only what she had to.

"I think I shall wear the pearls," she said to Mignon. "I shall save the diamonds for Paris."

"Very good, madame," the tiring woman approved as she reentered the room carrying the gown.

Skye stood up, and donned the silk undergarments that were handed to her, but when she slipped on the bodice and the skirt of her gown both she and Mignon gasped with surprise, for they were too large. "I knew that I had lost weight," Skye exclaimed, "but I did not think I had lost so much that my gowns would not fit."

"Do not fret, madame," Mignon soothed her. "I shall pin the garments for tonight, and we shall have the seamstress come tomorrow to alter all of your gowns for Paris. The necklines must be lowered, for one thing, as it is now more fashionable."

"It is?" Skye was a trifle surprised, for she thought that the necklines were low enough.

Mignon worked quickly. All her movements were swift, and the little tiring woman seemed to waste neither energy nor time in anything she did. She firmly sat Skye down and brushed her hair out before fixing it in the lovely simple chignon that Skye favored. "When we go up to Paris, madame, and you visit the court," she said, "I am going to try doing your hair in the long curls that are the corning fashion. The style is most provocative, and M'sieur Adam will adore it." She fastened two white roses into her mistress's hair. "There, madame," she said, pleased. "Now, the gown."

When Mignon had finished with her Skye stood looking at herself in the pier glass. It was the first time in so long that she was dressed as the lady she really was. The bodice of her gown had a low, square neckline, and was embroidered in tiny crystal beads with gold thread. The sleeves were leg-of-mutton, padded and puffed, and the wristbands, held by many tiny gold ribbons, were embroidered in crystal beads and turned back to form a cuff. The silk overskirt of the gown was blue-green, separating in the front to show the skirt of the undergown which was striped in the same color and gold. Her stockings, which would only show if she danced, were pale-pink silk embroidered in climbing roses, and her shoes matched her gown.

"Vous ê tes très belle, madame,"Mignon said quietly, as she daubed essence of damask rose on Skye's pulse points.

"Why is it you women take so damned long to dress, little girl?" Adam demanded from the connecting doorway.

She whirled prettily and curtseyed. "Is it not worth it, Adam?" she teased him, taking in his own appearance. She had rarely seen him dressed as magnificently as he was now in an elegantly fitted velvet doublet embroidered in gold thread and, she would swear, small diamonds! His jerkin was sleeveless and edged in ermine. He was dressed entirely in dark blue, which flattered his eyes.

Slowly he inspected her, and Skye found that she was blushing. Her heartbeat quickened, and she realized that she very much regretted Mignon's untimely intrusion. Raising her eyes to his, she could read in them that he felt the same way. He reached for her hand and slowly raised it to his lips. His mouth scorched her skin, but the warmth of his gaze filled her with rapture, and she could not tear her eyes away from him.

"How is it possible that you grow more beautiful with each year, little girl?" he asked wonderingly as he tucked her small hand into his.

"Adam…" she began, and then her voice died, for she was at a total loss for words. His deep and abiding love was so plain, and Skye was beginning to realize how different he was from the other men who had been in her life. Those whom she had loved had indeed loved her as well, but they had taken boldly of her, though giving something of themselves in return. Adam, she realized with some surprise, intended to take, but he was the first to truly consider her well-being and her own feelings along with his own.

Silently he escorted her downstairs to the family's dining room. It was a beautiful paneled room with an enormous red and white marble fireplace capable of holding whole logs. Above the mantel hung a large tapestry done in azure blue, green, red, silver, and gold, showing in intricate detail a castle under siege, a captive virgin, an embattled knight, and a rather ferocious dragon.

Antoine de Saville, noting Skye's admiration of the tapestry, came forward, saying, "It took three generations of women in my family almost four years to complete that tapestry. It is over two hundred years old."

"It's exquisite!" Skye exclaimed.

"No more so than you, my dear," was the gallant reply.

"Beau-père, I warn you," Adam said teasingly, "that I would fight a ducl over this woman."

"I have no doubt, Adam, that she is more than worth it," the comte replied. "I am a most fortunate man, for I possess a beautiful wife, three beautiful daughters, a beautiful daughter-in-law, seven lovely granddaughters, and now you are to give us another beauty to add to the family. Mon Dieu! It is more than one man can bear!" He peered at Skye through slightly nearsighted eyes. "You are going to join the family, ma chérie, aren't you?"

Suddenly the room, which was rilled with the entire de Saville clan, grew quiet, and all eyes turned to Skye. "I suppose I must," she replied mischievously. "Adam refuses to give me any other choice, and I find that I love him. What else can I do but follow my conscience?"

The joyous noise that erupted about them as the whole family tried to offer their good wishes at the same time somewhat overwhelmed them. She found herself being kissed upon both cheeks first by Comte Antoine and then by Gaby. Next came Adam's sisters and their husbands and children, and his half-brothers and -sister and their families. Never in her entire life had Skye felt so cherished by a family. It was true that her own family loved her dearly, but they all depended upon her for everything, they expected that she would care for them all, no matter what. The de Savilles expected nothing of her. To them she was the woman who would marry Gaby's eldest son, another daughter-in-law to be treasured. At this moment in time Skye realized that that was more than enough for her. She was so tired of having total responsibility, and she wanted to be treated like a woman, just a woman for now.

His arm tightened about her shoulder, and she looked up at him. "You understand, don't you?" she said.

"Yes," was the simple reply. Nothing more. Just yes.

Suddenly Gaby de Saville cried out. "Adam, my son! The ring! Have you given Skye the ring?"

"No, maman, I have not," Adam replied. "I thought to do it when she accepted me, but she has surprised me by accepting beau-père's proposal in my name!" He reached into his doublet and drew forth a large round sapphire set in red gold. Upon the face of the sapphire was a small red-gold sea hawk with its wings outspread in flight. This ring," he said quietly to her, "was given by Geoffroi de Sudbois to my ancestress, Matilde de Marisco, in token of their love. Ever since it has been the betrothal ring of the men in my family. My father gave it to my mother, and now I give it to you, Skye O'Malley. I need not tell you that with it goes my everlasting love, and my fidelity for all time." Gently Adam slipped the ring onto the appropriate finger of her left hand while, around them, the de Saville family once again proclaimed their delight at this turn of events.

Skye barely heard them. I am loved, she thought. Dear God, don't take Adam away from me as you have taken the others. I could not bear to hurt him! Please let us grow old together.

Again, as if she had uttered the words aloud, Adam de Marisco understood her feelings. Bending, he tenderly touched her mouth with his, then murmured softly, "I will always be here for you, little girl. Always!"

Looking up into his eyes, Skye had a sudden premonition that she was finally safe. This time there would be no parting or pain. She remembered that Osman had told her that her happiness would be assured by the influence of a strong Leo in her life. "What is your birthdate, Adam?" she asked him. "We are to be married and I realize that I do not know your birthday."

"His birthday is in two weeks, my dear," Gaby said. "It is the ninth of August. My oldest son is born beneath the sign of the Lion. Does it make a difference to you? Are you compatible?"

Skye looked again at Adam, and the relief in her eyes puzzled him. "Yes, Gaby," she answered the comtesse. "We are compatible, two fire signs, for I am born beneath the sign of the Archer."

"What is it?" he asked her in a low tone.

"Osman," she said. "But it is all right. My happiness, he said, would be assured with a man born beneath the sign of the Lion. For some reason I suddenly remembered that."

Adam smiled at her, half relieved himself, half amused. "You will always be safe with me, little girl," he promised. "Always!"

Chapter 13

Skye and Adam came together again as man and woman the night of their betrothal. The welcome-home dinner, a magnificent feast, began with thin slices of Loire salmon served on silver platters decorated with watercress and carved lemon halves. The fish was followed by a turkey stuffed with truffles from the Périgord, a Bayonne ham, Beef Rissoles, a small roe deer basted in Burgundy, rabbit pie with a marvelously flaky pastry crust, tiny whole partridges stuffed with rice and dried fruit, and small silver platters of Rhine perch. There were bowls of creamed onions, carrots glazed with honey, saffroned rice, cress and lettuce, scallions and radishes. The last course was made up of several cheeses; Brie, Angelot from Bray in Normandy, and a Caci Marzolini from Florence. There were baskets of black cherries and fat golden peaches; and a wonderful brandy-flavored gâteau with marzipan decorations. Throughout the meal the goblets were kept well filled with the fine red and white wines bottled on the estate from Archambault grapes.

The family ate heartily and with appreciation of the château's fine chef, but Skye and Adam picked at their food, casting long and languishing looks at each other throughout the meal. How strange, thought Skye. I feel like a young girl again instead of a woman who has seen a thirty-first birthday. Toast after toast was raised to the betrothed couple, and Skye's heart beat erratically as Adam took her right hand in his, and began to delicately kiss each fingertip with a slow, lingering kiss. His smoky eyes caught hers in a blazing blue gaze, and she was so fascinated with the passion she saw in their depths that she forgot to breathe and suddenly found herself gasping. She blushed, realizing that she could barely wait to be alone with him, and he chuckled softly.

"I, also," he said in a low voice, obviously reading her mind.

Her color deepened. "How can I feel this way, and Niall but newly buried?" she protested, her stern conscience demanding the answer.

"Niall was dead to you long ago," he replied softly. "A second death was but anticlimactic, sweetheart. You have had a bad time of it this last year in your attempts to rescue him, and now you need my soothing."

She thought a moment, and realized that it was true. "You were ever good at soothing me, Adam," she teased him, running a playful finger down his cheek.

Around them the de Saville family watched the lovers with tolerant amusement. They were French, and they understood better than any other race in the world the sparks that flew between Skye O'Malley and Adam de Marisco. Antoine feigned a yawn as the servants were clearing away the remnants of the meal from the long table. "Mon Dieu," he murmured. "I must be getting old, for I cannot seem to keep my eyes open." He turned to his wife. "Do you think, mon amour, that I should be considered a bad host if I called a halt to this day?"

"Mais non, chéri," the comtesse exclaimed brightly. "I am sure that both Adam and Skye are exhausted after their long journey, n'est-ce pas, mes enfants?"

"Yes, maman," Adam said solemnly. "We are quite fatigued."

Skye suppressed a giggle. Fatigued! Adam spoke with such delicacy. Was this the lord of Lundy, the very same fellow who upon their first meeting had so boldly demanded her presence in his bed in exchange for his aid? Her mirth but increased when he fiercely waggled his thick black eyebrows at her in mock warning as he rose from the table, pulling her up with him.

Taking her by the hand, Adam led her over to his mother and stepfather. "Good night, maman, beau-père," he said quietly, as if daring Skye to laugh.

"Good night, my son," Gaby murmured, and looking closely at her, Skye saw that Adam's mother was also close to total mirth. She obviously knew her big son well.

"Bonne nuit, Adam," the comte said. "Bonne nuit, ma belle Skye."

Skye bid him goodnight softly, and then taking her leave of Gaby and all the others, she followed Adam from the dining room. Silently he led her up the main staircase of the château to the bedroom wing, then down the hall to their apartment. Inside both Mignon and old Guillaume awaited them, and they parted and went into their separate chambers.

Inside her bedroom Skye bore with Mignon's delighted chatter, for the tiring woman had already heard of the official betrothal. Indeed, the château's servants were all atwitter, and as pleased as could be that M'sieur Adam had at last found true happiness. Skye found herself smiling as Mignon asked, "Madame's children will like M'sieur Adam as their beau-père?"

"My children adore Adam. They will be very pleased, Mignon."

Mignon bridled with pleasure at her reply, as she silently admired Skye's ring. Adam was quite obviously a favorite of hers. "He is a good man," she declared, and then she lowered her voice. "I lit candles in thanksgiving when that one scorned him. She did not fool me for a minute with her virginal airs and her soft voice. She was ambitious for wealth and position, that one! She would have destroyed him the same way she destroyed the old duc she finally wed." Mignon handed Skye a silken nightgown, but Skye shook her head.

"I will not need it," she said. "Just this little knit shawl for my shoulders," and she climbed into bed.

"Bon!" Mignon said with a chuckle of approval. "Then I will let you sleep," she finished as she hurried out, leaving Skye alone, a little fire glowing in the fireplace and one small chamber stick lit by the bedside. She sat quietly enjoying the peace of the room, the smooth feel of the lavender-scented sheets beneath her, and the plump goose-down pillows behind her back. The fire cast playful shadows upon the ceiling as it sputtered and whisded softly in the grate. The door to Adam's room opened, and Skye looked up to see him silhouetted between the two rooms. She held out a hand to him, and he was quickly at her side.

Bending, he blew out the chamber stick, then climbed into the big bed. Pulling her into his arms, he held her gently. Skye's head was resting upon his shoulder, one palm flat against his chest. They lay together for some time in silence, and then as her fingers began to entwine themselves playfully in the dark mat upon his chest she asked mischievously, "How many hearts have you broken, my lord of Lundy, since we were last together?"

"I have never been a man for keeping count," he said seriously, "but know, my love, that I tried very hard to forget you. To forget the Kerry blue of your eyes, the sweetness of your kisses, the outrageous softness of your skin." His hand now began to stroke her as he might a cat, and Skye shivered with pleasure. Adam's voice deepened with his desire. "I could not forget you, my Celtic witch! You are in my blood, and now I shall never let you go, Skye! Never! I shall defend what is mine against all, including the Queen if need be, sweetheart!"

"I am not afraid anymore, Adam. I am not afraid, for I know that we are meant to be together, and what a pair we shall make, my darling! Elizabeth Tudor will be hard pressed to stand against us!"

"We may have to remain in France, Skye," he said quietly. "I intend to marry you with or without the Queen's permission, and before we return to England. If the marriage displeases her she will attempt to separate us, as she has done with others. Our only refuge then will be here in France."

"My children," she said softly.

"If we are forced to remain in France then your children must come here. Ewan is virtually a man grown with his own holding, and God willing, 'tis so small a holding that the English will leave him in peace. The others, however, must be with us. Murrough can study here in Paris, as did his father, and his little betrothed will live with us until the marriage. Robin cannot be left to Elizabeth Tudor, despite the fact that he is her favorite. His holdings will be safe in de Grenville's hands until he is ready to marry Alison de Grenville. Mistress Willow should be with us too. Your little Burkes have the most to lose I know, but the English will eventually snatch the Burke lands, as they will all of Ireland. Perhaps your O'Malleys can hold your son's lands until he comes of age, but until then it is not right that Deirdre and Padraic be separated from you, Skye." He turned his head and kissed her mouth quickly. "I want you to be happy, sweetheart."

"What of the responsibilities I owe to the O'Malleys, Adam? I cannot simply walk away from them. I promised my father! 'Twas a deathbed promise!"

"A promise made fourteen years ago, Skye, when your brothers were babes; but they are men grown now, and Brian already has children of his own. It is time they accepted their responsibility. Brian O'Malley has run the O'Malley enterprises these last two years while you have been away. Your Uncle Seamus could not do it and defend Burke lands as well. He is growing very old, although he would knock me down if he heard me say it.

"I would take nothing from you, sweetheart, and neither would your brothers. We adore you, but if we must live in France, then you will have to allow your family to take care of themselves."

"I have always taken care of them," she worried.

His big hand reached out to cup one of her perfect little breasts. "You will have me to take care of now, Skye O'Malley, and I am a very big responsibility," he said as he rolled her in one smooth motion onto her back to take a nipple into his warm mouth.

"Ohhh," she gasped softly, his action catching her by surprise. His lips, clamped firmly around that sensitive little knob of flesh, seemed determined to draw her soul from her body. Gently he bit down upon the tingling peak, eliciting another "Ohhhh!" from her. She didn't need this torture to know that she wanted him desperately.

With a groan Adam raised his dark head, and she could see the hunger in his stormy eyes. "God forgive me, little girl," he whispered harshly, "but I cannot attend to any of the niceties this time. I must have you, Skye! I ache for you!"

"Oh, God, yes, Adam!" she answered, to his delight. "I cannot wait, either! I keep remembering how it was with us before I left England, and I shall die if you do not take me now!"

Assured he would neither harm her nor offend her, Adam covered her beautiful body with his own. Beneath him, her shapely thighs opened smoothly, and she eagerly reached for him to guide him home. With a low cry of pleasure he thrust deep, feeling her push up to ease his passage even more. Her arms wrapped themselves around him and their mouths met in a searing kiss. The kiss was seemingly endless, deepening and easing again and again as his strong hips drove her downward into the feather mattresses. He could not get enough of her, nor she of him. Skye reveled in his strong passion, urging him onward with soft little cries that were obvious in their delight. She felt the delicious tensing begin as his wonderful maleness filled her with his love and his warmth. The first rocket's burst came quickly thereafter, followed by several other starbursts in quick succession. Her sharp nails raked fiercely into his smooth back as he tore his head away from her, gasping for breath. "Sweet, hot little bitch!" he moaned. "Damn, but you have unmanned me too quickly!" Then she felt the warm rush of his love flooding her, and she wept with joy and murmured softly, "Je t’ adore, mon mari! I love you, my husband!"

Adam de Marisco shuddered with the pleasure both her body and her words had given him. "Marry me when we return to Archambault after the royal wedding," he begged her.

"Will Michaelmas be soon enough?" she teased him.

“The end of September? 'Tis too far away," he grumbled.

"I need time for a trousseau," she pouted, "and perhaps we shall even be able to have the children here."

"I foresee problems in marrying an older woman," he said mischievously.

"Older woman!" With a little shriek of outrage she shoved him off her, catching him unawares in his relaxed and weakened condition.

"You'll be thirty-two in December," he countered, beginning to laugh.

“You are no gentieman, Adam de Marisco, to mention such a thing out loud!" she said with mock anger, and began to tickle him. "You are ten years my senior, a veritable graybeard! I might have a young man of twenty for a husband should I so desire," she mocked him from her perch atop his chest.

He laughed until the tears rolled down his cheeks. "Stop, witch!" he begged her as her nimble fingers found yet another sensitive spot upon his helpless flesh to tickle. God, how he loved her! It was a dream come true for him.

"Not until you apologize!"

"For marrying you, or for saying you will be thirty-two?" he teased.

"Ohh, beast!" She leaned forward and, grasping a handful of his thick black hair, yanked it hard in retaliation.

"Ouch!" he roared in pain. "Enough, you witch!" And reaching out, he grasped her about the waist and lifted her high off of him. For a brief moment he held her above him while she shrieked in mock terror, and then he lowered her gently onto the mattresses while his mouth swiftly found hers. "I love you, Skye O'Malley," he whispered against her trembling lips. "I love you, my little girl!"

They loved seemingly without ceasing that night and in the days that followed. The night before they left for Paris Skye drifted off to sleep, replete with his love and wondering how they would ever start off the next day. She was still tired when she was forced to crawl from her bed as the dawn was beginning to tint the edges of the horizon. Adam was gone, and Mignon was bustling busily about.

"I have already packed your things, madame, but you must hurry. The comtesse has arranged with Père Jean that the formal betrothal ceremony be said in the chapel before you leave for Paris! Vite, vite now, madame!"

Her bath was drawn, and she was not allowed to enjoy soaking in its perfumed warmth. The bath this day, Mignon declared, was for washing, not pleasurable daydreaming. Skye was washed, and dried, and powdered and perfumed quickly by her adept tiring woman. Her silk stockings with the climbing roses were rolled up her slender legs and fastened with rosette garters of silver ribbon. Her silk chemise, silk blouse, and silk petticoats were swiftly donned to rustle elegantly beneath her crimson silk gown with its pink satin undershirt. Creamy lace dripped from the sleeves and modestly garnished the neckline of the gown, which revealed more breast than Skye would have normally shown, but the château's dressmaker had sworn that it was the latest style and that Madame would be totally out of fashion if her necklines were any higher. While Mignon did her hair Skye slipped her feet into a pair of red leather shoes with tiny heels. The tiring woman dressed her hair in Nicolas's pearls, and she wore pearls about her neck and in her ears. When Mignon had finished with Skye's hair she signaled her mistress to stand, and then fastened about her waist a gold cordeliere to which she attached a small mirror and a pomander.

"If Madame will allow me I will escort her to the chapel," Mignon said as she picked up Skye's crimson silk cloak with its pink satin lining. "Père Jean is to say a late mass for the family, and then you and M'sieur Adam will repeat your vows before God."

Skye nodded to Mignon and followed her from the apartment. She caught her breath with delight as they entered the family's private chapel, for the octagon-shaped room was really a little jewel. Although she had seen it earlier, its beauty still astounded her. Situated in the oldest part of the small château it had floors and walls of stone; but on either side of the altar which faced the double doors entry doors were long Gothic windows of exquisite stained glass. The rich reds and blues and golds of the windows cast dancing shadows on the gray stone. On either side of the room were dainty shrines, one to the Blessed Mother Mary, the other to her mother, Saint Anne. The delicately carved statues had been painted so that the two women resembled living creatures.

Mary had been portrayed as the young mother, and was gowned modestly in pale sky-blue robes, a white veil over her blond hair. Her coloring-pink cheeks, fair skin, and real sapphire eyes-was quite lovely. She was seated, and in her lap a laughing pink and white cherub of a baby boy sat waving his fat little hands. The statue of Saint Anne, opposite that of Saint Mary, represented her as a slender, standing woman. Her face was that of a warm and loving woman as she gazed with pride across the room to her beloved daughter and holy grandchild. Her skin was pale, her braids dark, her eyes genuine topaz, her robes a dark red.

There were only four pews on either side of the chapel, and they and the altar were beautifully carved with religious scenes. As Skye and Mignon entered the chapel a priest in green and gold vestments greeted them. Mignon stepped respectfully back and curtseyed. "Bonjour, mon père."

"Bonjour, ma fille," the priest replied softly, and then he gave his complete attention to Skye. "Madame la Comtesse has told me about you, Madame Burke. You are Irish, and I believe, a true daughter of Holy Mother Church?"

"Oui, mon père. My uncle is a bishop."

"And when was the last time you made your confession, ma fille?”

Skye reddened. "I have been in a Moslem country for over a year, mon père. It was not possible."

Père Jean smiled. "Of course," he murmured understandingly, "but you will, naturally, wish to confess to me now before the mass, and before you take your vows with M'sieur Adam."

"Oui, mon père" Skye was mortified, but she knew that there would be no escaping her religious duties. She wondered almost hysterically what the priest was going to think of what she had to tell him. She would wager that he had never heard a confession such as she was going to give him now. Meekly she followed him to the confessional, where she knelt and said, "Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned."

Some twenty minutes later both she and Père Jean exited the booth, the priest looking somewhat exhausted and bleary-eyed. "Never," the priest declared softly, "never have I listened to such a tale, ma fille. I am astounded that these things can occur in our poor world."

"Yet you gave me no penance, mon père."

The priest stopped, and looking into Skye's face, he took her hand in his. "What penance could I possibly give you, ma fille, that you have not already suffered? You have twice lost the same husband, a man for whom you truly cared. You have suffered a shameful and degrading captivity in your brave if foolish effort to free your husband from an equally shameful captivity. You have been bereft of your children, threatened wickedly by your sovereign Queen, and yet still you survive without bitterness. I may only be an unsophisticated country priest, ma fille, but I know anguish when I see it. God has already punished you. I can certainly do no more." He smiled at her and patted her hand. "You are a good daughter of the Church, ma fille. It has taken great courage to tell me your mountain of sins, but you were brave enough to do it. Now you are following the dictates of Holy Mother Church by marrying once more. I will pray that God bless this union between yourself and the Seigneur de Marisco with many children. Come now, the family is assembled and ready for the mass, ma fille." The priest gallantly escorted her to where Adam awaited her in the pew with his mother and stepfather.

As she knelt in prayer during the service Skye thought sadly that Père Jean's prayers would be wasted with regard to a child for her and Adam. She did not care for herself, but for Adam she was sad. He was a man who loved children, and should have sons of his own. She signed herself with the cross at the mass's end, and then with Adam she knelt before Père Jean and repeated her betrothal vows, as thrilled as a maiden to hear his deep voice speak back pledging himself to her till death.

Afterward they broke their fast in the family's dining room, and then the Comte and Comtesse de Cher and their family piled into several coaches with their servants and their baggage to begin the trek to Paris. There were twenty-one adults and children in the party, the six youngest children having been left behind. It would take them five days to reach Paris, traveling at a reasonable speed. As they crossed the river at Tours, suddenly the reality of the trip seemed to touch the family all at once. The marriage between Henri de Navarre and Marguérite de Valois was the most exciting thing to happen in France in some time, especially considering the fact that the bride was most vocal in her opposition to the match.

Marguérite de Valois was as strong-willed as her Florentine mother, Queen Catherine de Medici, but being far more beautiful, young, and gay, she was more popular than the dowager queen. All Paris, devoudy Catholic, was in extreme sympathy with their lovely princess, who was being forced to wed with a Huguenot. Were not their fear of Catherine de Medici greater than their love of her daughter, the young prince of Navarre might have found himself in extreme danger. Even the princess's lover, Henri de Guise, dared not act against the bridegroom.

It was painfully obvious that the lovely young Queen of France, Elizabeth of Austria, would produce no more children than her little daughter; and King Charles IX's only son was a bastard by his official favorite, Marie Touchet. The king's heir was therefore his younger brother, the Comte d'Anjou, whose favorite pastime was dressing as a girl. The French, a practical race, realized there was not much hope there. The eventual king would be Henri of Navarre, who, it was hoped, would by then be converted to the true Church; and his queen would be their own beloved princess. Perhaps this union would bring an end to the religious wars that had been plaguing France the last few years.

The de Saville coaches raced onward toward Paris, the women of the family chattering excitedly about what they would wear to the ball that was to be held the night before the wedding at the Louvre. Skye could not but help feel some of their excitement in her own contentment and happiness. Outside the coach, the French countryside was lush with midsummer; the fields ripening, the vines heavy with their fruit. It was very different from both her beloved Ireland and beautiful England, but Skye thought it was just as lovely in its own way. She prayed that someday she might return home, but if she could not, it would not be so difficult to live in this fair France. At least here she had no fears that she would be disdained for her race or her religion.

Although there were many disreputable inns along the highway, the comte seemed to know the best places to stop; and despite the fact the roads were thick with other travelers on their way to Paris and the wedding, there always seemed to be places to sleep and a private dining room for them. Skye shared a chamber with Gaby, and her two older daughters, Isabeau and Clarice, while her youngest daughter, Musette, shared with Isabeau's sixteen-year-old, Matilde, and Alexandre's eight-year-old, known as petite Gaby, and Clarice's two daughters, Marie-Gabrielle and Catherine. The three youngest girls were in a positive frenzy of excitement, for it was their first trip to Paris. Their elder cousin, Matilde, a betrothed young lady, had been there twice, and was quite superior about it. Skye cheered the younger ones by telling them it was her first trip, too.

Suddenly they were there! Paris! Skye swiveled from one side of the coach to the other, looking, looking, looking. If anything, she was a bit disappointed, for it reminded her of London with its narrow, crowded streets. They would have to be ferried across the Seine, for the house they had rented from a wealthy Huguenot was next to that of the Duc de Guise in the Marais district on the Rive Droit. The Huguenot, unlike most of his persuasion, had been forced to remain in the country to mourn a recently deceased wife.

The de Savilles were not wealthy in the sense that Skye and Adam were wealthy. They had Archambault and its lands; successful vineyards; and a happy, productive peasantry. They had a small house in Paris, but as Adam gently pointed out to his stepfather, the small house in the Rue Soeur Celestine would simply not shelter them all, and no one had wanted to be excluded from the wedding of Henri of Navarre and Marguérite of Valois. The lord of Lundy suggested that the Paris house be rented to someone else coming up to Paris for the festivities, and it had been quickly and easily done. Then the larger house was rented for the Comte and Comtesse de Cher and their family. Adam discreetly insisted upon paying the lion's share of the rental.

"Our own mansion on the Rive Gauche was in a far better location," Gaby declared emphatically. "I don't care if the de Guises have made the Marais fashionable, this place was once a swamp, and the air is still bad if you ask me! I'm only sorry we couldn't all squeeze into our Paris house, but it only has six bedrooms, and we need a minimum of nine. Drat! I dislike renting other peoples' homes. They are never clean enough to suit me! You wait! The place will be thick with dust, mark my words!"

"Now, now, ma chérie," Antoine soothed. "Huguenot housewives are known for their cleanliness."

"But the lady is dead, and how long since she was last up to Paris? No, the servants will have to turn everything out!"

A little to the comtesse's chagrin and, Skye thought amused, even her disappointment, the rented mansion was fresh and welcoming to its guests. The owner, though bowed by grief, was nevertheless not so overcome that he forgot his wife's ways. He had sent orders to his caretaker to hire the necessary help to clean the house for its tenants. The windows sparkled, the draperies and the upholstery were cleaned and brushed. There were bowls of fresh flowers in every room.

"You see, ma chérie," the comte said to his wife, his brown eyes twinkling. "It is all quite in order. We have but to enjoy ourselves."

They had barely time to rest from their long journey. The royal ball was to be held the following evening, and the de Saville servants spent almost all the night and the following day pressing out ball gowns for all the ladies. Skye had chosen to wear a magnificent creation of peacock-blue silk, its shockingly low-cut bodice embroidered in tiny blue crystals and silver beads to match its embroidered cloth-of-silver underskirt. Skye lived in nervous apprehension that if she took a deep breath her entire bosom would be freed of its restraints. Adam chuckled with delight at the prospect as he fastened the diamond necklace about her throat.

"I do not remember this necklace," he remarked casually as he fussed with the clasp, "but then you have a great deal of jewelry."

"Nicolas presented me with it as a going-away gift when we left Beaumont," she said, deciding to hide nothing from him. "It was really quite thoughtful, and typical of his nature, for he knew that I had no jewelry, Daisy having returned to England with my own things." Skye stood very still wondering at Adam's reaction as he stood behind her, his hands yet on the clasp.

The hands moved slowly from her neck and smoothed over her shoulders. "Is it ducal jewelry?"

"No. He had it made especially for me when he believed that I might come back. It was before he was even contracted to his little duchesse. I would not have accepted it otherwise, Adam."

"I wonder that you accepted it at all." She heard the jealousy in his deep voice, though he strove hard to hide it. Funny, Adam thought, I have never been a jealous man before. Then he smiled to himself. I have never been betrothed to Skye O'Malley before, either.

"I cannot return the jewels without hurting Nicolas, but if it displeases you I will put them away for my daughters, and never wear them again," Skye said, and then she turned to face him. "I love you, my lord of Lundy!" Smiling, she stood on her tiptoes and kissed him sweetly. “The damned jewels mean nothing, and well you know it, Adam de Marisco!"

He grinned ruefully down at her. "You can hardly go to the most elegant court in Christendom without jewels," he admitted, and that was the end of it.

The carriages were at the door, and as they exited the house into the courtyard Skye could see that next door's inhabitants were also preparing to leave for the Louvre.

"The Duc de Guise!" hissed Adam's eldest sister, Isabeau de Rochouart, to Skye. "He is the Princess Marguérite's lover."

"Guard your tongue!" Gaby snapped at her daughter. "Like your late father, you do not know when to be quiet!"

"Well, everyone knows it," Clarice St. Justine declared, coming to her big sister's defense.

"What people know and what is said are two different things," Gaby replied, "and you two are more than old enough to comprehend that!"

The two sisters flushed under their mother's rebuke, and made a great pretense at smoothing down their ball gowns as they prepared to enter their coach. They would be sharing it with their husbands, Isabeau's daughter, Matilde, and Clarice's eldest daughter, Marie-Gabrielle. In the first coach Skye found herself wedged between Adam and his eldest half-brother, the widowed Alexandre, while across from them Comte Antoine sat between his wife and granddaughter, Catherine-Henriette St. Justine who was but eleven. It was her very first ball, and the child was almost sick with the excitement. In the third coach the rest of the party, Yves and Marie-Jeanne de Saville, Musette and Robert Sancerre, and their two nephews, Henri St. Justine, and his brother, Jean-Antoine, were crowded. The three younger children, who would be left behind, stood with their nurses watching sadly as the coaches pulled away.

Once out of the courtyard the coaches moved briskly through the streets of the Marais district, quickly gaining the Rue St Honore, which would take them directly to the Louvre Palace. Now, however, they were forced to join a long line of carriages that were also bound in the same direction, and their pace slowed considerably. Adam took Skye's hand in his and squeezed it lovingly.

"I am indeed blinded by the presence of so much beauty, maman," Alexandre remarked. "Both you and my belle-soeur are radiant tonight."

"Beware, little brother," Adam warned teasingly. "I have only this evening discovered how jealous a man I am."

"If I were betrothed to so glorious a creature as Skye I should also be jealous, Adam, but fear not. I don't believe I could steal her away from you. Now that my period of mourning for Hélène is over I shall have to find myself a nubile young heiress to wife. Little Adam, your godson, is a healthy fellow, but one son is not enough for Archambault."

Gaby, beautiful in midnight-blue silk, suddenly pointed. "Look! The Louvre! I have not seen it in over ten years. We were last at court during the brief reign of little François II and his lovely Queen, Marie of Scotland. I think Queen Catherine was almost glad to see her son die so she might be rid of the beautiful Marie. How they disliked each other, those two. I understand that it has not gone well for Marie since she returned to Scotland."

"The Scots are not an easy people, Gaby," Skye said. "Their rulers have ever had difficulty with them."

The de Saville coaches were now pulling into the grand courtyard of the Louvre Palace, which was magically lit up. Footmen in elegant livery were stationed everywhere and others ran back and forth with torches lighting the way for the guests who were disembarking from their vehicles. As they exited the coaches Comte Antoine said, "Let us all remain together, mes enfants. We will first present ourselves to the King, and then the evening is ours. Follow me, for I remember the way."

A court is a court, thought Skye as she hurried along clutching Adam's arm. She studied the faces of the other guests as they moved into the palace, distinguishing the ones who had just come into Paris for the wedding from the truly important who belonged with the court, from the hangers-on, and those hopeful of gaining entry into the fabled circle. One thing she did note was the magnificence of the clothing worn by almost everyone. She knew that only the most wealthy nobility did not have to make sacrifices to be decently clothed and coiffed tonight. On that score she had nothing to fear, for her gown was as elegant as any, and her jewels magnificent. Skye couldn't help the tiny smile that played at the corners of her mouth. Bless Nicolas for his marvelous French foresight!

At the wide double doors to the formal reception room their names were given to the majordomo who was presiding. Then, as their names were called, they advanced into the room toward the throne where France's royalty awaited their guests. Led by Comte Antoine and Gaby, Skye and Adam reached the King and his party.

Antoine de Saville bowed low. "Your Majesty, I am honored to have been included along with my family in this festive occasion."

"Merci, M'sieur le Comte," Charles IX replied in a bored voice. He had absolutely no idea who this provincial fellow was.

"You will remember the Comte de Cher, my son," crackled the dry voice of his mother, Catherine de Medici. "I have certainly never forgotten him, for he supported my marriage to your father from the moment it was proposed. Welcome back to Paris, Antoine de Saville. We are happy to see both you and your lovely Gabrielle."

Skye was fascinated. They could say what they would in England about Catherine de Medici, but by God she was politic. Madame le Serpent, she was called behind her back, and Skye could well imagine it was justified. She had no beauty, in fact she was rather plain-a small dumpy woman with olive skin and dark hair now streaked with iron gray, which showed beneath her cap. Her eyes, however, were incredible. Sharp and as black as raisins, they were the most alive thing about her. They were intelligent eyes; thoughtful eyes; secretive eyes. They saw all, and passed it on to her facile brain, which sorted and used every piece of information obtained. Here was a power to be reckoned with, Skye thought.

Antoine de Saville had introduced his large family to the King, young Queen Isabeau, and Queen Mother Catherine. Now Skye heard him say, "And this is my stepson, madame, Adam de Marisco, the Seigneur de Lundy; and his betrothed wife, Madame Burke." Adam bowed beautifully while Skye curtseyed low.

"You are English?" Catherine de Medici queried Adam.

"Yes, Majesty. I was born there. My father was an Englishman although my mother is French. My lands and title are, however, English."

"And your betrothed is English?"

"I am Irish, your Majesty," Skye replied.

"Irish. Ah, the Irish! Forever giving poor Elizabeth Tudor problems."

"No more problems than she gives us, Majesty."

Catherine de Medici stared hard at Skye, and then she cackled with laughter. "It is all in how one looks at it, eh madame?" Then her laughter died. "You are Catholic, madame?"

"Yes, Majesty."

"And you, M'sieur de Marisco? Are you a member of England's church, or the true Church?"

"I was raised in the holy Catholic faith, Majesty," Adam replied.

The Queen Mother nodded satisfied with his answer. "This is my daughter, the Princesse Marguérite," she said, "and her betrothed, our young King of Navarre."

Again Skye and Adam made obeisance to the royal couple. The princess had her mother's coloring, but fortunately, she looked like her Valois relations and was quite lovely. Henri of Navarre was a very tall, powerfully built young man with dark hair and merry amber eyes. Boldly he assessed Skye, his eyes dropping to her extreme décolletage. His eyes widened appreciatively, caressed lingeringly, and then shot up to meet hers in a daring challenge. Adam, being occupied with the princess, fortunately did not notice; but Skye grew warm with embarrassment.

"M'sieur!" she scolded the King of Navarre, gently determined that he should not even contemplate her encouragement.

"Madame cannot blame me," he replied. "I am a connoisseur of beauty, and you, madame, are the most beautiful creature it has ever been my incredible good fortune to meet. But tell me when and where we may meet! I must make love to you!"

"M'sieur! You are to be married tomorrow. What of your bride?"

Henri de Navarre smiled charmingly. "Margot? She won't mind."

"I am an affianced woman."

"Then we have something in common."

Skye was exasperated. She must discourage this impetuous man. Taking a deep breath, she said, "You are naught but a rude boy of nineteen, m'sieur. I am a woman past thirty."

"Ahh," he smiled warmly at her. "You are experienced then, and I adore women of experience."

While Skye tried to extricate herself from this very difficult situation, Catherine de Medici watched from beneath hooded lids. Deciding that her daughter's conversation with de Marisco was boring, she listened in on Skye and Henri de Navarre. So the Huguenot with the prodigious appetite for women was interested in the Irishwoman. Here was a situation that could perhaps be used to her advantage. Henri was going to need to be diverted soon, and the beautiful Irishwoman looked as though she could certainly divert him if only she were willing.

Skye wasn't willing, however, and Catherine knew enough about human nature to see that the lady was not playing coy. It was unfortunate, the Queen Mother thought, but then she had a number of lovely creatures in her Flying Squadron who could be ordered to distract the King of Navarre if the proper time came.

Henri de Navarre, however, was not discouraged by Skye's stern rebuffs. All women, he had discovered, could eventually be wooed and won. Some were just harder to win than others, but it had been his experience that those ladies were the sweetest conquests of all. Reluctantly he allowed Skye and Adam to pass on, but he was determined that sooner than later he would hold the Irish beauty in his arms, and she would swoon with delight as all the others did at his passionate kisses.

"You are angry," Adam said when they were out of earshot of the royals. "I must assume that the young King of Navarre made indecent suggestions to you, sweetheart." He took two goblets of chilled wine from the tray of a passing servant and handed her one. "I cannot imagine Henri of Navarre not being taken by your beauty."

"It is outrageous!" filmed Skye. "He is to be married tomorrow, and here he is propositioning women the night before!"

Adam chuckled. "Typical behavior of the young man, I am told."

“The poor princess!"

"God's bones, Skye, don't feel sorry for that hot-tempered little bitch, Marguérite de Valois. She is the Duc de Guise's mistress. In fact she wished to marry him, and he was quite agreeable. Unfortunately Catherine de Medici felt the match with Navarre more favorable to her, and de Guise had just hurriedly wed with the Princess de Porcienne to escape a possible royal assassination. The Queen Mother wouldn't hesitate to inflict la Morte Italienne upon de Guise. In face I suspect she is quite sorry he escaped her. The de Guises are too ambitious, and Catherine considers them a threat to her sons. She has never forgiven them for the way they treated her when her eldest, François II, was married to their little niece, the Queen of Scots."

"What a family!" Skye exclaimed. “They are as bad as the Tudors!"

Adam chuckled. "Power," he said, "is a very heady draught, sweetheart."

From some hidden corner the musicians started to play, and the guests began to get into formation to dance. Skye moved gracefully in and out of the figure, smiling softly in her pleasure at Adam, who partnered her with the utmost grace for so big a man. Mischievously he stole a kiss, and she found herself laughing up at him with pure happiness. As far as she was concerned, they were the only two people on the face of the earth. How fortunate I am, she thought. Somehow it has all come out all right. In less than two months Adam and I will be married. Bess Tudor will be angry, but I know that eventually she'll forgive us, and we'll go home again. We'll rebuild Adam's castle on Lundy. It is the perfect place for us-an island between our two countries. We'll gather my children, and together we will grow old together. That didn't seem like such an awful idea to Skye.

He saw her smiling, and asked, "What makes you so happy, sweetheart?"

Gazing back up at him, she said, "I was thinking of our growing old together, Adam."

He chuckled. "Do you think we might be young for just a little while longer, Skye? With you for my wife, my life is but beginning."

"Oh, my darling!" she cried softly, and there were quick tears sparkling like diamonds in her sapphire eyes. "What a lovely thing to say to me!"

"Adam! Adam de Marisco, is it really you?" As the dance ended they heard an excited feminine voice.

They looked about for the owner of the voice and an incredibly beautifully woman whirled into their sight. Reed-slender with a magnificent high bosom and tiny waist, she was dressed in apple green and gold silk, which complimented her wonderful reddish-blond hair.

"Merde!” Adam swore under his breath, and Skye giggled at the oath.

The woman stopped before them, eyed Skye briefly, dismissed her insultingly, and then flung herself on Adam's chest. "A-dam, ma chéri! I cannot believe it is really you! Mon Dieu! You are a hundred times more handsome than when we last met!"

Detaching the woman from his doublet, Adam set her back from him, and said in an icy tone, "Skye, this is Athenais Boussac."

"Non, non, chéri!" The beauty was not a bit disturbed by Adam's unfriendly tone. "You will remember I married de Montoire. I am the Duchesse de Beuvron."

"And how is your husband, Madame la Duchesse?"

"Quite dead, chéri, and in Hell, I hope. He was the most wretched man, you know."

"But a real man, Madame la Duchesse, I have no doubt, knowing your opinion on that subject. Tell me, how many sons did he father on you?"

Now Skye knew who the woman was. This was the very same creature who had once scorned Adam's love when she found out he could not have children. Skye put a gentle hand on Adam's arm. "Come, my love," she said. "I see your mother signaling to us across the room."

"Who is this female, Adam? Tell her to go away! We have much to talk about, chéri."

"As always, Athenais, your manners are deplorable. This female is my betrothed wife, Madame Burke. Now if you will excuse us…"

"A-dam!” Athenais de Montoire caught at his sleeve. "Adam," she repeated pleadingly, "we must talk!"

“There is nothing to talk about, Madame la Duchesse," and taking Skye's arm, Adam moved across the floor to where his mother and stepfather were standing.

"Sacre bleu!" exclaimed Gaby, who had witnessed the entire exchange. “That creature is shameless! What did she want, my son?"

“To talk, she said."

"Hah!" was Adam's mother's angry reply. "Athenais de Montoire was never noted for her ability to converse. More than likely, she has decided she wants another husband, and now that she is rich and titled in her own right she is after you again! Quelle chienne!”

"You will remember, maman, that the reason Athenais broke our betrothal was that she learned I could not have children. I doubt she has changed so much over the last twenty years, and in any case I am not interested in the bitch."

"My son," Gaby de Saville said, "men can often be great fools. Athenais cares nothing for children. She said what she said to you twenty years ago because the Duc de Beuvron had made her father a rather handsome offer for her, and it was more to Baron Boussac's advantage to marry his daughter to a wealthy old duc than to a then penniless English lordling.

"It was a miracle that they received such a magnificent offer, but de Beuvron was elderly and childless. He lusted openly after Athenais, and she was a virgin. How she used that one honest jewel of hers to lure de Beuvron onward to his doom! It is said that the duc demanded to know from Baron Boussac what Athenais's dowry would be. Well, my dear, there was no dowry, as you well know, and so," here Gaby lowered her voice, "it is rumored that the baron brought Athenais into the room where he and the duc were ironing out the agreement, and when he removed her cloak she was stark naked beneath it! As I heard the story, de Beuvron looked at Athenais, who turned to show him all and the duc almost had an apoplectic fit then and there his lust was so hot. Then the baron said, There, monseigneur, is my daughter's dowry to you. A flawless face and form. No amount of gold that I could give you would equal such graces.' As he covered his daughter again with her cloak the duc practically fell over his feet to sign the marriage contract.

"Instead of Boussac giving de Beuvron gold, he received a fortune for Athenais's maidenhead! The duc did manage to get one son on her after five years of marriage. The birth almost killed her, it is said, for the baby came feet first. She was never able to have another, not that she minded. The old duc died two years ago, and his son is now fifteen. The boy is the image of his father, and it is said, a bit weak in the head. He dotes upon his mother, I am told."

"You have certainly kept up, Mother, haven't you?" Adam teased with a grin.

"Athenais de Montoire has always been the topic of gossip in the district, Adam. After her son was born any man who took her eye was quickly in her bed. Her lovers were legion. But since de Beuvron's death she has spent a great deal of time at court, and I have lost track."

"But only for a lack of any informant to gossip with," the comte chuckled.

"Antoine!" Gaby pouted, pretending to take offense.

"She is very beautiful," Skye said thoughtfully.

"O ui,” Gaby replied, "but it is the same kind of beauty that a rotting lily has. To the eye, all is perfection, but beneath the surface one finds decadence and writhing maggots."

"You are far more beautiful," Adam soothed Skye.

"It is not her beauty that disturbs me," Skye said. "There is something about her, something wicked. I see it in her eyes." She looked across the room to where they had left the Duchesse de Beuvron.

Athenais de Montoire stared boldly back at her, but Skye was not one bit perturbed. Equally bold, she openly surveyed the woman. In defiance of fashion the duchesse wore her gorgeous reddish-blond hair long and loose. It fell in rippling waves down her back like a shining mantle. Her face was a little cat's face with a high, broad forehead, narrowing into a determined little pointed chin. Her amber yellow eyes were large and round, her mouth long and narrow and painted red. Only her nose might be considered less than flawless, for although long and elegant, it hooked under slightly at the end, spoiling the perfection. She was still a beautiful woman, though as she grew older she needed more of the artifice of paint to catch the eye.

Gaby put a hand on Skye's arm, drawing her attention away from the duchesse. "I have heard that Athenais is a member of the Queen Mother's Escadrille Volantée."

"Her Flying Squadron?" Skye cocked her head puzzled. "What on earth is that?"

"The Queen uses beautiful women here at court to seduce the men she wishes to use and to influence. The women who do her bidding are called the Escadrille Volantée, or, as you would say in your tongue, Flying Squadron. More than one hapless man has been lured to his doom in Catherine de Medici's quest for power."

Skye let her eyes wander back to where Athenais de Montoire had been standing, but the duchesse was gone now. The hidden musicians were playing another sprightly tune now, and Adam led her back onto the dance floor. Forgetting about the Duchesse de Beuvron, Skye began to have a wonderful time. She danced with Adam, and his charming half-brothers, and the husbands of his sisters, and his nephew. They all partook of the magnificent buffet that had been set out in the rooms surrounding the ballroom; a buffet so incredible that Skye thought never to be hungry again just looking at the bounty of France spread before her wondering eyes.

There were pâtés: foie gras from Toulouse, partridge pates from Nérac, fresh tunny pâtés from Toulon. There was seafood in profusion: raw oysters, opened cold and fresh by kitchen boys for the diners, mussels in Dijon mustard, sole in white wine, lamprey eel, platters with whole salmon on beds of cress, and with whole carp, both from the Loire River. There were dishes of salted white herring, smoked red herring, and a herring that had been bloated, salted, and smoked. There were silver platters of small game birds: partridge, woodcock from the Dombes, and skylarks from Pézenás. There was roast goose, and capons from Caux in ginger sauce, cooked tongue from Vierzon, Bayonne hams, boar, stag, roe deer, beef, and lamb. There were pies of sparrow and lark, rabbit and hare. There were plates of larded ducks and roasted teal, heron, and whole swans. The greens were few: artichokes in olive oil, bowls of new lettuce, scallions, and radishes. There was fresh bread and rolls, and tubs of butter both sweet and salted, as well as half a dozen varieties of cheese and platters of eggs both hard-boiled and deviled. An entire table was devoted to sweets, the centerpiece being a huge marzipan confection of the Cathedral of Notre Dame, its square complete with the bridal couple as they would appear tomorrow. There were gâteaux of every description, meringues, early apples, Anjou pears, sweet black cherries, large, round golden peaches, and small plump apricots. The wine flowed, both red and white, the entire evening. Catherine de Medici did not stint on the prenuptial feast of a Princess of France.

After they had eaten, and Skye swore that Adam sampled everything on all the tables, a point he vigorously denied, there was more dancing. When the young King of Navarre appeared before the startled de Saville family and claimed Skye for a dance he first made it a point to charm all the ladies. He was courteous and smiling to Gaby and her two eldest daughters. He flirted mischievously with Musette and two of his nieces, Matilde and Marie-Gabrielle. He was charmingly teasing to the youngest girl in the family attending the ball, and little Catherine-Henriette later swore to her mother she would never in her lifetime love anyone else but King Henri of Navarre. Then with a polite bow and a smile to the gentlemen, Henri of Navarre led Skye firmly to the dance floor.

"Have you missed me, chérie?” he laughed down into her face.

"How could I miss you, monseigneur? I do not even know you," was her cool reply.

His arm tightened about her waist. "We must remedy that oversight, madame, for you have enchanted me with your Celtic beauty."

"You would do better to contemplate the beauty of your bride, monseigneur."

Henri laughed at the severe tone of her rebuke, and bringing his face close to hers, he murmured, "You have a mouth that was meant for kisses, chérie. How can you be so cold to me when I burn for your touch, for a kind word?"

Skye turned her head to the left as the pattern of the dance dictated, and then she deliberately stamped upon her partner's foot. "Mind your manners, Monseigneur de Navarre!"

He winced as her little pointed heel dug into his foot, but he could still not resist a chuckle. "Your coldness inflames me, chérie," he said with disturbing intensity, "for I know that beneath the icy hauteur of your words is a passionate woman. The softness of your lips gives you away, as does the adorable little pulse in your beautiful white throat that is beating so frantically at this very moment."

Skye was momentarily disturbed. He was too young a man, this King of Navarre, to know so much about women; but gathering her wits, she replied calmly, “The pulse in my throat beats quickly because the pace of the dance is swift, monseigneur."

Henri smiled knowingly. "You have a quick mind, chérie. I like a woman who can offer a man more than just beauty."

"I have offered you nothing, monseigneur, nor do I intend to. I will be quite frank with you so that there is no further misunderstanding between us. My impending marriage is a love match. I would never betray Adam de Marisco in any way. Now that you understand this, Monseigneur de Navarre, I know you will cease this futile pursuit of me."

"The pursuit of love and beauty is never futile, chérie," was his answer.

Skye was becoming annoyed with this spoiled young king. "Monseigneur, I do not doubt that this room is filled tonight with women who would kill for the honor of sleeping in your bed. I, however, am not one of them!" she said.

The dance had come to an end, and to her relief there was Adam at her side. Skye curtseyed low to the King of Navarre, and taking her betrothed husband's arm, she allowed him to lead her away. Adam was chortling softly beneath his breath. "From the look on the face of M'sieur de Navarre, sweetheart, you have just given him a severe setdown."

"What an impossible boy!" Skye fumed. "His attitude is that he is irresistible to women!"

"It is his reputation, Skye."

"He cannot understand the word no, Adam."

"It is not, I imagine, a word often tendered him, sweetheart."

She stopped and, looking up at him, said, "Aren't you even the tiniest bit jealous, Adam? The King of Navarre wishes to seduce me!"

"In truth, sweetheart, I am enraged, but I must think of our future. If Elizabeth Tudor refuses to recognize our marriage and we cannot return to England, France is our refuge. We cannot, however, remain safely in France if I have killed or wounded a royal prince of the blood in a ducl. Therefore I must remain outwardly calm, Skye. But believe me, I am not calm. I stood and watched Henri of Navarre with his hands all over you, and his bold eyes mentally undressing you, assessing your finer points. I would have enjoyed putting my hands around the elegant throat of that puppy and squeezing the life from him!"

Skye smiled up at him, sweetly satisfied. "Do you think your mother would think badly of us if we went home now? We could send the coach back for them. It is not far."

"Now why, sweetheart, would we want to leave such a gay gathering?" he teased her.

"Because my mouth, which, the King of Navarre assures me, was made for kisses, longs to taste yours. Because, mon mari, I long to feel your hands on me. Because I am a totally shameless wench, Adam de Marisco, and I am hot for your loving!"

He felt a bolt of desire tear into his body at her provocative words, her smoldering look. Heedless of how it might look, he yanked her none too gently into an alcove of the ballroom, and his arm tightened about her as he looked with blazing eyes down into her face. "What sorcery is this you work on me, you Celtic witch?" His lips were dangerously close to hers, and Skye felt a weakness in her legs, which threatened to give way beneath her.

Love. She didn't say the word aloud, but rather mouthed it, arid so tempting were her soft lips that, unable to resist, he kissed her passionately. Skye slipped her arms up around his neck, pressing her practically naked bosom against the soft velvet of his elegant doublet. Her pulse was pounding in her ears, and he groaned softly against her mouth, licking the corners of it suggestively. “Take me home, Adam," she whispered to him against his lips.

He drew a deep breath, and said, "You will have to give me a moment to collect myself, sweetheart, and it would be best if you untangled yourself from me and stood quietly."

Her blue eyes were twinkling as she stepped back, and folding her hands demurely, she waited for him to regain his composure. She said nothing, but her lips were twitching with her suppressed amusement. How she loved this big man! He reminded her of- Skye's eyes grew wide with the sudden realization-he reminded her of Geoffrey! In face and form they were nothing alike, yet there was similarity of spirit that could not be denied.

"What is it, sweetheart?" He had seen her face, heard her unconscious intake of breath.

"Geoffrey," she said. "For some reason, at this moment you remind me of Geoffrey Southwood."

"We were cousins," Adam reminded her.

"Yes," Skye said slowly. "I remember your telling me that the Southwoods were the legitimate branch of the family, and the de Mariscos the illegitimate branch."

“That's right," he said. "Geoffrey and I both descend from the original Geoffroi de Sudbois, who came with William of Normandy to England. He springs from Geoffroi's wife, Gwyneth of Lynmouth, and I from the line of Geoffroi's mistress, Matilde de Marisco. In fact his Southwood grandfather and my de Marisco grandmother were brother and sister, for over the years the family did intermarry. Whenever the Southwoods had a spare younger daughter and a little dowry they married the girl to the heir of Lundy, thus keeping the family ties strong." Adam sighed. 'There will be no more heirs to Lundy," he said sadly, "and the de Marisco line dies with me."

She put a comforting hand on his arm. “Take me home, mon mari. My greatest sorrow will always be that I cannot give you a child, but as the Blessed Mother is my witness, Adam, I will love you till death and even beyond as no one has ever loved you before!"

“Then I shall be the luckiest of all the de Mariscos in the last five centuries, Skye," he said gallantly; and taking her arm, he led her from the ballroom of the Louvre and to their waiting coach.

Chapter 14

The wedding of Marguérite de Valois, Princess of France, and her very distant cousin, Henri, King of Navarre, a Huguenot, was a most controversial match. It had been engineered by her mother, Catherine de Medici, over the protests of the Holy Catholic Church. The Pope had refused a dispensation, but that would not be known until after the marriage, for the Queen Mother knew that the Archbishop of Paris would not marry her daughter and Henri of Navarre if he learned of the Holy Father's refusal to cooperate.

Catherine de Medici had come to France as the bride of François I’s second son, Henri. With the death of her brother-in-law four years later she found herself the future Queen of France. Her husband despised her, finding her physically unattractive. He was not intelligent enough himself to discover that behind the plain face was a highly developed mind. Catherine de Medici bided her time, ignoring the insults of the mocking court. Her husband's mistress was an astoundingly beautiful woman some twenty years his senior, and to Catherine the greatest offense of all was that Diane de Poitiers was in sympathy with her.

How the charming beauty strove to be kind to the dumpy little Florentine. How she defended her against baseless slanders! That, to Catherine, was the unkindest act of all, for she wanted to hate this woman who had stolen the heart of her husband before Henri even knew that Catherine de Medici, daughter of the Duke of Urbino, existed. It was six years before Diane could persuade her lover to consummate the marriage he had made for France, and afterward he only came to his wife's bed when forced. It was eleven years before Catherine bore her first child, the future François II. Two daughters followed.

One sickly boy was not enough, and Henri II, King of France, took to visiting his wife's bed on a more regular basis. These conjugal sojourns became embarrassing and emotionally painful for Catherine, for although she had never known any man intimately except her husband, she somehow sensed that there should be more to their coupling than there was. Each time it was the same. Henri would arrive announced in his wife's bedchamber. He would say but three things to her, and they were always the same. Arriving he said, "Bon soir, madame." Beginning his legal assault upon her body, he would cry, "For France!"; and shortly afterward he would say in parting, "Adieu, madame.'" Catherine was pregnant a total of eleven times, and bore seven live children, four of them sons.

When Henri II was killed as the result of an accident on the tilting field, his widow's first act was to send Diane de Poitiers from court; but Catherine was no longer Queen of France; a saucy and beautiful chit of a girl named Mary of Scotland was. Mary was guided in her every move by her mother's family, the powerful house of Guise-Lorraine, who, because Catherine's foolish son, François II, was so besotted by his little wife, also guided the king. Catherine gritted her teeth, and moved to block the dangerous and growing power of the de Guises. There could be no challenge to the house of Valois!

Fortunately, François II died within a year, and Mary of Scotland was quickly sent packing back to her own land where she had not lived since she was six. Charles IX, Catherine's second son, was but ten, and the Queen Mother ruled for him. This was what she had waited for all these years! Power! It was an incredible aphrodisiac. For twenty-seven years she had stood in the shadow of others, but now Catherine de Medici came into her own.

She was, surprisingly, a tolerant woman who strove hard to make peace between the two warring factions that threatened to tear France apart. During the reigns of both her late father-in-law and her husband, the Protestant movement had gained a strong foothold in France. Catherine had been born a Catholic, but she was too intelligent a woman to believe in only one possible path to salvation. When the de Guise family put itself at the head of the majority Catholic faction, Catherine subtly championed the opposing side. Religion meant nothing to her, although she followed the tenets of her faith enough to prevent Church censure. Her overriding concern was for France and its ruling family. They must survive, and she would do whatever she had to do to insure that.

Catherine de Medici had learned a great lesson from her husband's passion for Diane de Poitiers. A beautiful woman could gain much from a besotted man. Consequently, she began gathering together a small force of the most beautiful women at court, women who needed something from the Queen. Some needed money to maintain their extravagant life-styles. Others wanted favors for themselves or family members or even lovers. Catherine let it be known she was there to help, but once in the Queen Mother's debt you were expected to repay her by aiding her to manipulate the powerful men of the kingdom. Catherine de Medici's Escadrille Volantée became notorious, but not so notorious that those approached by its beautiful and sensual members did not give in to their demands.

Catherine was not one to fool herself, and she had seen the handwriting on the wall. François II had never even consummated his marriage to Mary of Scotland, being too ill to do so. The current King, her son Charles IX, had only a little daughter by his wife, Isabeau of Austria, and a bastard son by his mistress, Marie Touchet. Charles was sickly, and subject to fits, however, and there would be no more children, for his latest illness had rendered him impotent. Catherine's two other sons were not particularly promising. The Duc d'Anjou was disgracefully effeminate, wore an earring in his ear, and consorted with a band of similar young men. The youngest Valois son, Hercule, rechristened François after his elder brother's death, was also not physically strong.

The next in line for France's throne was therefore Henri, son of Anthony, Duc of Vendôme and Bourbon and his wife, Jeanne, Queen of Navarre. Henri de Bourbon, Prince of Navarre, was a big, healthy, ruddy boy who had been brought up to ride hard, run barefoot over the rocky hills of Navarre with the goats, fight, drink, and make love well. He was his grandfather's pride, and his mother's source of despair, for Jeanne of Navarre was a strict and militant Protestant. At fifteen, Henri proved, along with his younger cousin, the Prince of Condé, to be the Protestant forces' salvation. He was, it seemed, an excellent military leader.

Seeing this, Catherine de Medici decided there was only one course open to her. She had met Henri on several occasions. What had been clear to her was that he was no religious fanatic. This was a realist like herself, and when the time came Henri of Navarre would do what he had to do to gain the throne of France. She was betting that this would not involve trying to force the French to the Protestant faith. After her sons he was France's hope, and in her heart she knew he would be king, for the house of Valois would die with her sons. This had been told her by a great Parisian fortune-teller, and being a believer in such things, Catherine had decided to marry her youngest child to Henri of Navarre.

The King of Navarre was agreeable. He saw the obvious advantages in such a match. Marguérite of Valois was not so agreeable. She was in love with Henri de Guise, and had even allowed him to take her maidenhead in the childish belief that it would force her mother to consent to their marriage. Catherine laughed at her daughter's tactics, and hinted to the de Guise family that unless Duc Henri took himself a wife he might find himself in an early grave. To Marguérite's fury and frustration, Duc Henri quickly wed with the Princesse de Porcien, and now tomorrow, August 18th, 1572, she was to be married to that big boor, Henri de Navarre.

Staunchly Catholic Paris was outraged that their adorable Margot, who was so terribly in love with the handsome blond Duc de Guise, should be sacrificed this way; but Catherine de Medici wanted peace between Catholics and Protestants lest Spain and England involve themselves in France. Now, however, on the night before her so carefully arranged wedding, she was having second thoughts about the advisability of it all.

Paris was filled with wedding guests, many of them Huguenots. The Huguenots were in many cases being extremely offensive, boasting in the taverns of what they would do to the Catholics when their leader, the King of Navarre, became the King of France. Then, too, there was the very strong influence wielded by Admiral Coligny, the great Huguenot nobleman, on the weak-willed King. Twice today Charles had overridden Catherine's advice in favor of Coligny's, and it was not the first time this had happened. Catherine de Medici decided that Admiral Coligny had to be removed. She was convinced that once that was accomplished, the King would accept her advice again and the Protestants would calm down.

August 18th dawned fair and warm. Because the groom was not a Catholic the marriage ceremony itself was to take place on the steps of Notre Dame Cathedral, and the bride would then enter the great church to hear mass while her new husband waited outside. The square outside the cathedral was crowded with the invited who ohhed and ahhed as the bride arrived clothed in azure-blue silk, the underskirt of her gown embroidered with the golden lilies of France. Several small children of the highest nobility held up the heavily trimmed ermine and cloth-of-gold cloak that fell from the bride's shoulders as she made her way to her place. All the agreements had been signed before the ball at the Louvre the night before, and now the actual marriage was to be quickly accomplished.

But Marguérite de Valois was defiant to the bitter end. When the elderly Bishop of Paris asked in his quavery voice if she would have Henri de Navarre for her husband, the princesse remained mutinously silent. A very long minute passed, and the bishop, now visibly nervous, repeated his question. A small, wicked smile played about Margot’s mouth as she sensed victory. If she didn't answer, they couldn't force her to this marriage! It was all so simple. Why hadn't she thought of it sooner? Suddenly King Charles leaned forward, and hooking his fingers into his rebellious sister's hair nodded her head vigorously up and down. With a sigh of relief the bishop then demanded of Henri of Navarre if he would take Marguérite de Valois as his wife. Henri hesitated just a brief second, long enough to tease Margot into thinking that perhaps he wouldn't, after all. When he finally spoke up in a loud, sure voice she sent him a quelling look, but Henri was not intimidated and grinned back at his furious bride.

Along with the de Savilles, Skye and Adam had been invited to enter the cathedral for the mass. Afterward, as they rode back in the enormous royal procession toward the Louvre and the marriage feast, they heard people in the streets cheering the Duc de Guise, who pretended he did not notice. Skye raised an eyebrow, and said, "Well, that should take M'sieur de Navarre down a peg or two."

Adam laughed. Henri of Navarre had really annoyed his beautiful Skye with his persistent refusal to believe she was not interested in him. There had even been flowers this morning for Skye, brought by a dirty-faced street urchin who only said, "For Madame Burke from Navarre," before grinning impudently and running off. Skye had thrown the bouquet from the window with a shriek of outrage.

"De Guise deludes himself if he thinks he can overcome Navarre's claim to France," Adam said. "I suspect we have not yet seen the last of France's civil wars. How unfortunate!"

"How foolish of the French to fight over semantics," Skye replied. "I have never understood how sane men could argue about the way in which they worship."

"I have often thought," Adam said softly, "that if the Christ returned to earth today he would shed bitter tears over the cruelties men perpetrate in his name."

She nodded and slipped her hand into his. "Let us think on something more pleasant, my darling, like our own wedding."

"I have already sent a messenger to England for the children," Adam replied. "They all will be easy to gather, but for Robin. I have written to Robbie asking that he bring Robin from court on the pretext that his sister is ill and wishes to see him. I will not write to the Queen until after our marriage, for fear she forbid it. I do not want to have to go directly against Elizabeth Tudor."

"No," Skye said. "She will be angry enough when we present her with the fact of our marriage, but I, too, would prefer not to defy her openly."

For the next week Paris was a city of celebration in honor of the royal marriage. There were fairs with fortune-tellers, and dancing bears, and wonderful food distributed by the King in honor of his sister; and for the nobility the feasting and the dancing at the Louvre hardly stopped. Neither did the intrigue. The Huguenot Coligny's influence grew, and Catherine de Medici seethed.

"Well, madame, you see what your meddling has gotten you," the Duc de Guise sneered softly to Catherine one evening.

"It is not good, I will admit," the Queen Mother said. "I would be quit of Coligny. Navarre will come around eventually."

"Admiral Coligny must pass by the house of an old tutor of mine on his way home, madame. I would consider it an honor to aid you in your hour of need. We are both of us, after all, for France."

The Queen Mother's eyes gave no indication that she had even heard de Guise. "You will, M'sieur le Duc, of course do as your conscience dictates," she murmured as she moved away from him.

On the twenty-second of August Admiral Coligny was shot at and wounded as he walked the short distance from the Louvre Palace to his own Paris house. There had been witnesses, unfortunately, and it was ascertained that the shot had come from a house owned by the Duc de Guise. Who had fired the shot, however, was not known.

The Huguenots in Paris for the wedding were outraged, and it was all the King's men could do to keep order, for the city was seething with anger as the two factions met in various public places, trading insults, threats, and sometimes blows. The princes of Navarre and Condé as well as Admiral Coligny himself worked valiantly to keep their people under control. "A hothead," the admiral declared. "'Twas only a shot fired by a fanatic. Did God not spare me, my friends? Is that not a sign that I am meant to five on to carry out his work?" The Huguenots settled down to an uneasy truce with the Catholics.

In the Louvre Charles IX was outraged, furious, and fearful by turns. The lucid mood that had prevailed duc to his sister's nuptials was fast dissolving into terrified paranoia, helped along by his mother and the Duc de Guise. Still rational, Charles demanded that the assassin and his accomplices be brought to justice.

"Coligny is my friend!" he shouted. "His first thoughts are for me, and for France. He would end this civil strife between his Huguenots and the Catholic League. Civil war is not good for the country! You have said so yourself, Mother! You have told me a hundred, nay, a thousand times that a king who cannot maintain order is doomed!" Charles paced nervously about his apartment. "A blow against Coligny is a blow against me, against France! I want the cowardly assassin found!"

Catherine de Medici sat very still in her chair. Her hands were folded in her lap, her black eyes flat and expressionless. "You are getting needlessly upset, Charles, and you are beginning to babble. No one has struck a blow against either you or France. Admiral Coligny has of late usurped your very authority, and it is obvious that someone who saw that attempted to correct the situation. That the means chosen were less than peaceful is regrettable. Still, we must examine why Coligny and his Huguenots have of late been less than cooperative."

"Come, sire," de Guise murmured, "you have been more than generous to these heretics, and now they attempt to stab you in the back."

"What do you mean?" The King was beginning to look terrified.

"Now, Chariot," the Duc of Anjou replied, the King's next brother, "is it not obvious?"

"Is not what obvious, Henri? I do not understand," Charles quavered.

Anjou put an arm about his elder brother, and spoke in a confidential tone. "Coligny is shot at, and his witnesses, all Huguenots, claim the shot was fired from a house owned by Coligny's archenemy, de Guise here. How do we know that Coligny did not plan the whole thing himself, and that the alleged assassin is a Huguenot."

"But why would he do that, Henri?"

"Most obvious, dearest Chariot, most obvious. If Coligny could rouse all his supporters to believe that you, our beloved King, and de Guise, your loyal servant, were responsible for the attempted murder, he could then incite them to rebellion right here in Paris. He could convince them to storm the Louvre itself, and the Louvre could scarce be defended against an armed mob, brother. They would kill all the Valois, and then put their Huguenot King of Navarre upon your throne. His claim, after we are all gone, is quite legitimate, and with our sister, Margot, as his Queen, who would gainsay him France? This is not a plot against Coligny, my brother. It is a plot against you! Against France!"

"Rubbish!"

Everyone, the frightened King included, turned to look to Charles's youngest sibling, the Duc d'Alençon.

"Really, Charles," the good-natured Alençon drawled, "you are allowing de Guise and Anjou to terrify you out of your wits. Whatever the truth of this matter, neither Coligny nor his Huguenots are plotting to destroy you. If I were looking for a villain I should certainly look closer to home, brother."

"And exactly what do you mean by that, Alençon?" the Duc de Guise demanded, his hand going to his sword.

"Mon Dieu, de Guise, you are bold, and quite sure of yourself," the youngest Valois prince taunted. "Will you dare to draw your weapon in the king's presence?"

"Messieurs, messieurs!" Catherine chided, seeing the situation begin to get out of hand. Damn Alençon, anyway! "We are getting away from the heart of the matter. Why are the two greatest houses in France, the Valois kings, and their premier noblemen, the house of de Guise-Lorraine, bound not only by blood but by religion, squabbling? May God have mercy on me for my shortsightedness in trying to make peace between the heretics and the Mother Church. I have been wrong, and it has caused needless suffering." Catherine de Medici rose from her chair, and walking over to her son, she knelt at his feet. "Forgive me, Charles! I have been wrong, and I have given you bad counsel! I shall retire to a convent and spend my days atoning for this terrible sin."

Both Anjou and de Guise cast their eyes heavenward in their attempt to appear pious, but the poor Duc d'Alençon was hard put not to burst into laughter at his mother's theatrical gesture. He knew, as did the others, that she had no intention of taking up the religious life. A less religious woman he had never known!

The King, however, was now totally shaken and confused. The one constant in his life had always been his mother. She had never, ever failed him. "No, Mother! No! Do not leave me! We will solve this problem together!" he cried, helping Catherine to her feet.

"There is only one way, Majesty," de Guise said ominously. "We must kill the Huguenots."

"But it is a sin to kill," the King whispered.

"No, brother," Anjou murmured soothingly, "the Church will not condemn us for destroying the heretics. They will sing our praises."

Charles looked to his mother. Catherine de Medici said nothing, but she did nod her head in the affirmative.

"I can't."

"You must!" de Guise pounded.

“There is no choice," Anjou said. "It is either you or them, dearest brother! We cannot lose you. You are France!"

"All of them?"

"All!'' de Guise thundered, a fanatic's gleam in his eye.

"Not Navarre or Condé," the Queen Mother said with sudden determination in her voice. If Margot were freed of Navarre it would only be a matter of time before the Princesse de Porcien was put aside by her husband de Guise. Catherine knew that her sons would then be killed ruthlessly, and with Navarre gone, de Guise would press his slender claim to the throne with a Valois heiress as his wife. Oh no, my clever friend, Catherine thought. I am smarter than that!

"It must be all," de Guise insisted.

"Navarre and Condé will convert to Catholicism when faced with no other choice. With their leaders gone the remaining Huguenots will also have no other choice but to return to Mother Church. We need these people, Charles. They are industrious and clever, and have much to offer us. Navarre and Condé must be spared."

"Yes, Mother, I understand, but as for the rest, kill them all! I want not one left alive to reproach me! Not one!" He began to shiver uncontrollably with fear. "Marie," he whimpered. "I want Marie!"

Catherine turned her all-seeing eyes to Alençon. "You," she snapped, pointing a fat accusatory finger at him, "Fetch Mademoiselle Touched"

With a mocking smile of congratulation and a sketchy bow, the Duc d'Alençon said, "Of course, maman. At once," and he left the King's chamber.

Mademoiselle Touchet, the King's mistress, was quickly brought to him from her nearby apartments. Seeing his distress, Marie Touchet ran to the King with a sympathetic little cry and began to soothe his fears with her gentle reassurances, from soft hands and voice. The Queen Mother nodded approvingly, and then signaled to the others to follow her out of the room. The frightened King never even saw them go.

Outside the King's rooms Catherine de Medici turned to her son, Anjou, and the Duc de Guise. "I mean what I say, gentlemen. If anything happens to Navarre or Condé, you will not survive them any longer than it takes me to find out; and you know that I do not speak idly, messieurs."

"When is it to be done?" Anjou demanded.

"Come with me to my apartments, and we will speak further on it," his mother said, moving swiftly away from the King's rooms. Entering her salon, she abruptly dismissed her women, and then, turning to de Guise and her son, said, "It must be done tonight."

"There is no time," replied de Guise, the soldier.

"You have no choice," Catherine said. "At this very moment Coligny lies wounded, but tomorrow or the next day he will be well enough to come to the King with his personal accusations. Then all is lost for us. It must be tonight! Now! Before Coligny has the opportunity to see Charles again."

"It is not yet evening," de Guise mused slowly. "Perhaps if we worked quickly, and spread the word to our people. Once it has begun, all Paris will join in to destroy the Huguenots. Yes, it can be done! When the tocsin sounds at two o'clock tomorrow morning, we will begin. Is that satisfactory, Majesty? Is that time enough?"

"Yes," was the reply. "It is a good time, for the pious Huguenots will be sleeping in their houses." She smiled. "All but my good beau-frère, who will be celebrating with the rest of the court at the last ball to be given in honor of his marriage to my daughter. Tomorrow Margot and Navarre will go down to Chenonceaux for their honeymoon trip away from all distractions of the court."

"I still say that Navarre should be killed, too," de Guise muttered.

"Why? So your adulterous union with my daughter might be made legal-after, of course, the removal of your wife? I think not, de Guise. Be grateful I did not have you removed forcibly these past three afternoons from my daughter's bed where you have lingered while Henri of Navarre played tennis with Alençon in the courts by the river."

"Madame!" The Duc de Guise made an attempt at denial, which Catherine waved aside.

"Do not bother to deny the truth, m'sieur. It is of no import in this matter. What is important is that we keep our dear Navarre and Condé amused tonight. I think for Condé it will be Mademoiselle de Grenier."

"You cannot lure Condé with a woman, Mother! He is newly married himself, and besides, he is an awful prude," Anjou said.

Catherine laughed. "You underestimate me, my son. Condé's passion, military strategist that he is, is chess. Mademoiselle de Grenier is the finest chess player at court. She will engage him in a tourney, and keep him thus occupied. As to his wife, I will see that Alençon keeps her amused, for she is quite fond of him in a sisterly way."

"And Navarre?" the Duc de Guise queried Catherine.

"For Navarre I have a special treat, messieurs. Since the night before his wedding he has been vigorously pursuing the Comte de Cher's soon-to-be belle-fille. She is an Irishwoman named Madame Burke, betrothed to marry the comtesse's son by her first marriage, a Seigneur de Marisco. The lady has been quite adamant in her refusal of Henri, which, of course, only makes him more ardent."

"What of the betrothed husband?" Anjou demanded. "Where does he stand in all of this?"

"He is amused," the Queen Mother said, "and does not consider Navarre a severe threat to his betrothed wife. Were it not for my aid, Navarre would not have a chance with the lady, but I shall give him that chance. The Duchesse de Beuvron was once to marry the Seigneur de Marisco. Now that she is widowed, she would like to regain his favor. I will see that she has a chance to plead her case tonight while you, Anjou, will lead Madame Burke to a secluded place to meet Navarre. She will not, of course, know she is meeting him. She will believe she is to see me, that I wish her to carry a personal message from me to Elizabeth Tudor when she returns to England."

"What if she plays on Navarre's sense of honor?" de Guise asked. "What then, madame?"

Catherine de Medici snorted. "Must I outline everything for you? Anjou, my secret study, you know it."

"The one with the bed in the alcove, Mother?"

"Yes! You will bring Madame Burke there. Drug her, or stun her with a light blow. Yes, perhaps that is better, for a drug might render her useless. Bind her hands, and see she is in a state of dishabille upon the bed. She has beautiful little breasts, and I note that Navarre is fascinated with them. One good look, and his gallantry will dissolve as his lust takes over." She chuckled richly. "Yes, one can depend upon Navarre's reactions when a beautiful woman is involved. Wait until after one o'clock before you lure Madame Burke away, Anjou. We want Navarre well occupied when the two o'clock tocsin sounds."

The final ball that night was a triumph that spilled out from the ballrooms of the Louvre Palace into its neat flower-filled gardens that bordered the River Seine. Except for Henri of Navarre's unwelcome and persistent attentions, Skye was enjoying her time in Paris immensely. Yet she decided that she preferred the Tudor court to this one. There was too much intrigue in the French court, whose inhabitants were a touch too chic and too wicked to suit her taste.

"I never thought," she said to Adam, "that I should say I preferred the English and their bluff, honest ways; but compared to the French, they are less complicated."

He chuckled down at her. "Do you think you damned impossible Irish will ever stop fighting us, sweetheart?"

She looked up at him, her sapphire eyes wide with innocence. "Why, Adam," she said sweetly. '"Tis not the Irish who are fighting the English, 'tis the English who are fighting the Irish."

"Not this Englishman," he murmured, bending low to brush her lips with his.

Skye's heart began to race wildly. He seemed to be having that effect on her these days. "Devil!" she whispered back at him. "If you don't stop your provocative behavior I shall certainly cause a scene."

"Mes enfants," Gaby said lightly. "I regret to intrude," and they broke apart laughing, "but the Queen has requested my son that you give audience to the Duchesse de Beuvron."

"Never, maman!" Adam's brows drew together in a frown.

"Adam, you cannot refuse Queen Catherine. Athenais is one of her favorites. I know that nothing the duchesse says can change how you feel, nor should it, but as the Queen has personally involved herself, you must give Athenais a fair hearing."

"Adam," Skye said softly, "how often have I wanted to refuse Elizabeth Tudor, and both you and Robbie have not let me. What is good for me must also be good for thee. Go and speak with the bitch. I do not mind."

"I suppose we cannot have Catherine de Medici angry at us, especially should we need her refuge from the Tudors. All right, sweetheart, I’ll go and let Athenais prattle at me for a while, and I promise, maman, not to wring her deceiving little neck!" He stomped away across the ballroom to where the Duchesse of Beuvron waited by Queen Catherine's side, smiling smugly.

"You are so very good for him, my dear," Gaby said softly. "I have not really seen my son happy in many years. You are the cause of that happiness, and I shall ever be grateful to you for it."

"It is not hard to make Adam happy, Gaby. I love him," she said quietly. "Had he not been so concerned for my welfare, and I not so concerned about everything else, we might have wed long ago. Now I will let nothing stop us."

"Madame Burke?"

The two women turned, and recognizing the Duc of Anjou, they both curtseyed low. "Your Highness."

He acknowledged their obeisance, and then said, "Madame Burke, my mother would like to speak with you privately if you will follow me, please."

"Queen Catherine wishes to see me? Forgive me, M'sieur le Duc, but I do not understand."

"I believe, madame, that my mother wishes you to carry a personal message back to England when you go; a message to your Queen. They have become quite friendly duc to the negotiations between our two families regarding the matter of a marriage between my brother Alençon and Elizabeth Tudor."

"Go, my dear," Gaby said. "You are being honored that Queen Catherine would speak to you herself." Gaby reached out to smooth Skye's hair and dress in a motherly fashion. 'There, ma belle, you are quite ready. Allez! Allez!”

The Duc of Anjou smiled pleasantly and led Skye off. "I must say, madame," he said as they departed the ballroom, "that your gown is a triumph this evening. That particular shade of mauve pink highlights the creamy clarity of your skin, and I should have never thought to use silver with pink crystal beads for the panel of your underskirt. Your dressmaker is obviously French, and not English."

"You have found me out, M'sieur le Duc," Skye replied.

"I must admit to having had this gown made at Archambault by the château's dressmaker."

"Did she choose the colors?"

"No, I always choose my own colors and fabrics."

"You have an eye, madame. Most women, I have found, are willing to be led in the matter of dress, which too often results in their looking ridiculous."

"Where are we going?" Skye asked Anjou as they seemed to be moving farther and farther away from the ballroom.

"My mother has a private study in a remote part of the palace. It insures that she not be disturbed. There are some who are very much against this proposed marriage between my brother, Alençon, and your Queen. You will therefore understand her desire for privacy, madame."

"Of course," Skye murmured, and followed the duc as he moved through one corridor after another. She tried to keep track of where they were going, but she eventually gave it up as hopeless. The duc now led her up two flights of narrow stairs at the top of which was a small paneled door.

Flinging the door open, he stepped back, saying, "Please go in, Madame Burke. My mother will be with you in a few moments."

"Merci," she said politely as she moved past him, and then her brain exploded in a fiery burst of quick pain and the blackness rushed up to claim her.

Skye's instinct for survival aided her to climb back from the darkness, and she awoke with a small cry to find herself lying upon a curtained and canopied bed. Had she fallen? Had she suffered a fit that caused her head to ache so? Gingerly she attempted to sit up, and in doing so she discovered that her arms were bound behind her at the wrists. For a long moment confusion reigned as she tried to remember where she was. Slowly the memory became clear. The Duc of Anjou had told her that his mother wished to speak privately with her, and she had allowed him to lead her to Queen Catherine's private study. It was as she had been entering the study that she had… fainted? Why were her arms tied?

Skye now managed to sit up. The alcove in which the bed was situated had a curtain drawn across its entrance. "M'sieur le Duc," she called. "Are you there, M'sieur d'Anjou?" There was no answer. Only silence greeted her. She still felt too weak to rise from the bed, and Skye looked curiously about the alcove. To her total shock, she saw the bodice and skirt of her ballgown lying neatly upon a chair. Startled, she glanced down at herself and found that she wore only a single silk petticoat and her silk underblouse. The rest of her undergarments, including her stockings and garters, were with her gown. Beyond the drawn curtain Skye heard the door to the Queen's study open, and a man's firm footsteps crossed the floor of the room toward her.

The curtain was whisked aside with a jingling of brass rings, and Henri of Navarre stood there, a huge smile splitting his face as he said in a pleased voice, "Ah, chérie, you have come! All evening I have been sick with worry that you would change your mind."

In that instant Skye knew that she had been led to and prepared for a seduction, but by whom, and why? She was only a visitor to France's court. She had no part in its intrigues or its politics. Obviously the King of Navarre was not a party, or at least not a knowledgeable party, to the plot. He was being used, as she was.

"M'sieur de Navarre," she said in what she hoped passed for a calm and reassuring voice, "I do not know what you mean. Can you not see? My hands are bound most securely behind me. I am not here willingly."

Henri came into the alcove and, seating himself next to her on the bed, said, "But chérie, you have answered one of my love notes, suggesting that I meet you here in my belle-mère's secret study during the ball tonight at half after the hour of one o'clock."

"M'sieur, I am a stranger to the Louvre. How could I have known of this room? Please undo my bonds. I am most uncomfortable. Adam de Marisco and his family will be worrying and wondering where I have gotten to; and even I am not certain how to return to the ballroom. Will you aid me?"

"You did not answer my love note, chérie?” Henri of Navarre looked perplexed.

"I did not even receive it," Skye protested.

"Yet you are here," he persisted.

"The Duc of Anjou brought me here. He said that the Queen wished to speak privately with me. That she desired me to carry a private message to my own Queen in England."

Catherine de Medici knew her opponent well. She had predicted that the sight of Skye half dressed would divert Navarre, and in that she had been correct. He barely heard her words, for he was far more interested in her beautiful breasts, which swelled provocatively above the neckline of her silken underblouse, heaving temptingly in her agitation. The beautiful Irishwoman had inflamed his senses from the moment he had laid eyes on her, and now here she was quite conveniently at his mercy, her lovely body every bit if not more delicious than he had imagined it in his salacious daydreams of her.

"Still, madame," he said softly, "you are here, and I am here, and how foolish we would be not to avail ourselves of this golden opportunity." Reaching out, he undid the ribbons that held her underblouse together. The two halves parted easily, and when Henri had pushed them back over her rounded shoulders Skye was effectively bare to her waist. Navarre caught his breath in genuine admiration, for she had the most perfect little breasts he had ever seen.

"M'sieur de Navarre," she said pleadingly, "I beg of you do not do this thing. I am betrothed to a man I love. How can I go to him if I have been despoiled by another?"

Navarre reached out and reverently caressed the silken flesh of one creamy orb. "Chérie, I will wager that having seen these exquisite little fruits you possess, a saint could not be stopped in his intent toward you. Besides, you are not a virgin, madame. My knowledge of you is that you have outlived several husbands. You have no maidenhead to protect."

"I have my honor!" Skye cried.

"A woman's honor is easily mended, chérie," the King of Navarre said softly. "Give her a diamond necklace or a small château, and all is well again."

"You have acquired a great deal of knowledge in your nineteen years, m'sieur," Skye replied tardy.

He laughed, enjoying her show of spirit. "I had my first woman when I was thirteen, madame. I do not think that a night has passed since then that I have not had a woman to pleasure me." Henri of Navarre stood and began to divest himself of his clothing. "You have appealed to my finer self, madame, and you have scolded me, neither of which has deterred me from my intent. Perhaps, chérie, you did not come willingly to this bed, but you are here, and if I released you I should regret it all my days."

"I shall scream," she threatened him.

He laughed. "No one will hear you, chérie. Catherine de Medici put her private study in the most remote part of the Louvre for many reasons, not the least of which was that no one hear what transpired in this room should the Queen decide to interrogate a prisoner. If you scream not one soul will come to your aid, and you will give yourself a very sore throat." His forefinger reached out to smooth across her cheekbone. Then his hand slipped behind her head and loosened her hair, pulling the pins out and placing them on the small nightstand until her midnight-black locks fell about her naked shoulders like a satin mantle. "Don't be afraid, chérie," he soothed her in a low and now passionate voice. "You will like what we do together. I am an expert lover, I promise you, and I will only give you pleasure, chérie. I won't hurt you, I swear it!"

Skye looked into Henri of Navarre's amber-brown eyes, and knew that nothing she might say would divert the young King from his path of seduction. She was helpless before his lust, and the best that she could hope for was that he was telling the truth, and would not hurt her. He would, however, get nothing from her. She would lie quietly while he had his way with her, and she hoped he would be quick. They were leaving court and Paris tomorrow, and she would never see him again. Adam would never have to know. Skye was ashamed of her final thought, but she would not hurt the man she loved with this tale when there was no need.

"Will you untie my hands, monseigneur? My arms are numb and I am most uncomfortable. I promise not to fight you."

Reaching behind her, Henri undid the silken cord by which she had been held fast, and Skye rubbed her arms, which ached painfully as the blood began to flow back into them. In freeing her he had taken the opportunity to remove her blouse entirely, and now, to her surprise, he pushed her back onto the pillows, drew her arms above her head, and retied them quickly.

"I’m sorry, chérie," he said, genuine regret in his voice, "but despite your vow, I know that your natural morality will cause you to defend your virtue against me. I have far better uses for my hands at this time than fending off your blows." Standing up again, the King finished undressing.

Skye assessed him from beneath lowered eyelids. He was a tall man, almost as tall as Adam, and he was big-boned. If anything, he erred on the side of thinness, which gave him an awkward appearance, and she noted quickly as he climbed onto the bed with her he had huge feet. His hands, however, were big, slender, and very elegant, she saw as he drew her petticoat off her and caressed her hip.

He was gentle and soft in his leisurely exploration of her body. "How lovely you are," he said quietly. "You have skin like the finest silk, but I suspect I am not the first man to make that comparison. Still, I have never known a woman with such fine skin, chérie. It has an almost druglike effect upon me." He bent down and began to kiss her breasts, his lips scorching the tender nipples with their fiery touch. "Mon Dieu, chérie, but you are perfection!"

Damn him, Skye thought furiously as a tiny quiver rippled through her. He is an expert lover, and he is not going to devour me like a piece of cheese, but rather go slowly until I can no longer bear it, the bastard! The King's mouth closed fiercely over her left nipple, where it sucked hungrily, forcing a small cry from between her lips. Instantly he lifted his head.

"You like that, chérie? You must tell me what pleases you."

"I care not what you do," she replied coldly. "It matters not."

"What a little liar you are, chérie. Do you think that you can hold back your passion from me? You're too honest a woman," he laughed softly. "Soon, ma belle, soon," he whispered into her ear, "soon you will lie beneath me crying with your pleasure. You are one of those deliciously rare creatures born for loving, and I am a man who was born to love women! We will be incredible together!" Then his mouth left a trail of kisses down her straining throat before moving upward to capture her lips with his own.

He kissed her with an expertise born of much practice, forcing her own lips apart with the pressure of his. His tongue leapt forward to plunder within her mouth, tasting of her greedily, slid beneath her upper lip along her teeth leaving the scent of mint wherever he touched her. It swirled around her mouth to sweep downward, and Skye felt the first stirrings of desire awakening within her. She despised herself for her weakness. With an angry cry she tore her head away from him, hissing furiously, "You bastard! Have me and be done with it!"

He looked down at her, his amber eyes dancing devilishly, and then he laughed. "So, chérie, you begin to feel it, too."

"I feel nothing," she snarled back at him.

"I can feel you quivering, ma belle. Oh, it is very faint, and very deep down, but I am sensitive to such things."

"I am not sure, monseigneur, which is bigger, your imagination or your opinion of yourself!" she said scathingly.

Again he laughed. "Neither, chérie, as you will soon discover, for I possess an altogether larger part, and already it grows hungry for the taste of your wonderful body." Straddling her easily, he bent and again began to taunt her nipples with his tongue, nipping, licking, and sucking teasingly until she thought she would shriek with the pleasure that began to tug at her.

"I hate you! I hate you! I hate you!" Skye muttered the litany as she cursed her treacherous body, which was beginning to respond shamelessly to his ardent suit. Skye knew what she felt was lust, but she nonetheless was angry at herself that she could not prevent the delicious stirrings within herself.

What was worse was that he knew what she both felt and thought. The amber eyes looked mockingly down at her, daring her to deny the truth. With a sob Skye turned her head away from his gaze, hating him even more for his gentle tone as he soothed her distress. "No, ma belle, you mustn't hate yourself. Yield to me, chérie, and I will give us such pleasure."

"N-never!"

With a sigh of regret the young King moved from her lovely breasts and began caressing her long torso with his hungry lips. Slowly, tortuously, his mouth moved downward, firmly parting her resisting thighs, to stare admiringly at her hidden treasure, to kiss it softly. His curious tongue began to explore her, inhaling her haunting woman's fragrance, slipping along the folds of sensitive flesh, pushing gently into her to rouse her passions until she was no longer able to deny them.

Skye clenched her bound hands into fists, her rounded nails digging cruelly into her palms. She bit her lip so hard that it bled, but she could not prevent the sob that was torn from her reluctant throat. He lifted his head to stare at her, his eyes passion-drugged. Slowly he pulled himself up and atop her. Then with a quick thrust he was inside her warm body, moving smoothly, rhythmically. After what seemed like an eternity to Skye, the King demanded, "Does it please you, chérie? Will you admit now that I am the best lover you have ever known?"

"This is not love, monseigneur," Skye whispered. “This is rape! Do you not know the difference?"

"How stubborn you are, ma belle," he groaned, "but I will not give up. I have been known to stay hard and potent within a woman an entire night before spilling my seed."

From the city there was the faint sound of the two o'clock tocsin, and Henri of Navarre buried his face into the perfumed tangle of Skye's hair, inhaling the taunting fragrance of her damask rose scent. He had been modest, if anything, when he numbered the women he had possessed in his young life; but this woman! Never had he enjoyed a female as he was now enjoying Madame Burke. Had she been willing instead of reluctant, she would, he suspected, have unmanned him half a dozen times already.

Skye lay beneath him wondering if he would ever cease. She had been gone from the ballroom an hour now, and Adam might begin to seek her. How was she going to explain a longer absence? God only knew what Anjou would say to set Adam on the wrong track. The passion Navarre had managed to arouse in her died away with her concern. She had to force him to release his seed, and Skye knew just how to do it. Closing her eyes so he could not see she was deceiving him, Skye moaned convincingly, and began to move her body in time with his. Using the old trick she had learned in the harem she tightened her internal muscles about his manhood.

Navarre groaned with total pleasure. "Ah, chérie," he halfsobbed into her ear, "what delicious torture you abuse me with. Don't stop, I beg of you!"

He was not an easy man to break, she found, and she almost grew too tired to continue when, with a loud shout of triumph, he flooded her with his creamy tribute. Skye cried out herself, but it was with relief. Now perhaps he would be content, and she could go back to Adam before he learned of her shame. For several long moments the King lay on her breasts catching his breath. "Mon Dieu, chérie," he finally exclaimed, "you are magnificent, but then I will wager you have been told that, too."

Skye let a deep sigh escape her. "Now, monseigneur, now that you have satisfied yourself, may I please go?"

"Chérie, we have only just begun to love. I have no intention of releasing you until the dawn." Still lying atop her, he bent and kissed her softly. "Come, ma belle, did I not please you the tiniest bit? You most assuredly pleased me." He smiled winningly at her, and although Skye felt she should hate this arrogant young man, to her surprise she found that she did not.

"Monseigneur, if you hold me until the dawn what will I tell my betrothed husband? I will have to tell him the truth. That the Duc of Anjou kidnaped me from the ballroom under a false pretense, and prepared me for your rape. My husband's mother was with me when Anjou came to me. She will swear to my story. Think of the scandal, M'sieur de Navarre. You are married less than a week to a princess of the blood royal of France, and you are already philandering with another woman, and an unwilling woman at that. Release me now, and I can return to the ballroom with no one the wiser."

"You reason well, ma belle, but the fact I am already chasing other women will cause no scandal. It is my nature, and it is expected of me, bridegroom or no. My dear wife has already betrayed me with her lover, de Guise, allowing him into her bed in the afternoons when I have been with my brother-in-law Alençon. Now that, madame, is a scandal, but because I am a Huguenot and Margot a good Catholic, it is not considered a sin by the good people of France. Margot considers it her royal duty to cuckold me. Therefore my making love to you, madame, will be no scandal."

"M'sieur, be reasonable! Where is your pride? Do you truly find deep satisfaction and pleasure for your ego in forcing a bound woman who does not want you? For shame, M'sieur de Navarre!"

"You are really most adorable, chérie, when you are angry," he teased her, but before Skye could spit out her angry reply, the door to the study burst open, and the Prince of Condé rushed in frantically calling to his cousin.

"Henri! Thank God you are safe! Get up! Get dressed! We are about to be murdered, and we must escape!"

Navarre looked lazily at his cousin as he rolled off Skye. "Henri," he said, "your timing is deplorable as usual. What are you babbling about?"

"Paris is in civil disorder, cousin!" Condé cried. "Our people are being massacred in their beds by the members of the Catholic League led by de Guise! Already a mob looking for you and for me has tried to storm the Louvre. The King's soldiers held them back, but God only knows how long they can! I have already received word that Coligny is dead. Get up, Henri!"

But Navarre was already up, and pulling on his clothes. His smiling, boyish face of moments before had grown grim and old with his cousin's words. "I believe that we are safe, Henri," he told Condé. "I don't know how involved Madame le Serpent is, but she is involved." He turned to Skye. "Madame, I regret I ignored your words of caution earlier. My weakness has always been that my cock ruled my head; still, I regret nothing of our interlude but that it was not longer. Follow the stairs from this room down three flights. The door at the bottom opens into the gardens, and you will easily find your way back to the ballroom from there." Bending, he kissed her quickly, the regret clear in his eyes. "Adieu, chérie!" He turned to go.

"Monseigneur!" she cried after him.

Henri of Navarre turned. "Madame?"

"Monseigneur, you have not unbound my hands." The King leaned over and quickly undid the silken knots.

"Your pardon, ma belle," he said softly.

"God go with you, Navarre," she answered him quietly.

Suddenly he grinned rakishly at her, saying as he ran from the room, "I knew I had touched your heart, chérie!'' Then both he and Condé were gone.

Skye had to laugh. That damned vain boy was within a hair's breadth of losing his life, and all he cared about was that he had been successful in his lovemaking. Suddenly she heard the sounds of battle and terrible cries of agony outside. Skye rose from the tumbled bed and dressed hurriedly, her fingers fumbling with the laces and ties of her gown. She had to find Adam, and she knew that he would be frantically searching for her. It was not easy getting into court gear without Mignon to help her, but Skye managed to attain some semblance of order with her clothes and her hair. Without a backward glance at the room, she fled down the staircase to the gardens.

Once outside, she could hear the frantic screams of the poor unfortunates being murdered in the various districts of the city. Stopping a moment to get her bearings, Skye saw the lighted windows of the ballroom across the garden from her, and she moved swiftly to gain its safety. The cacophony within the ballroom was tremendous as the court chattered frantically to dispel their nervous tension. Notably quiet were the few Huguenot noble families who felt like early Christians in the arena as they huddled in small groups about the room trying to look inconspicuous. On the raised royal dais Catherine de Medici sat quietly with her son, his wife, and her daughter, Margot. Navarre, Condé, and Condé's wife. Catherine's sharp eye noted Skye's entry into the room, and for a minute the two women's eyes met and Skye knew in that instant that the Queen Mother had planned everything, including her own seduction by Navarre. Shaking her head, Skye looked away, missing the look of triumph that flickered briefly across de Medici's fat face.

"Skye! My God, sweetheart, I have been frantic! Where have you been?" Adam, catching her shoulders, whirled her about and looked down into her face.

Suddenly seeing him, Skye realized the danger she had been in, and unable to control herself, she burst into tears. "Oh Adam! I was so frightened!"

“There, lamb," he murmured at her. "Come now, sweetheart, it's all right. Come with me. Maman was worried, too." His loving arm about her he walked her across the room to where Gaby and the entire de Saville family awaited.

"Ma fille, what is wrong?" Gaby was instantly anxious. "You were gone so long. I had begun to grow worried, especially considering the atrocities going on in the city now."

"Not here, Gaby," Skye pleaded. "Later, I will explain later."

"Now that we have Skye safe," the comte said, "we must get to the house, my sons. Are you ready?"

The men in the party nodded, and Adam, seating Skye next to his mother, explained, "Antoine is worried that because the house we are renting is owned by a Huguenot the mob is apt to attack it. He wants to go back to the Marais district and get the children and the servants lest they be hurt. We should not be long."

She nodded. "I'll be all right, my darling. Go with them. I'll be here with your maman."

The Comte de Cher, his sons, sons-in-law, and stepson moved quickly to the royal dais, where Antoine spoke urgently to Queen Catherine for a few moments. Finally the Queen nodded, and the party of men hurried from the ballroom. When they had gone Gaby turned to Skye.

She sighed. "It was a trick to keep Navarre occupied and safe from the mob, Gaby. The Duc d'Anjou took me to his mother's private closet, stunned me with a blow, disrobed me, and left me trussed up like a Christmas goose. Navarre thought I was meeting him for a love tryst."

"But when he found you had been duped, ma fille?”

"Alas, Gaby, chivalry did not prevail in Navarre's case. He raped me, and you mustn't tell Adam. Adam will lose his temper and kill him!"

"I would certainly hope so, ma fille," Gaby replied indignantly.

A small giggle escaped Skye. The whole situation was total madness. "No, Gaby. Adam cannot kill a prince of the blood, an heir to France's throne. He cannot even complain to the Queen, who is responsible for the whole situation. If Elizabeth Tudor refuses to recognize our marriage then we cannot go home to England, and France is our refuge. If we displease France, then where may we go, Gaby? Please promise me you will not tell Adam."

Gaby nodded. Skye was as practical as she herself was, and Adam's mother approved. There was no necessity to tell Adam. Skye was correct in that he would be monumentally angry, and of course would want his honor avenged. The disadvantages far outweighed the advantages. "You are right, ma fille," Gaby said, "but before we drop the matter there is one thing I must know. Is he as good a lover as they say?" Her lovely eyes sparkled with curiosity.

"He is young yet," Skye replied drily, "but his skill is growing, and the potential is there."

Gaby laughed softly, completely understanding Skye's point. "I imagine the King of Navarre would be most disappointed in your rather candid evaluation of him," she said low.

"Madame Burke."

Both Gaby and Skye started, and then rose quickly to their feet to curtsey to Catherine de Medici. The Queen Mother smiled warmly at Gaby, and then turned her eyes to Skye.

“I will not forget the favor you have done me this night, madame," she said. "Whatever may be said of me I do not forget those who give me their aid. You have a friend in Catherine de Medici."

"Why me?" Skye asked, quietly wondering why she felt no anger.

"Because, madame, you were his passion for the moment, and I needed you, for only you could keep him occupied long enough and safe from de Guise and his mob. You did not seek Navarre's attention, which in itself was a stronger attraction. My beau-frèe is not used to being disdained and spurned by a beautiful woman. You are a member of the Tudor court, madame, and my information on you says that you are an intelligent woman. If you did not understand my position you would now be screaming and shrieking charges for all this court to hear."

"I would not hurt my betrothed, Majesty, with the dishonor that has been visited upon us both tonight; but know one thing, I do not like being used."

"Nonetheless," came the disconcerting reply, "it is the way of the powerful to use, and you well know it. When is your wedding?"

"At Michaelmas at Archambault."

Catherine de Medici turned to Gaby. "I shall come," she said calmly. "I will be staying at Ussé that week, but I shall stop a night at Archambault. I understand from Comte Antoine that you will be leaving Paris tonight, so I shall bid you adieu until Michaelmas." With a nod at Gaby the Queen Mother turned away and walked back to the royal dais.

"Mon Dieu!" Gaby gasped. "We have never entertained royalty at Archambault! I cannot believe it! Skye, ma fille, do you realize the honor being done us? The Queen is coming to your wedding!"

Skye had to laugh. Royalty! She would never really understand them. Royalty were the damnedest people in the world. Well, perhaps Catherine de Medici's appearance at their wedding would sit well with Elizabeth Tudor, and she would give her blessing to them despite the fact that they were marrying without her royal permission. "When I was married to Adam's cousin, Geoffrey Southwood, I was married in Elizabeth Tudor's presence at her palace at Greenwich," she told Gaby. "In fact Geoffrey and I spent our wedding night there."

Gaby was impressed. "Adam did not tell me that," she said. "It was a happy marriage with Southwood, was it not?"

"Very happy!"

"So the Queen's presence brought you luck. Now you will be married again in a queen's presence, and that will bring you luck once more, chérie."

"What a good thought, Gaby!" Skye leaned over and hugged the older woman. "Do you know," she said, "I have never had a mother-in-law, as my previous husbands' mamas were all dead. I am so glad you are going to be my belle-mère, Gaby!"

Gaby de Saville felt the tears pricking at her eyelids. She would have made the effort to love any wife of Adam's; but with Skye it was so easy. Not only that, they were friends, and Gaby considered that even better. "I shall light a hundred candles to the Blessed Mother that my son has you," she said feelingly.

"And I shall light a hundred more to her that I have him," Skye replied. "Oh, Gaby! This time I know that everything is going to be all right!"

Chapter 15

The Comte de Cher and his party reached the Marais district just in time. An angry mob was preparing to storm the house that they had rented for their Paris stay. All the mob knew was that the house was owned by a Huguenot family. The comte and his sons clattered into the overrun courtyard of the house, while around them the mob brandished pikes and homemade weapons, shouting, "Kill the heretics!"

"Stop!" Antoine de Saville shouted, but he could not make himself heard over the uproar.

Adam saw one of the Duc de Guise's men leading the crowd, and riding over to him, he said, "M'sieur, though this house is owned by a Huguenot, he is not in Paris. The house is being rented by a good Catholic nobleman, the Comte de Cher. It is his family and servants inside, not Huguenots."

“The house is to be burned," the duc's man replied. "Orders of M'sieur de Guise."

"I understand," Adam replied, realizing that the duc, whose own mansion was next door, was taking this opportunity to confiscate the property for his own. "Nonetheless you will allow my stepfather to remove his people and his goods. The Comte de Cher is in both the King's and Queen Catherine's favor."

The duc's man nodded. "We'll hold the mob, but tell your stepfather to hurry. The canaille grow madder with their blood lust with each minute that passes by."

Adam turned his horse back to Antoine and, reaching him, said, "We just have time to get our things, the children, and the servants, beau-père. They're going to burn the house."

"Alexandre! Yves!" the comte shouted. "Go to the stables and have every coach in there made ready, even those we don't own! Louis, Henri, Robert! You will remain mounted before the front door. Adam, come inside with me!"

It did not take long to marshall the de Saville children, servants, and all their personal property. The servants had spent their evening packing for their master's departure the following day, and it was merely a matter of loading up the coaches in the rear of the house while the howling mob was held at bay out front. Within minutes the house was vacated, and Adam and the comte departed through the main door of the mansion, mounted their horses, and, thanking the duc's man, rode off. Behind them the Paris mob, freed of restraint, burst into their former abode, looting and destroying before putting the building to the torch.

When they reached the palace their women were eagerly waiting and anxious to leave Paris behind. In the confusion Skye found herself alone in a small carriage with Adam. She snuggled into his arms and, pressing her cheek against his hard shoulder, fell asleep. The whole evening had been a traumatic experience and, as always following a crisis, Skye was exhausted. When she awoke they were miles from the capital, but as they drove along there was evidence here and there of the same sort of violence and destruction and mayhem that they had left behind in Paris. In several places along their route gallows had been set up and both men and women as well as children dangled from them, swaying in the clear summer morning.

Skye wept at the sight. "I cannot believe that God condones such cruelty," she said sadly.

'The Huguenots are no better," he answered her. "Religious fanatics hear nothing but their own dogma. What matter how one finds God as long as we find him. Do not look, sweetheart. There is nothing you can do for those poor souls now."

They didn't bother to stop but for brief meals and to change the horses. Antoine de Saville was anxious to get back to Archambault. There was going to be another civil war, and in times of trouble it was best to be in one's own château. The trip to Paris had taken them five days, but the return only took three. They arrived at Archambault after dark, tired and emotionally exhausted by what they had seen and been involved in over the last two weeks. The Huguenots in the district around Archambault had for the most part been untouched, although their pastor had fled to La Rochelle with some of his flock. The majority waited, knowing that the comte would protect them, for they were his best vintagers, barrel-makers, and cultivators. It was fortunate that the village priest was a kindly old man with a good heart who abjured the Catholics not to imitate the excesses of Paris and the other cities that had followed its example.

Because they were far from Paris, the shock of the St. Bartholomew's Day massacre was not strongly felt among those who made Archambault their home. Life swiftly returned to normal with the return of the de Saville family, and the preparations began for the marriage of Adam de Marisco and Skye O'Malley. Originally it had been planned that the celebration be a small, intimate family one; but now with the Queen's promise to attend that was all changed. It would be a grand fete.

As August dissolved into September Skye counted the days eagerly until her marriage, and until her children were with her once again. The wedding was set for the twenty-ninth of September, the feast day of St. Michael, and Skye's children arrived on the twentieth, tumbling excitedly from the coach that had brought them from Nantes, where Skye's ship had docked. They were all there, even her eldest son, Ewan, who had left his holding in Ireland to be with his mother on her wedding day.

"Don't worry, Mother," he told her with a grin. "My uncles, Shamus and Conn O'Malley, are holding Ballyhennessey for me."

"Where is your wife?" she demanded.

"Gwyn and I decided to wait until you could be with us before getting married. She's still very young, Mother. Are you anxious to be a grandparent?" he teased.

"Are you so sure you can be a father, Ewan?" she countered.

He chuckled, and then blushed as his brother, Murrough, said, "He's spawned two bastards already, Mother!"

"Ewan!” Skye was mortified, but Adam and the de Saville men laughed heartily with obvious approval of Ewan's accomplishments.

"Sacre bleu," the comte said, wiping his eyes, "these are fine new grandsons you give me, Skye!" He peered at Ewan through kindly, nearsighted eyes. "So you like the ladies, eh lad? I, of course, am too old for such games, but my sons can, I am sure, tell you the nicest girls on the estate."

"Beau-père," Skye scolded, "you must not encourage him in this behavior."

"Why not, chérie? He is a man full grown! Be proud of him!"

Skye looked helplessly to Gaby, who raised her eyes heavenward in sympathy, but said nothing. Nonetheless the de Savilles welcomed all of Skye's children as if they were blood kin; and the children who had never had any real grandparents wanned to the French couple. The comte and comtesse loved children, and indeed their two sons and their daughter lived at Archambault along with their spouses and children. Isabeau and Clarice and their families were within just a few miles, and consequently the château was always filled with family. For Skye's children, who had had so little family life, the great change was wonderful. Ewan and Murrough quickly made friends with Henri and Jean St. Justine, who were close to them in age; and together the four young men spent their days riding and hunting and, Skye suspected from the occasional self-satisfied smirk on her sons' faces, wenching as well. Catherine-Henriette St. Justine was just a year younger than Willow, and the fact that the eleven-year-old had attended a ball at the Louvre made her an object of much admiration to Willow, who had still not been allowed up to the Tudor court. Robin's new friend was Charles Sancerre, and little Deirdre Burke, who was going to be five in January, was placed in the château nursery with five-year-old Antoinette de Saville. There was even a little boy his age for Padriac to play with, Michel Sancerre.

Skye marveled over her children. The older ones were, of course, happy to see their mother again, but the two Burke babies did not remember her and were cautious in their approach. Deirdre, however, remembered Adam, who had been with her a great deal of the time that Skye was away. She was quite determined that he was her "Papa," and Padraic Burke, who followed his older sister's lead in everything, therefore called him papa, too.

"Let them," Adam said quietly when she attempted to correct them. "In time they will understand about Niall, but for now they need a father."

To Skye's great surprise, her four older children took to calling Adam "Father" also. Robin had never called anyone but Geoffrey father before, and her O’Flaherty sons, who could not remember Dom, had in their Irish pride not been able to call either Geoffrey or Niall by that title. Willow had called Niall "Papa," but even she succumbed to Adam de Marisco's charm.

"What magic is this you weave about my children?" she teased him.

"No magic, sweetheart, it is simply that we need each other."

"Oh, Adam!" she said feelingly. "I am so glad that you do!" and she kissed him with love upon his mouth.

Then, three days before the wedding, as the dressmaker worked on the final fitting of Skye's gown, the kneeling woman remarked, her mouth full of pins, "Madame, you have fattened again! You must be very happy indeed, for most brides lose weight before the wedding. I shall have to alter the waist again."

Skye stood very quietly as the woman did her job, but Gaby had seen how she had paled at the dressmaker's words. When the woman had made her adjustments and taken the gown away, Mignon helped her mistress into a comfortable chamber robe and departed on an errand. Gaby de Saville looked at Skye, and asked, "What is it, ma fille? Why are you so worried?"

Skye looked up at the lovely woman who was to be her mother-in-law, and said brokenly, "I am pregnant, Gaby. There is no mistake. I am pregnant. Dear God, what am I to do?!"

For a moment a stricken look crossed the Comtesse de Cher's face, and her hand moved instinctively to her mouth to stifle her cry of distress. Then seeing Skye's anguish, Gaby de Saville pulled herself together, and spoke firmly. "It is, of course, Navarre's child. Curse him! Why could he not leave you alone?"

"Once, Gaby," Skye said, her voice shaking. "He only took me once. How could this have happened!"

"Once, ma fille, is often quite enough," the comtesse remarked.

"How can I marry Adam now, Gaby? How can I marry the man I love while carrying another man's bastard? Dear Heaven, has not Adam suffered enough? I cannot make him accept someone else's child as his own. Oh, Gaby! What am I to do?!"

"You have no choice, ma fille. Adam must be told."

"No!"

"Yes! Listen to me, Skye. I know my son, and I believe that I know you, despite our short acquaintance. You and Adam love one another. You have traveled a rocky road to be together, and you, Skye, have made my son happier than I have ever seen him in his life. He was half a man, a shadow figure. It is you who have made him whole, and if you leave him I dread to think what he will do.

"We will tell Adam the truth of this matter. Surely you do not think that he will desert you, or blame you. If I know Adam his first thought will be of you, and what you have suffered at Navarre's hand. His second will be of revenge, and together we must keep him from that folly. I know an old witch woman in the forest who with potions can help you rid yourself of this unwanted child; or if you cannot do that, have the babe and we will find a peasant woman to raise it."

"I cannot destroy an unborn child, Gaby. It is not in my nature to do so. I know that Adam will forgive me, but it seems so unfair to ask him. If he decides to repudiate me I will understand," she said, and a large tear rolled down her cheek.

"Fetch M'sieur Adam," Gaby commanded Mignon as she re-entered the room.

The tiring woman turned around and hurried out while the two women sat in silence awaiting Adam de Marisco. Gaby noticed how terribly overwrought Skye was, twisting and shredding her cambric and lace handkerchief as they waited. "It is going to be all right, ma fille," she said. "I promise you that everything is going to be all right."

Entering the bedchamber, Adam heard his mother's words. He rushed to Skye's side and knelt, looking up into her face. "What is it, little girl?" he begged her. "What is the matter?"

Skye, however, could only look mutely at him as the tears began to trickle down her face. Before her son could go mad with worry Gaby de Saville quickly explained Skye's predicament to Adam.

"Dammit!" the lord of Lundy exploded at his mother. "You let her bear this cross all alone, and after what she has been through in Morocco? I thought you had better sense, maman!"

"Don't speak to your mother that way, Adam de Marisco!" Skye sobbed. "She has been wonderful to me!"

“I’ll kill him!" Adam roared.

"Which is precisely why I did not share my knowledge with you, you great fool!" Gaby snapped. "A lot of good you would do us all, Skye included, killing the heir to France. Do you think that there is a place in this world where you might hide if you committed such a heinous crime? It is appalling that Skye is enceinte, but the chances of that happening were so slim that neither she nor I even considered it after the attack on her. It is too late now to worry over it."

"I will understand if you do not wish to wed with me, Adam," Skye whispered.

"Woman," he shouted, "what damned-fool nonsense is that?! Of course I want to marry you! I have wanted to marry you for six long years! I've lain awake more nights than I care to remember aching for you, and cursing myself for my stupidity in letting you escape me! I could kill Henri of Navarre for raping you, but that child you are carrying is half yours, and I will raise it up as my own! We will have no foolishness about farming it out to some stupid peasant, Skye. Now stop your damned weeping, little girl, and come here and kiss me!" He stood up, pulling her with him, and his mouth tenderly took hers.

"Oh, Adam," she said against the warm pressure of his mouth, "I do love you so very much, but everyone in your family will know that the baby isn't yours. I cannot shame you like that."

"Non, non!" Gaby injected. "When Athenais broke her betrothal with Adam and spread her vicious lies, my de Saville children were too young to either understand or remember. Only Adam's sisters, his full sisters, know the truth, along with Antoine. I will tell them of your plight, ma fille, and they will understand and keep silent. They love you as much as I do for the happiness you have brought their brother."

"You see," he murmured down at her. "You cannot escape me this time, little girl. You are meant to be my wife."

Great happiness flooded her being, and she suddenly smiled up at him with a smile of pure radiance. "I had best watch my diet for the next few days," she said, "lest I grow out of my gown again."

The gown, however, was pure perfection when Skye wore it on her wedding day. The bride was a vision of loveliness in apple-green silk, the low bodice embroidered with gold thread and tiny pearls that matched the panel of her slightly darker velvet underskirt. The leg-of-mutton sleeves were held by many tiny gold ribbons, the wristbands turned back to form a cuff with a gold lace ruff just above her slender hands. The bodice had a long wasp waist that ended in a pronounced downward peak. The bell-shaped skirt of the overgown separated in front to reveal the elegant skirt of the undergown; the shape of the entire dress being dictated by a cartwheel verdingale with a padded hip bolster. Beneath this all were silken undergarments, outrageous pale-green silk stockings embroidered with grape vines, and delicate silk slippers sewn with pearls.

Mignon had done her hair with pale-gold silk roses, and Skye wore with them tiny gold chains studded with small diamonds. About her neck she had chosen to wear creamy white pearls. With unusual foresight Willow had carried her mother's jewel cases from England, and Skye was able to put away the pieces that Nicolas had given her, knowing that Adam would be a lot happier if he saw she did not wear the duc's gift on their wedding day. The groom himself was attired in a magnificent bronze-colored velvet suit decorated with gold embroidery and creamy lace.

Because the ceremony had grown from a simple family celebration into a neighborhood fete by virtue of Catherine de Medici's appearance, it could not be held in the château's chapel. Instead, the village church was swept and cleaned and then decorated with roses and all manner of late flowers. The Queen had arrived the night before, and was housed in a suite of apartments that Gaby was sure would not be fine enough; but Catherine assured the comtesse otherwise.

The wedding party walked from the château upon its little hill above the Cher River to the church of Archambault down in the village. All the villagers had dressed in their finest, and even decorated their cottages in honor of the couple. Not knowing Adam's history, they nodded approvingly at the bride's six children, murmuring that the comte and comtesse were sure to have more grandchildren before it was all over.

As she knelt by Adam's side during their nuptial mass, Skye had the strangest feeling that behind her stood unseen guests-the ghosts of her former husbands-and in her mind's eye they were all smiling with their approval. Dom, of course, was not there, but she could see Khalid el Bey, and Geoffrey Southwood, the angel Earl of Lynmouth, and Niall Burke, and-yes!-even Fabron de Beaumont, that poor tortured soul whose wife she had been but briefly. Then as Adam placed the heavy gold ring on her finger, they were gone, and if Skye felt a moment of sadness for what had been, her heart was too quickly refilled with gladness for what was to be.

As they exited the church to the shouts of congratulations from the assembled guests and the peasants, she laughed with joy as, to the delight of all, Adam de Marisco swept his beautiful wife into a passionate embrace and kissed her soundly. Then, leading the procession, they returned to the château for the marriage feast. It was a beautiful day with a soft, warm wind and a cloudless blue sky. Never could Skye remember such a lovely wedding, and in her heart she believed that it portended a happy future for herself arid for Adam.

"Are you as happy as I am, Lady de Marisco?" he asked her, and the smile she flashed him gave him his answer.

On the broad green lawns of the château tables had been placed, the bridal table upon a raised dais where all might see the happy couple, Catherine de Medici, and the Princesse Margot, who had arrived unannounced from Chenonceaux early that morning. Seeing Marguérite de Valois Skye's heart had leapt into her mouth for fear that Navarre had accompanied his wife; but she relaxed as the princesse scathingly and loudly told her mother, "Monseigneur de Navarre is occupied elsewhere." Then she had proceeded to attach herself to the Duc de Guise, who was also mysteriously there without his spouse.

The tables were quickly filled by the guests, neighboring nobility from the nearby châteaux. The lower tables were for the people of Archambault village, and its twin village of Saville, from which the family had taken its name. The cellars of the château had yielded up oak casks filled with rich and heady red wine put down three years before and saved for a special occasion. The silver goblets were filled with this brew while below the salt the villagers were delighted with earthenware cups of Archambault's vin ordinaire.

Comte Antoine rose and, lifting his goblet, said, "Adam de Marisco does not bear my name, nor will he inherit any part of my lands; but this son of my beloved wife is as dear to me as my own two boys. I rejoice with him this day! I rejoice that he has found himself a wife-but not simply a wife; rather a woman who has captured his heart. Long life to both you and your beautiful Skye, my son!"

"Vive! Vive!" shouted the guests, all raising their goblets enthusiastically.

The comte's toast was followed by many others, and Skye was forced to sit smiling as most of those good wishes called for the newlywed couple to have many children. At one point Adam reached over to take her hand in his, and squeezed it reassuringly. She turned her face to his for a moment, and the warm look in his eyes washed over her, leaving her feeling more loved than she had ever felt in her entire life.

The feast accompanying the toasts was bountiful. As a first course, there were several varieties of pate and fish freshly caught in the Cher, along with a barrel of oysters brought from the nearby coast and packed in ice. There was goose, and small game birds, duck and capon, as well as beef and lamb. The estate huntsmen had been most active the last few days and on several open fires turned a wild boar, two red stags, and two roe deer. There were cheeses, and hardcooked eggs, and newly baked breads with tubs of butter, some bowls of cress and lettuce, all to be washed down with good Archambault wine. A last course consisted of newly picked apples and pears and grapes from the orchards and vineyards. A beautiful gâteau of several layers topped by a marzipan bride and groom, the sides of the top layer having alternating marzipan shields being the de Marisco and the O'Malley coats of arms, was the pièce de résistance of the feast.

Everyone ate until stuffed, and then the villagers danced for the entertainment of the nobility. To the peasants' delight, Skye and Adam joined the dancers at one point, encouraging the others at the high board to do so, too. Twilight fell, and then night. Torches were lit to brighten the scene and a fat full moon rose to gild the sky. No one wanted to go home, for it was a wonderful party. Finally it seemed that the only way they could get their guests to leave was for the bride and groom to go to bed. Skye was taken off with much ceremony by her mother-in-law and sisters-in-law, and Dame Cecily, who had come with the children.

It was at that moment that Skye missed her faithful Daisy most, but Daisy was back in England expecting a second child. She felt almost shy disrobing before all the other women, but neither Gaby nor her daughters seemed to notice. Dame Cecily, however, gave her an encouraging pat, saying, "I feel certain, dear Skye, that this marriage between you and Adam is one made in Heaven. I did not like it that Queen Elizabeth sent you so far from us the last time."

“The Queen knows nothing of this marriage yet, dear Dame Cecily," Skye replied. "Robbie must leave next week for court to bring her word of our nuptials."

"You'd best send some rich gift along with my brother, not that that's likely to placate the Queen." Here she lowered her voice, although of the de Saville women only Gaby could either speak or understand English. '"Tis said these marriage negotiations of hers make her fretful and irritable. She does not like to see happiness in others these days."

Before Skye might answer her old friend, there were cries of delight from the de Saville women as Mignon brought in and displayed Skye's nightgown for all to see; of pale pink silk, its low-scooped neckline was part of the molded bodice falling into a simple skirt that swirled about her ankles. The sleeves were long and flowing and deceptively modest. Skye's petticoats and blouse were quickly taken away and the gown dropped over her head. It slid down her body with a soft hiss of silk.

Gaby and Dame Cecily gasped at the open sensuousness of the gown, but Adam's sister Clarice spoke for them all, saying, "Mon Dieu, ma soeur Skye! Why have we bothered to clothe you? The gown fits you like a skin, and if I know my brother you will not wear it long. Try to see that he does not tear at it in his eagerness."

"The men are coming," Musette said from the door.

"Quickly then," Gaby cried as her wits returned, "into bed, ma fille! I do not believe that Adam would appreciate others seeing what is for him alone."

Skye climbed into the big bed, and with swift fingers drew the pins and silk flowers from her hair and handed them to Dame Cecily. Mignon was instantly there to brush the hair free of tangles. The door to the bedchamber burst open and Adam was pushed into the room by his half-brothers and the other male guests. He wore a silk nightshirt.

"He's as ready for you as he'll ever be, Madame de Marisco," Alexandre de Saville laughed.

"If I had something that lovely waiting for me," Yves chuckled, "I would not have been so long in getting to bed!"

"Out!" the lord of Lundy roared. "Get out, all of you!"

Gaby stopped to kiss her son, saying as she did so, "You are both so lucky, mes enfants."

The bedchamber emptied slowly as the guests straggled out through the salon back into the hall of the château. When he was sure that the last of them was gone, Adam firmly closed the door to their bedchamber, walked back over to the bed, and sat down upon it.

For what seemed a long moment they sat in silence, and then Skye said softly, "My God, it is really true! We are married, Adam!"

He grinned almost boyishly at her, and her heart contracted painfully. "I love you, Skye de Marisco," he said quietly. "I love you very much."

"You don't have to sleep with me if you don't want to," she said suddenly. "I will understand."

"Where else would I sleep, Skye?"

"You know what I mean, Adam!"

"Will it hurt the babe?"

"No."

"For how long, Skye? You have to tell me these things, for I've never been a father before."

You're not a father now! she wanted to cry at him in her pain. I can never give you, the man I adore, a child. This is a bastard I carry, and we both know it! Instead, she said, "It varies with each child, Adam. When I get too big and the baby is low, we dare not, but for now there is no harm."

"Good," he said, standing up and pulling off the silk garment that they had dressed him in. "For you see, Skye, I intend exercising my marital rights to the fullest."

Skye swung her own legs from beneath the coverlet and stood up also. Then she turned and, smiling at him, asked, "Do you like the gown, mon mari?"

His eyes raked slowly down her provocative length, and then he said pleasantly, "If you intend to keep that garment whole, madame, you had best remove it quickly before I rip it off you."

Slowly Skye slipped the gown from her shoulders, letting it fall to her waist. She hesitated a minute, allowing him a long look at her beautiful breasts before pushing the cloth over her hips and letting it slide to the floor. His mouth twitched appreciatively at her pretty performance as she stepped lightly from the puddle of silk at her feet. Then as boldly as he, she let her eyes sweep his long length.

"You like what you see, madame, I trust," he said, amused.

"I always have, mon mari," she returned. "Do you like what you see?"

"I always have," he chuckled. "Now get into bed, dammit, little girl. I need very much to feel your softness against me!"

Slipping back into the bed, she turned toward him to find that his arms were already reacfiing out to draw her to him. Skye wrapped her arms about her husband's neck, and sighed with delight. "Dearest Adam," she whispered to him, "I do love you! You are so wonderfully good to me." Then she boldly sought his mouth, and he groaned at the hungry touch of her lips, feeling the sparks ignite instantly between them as the kiss deepened and grew until they both drew away breathless.

Pressing her back into the pillows, he tangled his fingers in the night cloud of her hair and kissed her again until her lips ached with the sweetness with which he was filling her. Her breasts began to grow taut with her rising desire, her nipples thrusting up sharply and tingling with their longing. He felt the rounded push of her against his furred chest, and reaching down with one hand, he caressed the warm little globe of flesh, cupping it in his big hand, rubbing against the nipple with his thumb. Skye shuddered with the pleasure his touch gave her.

Adam laughed, a low and intimate sound of equal pleasure. "You are the most sensual creature I have ever known, ma femme. It pleases me that marriage has not turned you into a little prude." His shaggy dark head dropped so he might take the nipple in his mouth. Slowly he sucked on the tidbit of tender flesh while her fingers kneaded at his neck with increasing urgency. Leisurely he played with both of her beautiful breasts, kissing and touching and loving them with growing ardor. Skye could feel the hot, hard length of him against her leg, and she shuddered again with delighted thoughts of what was to come.

He made love to her that night as if he had never before known her. Slowly he explored her silken flesh as if he had never touched it. "Ma femme, my wife," he called her. "My beautiful bride. Sweet, sweet Skye!" His kisses burned across her body, leaving her shaken and yet yearning for more. Slipping his hand between her thighs, he stroked the softness of her sensitive skin until her legs fell open beneath his tender assault. Toying with her nether lips, he teased her with a single finger that rubbed at the very heart of her femininity until she was squirming and panting beneath his touch.

"Oh, my darling," she begged him, "let me touch you also!"

"Not yet, sweetheart, but soon," he promised, and then he turned her over onto her stomach. Slowly his big, warm hands smoothed over her legs and her back and her buttocks and her shoulders, fanning the flames of her burgeoning desire until she moaned low with her hunger. She felt his great weight on her as he placed his body atop hers, pressing her deep into the mattress. His throbbing maleness rubbed suggestively against the halves of her bottom, igniting her passion even further. She could scarcely breathe, but she cared not if only he would possess her.

"Adam! Adam! Please," she pleaded with him. "I am so hot for you tonight, mon mari!"

He rolled off her, returning her to her back as he did so, and swung himself around so that his dark head was pressed against her white thigh. Caressing her in leisurely fashion, he said softly, "Now, little girl, now is the time to touch me."

Skye's slender hand reached out to return her husband's gentle caresses, and the feel of him beneath her fingers roused her further. After a while she pushed herself into a half-sitting position, and turning, he cuddled against her breasts, kissing them lightly while she fondled the hard length of him. She suddenly realized the truth of what he had been telling her all these years. There was no need to rush; the passion that built slowly between them was far more exciting than any she had ever experienced. Finally, when she thought it could be no more wonderful than it was now, Adam pulled Skye beneath him, gently mounted her, and thrust into her warmth. She cried softly with the pleasure his entry gave her, molding him harder against her with the flat of her palms against his smooth back.

"It's like mulled wine," he groaned against her mouth. "Being inside of you tonight is like being in hot mulled wine," and for a moment he couldn't stir so delicious was the sensation; but then he began to move sensuously on her.

She barely heard him, for his tender possession of her had pushed her into a world of such uninhibited ecstasy that Skye was only aware of wave after wave of rapturous passion sweeping over her and surrounding her. It left her at last feeling totally satisfied and content. "Oh, Adam," she murmured, "how can it be so good between us?"

And he laughed softly, saying, "How can it not be, sweetheart, when we love each other so?"

Love. It was the unbreakable bond between them. A bond forged by the fires of experience, of pain and of passion. At Archambault love surrounded them, for the de Saville family was a close one whose members cared for and protected each other. As Adam's wife, she was now one of them. The comte had insisted that they remain with the family until after the baby was born. Antoine de Saville was a quiet man, but he was also a very wise one. He knew that the closer the bond between Skye and his family the easier this hard time would be upon her. He understood that her predicament, despite Adam's love and understanding, was a traumatic and harsh one. Yet he was a man who loved children, and he believed that not only the mother, but the corning infant must be protected in this situation.

Both Murrough and, surprisingly, Ewan, went happily off to the university in Paris. Ewan had decided that since he was here he would take advantage of a French education, as his father had. He was not the scholar that Murrough was, but he would do well enough, and given the situation in Ireland, it could not hurt him to have French connections.

Willow fretted about allowing her dearest Dame Cecily to return to Wren Court without her, but Robert Small's sister was adamant on the subject. "You've not seen yer mother in almost two years, miss, and she needs you now. Besides, with that silly Daisy having another babe by the New Year I’ll have my hands full there. Daisy's ma has been too ill to help, and well you know it, Willow."

Secretly and guiltily, Willow was relieved. She loved Dame Cecily with all her heart, but she loved her mother more, and she had missed Skye so very much. This wonderful, voluble, loving new French family was very much to her liking. With a light heart she waved her surrogate grandmother off on the road to Nantes, where she would be embarking upon an O'Malley ship for Bideford. Then Willow attached herself to her recently acquired Grandmère Gaby, and began learning all the secrets of a good chatelaine. When she was not tagging after the comtesse she was with her new cousins, Matilde Rochouart, and Marie-Gabrielle and Catherine-Henriette St. Justine. It was the first time in her life that Willow could remember having friends of her own rank, and close to her own age.

Antoine de Saville, aged seven, and his cousin, Charles Sancerre, aged eight, became the close partners in crime of his lordship, Robin, the nine-year-old Earl of Lynmouth. Together the three boys roamed the estate of Archambault, riding, birding, and daydreaming, a troupe of shaggy dogs at their heels. The three scrapegraces became very adept at eluding their tutor, until finally Adam sternly threatened his stepson with a sound thrashing if he did not behave himself. Comparing notes in hushed tones, the three discovered that all had been promised the same punishment by their outraged elders, and so they finally settled down.

In the big nursery of Archambault little Deirdre Burke learned her first embroidery stitches with her very best friend, Antoinette de Saville, while wee Lord Padraic Burke played on the floor at wooden soldiers with his new cousins, Jean-Pierre, Claude, and Michel, the four watched over by their nurses, plump, rosy-cheeked country girls with broad laps and big pillowy bosoms who spoiled the little boys shamelessly.

It was an ideal situation, for Skye's pregnancy was not an easy one in the beginning. To her great amusement and equal annoyance, Adam reveled in her condition. He happily held the basin for her when she awoke in the mornings feeling wretched; her fussy appetite was an excuse for him to hover over her, offering any delicacies he thought might please her; he rubbed her ankles, which seemed to ache at the most inconvenient times. Sometimes it made her feel guilty as she remembered that this wasn't Adam's child, but the child of a royal rape. She tried for his sake to maintain a cheerful attitude, but occasionally a shadow of unhappiness would cross her face, and when it did there were four people who understood the reason for it. When they were together, Adam's sisters, Isabeau and Clarice, consoled their beautiful sister-in-law as best they could.

"You must not hate the child, Skye," said Isabeau, the elder. "Poor baby. 'Tis as much a victim as you were."

"I pray it not look like its father," Skye said. "If it does how can I help but detest it?"

"Think of Adam," Clarice said, her blue eyes filled with concern. "Oh, Skye, you don't know what it was like for him when that awful Athenais broke off their betrothal! He was so young then, and he believed himself in love with her. He needed her understanding at the most, and at the least he needed discretion. Instead she shamed him publicly, spreading terrible lies around the district concerning his manhood. With her quick match to the old Duc de Beuvron, nobody, of course, believed her. They thought she was attempting to make excuses for taking a better offer, but Adam, knowing the truth, was so shamed. He has always wanted a child. Let this be his child, I beg of you!"

Skye remembered how Adam had told her that several of the girls on Lundy claimed that he had fathered their babies; and he had not denied it, but rather acknowledged the paternity, and seen to it that neither mother nor child wanted for anything. She saw how good he was with her own children, slipping easily into his role of father. He wrote letters filled with news and advice to the O’Flaherty boys in Paris, and both Ewan and Murrough wrote back, respecting their stepfather and, Skye realized when they arrived for Christmas, even harboring affection for him.

Willow, Skye discovered, was trying out newly discovered feminine wiles on Adam, constantly soliciting his opinion on everything. When at New Year's he presented her with a strand of pale-gold pearls to complement her skin, which was darker than Skye's, Willow flung her arms about Adam, crying, "Oh, Papa! I do love you so, and I am so glad that you are my father!" Skye felt the quick tears pricking at her eyelids, and she turned away, her heart overflowing with happiness.

Robin quite openly idolized Adam de Marisco. He had been so little when his own father, Geoffrey Southwood, had died along with his baby brother, John. He had not been six when Niall Burke disappeared. Adam was the most stable male influence in his life, and had always, it seemed to him, been there. In Robin's mind, it was only natural that the lord of Lundy marry his mother. Adam, of course, reciprocated the young boy's feeling, loving the little golden lad, the child of his cousin, as he would love a child of his own had he one.

Each day the two would ride together early in the morning, Robin exchanging boyish confidences with his stepfather. Each afternoon Adam would invade the nurseries of the château to romp and play with Deirdre and Padraic; and the nursemaids nodded approvingly at the big bluff man when he tossed the little ones high, laughing with them as they shrieked their delight. Later, when the babies slept watched over by the undermaids, the nursemaids would gossip in the servants' hall about what a fine father the Seigneur de Marisco was to his wife's children, and smile that he was to become a real father himself soon. They knew that the babe would come early, but what did it matter that the Seigneur and his beautiful wife had celebrated their wedding night before the wedding? The child was fortunate to be born to two such lovers!

At New Year's the de Savilles held a fete to which the neighboring nobility were invited, including the Duchesse de Beuvron. It was not expected, however, that she would attend, as she far preferred living in Paris. To everyone's surprise, Athenais de Montoire arrived squired by her son, Renaud, a gangly youth with a pockmarked face, who danced attendance on his mother like a trained dog.

"Renaud is not yet betrothed," Athenais simpered coyly to Henri St. Justine. "Your Marie-Gabrielle is just a year younger than my son. Perhaps we might talk. It would be quite a feather in your cap to marry your daughter to a duc."

Inwardly Henri shuddered at the mere thought of turning his lovely daughter over to Renaud de Montoire. He knew the reason for Renaud's pitted skin. The boy had the pox. Left alone on his estate while his mother cavorted in Paris, he ran wild; and having Athenais's unquenchable appetite, he was hardly fastidious in his choice of partners. "Alas, Madame la Duchesse," Henri St. Justine said smoothly, "both my girls have previous contracts," and then with a bow he left her standing alone.

It was at that point that Skye and Adam entered the château's Great Hall, and to those who had been unaware of her condition it was quite evident that Madame de Marisco was enceinte. It was also quite evident that she and her husband were deeply in love. Athenais's green eyes narrowed maliciously. She had just received a hard setdown from Baron St. Justine, and she knew it. She felt a need to retaliate, and here was a perfect opportunity. Smilingly she approached the couple, and then as she reached them her eyes widened with apparent surprise as she gave a little shriek.

"Madame de Marisco, you are enceinte!" Athenais declared loud enough for everyone in the vicinity to hear. "I thought it was fat, but you really are with child. Mon Dieu! How can this be?"

About them the men snickered at what appeared to them to be obvious. Each had the same thought. If the beautiful Madame de Marisco was newly married to them she would indeed be enceinte. Adam, however, was aware of the hidden insult to his wife, but before he could defend her, Skye said sweetly, "Mon Dieu, Madame la Duchesse, has it been so long since you were able to lure a man to your bed that you have forgotten how these things are accomplished? I do not think it is something that we might discuss in mixed company, but if you would care to come with me I shall be happy to enlighten you privately."

About them everyone laughed at Skye's words, for although she did not know it, she had come very close to the truth. Athenais de Montoire, at forty, was finding it harder to get lovers, and it was said by the court gossips that she paid young men to service her desires.

The duchesse gritted her teeth angrily. "What I meant," she said cruelly, "but then perhaps, madame, you did not know it, was that my betrothal to your husband was broken off twenty years ago because of his inability to sire a child."

A soft hiss of shock escaped the assembled guests, and now the entire hall was listening avidly. "I do not understand, Madame la Duchesse," Skye replied, smoothing her hand across her distended belly, which was covered in claret-colored velvet, "how such a thing can be. On my husband's holding in England are several mothers who would, like me, disagree with such a statement. One might accuse a peasant of a less than accurate memory, but one could not accuse me of such a thing."

There was a dangerous silence while Skye's Kerry-blue eyes looked defiantly into the green ones of Athenais de Montoire. Then the duchesse said sullenly, "I only know what I was told back then, madame."

"Bah!" the Comtesse de Cher snapped, coming to her son's defense. "You rejected my son, for which I now thank God, because you were eager to marry the old Duc de Beuvron, Athenais! The entire district knows the story of how your late papa bartered your virginity in order to make you a duchesse! Do not put the onus on my son. You are just feeling spiteful because when you recently tried to regain his affections he spurned you, being in love with ma belle Skye! The entire court knows how you begged Queen Catherine to intercede for you; that Adam wouldn't even speak to you except Her Majesty requested it."

Athenais de Montoire gasped, and then grew pink with her outrage. "How dare you!" she cried. "How dare you insult me so! I shall complain to the Queen, Madame la Comtesse! She will see I am compensated for these insults! I will stay no longer at this stupid country gathering. My son and I but came to lend lustre to what would otherwise be a dull fete. Come, Renaud!" and with a swish of her gold-embroidered white velvet gown she stormed from the hall.

"Good riddance!" Gaby snapped, and then she signaled to the musicians in the gallery above. At once they began to play a sprightly tune and, unable to resist, the guests began to form the figures for the dance.

"I could kill that bitch!" Skye muttered.

Her mother-in-law replied, "You would have to stand in line, chérie, for Madame la Duchesse is a daughter of the Devil himself, and has made many enemies. You must not worry, however, for she cannot hurt you."

Skye's tart remarks to the duchesse earned her the instant respect and approval of the noblewomen of the district. For too long they had suffered under Athenais's superiority. The evening was declared a success by all.

The winter set in, and Skye grew larger with the child during Lent with its forty days of fasting. Because she was enceinte and also thirty-two, the château's priest absolved her from the strictest fast, allowing her meat on Sundays, Tuesdays, and Thursdays. On the other days she was expected to keep the fast with the others. She felt guilty about having the chef broil her meat while about her everyone was forced to eat fish. The de Savilles, however, were more fortunate than many, for they could catch fresh fish in the Cher rather than being limited to a diet of salted cod and herring.

To Skye's secret relief, Adam's devotion never wavered, even now as her time drew near. None of her other husbands had been so enchanted by her fertility as he was. It seemed to give him great pleasure to lie in their bed with her propped against his broad chest, her chamber robe open, while he stroked her swollen belly, and caressed and marveled over her suddenly heavy breasts. "God's bones," he muttered to her one morning, "how I long to see the baby suckling at your wonderful breasts!"

"I had thought to put the child out with a wet nurse," she replied casually.

"Perhaps later," he said. "But for a time I want you to nurse our child." Gently he lifted one of her breasts. "From the looks of it, sweetheart, you'll have plenty of milk for the baby. Why put the child with a peasant who must feed both her own and our baby when you are capable of nursing yourself.

"I am of a mind to stay in France for a while longer. We are happy here, and so are the children." His long face, however, belied the reasonableness of his words. What he had to tell her was something he'd been avoiding for several days in hopes of finding a good time. There was, it seemed, no good time.

"You have heard from Robbie?" She was instantly wary.

He nodded, knowing better than to conceal it from her. "Yes, I have heard from Robbie. The Queen, may God damn her sour and dried-up maiden soul, will not recognize our marriage. She says we have forfeited her goodwill by our deceit. What deceit, I should like to know? The witch is simply jealous of our happiness! She has never been woman enough to give up all for love, but she resents those who are brave enough to do what she secretly longs to."

“The Queen can go to Hell," Skye muttered irritably.

Adam laughed, but then grew serious again. “There is more, my love."

Skye smiled grimly. "I would expect that Elizabeth Tudor would not content herself with mere words. Tell me all, Adam, for it will get no better with the waiting."

"She's taken the Burke lands, Skye."

“The bitch! She swore to me Padraic's claim was safe if I wed with the Duc de Beaumont de Jaspre. I kept my part of the bargain, Adam. Damn these Tudors for the treacherous dogs they are! Damn her! Damn her! Damn her!" Then suddenly Skye remembered, and she asked of her husband, "Uncle Seamus? What has happened to my uncle?"

Here Adam chuckled. "He did not give in easily, Skye. First he tried diplomacy, reminding the Queen of her promise to you, and that you had indeed kept your bargain. When that did not work that wily old cleric secretly filled Burke Castle with gunpowder, and then blew it to smithereens the night before the new English owner was to take possession. Every tenant farmer on the property had been given notice of eviction by the new owner, and so, as Burke Castle went so did all the cottages and farmhouses on the estate. All that's left of the holding is the land itself and a number of piles of stones, the castle being the largest pile."

"But the people," Skye fretted. "What is to become of Burke people?"

"They've left the land, Skye. Some have gone to the O'Malleys, and others to Ballyhennessey, which so far has escaped the Queen's eye."

"Ballyhennessey is too small," Skye said. "It can barely support its own peasants let alone refugees from Burke lands. Where has my uncle gone?"

"To the O'Malleys, of course, with a large price on his head for wantonly destroying Crown property."

"My brothers will protect him, Adam, but he is such an old man now to have to face such a commotion. He's seventy-one, you know."

"Would you like me to bring him to France, Skye?"

"He'd not come, Adam, for he has his duty to his people as bishop of Connaught, especially now."

He could see that her eyes were sad with his revelations, and it pained him to fret her further, but he had no choice. “The Queen has also taken Lundy, Skye."

"Oh, Adam!" She looked up at him, stricken. "I am so sorry, my darling! All this is because of me!"

"Skye, I will not lie to you. I loved Lundy, and I even loved that damned tumbled-down tower which was all that was left of my castle. I will miss my rooms at the top of that tower, the rooms where we first met, first made love; but, little girl, if I had a thousand times the possessions I should gladly give them all up to have you for my wife. Besides, the Queen got nothing but the island. When I knew that I was going to come after you some instinct made me transfer all my wealth to my bankers in Paris. If we cannot persuade the Queen to relent then I shall obtain lands here in France, and we shall settle here.

“The Queen took nothing of Lynmouth, or Robert Small's possessions, which will one day come to Willow. It is only your Burke children she has acted against, and I suspect, Skye, that given the situation in Ireland now, the English would have eventually stolen those lands. I am sorry, but there is no help for it."

"What of the O'Malleys, Adam? What of Innisfana, my brothers, Anne, Geoffrey's two daughters?"

"For the moment they seem to be safe. I hope you will not be angry with me, Skye, but I instructed Robbie to take over the six ships that belong to you personally, and to separate them from the O'Malley holdings. Your brothers have joined forces with your kinswoman, Grace O'Malley, and she is the Queen's mortal enemy in Ireland. This way I have protected your own wealth."

Skye nodded her agreement. "My brothers are hotheaded fools," she said sadly. “They will tear down everything I have built up for the O'Malleys, and leave our people in poverty, but I can do nothing to help them. They are men now, and they will not listen to me, Adam. They see only the glory of rebellion against the English, and they see not the misery their actions will bring." A deep sigh of regret escaped her, and then she said, "Send for Geoffrey's two daughters, Gwyneth and Joan, and beg my stepmother, Anne, to come with them."

"I don't know if Anne O'Malley will leave her sons, Skye."

"Perhaps not, Adam, but I will ask her nonetheless. That much I can do in my father's memory."

"In time, Skye, the Queen will relent of her decision, I am sure."

"No," Skye said. "I am not so sure she will, Adam. Do you remember when Lady Catherine Grey married secretly with Edward Seymour, the Earl of Hertford? Like ours, it was a Catholic ceremony, but when the proof was needed the priest mysteriously could not be found. Both their sons were declared illegitimate by the Queen!"

"Catherine Grey was a claimant to the Tudor throne, Skye. The Queen was but protecting herself."

"No, Adam. Elizabeth Tudor likes to totally control the lives of her court. She is not capable of loving, or giving love. Once she told me, though she said she would deny it if I quoted her, that she would never wed, for if she did she would be neither a queen nor a woman in her own right, but rather a man's possession, and she feared it. She does fear it, Adam, but yet at the same time she longs for it. She tries to surround herself with women she deems like her, women of wit and beauty and intelligence. When these women fail her by falling in love she is merciless in her disapproval and her revenge. They have, she honestly believes, given in to their baser natures; but Elizabeth Tudor will never give in to her feelings. She will live and die a virgin queen."

"What will happen to England then?" he mused.

"Mary Stewart has a son," Skye said, "and it is this little boy, James, who, I believe, will one day rule England."

Adam listened to his wife, but in his heart he still hoped that one day Elizabeth Tudor would forgive them, so they might return to England. He liked France, but he was an Englishman in his heart. Eventually, although he did not tell Skye, he intended to win the Queen over.

Geoffrey Southwood's twin daughters, Gwyneth and Joan, arrived from Ireland in mid-April. They had stopped in Cornwall on their way to attend the wedding of their elder sister, Susan, to young Lord Trevenyan. Susan, at fifteen, had sent her stepmother a properly correct letter offering to accept responsibility for her two sisters now that she was to be a married woman. Gwyn and Joan, however, had fled happily from their strictly Protestant sister's household at the suggestion that they might marry her two young brothers-in-law.

"You should have seen them, belle-mère" Joan giggled. "Two pimple-faced boys with damp hands that were always seeking to get beneath our skirts when no one was looking; but oh, how pious they became when it was necessary."

Gwyn laughed with her sister. "Indeed, belle-mère, though Susan was shocked that we chose to honor our betrothals to your sons, we love Ewan and Murrough. When may we wed?"

"You are but fourteen," Skye said. "When you are sixteen we shall speak on it. This summer you shall stay with us here at Archambault, and then in the autumn perhaps I shall obtain places among the young French Queen's maids of honor for both of you and Willow. Do you think you would enjoy a few months at court?"

The answer was obvious, and shone in the delight upon the young girls' faces.

"I am sorry that Anne would not come with you," Skye remarked.

"She will not leave her boys, belle-mère," Joan said, "though they will surely be the ruin of the O'Malleys."

“That is why I sent for you," Skye replied. "I did not want you caught up in such an affair."

Joan and Gwyneth settled comfortably into the routine of the family, joining their stepsister, Willow, and her French compatriots in their studies and their games. On the twenty-ninth of April Skye went into labor with her child.

"A bit early," Gaby observed, "but I can see the child is large, and certainly ready to be born. Nature seldom makes a mistake in these matters."

"No, it does not," said Eibhlin O'Malley, the nursing nun who had accompanied her nieces from Ireland in order to be with her favorite sister in her travail.

The salon in the de Marisco apartments had been turned into a birthing room, and all the ladies of the household were available to help, though Eibhlin thought it unnecessary. This would be Skye's eighth child. It was not, however, to be an easy birth. The labor began, and then it stopped, began again, and stopped once more. Skye paced the room, feeling the nervous perspiration sliding down her back beneath her robe.

"Perhaps it is not a true labor," she said to Eibhlin. "This has not been like my other confinements."

"In what way, sister?" Eibhlin kept her voice level. She did not want Skye to know that she was nervous.

"I was very sick in the beginning this time, and the child has not been as wildly active as my others."

Eibhlin heaved a mental sigh of relief. "Each time is different to some degree, Skye. I just worry because this little one is so slow in coming. You have always borne your babes quickly."

Skye awoke on the morning of April 30th in severe labor. Before she might rise from her bed her waters broke, flooding everything. She was furious, and muttered, "Already this royal bastard causes me trouble. I wish to God it would never be born!"

"For shame, sister!" Eibhlin scolded. 'The babe is innocent of its father's crime. Be grateful that your husband loves you so very much that he is willing to raise this child as his own."

Skye looked at her sister, her beautiful blue eyes ripe with raw pain. "I don't want him to raise this child, Eibhlin," she whispered. "I hate this babe that was forced upon me! The young King of Navarre used me like a whore, and I can never forget that as long as I must be a loving mother to his bastard! It is not fair, Eibhlin! It simply is not fair! Adam, who is the best man in this whole world, cannot sire a child duc to a youthful fever, yet he is meant to be a father. It is his child I want! Not the bastard of France's future king!"

Eiblilin, who had always understood this beautiful and brilliant younger sister of hers, put an arm about Skye. "You can't change what has already been, sister," she said sadly. "You must face the truth of this matter. Henri of Navarre's child is soon to be born to you. Your husband, whom you profess to love above all, wants this child for his own. You do not have a choice in this, Skye. For Adam's sake, you must accept this little one with as good a grace as you can muster. It is the only thing he has ever asked of you, Skye, and Adam de Marisco has given you so much in return. For love of you he has lost Lundy. He has for love of you lost his country. Of all the men who have loved you, Skye, he has given you the most, for he has without shame or reserve given you his total heart. All he asks in return is this child which will put an end to any of the evil rumors that have been spread by the Duchesse de Beuvron. This babe will restore to him his own sense of manhood. You owe him that, sister."

Skye burst into tears at her sister's words, and sobbing, she flung herself against the nun's chest. “I know that all you say is true, Eibhlin, but I cannot in my heart resign myself to it. I know that I am being selfish, but I cannot! I cannot!"

"You will," Eibhlin said positively. "I have faith in your nature, Skye, which has always been a good and generous one." With a loving hand Eibhlin stroked her sister's head.

Skye sobbed her misery out against her sister's spare bosom for several long minutes. She wanted to be the woman that Eibhlin claimed she really was, and she wanted to make Adam happy, but every time she remembered its conception she rebelled with anger. She remembered Navarre's golden amber eyes filling with lust as he examined her bound and helpless body. She remembered the feel of his lips and his tongue upon her, and most of all she remembered that he had been totally aware that although she resisted him in her heart and mind, her body could not deny him. She remembered he had smugly voiced his knowledge, and had laughed at the futility of her rejection of him. All the love that Adam had to offer could not wipe out the terrible shame she felt, and having to face the result of Navarre's rape for the rest of her days was not going to help.

Then suddenly she was being pulled from her sister's embrace and enfolded in her husband's bearlike embrace. "Don't weep, little girl, please don't weep!" Adam begged her, his normally strong voice sounding somewhat distraught.

Tears of frustration poured down her face, scalding her, but looking up at this marvelous man whom she loved so dearly, Skye said in what she hoped passed for a reasonably normal voice, "Dammit, Adam, having a baby hurts, and all women cry! Would you want me to act any differently for our child than I did for the others?"

She saw his face sag with relief, and knew in that minute that he would give up his little dream for her if she asked. For a moment she was tempted to, but then she forced a small smile to her lips. Reaching up, she touched his cheek with her hand.

"It's truly all right, sweetheart?" he begged for her reassurance.

"It's all right, you big fool," she teased him wearily. "No wonder God gives the task of bearing children to women. You men go completely to pieces at the slightest little thing."

Adam nodded his head at her, saying, "I will admit that I should rather face an enemy in battle than go through what you are going through right now, little girl. Still, I will stay by your side if you want me."

"I would like that," Skye answered him, "but you must promise me that should you become distressed by my labor, you will feel free to go. I will understand."

Eibhlin sighed a secret sigh of relief. Part of the difficulty with Skye's erratic labor had been that she had not wanted to bear this baby, and her mind had been exercising a fierce grip on her entire body. Now that Skye had come to terms with herself, Eibhlin knew that the labor would progress, and indeed it did, but at a far slower pace than the nun had expected. Finally Eibhlin felt she must examine her sister more closely, and Adam and Gaby helped Skye up onto a table that had been prepared with a mattress and clean linens. Eibhlin washed her hands thoroughly, and then began a gentle examination of her patient. Skye was but half dilated as the nun slipped a hand within her sister's body. Scarcely breathing, Eibhlin reached out and found what she had been expecting. A soft Celtic curse escaped her as she withdrew her hand.

"What is it?" Skye was instantly alert.

Eibhlin washed her hands again. 'The babe is turned the wrong way," she said. "Tis breach."

"Will it right itself?"

"Perhaps. The situation is not yet acute, and so I think we can wait a bit."

Skye was helped from the table, and with grim concentration she began to pace back and forth, Adam walking with her. Knowing what was to come, Gaby and Eibhlin both took the opportunity to sit down and rest.

The pains began to come with greater regularity now, and finally after several hours Eibhlin felt she must examine her sister once more. This time Skye was fully dilated, but the baby had still not turned itself correctly. It was well past midnight, and now May 1st.

“I’ll have to try and turn the child myself," Eibhlin told her sister.

"Can you do it?" Skye returned.

"I’ve done it successfully many times," was her answer. "Don't worry, Skye. It will be all right."

Skye tried to keep her mind off what her sister was doing while Adam sat by her head and sought to comfort her by talking. She had not wanted this bastard child, but suddenly, now that the babe was in danger, Skye's maternal instincts all rushed forward as she silently prayed all would be well.

“There!" Eibhlin said triumphantly. "Now, sister, bear down so we may get this child quickly into the world!"

“The infant is turned?" Gaby sounded anxious.

"Yes, Madame la Comtesse, the child is properly positioned now to be born. Look! You can even see its head."

A mighty pain tore through Skye, forcing a cry from between her lips. Instinct took over and she pushed hard to force the child from her body. Adam mopped her steaming brow with a cool cloth, and she saw that he was white about the lips. She was suddenly reminded of Geoffrey Southwood, who had helped her to birth their son in a barge on the Thames. If only Adam could stay by her as Geoffrey once had, she thought. She knew that, like Geoffrey, Adam was a man of great sensitivity who would treasure the memory of the birth.

Another pain cut into her, and she heard Gaby cry, "Ah, ma fille, the child is being born!"

"We've got the head and shoulders, sister," Eibhlin said. "Just a little more, dearest!"

Skye felt the proximity of victory, and it showed in her face, for Adam said, "I want to see the baby coming from your body, sweetheart."

"Yes! Yes!" she said urgently through gritted teeth, and he stood up and went to stay by Eibhlin. She watched him with an almost pagan joy, for the look on his face was one of both wonder and amazement. Then he caught her gaze with his own for a quick minute, and the love and admiration that flowed from him gave her new and incredible strength. At the next pain she bore down as hard as she could, and she actually felt the baby sliding from her body. There was a tiny hiccough, and then a small cry of outrage as the infant was born and took its first breath.

'"Tis a little girl," Eibhlin said with a smile. "A perfect little girl!"

"Give her to me," Gaby said, holding out her hands for the baby. "I will clean her off so she may be properly presented to her mama and papa." She took the baby from Eibhlin, and Skye laughed with delight as Adam's eyes widened with pleasure at the sight of the baby. She was, she decided, going to love the child no matter the manner in which it was conceived, and more important, Adam loved it. Another pain knifed through her, and Skye worked to rid herself of the afterbirth.

Eibhlin worked swiftly and efficiently to finish with Skye the job of the birthing. As Mignon carried off the basin holding the afterbirth the nun cleaned away all traces of Skye's travail. "You've been torn a bit," she said, "by the size of the child. She is a big girl. Chew on this herb, sister, for I shall have to stitch you up." She handed Skye a piece of something green, and Skye obediently put the green herb in her mouth and grimaced, for it was bitter in taste.

Within Skye's sight, Gaby, watched by Adam, worked to make the baby fresh and pretty for its parents. Suddenly Adam's mother gave a startled little cry. "Mon Dieu! How can this be, but it is!" She turned to her big son, commanding, "Adam, fetch Isabeau and Clarice at once! Vite! Vite!"

"Maman, it is the middle of the night," he protested, "and as proud as I am of the child, it can wait until morning to tell them of it."

"Do as I say!" Gaby commanded again. "Please, Adam, do not argue with me! Vite?”

With a shake of his head Adam stumbled from his apartments to fetch his sisters, Isabeau and Clarice, who had come to stay at Archambault at the news that Skye was in labor. Walking through the chilly halls of the château he found their rooms and, banging upon each door, called to them. The doors were opened by sleepy tiring women, who eyed Adam balefully when he told them to fetch their mistresses.

"What is it, Adam?" Isabeau came to her door, pulling a quilted velvet gown about her.

“The child is born, and Maman insists that you and Clarice come immediately."

"Is Skye all right?" demanded Clarice, who had now come to her door.

"Both she and the child seem fine, but Maman has suddenly gone mad, I think."

The two sisters looked at one another, and then pushing past their brother, they hurried down the hallway. Adam quickly followed them, and they re-entered the apartments shared by the de Mariscos.

"Maman, what is it?" Isabeau cried.

"Maman, are you all right?" Clarice echoed.

"Yes, mes filles, I am fine, but I need you both here because there has been a miracle, and both of you can help me prove the existence of that miracle." Gaby picked up the newly born infant, which she had wrapped in a soft blanket. Carrying it over to Skye, she said, "Ma chère Skye, this is no child of Henri of Navarre. This child is of our blood, and I can prove it to you. Ma soeur," she said to Eibhlin, "take your niece a moment." She handed the baby to the nun and then Gaby bent down, lifted her skirts, and drew her undergarments down to bare her hip. "Do you see it?" she said. "Do you see the small mole in the shape of a heart, Skye?"

"Yes." Skye was puzzled.

Gaby dropped her skirts. 'That birthmark is the mark of the St. Denis women. Only women of our own blood have that mark. Isabeau, Clarice, show Skye your birthmarks."

The two sisters undid their gowns and, raising their nightdresses, each revealed a tiny dark heart upon the left hip just atop the bone. The mark was identical to that of their mother's. "All our daughters bear the same mark, Skye," Isabeau said.

"Before I married I was Mademoiselle St. Denis," Gaby explained. "That particular birthmark has shown up on the women in my family for at least ten generations. Musette also bears the mark, as does her little daughter, Aimée. I did not call Musette, however, since she does not know her brother's difficulty. Nonetheless, ma chère Skye, this baby you have just borne is my own true granddaughter, the child of my son, Adam." She turned to Eibhlin. "Unwrap the infant, ma soeur," and when the nun had done so, she handed the baby to Gaby. "Look, Skye! On the little one's left hip just atop the bone! The birthmark of the St. Denis women! There has been a miracle, ma fille! This is Adam's child, and no one else's!"

Skye looked at her daughter, and then she looked to Eibhlin, her voice confused. "Eibhlin, you are a physician. Can this be? Is it true? Is it even possible? Can this baby be Adam's daughter?"

Eibhlin looked closely at the newborn infant. The tiny dark heart atop the left hipbone was quite plain. There was no mistake about it. She took the baby, rewrapped her in the blanket, and handed her to her mother. Then, turning to Adam, she said, "Who told you that you could not have children, Adam?"

"'Twas an old herb woman," Adam said. "I had been ill with a very high fever, and she claimed that the fever had burnt all the life from my seed."

Eibhlin nodded. "An only half-accurate diagnosis, my lord. What I suspect is really the truth is that for a time your seed was lifeless, but nature sometimes has a way of reversing itself, and it is very possible that now, many years later, you have perhaps a small amount of life to your seed. I have heard of cases like yours." She looked down at the baby, and smiled. "She has your mama's nose. There is no doubt this child is of your flesh, my lord, but do not get your hopes high, for there is very little chance of your siring another child. You have been fortunate, and God has heard my sister's prayers, but, as your mother has said, this is a miracle!"

Adam de Marisco moved to Skye's side, and together they gazed wonderingly upon their daughter. "How do I thank you, sweetheart?" he said, and she heard the catch in his voice.

She shook her head, her eyes filling with happy tears, her own voice catching in her throat. "I… I can't believe it, Adam." Then she looked about the room and saw that both her sister and the others had tears in their eyes.

Finally Eibhlin managed to regain her equilibrium, and taking the baby from its parents, she said, "It is time that everyone went to bed. Is the cradle in the bedchamber?"

"Yes, ma soeur," Gaby said corning to herself. "Give me my newest granddaughter, and I shall put her in her cradle while you and Adam help Skye." She turned to her daughters. "Well, don't just stand there, you two! Go and open Skye's bed for her! Must I tell you everything?"

Isabeau and Clarice giggled, not one bit put out to be scolded by their maman. They felt giddy with happiness at the wonderful good fortune that had befallen their beloved brother and his beautiful wife. Hurrying into the bedchamber, they drew back the coverlet of the freshly made bed with its lavender-scented sheets.

Carefully Adam de Marisco lifted his wife up and carried her to their bed. Gently he set her in it and drew the covers over her. Skye's eyes were beginning to close as all the tension of the last months and the lengthy labor she had just endured caught up with her. She was asleep even as his lips softly brushed her mouth.

"Is she all right?" he asked Eibhlin.

"Yes," Eibhlin nodded with a kindly smile, "but she is very, very tired. Had this kind of a labor come when she was a girl I should be less concerned, but she is past thirty, Adam, and that is not a good time for a hard birth."

"Is there any danger, Eibhlin?"

"I don't believe so, for Skye has always been healthy. I am just cautious."

Eibhlin led them all from the bedroom, closing the door behind her as she went.

"Go back to your beds, mes filles," Gaby ordered her daughters. "I am certainly going to seek mine, and you, ma soeur, deserve a good rest also. I will see that the nurse is sent to watch the baby while we all sleep." Clarice and Isabeau hugged their brother and then departed the room, closely followed by Eibhlin and Gaby, who with tears in her eyes kissed her son, stating a final time, "It is a miracle!"

When they had left Adam de Marisco tiptoed back into Skye's bedchamber once more, and stood for several long minutes looking down at the sleeping form of the newborn child. His daughter! He had a daughter! Not some royal bastard that he would accept for Skye's sake, but his own child. It was a miracle. He wanted to pick the baby up and examine her carefully, but he was afraid to do so. They had all said she was a fine big girl, but to him she looked so tiny. Tomorrow. Tomorrow would be time enough to become acquainted with his new little girl. He walked over to the big bed where Skye lay sleeping, and his heart went out to his lovely wife. She looked so very tired after her long ordeal. He had loved her for so long, and now he owed her a debt that he could never repay, for she had given him a child. Somehow he was going to get them home to England. Ireland, he knew, was totally out of the question, and Skye knew it, too. If there had been troubles in Ireland before, they were going to double in the next few years. Bending down, he kissed her lightly once more, and then went through the connecting door between the two chambers and sought his bed.

In his sleep Adam heard the baby whimper, and he was instantly awake, stumbling across the room and through the door. To his surprise and his relief, the nurse was already there. She smiled at him, and curtseyed. '"Tis all right, monseigneur. Go back to sleep." He gratefully complied, and the sun was halfway across the skies above Archambault when he finally awoke again. He had fallen into bed without even removing his clothing, although he had remembered to take off his boots. Now Adam peeked into Skye's bedchamber, and seeing his wife sitting up in her bed eating an egg, he hurried to make himself presentable. Stripping off his clothes, he called for old Guillaume to bring him water for washing, and while he bathed and trimmed his beard and mustache, the old valet laid out fresh clothing for his master which Adam hastily donned.

Her blue eyes lit up as he came into the room, and she smilingly held out her arms to him. "Bonjour, mon mari!" she said gaily.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, he took her into his arms and kissed her passionately. "Je t’aime, I love you," he murmured softly at her. "You are the most marvelous woman in this world, Lady de Marisco!"

"Gracious," she teased him, "and what has made you so happy today, my lord?" But then Skye could not keep up the pretense, and she called to the nursemaid, "Ila, bring the baby for my lord to see. Oh, Adam, you should see her! She is so perfect!" Her own eyes were shining with joy and happiness, and he took her hand, raising it to his lips to kiss it.

"Merci, ma femme," he said. "Mille fois merci!"

Ila brought the baby from its cradle. Laying her carefully upon the bed, she said, "I shall go and get the extra linen I need if Madame will permit it."

"Yes, yes," Skye encouraged the nurse, and then she turned to her husband. "Look at her, Adam. Isn't she just perfect?"

He looked down at the swaddled little bundle with only its small, heart-shaped face showing. "I really can't tell," he said honestly. "Can we undress her?"

Skye unwrapped the baby from her blanket, and carefully removed the little shirt and napkin. Then she looked up at her husband. "Well?"

Adam de Marisco gazed down with wonder at his daughter. She was indeed perfection. She had plump little arms and legs and a fat little tummy. She was rosy and creamy with a thick headful of dark curls, and now when she opened her eyes he saw that they were a beautiful blue. She stared at him boldly, and with a soft chuckle Adam touched the baby with a gentle finger. Her skin was softer than anything he had ever known, and he was enchanted by it. "She's roses and ebony, ivory and white velvet," he said quietly.

Skye smiled at his pride as she carefully redressed and rewrapped the baby. The infant whimpered, and quietly her mother opened her gown and put the baby to her breast. Skye's milk would not be in for another day, but her breasts already tingled with a clear liquid that preceded the milk, and it was this nourishment she offered her daughter. Adam sat watching her, and he felt more at peace now than he had ever felt in his life.

"What are we going to name her?" he asked his wife. A name for the child was something that Skye had not been able to discuss while she believed it to be Henri of Navarre's baby.

"Would you like to call her after your mother, and she might have Marie as a second name as May is the month of the Blessed Mother?" Skye looked to her husband.

“That is kind, sweetheart," he remarked, "but Clarice has a daughter who is Marie-Gabrielle, and Alexandre has a daughter who is Gabrielle-Marie. Our daughter might bear both those names, but she must also have her very own name, a name by which she can be distinguished from her cousins." He looked again at his daughter, who was busily and hungrily nursing upon her mother's breast. Once more he was overcome by the urge to touch her, and he did so gently, his pinky rubbing softly against her cheek. Again the word velvet came into his mind, and then Adam's eyes lit up. "Velvet," he said. "I want to call her Velvet!"

"It is perfect!" Skye said excitedly. "Velvet Gabrielle Marie. Velvet de Marisco!"

Velvet de Marisco chose that moment to get a bout of the hiccoughs, much to her parents' amusement; and then the baby, not the least bit impressed by the importance of the occasion that had elevated her from nameless infant to Velvet de Marisco, fell asleep. Over her daughter's head Skye looked lovingly at her husband, and Adam de Marisco smiled back. For the moment there was no longer any need for words.

Chapter 16

When she was three days old, Velvet de Marisco was baptized in the family chapel of Archambault by the château's priest. To everyone's surprise, Queen Catherine and her daughter, Marguérite, arrived from Chenonceaux, where they had celebrated May Day. The princesse insisted upon standing as godmother to the baby.

"She is not Navarre's child," Skye said boldly. "I would have no misunderstandings between us, Highness."

"She is too pretty to be Navarre's child, madame," the princesse laughed. "No, I choose to be this little girl's godmother because if I were a good wife I should now be giving birth myself. I am not a particularly good wife, but then Henri is not a good husband. Humor me, madame. I shall be good to the child."

Skye bowed her head politely. "You do my daughter great honor, Highness."

"Who is the other godmother-to-be?" Catherine de Medici asked.

"Elizabeth Tudor, " Skye said softly.

"Ha ha!" the Queen laughed. "You play your cards well, Madame de Marisco. Well, it cannot hurt the little one to have both an English queen and a French princess on her side. Who knows where she may end up someday. Who is the godfather?"

"M'sieur le Comte," Skye replied, "and her half-brother, the Earl of Lynmouth."

"A good choice," the Queen approved. "Again you chose to straddle both sides of the channel." The wars of religion were giving everyone a nervous summer. A nearby wealthy Huguenot merchant decided to relocate to the Protestant stronghold of La Rochelle, and was very grateful to find in Adam de Marisco a buyer for his small château, Belle Fleur. Belle Fleur was only four miles from Archambault, a fairy-tale gem of a house located upon a small lake and set in the middle of an enormous garden on the edge of a forest.

Skye was charmed by her new home, which had been built in the early fifteenth century by an ancestor of the previous owner's wife. Belle Fleur had an air of enchantment about it with its witch's cap roofs and its moat, which spread into a small lake on one side. The château appeared to hover on the smooth surface of the water, and seemed even more mysterious by virtue of the surrounding forest of Archambault. Built of flattened, rough-hewn blocks of reddish-gray schist, it had four polygonal towers crowned by dark slate roofs shaped like witch's hats which defended each corner of the building. Access to the cour d'honneur could only be gained through a tall, heavily fortified châtelet flanked by rounded and corbeled towers that rose high on either side of the entrance arch. Surrounded by water on three sides, the château was on its fourth side planted in an exquisite and colorful garden filled to overflowing with sweetly scented blooms. The creatures of the forest were kept from the garden by a low stone wall. It was this magnificent garden that had given the château its name.

It was not a large home, but it had a fine hall where the family might gather, and where they could entertain on a small scale; and there were enough bedchambers for all of the children, and room for a decent staff of servants. There were good-sized stables for the horses, a respectable kennel for the dogs, and a suitable place for the falcons. The former owner had sold the château furnished, and it was filled with pleasingly good furniture and hangings. Adam had a bed made to his own specifications for himself and Skye; she purchased both table and bed linens from a nearby convent; and they were ready to move into their new home. Mignon and Guillaume came with them from Archambault, along with a full staff of servants provided them by the comte.

They spent the rest of the summer settling in, surprisingly isolated from France's unpleasant religious wars. They were the contented parents of nine children, six of Skye's, her two stepdaughters, and their own baby daughter, Velvet. Skye could not remember a more content and domesticated period in her life. Ewan and Murrough were home from the university in Paris for several months, and along with their younger brother, Robin, and their stepfather, they spent long days on horseback hunting or sprawled lazily by the lakeside, fishing. Then, too, the older boys had suddenly become very aware of Gwyneth and Joan South-wood, to whom they had been betrothed since childhood.

Skye's stepdaughters, the children of Geoffrey Southwood's previous marriage, were pretty girls with long, dark-honey-blond hair and soft, gray eyes. They were now fourteen, and had been in Skye's care since they were five. The twins adored their stepmother, and Skye loved them back with all of her generous nature. She had placed them with Anne O'Malley when she had left for Beaumont, and under that sweet lady's tutelage the Southwood girls had learned all that needed be known by a good wife and mother. As little girls they had been rather plain, and their new prettiness delighted Skye and greatly pleased her sons.

In this happy summer Gwyn and Joan and their stepsister, Willow, were content to be with Skye, who took them riding and boating, and on wonderful picnics in the nearby forest. It was not long before Adam and the boys began to join them on their al fresco outings, and soon Deirdre and her little brother, Padraic, were clamoring to come also. It was a good time. In the evenings the family would gather in the Great Hall for the meal, and afterward Adam and Ewan would play chess while Murrough and Robin, both once pages at Elizabeth Tudor's court, would play upon their lutes while the ladies sang.

Skye watched her children with pride, and glowed herself in their reflected happiness. It had never been quite like this for any of them. In France they were far from the Anglo-Irish situation; they were far from the intrigues of Elizabeth Tudor's court. For the first time, Skye thought, we do not have to be wary. We do not have to be afraid.

In the autumn Willow, Gwyneth, and Joan went up to Paris accompanied by Ewan. Murrough had decided he had enough of education, and went off to sea with old Sean MacGuire. The girls were to take their places for a few months in the household of the young French Queen, Isabeau of Austria. Young Robin South-wood grew restless with his elder brothers gone and Adam concentrating on the running of the small estate.

"You want to return to England," Skye said understanding^.

Robin, now ten, looked sadly at his mother. "I am an Englishman, Mother," he said. "I am the Earl of Lynmouth. I know that I am but half grown, but I belong at the court where my father spent his youth, and I belong on my estates. My lord de Grenville cannot truly act for me."

"If you go," she said, "we may never see one another again. Neither Adam nor I dare set foot in England for fear of the Queen's wrath. She will not recognize our marriage, and she has branded wee Velvet illegitimate."

"She is not a happy woman," Robin replied wisely. "She longs for, yet she fears that which other women have. She is not so much angry at you, Mother, as she is at herself."

Skye was amazed at her young son's apt appraisal of Elizabeth Tudor, but then Robin had been the Queen's personal and favorite page, and he was not a stupid boy. "I will write to both Robbie and Dickon de Grenville to see if your return would be a welcome one," she said with tears in her eyes.

"Don't worry, Mother," he said in an effort to comfort her. "Bess Tudor cannot keep me from you if I desire to be with you. I am Southwood, the premier Earl of England!"

Skye looked hard at her son. He had grown taller over this summer, and she suddenly realized that the arrogant tilt of his head, the fierce pride in his voice, the very way that he stood made him his father's son. "Yes, Robin," she said softly, "you are indeed South-wood."

Skye kept her promise to Robin, and wrote that very day to both Robbie and de Grenville. For several weeks the correspondence flew back and forth between France and England. Skye insisted that she receive the Queen's word that Robin would be allowed to come to his mother and stepfather whenever either of them should desire it. The Queen wrote back that Robin might certainly come to visit his mother, Lady Burke, and Lord de Marisco, her lover, whenever he chose. Elizabeth Tudor wrote in her elegant hand, that she knew the pain of parental separation from her own personal experience, and she would certainly not visit it upon the child of her late, dear friend the Earl of Lynmouth. However, the Queen primly noted that she did not think the living arrangements chosen by Lady Burke, as well as the presence of her bastard daughter, were conducive to correct moral behavior; and young people were so easily influenced.

"Ohhhh, the jealous bitch!" Skye spit furiously. "If she could retain her maidenhead and still entertain a randy cock nightly, she would! The hypocrite! I’ll not let Robin go!"

Adam roared with laughter, but then he grew serious. "You must not make him stay, Skye. I would go home too if I could, and if Robin desires it then he should go. He is lord of a vast estate, and his people need to see him. He has his place at court, Skye, even if we don't. It is his right."

Young Lord Southwood rode out from Belle Fleur on an early November day. He had bid his tearful mother a loving good-bye and, accompanied by his stepfather, made his way to Nantes, where he would embark for Plymouth on one of Skye's ships.

"I’ll soften the Queen up so she'll recognize your marriage, Mother," he promised gallantly. "It is not right that she not do so, and I will not have my sister Velvet's honor compromised."

Skye hugged him, muttering motherly things about getting enough sleep and eating properly and not allowing himself to be seduced by anyone either male or female, for the pages were always prey to such debauchery, especially when they were as handsome as Robin.

His lordship flushed at his mother's words, and Adam swallowed a guffaw at Skye's concern, saying, "Enough now, sweetheart, else we miss the tide, and old MacGuire won't be happy with you then. Besides, you know how treacherous the Bay of Biscay can be at this time of year."

Skye understood her husband's silent message, and pulling herself together, she kissed Robin soundly on both cheeks, saying, "God go with you, my son. Remember I love you."

She watched them disappear down the forest road, and then Skye walked quietly through the château and upstairs to the bedchamber she shared with Adam, where she had a good cry. After a while she began to giggle as she remembered Adam's remark about the tide, realizing that, as always, her tears would have rendered him helpless. The tide mattered not, for it was two days' ride to Nantes from Belle Fleur! Her sense of humor restored, and facing the fact that she really could not keep Robin from his heritage, Skye put it all behind her and set to work to keep busy while Adam was away.

There were now only three children left at the château, her Burke son and daughter and little Velvet. Since they were all cared for by their nurses Skye could spend her time at other things. The previous winter had been a cold one, and neither had the spring and summer been successful growing seasons. The fourth French religious war raged on, but was thankfully confined to La Rochelle and Sancerre. Yet the coming winter would bring famine and shortages to all of France. Skye had already seen to the import of grain from the Barbary coast, which was brought into Nantes on her ships. This grain she shared with Archambault, and the miller there had seen to the grinding of the wheat into flour, which was then stored in a guarded stone granary hidden within the forest. Throughout the winter, the flour would be parceled out to the peasants so that they might survive.

In a burst of generosity, the Comte de Cher and his sons-in-law permitted hunting in the fields and forests of Archambault twice monthly on specific days. Poachers caught at any other time were subject to severe punishment. Both Skye and Adam knew the forest of Archambault abounded with rabbits, far more indeed than could ever be eaten. It was understood among the peasants of the neighborhood that the Seigneur de Marisco and his wife were known to look the other way when coming upon snares, and fishing discreetly in the Belle Fleur’s lake was not discouraged.

"You are too kind to them," Gaby scolded Skye as she visited with her daughter-in-law while Adam was away.

"They have to eat," Skye argued. "By letting them snare rabbits without ceasing we make the rabbits wary enough to avoid the gardens, which means the vegetables have time to reach maturity. We will need the cabbages and carrots and the leeks and onions this winter. It is simply a matter of careful planning."

"You have managed an estate before?" Gaby was surprised.

"Did Adam not tell you of my estates, Gaby? It seemed to me that he told you everything else about me," Skye laughed.

"Oh, I know about the wealth you inherited from your husbands, but I was not aware you knew how to manage that wealth. It is not something a woman usually does."

"I have never been an ordinary woman, Gaby. When I was still a girl my father bypassed my five older sisters and their husbands to put his wealth and power in my hands. I am the O'Malley of Innisfana. I followed my father's teachings and increased the holdings and the wealth of the O'Malleys of Innisfana considerably. At the same time I managed my son, Ewan's, holdings, and later on the wealth left to me by my second husband for his daughter, Willow, and then all of Lynmouth's lands and goods, and finally the Burkes'. I was not so successful with the Burke lands, alas."

“The Irish!" Gaby threw up her hands. "Forgive me, ma fille, but they are an impossible people. Charming, but totally mad!"

Skye laughed. "Indeed we are," she admitted. "I regret that the Irish would rather destroy themselves than accept compromise and survive. Even I rebelled against the English in the end. Had I gone back to England instead of marrying Adam here in France, my son, Padraic, would still have his lands, and Adam would have Lundy."

"Lundy?! Good riddance!" Gaby snapped. "A pile of stones upon a rock, but ah, before Adam's father allowed his lust to control him so that he defied and insulted King Henry Tudor, ahh then, ma belle, Lundy and its castle was a most fantastic sight. I had my first glimpse of it when I arrived there as a bride over forty years ago. John de Marisco had come to Paris to wed me, and then brought me back to England. We stopped at Lynmouth to pay our respects to John's liege lord, your Robin's grandpère, and then we embarked from Lynmouth for Lundy across the water. It was early morning, and the fog was thick. Soon I could no longer see Lynmouth, and I could certainly not see Lundy. Then suddenly a light wind sprang up, and the dawn began to pour across the skies. Lundy appeared like a fairy-tale castle, seeming to float above the sea, streamers of mist swirling about its turrets. Ah, 'twas a glorious sight!" For a moment her face was soft with the memory, but then the practical Frenchwoman resurfaced. “Then that marvelous idiot I married managed to destroy my son's inheritance, and left us with barely enough for me to bring my children home to France! Lundy! Pah! You are better off here at Belle Fleur!"

"Excuse me, madame, but it is time for Mademoiselle Velvet's feeding," the nursemaid said, bringing the baby to her mother.

Skye took her little daughter, who was now six months old and growing more like her father every day. Her coal-black curls were already thick and tangled, her blue eyes were avid in their curiosity about everything.

"Ah, ma petite bébé!" Gaby crooned. "Have you a small smile for Grandmère?"

Velvet's eyes swept tolerandy over her grandmother, and then turning away, she grasped at her mother's breast, thrusting the nipple into her mouth. With a sigh she settled down to the business of food.

Skye chuckled. "Like her father and her mother, she will not be deterred from her desires."

"You are still nursing her? Why?" Gaby demanded. "Surely you can find a wet nurse. I could find you one, ma fille.'"

"Adam prefers that I feed her myself," Skye said, "and frankly I am enjoying it, Gaby. This is the first time in my life I have been able to enjoy being a mother. There was always something to take me from motherhood. This time there is not!"

"Will you stay in France, Skye?"

"I do not know, Gaby. There is nothing for me in Ireland any longer, and I would far prefer not to have to live beneath Elizabeth Tudor's thumb. Still, Adam longs for England, and he says that it is Velvet's heritage. Perhaps one day the Queen will forgive us for marrying without her permission, and then I know that Adam will return. We are his family, and we will have to go with him, but we shall keep Belle Fleur even when that day comes, for I have been happier here than anywhere in my whole life."

Adam returned from Nantes, and shortly thereafter they received word that his lordship, the Earl of Lynmouth, had reached England safely. Christmas, New Year's, and Twelfth Night came and went, and the winter settled in around Archambault and Belle Fleur. Willow wrote from the French court that the King was not well, and it was expected he would die soon. As for court, she wrote, "It seems very much as Robin has described the English court to me. There is much intrigue both serious and silly. Most people are terribly impressed by one's title and/or pocketbook. The young men play a game as to who can seduce the greatest number of noble ladies. What they do not know is that these ladies are playing the same game. You need not worry, Mama," wrote Willow, "for my stepsisters and I are shocked by such disgraceful behavior. Gwyneth and Joan, of course, are relatively safe, for they are neither overly pretty nor wealthy enough. As for me, I have my share of admirers, but I will not permit them to be alone with me, thereby avoiding any idle gossip that should destroy my good name."

Skye smiled reading Willow's letter. She had no fears about Willow, who was a practical little miss with ambitions to wed an important title. Little? No, Willow could no longer be considered little. She would be fourteen in April, and it would soon be time, Skye realized, to seek a husband for her eldest daughter. Remembering Dom O’Flaherty, Skye prayed that her daughter would fall in love with a suitable young man and thus avoid the pain that she had suffered. She would not force her child to any marriage, as she had been forced by her well-meaning father.

The spring of the year 1574 was more promising, and Velvet de Marisco celebrated her first birthday. She was already walking, toddling about the château with so much zeal that Skye forbade the baby's nursemaid to leave her alone for a moment, for she feared her daughter would fall into the moat. Velvet was also talking, making her demands, which were many and constant, known in a mixture of both English and French.

Adam was an appallingly doting father, but then Skye had expected it. Yet she worried when her big husband took their tiny daughter up on his horse and rode out into the forest. Velvet, however, was no more fearful of that than Skye had been of the sea at her age. Skye could simply not bring herself to chide Adam, for his great love and delight in his daughter were so painfully obvious. She could not spoil his fun, and so it fell upon her shoulders the task of disciplining their child.

"Non, non, méchanceté!" Skye scolded her baby daughter one afternoon as Velvet attempted to stuff a sweetmeat into her mouth. She spanked the tiny hand gently, and wiped the stickiness from it.

Velvet's enormous eyes grew moist, and she ran on fat little legs to her father, clutched at his leg, threw her mother an angry glance, and distinctly said, "Papa loves!"

Adam longed to laugh and pick his precious child up in his arms for a kiss, but seeing Skye's warning look, he instead said, "Mama loves you too, Velvet, but you must always obey her."

Outraged at this unpleasant turn of events, Velvet stalked away to her nurse, who took her from the hall.

"What a minx she is," Skye said. "You realize that we are going to have our hands full with her? Could le bon Dieu not have given us a gentle and quiet child?"

He chuckled. "She is our daughter, sweetheart."

Skye smiled back at him. "You will not feel so indulgent when she is older, and the men begin to crowd about her," she teased.

"That's a long time away," Adam said smugly. "She's just a baby, barely a year old."

“The time goes quickly, Adam. Ewan is eighteen now, and I don't know where the years went."

"Madame, you are depressing me," he said. "Let us go to bed now before we are too old, although I have been told by authorities on the matter that one never grows too old. Based on the wisdom of your vast age, what do you have to say on the matter?"

"Come to our bedchamber, monseigneur, and I shall explain my thoughts to you in detail," Skye promised with a seductive glance at her husband as she went from the hall.

These were the times she loved the best; the times when they might retire to the delicious isolation of their apartment. In the big bed that he had had made specially for them-an enormous oak bed with its eight-foot-high headboard all done in linenfold paneling, its carved and turned posts, its natural-colored linen hangings with an embroidered design of grass green velvet-they could lie for hours in the nude, caressing each other leisurely, and making long, slow love until the fire burned down to nothing but glowing ashes and they were forced to retreat beneath the down coverlet.

For them the lovemaking grew better each time, particularly after Velvet was born. Adam could not love her enough, and Skye adored her giant of a husband when he lay his naked length against hers, pressing her deep into the mattress. She reveled in the firm flesh of his thighs against hers, the tickly feeling of his furred chest against her breasts, the hardness of his very maleness seeking to mate with her. There were times when she could not get enough of her handsome husband, and she would shamelessly awaken him with delicious kisses across his big, sleeping form. Several times Adam awoke to find she had roused him while he slept, and now sat astride him. Reaching up, he would caress her beautiful breasts until they thrust forward with taunting invitation. Yet with the incredible passion that blazed between them was also a profound sense of peace, as if both Skye and Adam understood that what was between them would be forever.

Charles IX died, and his next brother, Anjou, who had the previous year been made King of Poland, fled his adopted country like a thief in the night to return to his beloved France. Anjou, however, stopped in both Vienna and Venice to be royally feted before finally gaining his native borders, where his irritated mother awaited him. Elizabeth of Austria retired from court, and because her retinue was smaller now, Skye's daughters came home to Belle Fleur that summer. Ewan arrived from the university in Paris; Murrough appeared bronzed and taller, home from his first voyage; and even Robin appeared suddenly one day to surprise them all.

A great deal of fuss was made over the baby, although Skye begged her older children not to spoil Velvet. "She is already quite impossible, mes enfants,” their mother said with an indulgent smile.

After several months back in England, Robin was once more the perfect English courtier. "You should really let me take Padraic back with me in the autumn, Mother," he said to Skye. "He will be close to six then, and should begin his education at the Tudor court. The Queen may have taken his lands, but my brother is still Lord Burke."

"No!" Skye said. "As long as Adam and I are not welcome at the Tudor court then none of my children except you, Robin, shall go. A nobleman without lands is nothing, and until the Queen restores the Burke lands to the Burkes I want nothing to do with either her or England. Besides, Padraic is still a baby."

"I am not!" Padraic Burke, his father's image, glowered up at her.

Skye looked down at Niall's son, and smiled at him. "In time, my darling," she promised him. "Be patient for now." Then she looked around the hall, and said, "I am so glad to have you all here again. This is how I like it best, my children about me, Adam by my side."

"I can only stay a month," Robin said. "I promised Her Majesty that I would rejoin the court in its summer progress at Hardwick Hall. I have given my word."

“I’ll be returning to Ireland when Robin goes," Ewan said suddenly.

"What?!" Skye looked sharply at her eldest son. 'This is rather sudden, Ewan, isn't it?"

"I've been in correspondence with my Uncle Michael for over a year, Mother. He's done the best he could, but he's a priest. My other O'Malley uncles have not been interested in Ballyhennessey since they joined with Grace O'Malley to fight with the Queen. I have to go home, Mother. My lands need me," he finished, then he looked at his mother. "I want to take Gwyneth with me, Mother. It is time for us to marry."

"But she is just fifteen!" Skye protested. The twins had celebrated their birthday on June 4th.

"You were fifteen when you wed my father," Ewan said quietly.

"I was too young!"

"No, Mother, you were not too young. You were simply wed to the wrong man. That is not the case with Gwyneth and me."

"I cannot bear it if Ewan leaves me, madame," said the quiet Gwyneth. "I am past ready to be a wife."

"I, also," Joan said.

"But Murrough has just begun to learn seamanship. If he is to make it his life, he cannot stay home to husband you, Joan." Skye was beginning to feel besieged by her offspring.

"MacGuire is not sailing again for almost two months, Mother," Murrough said. "His ship needs repairs. Joan and I can be wed, and even have time together before I must leave. Whenever she weds me she still has to get used to having a sailor for a husband. I will buy us a home in Devon, near Lynmouth."

Robin coughed a bit, and looked a trifle uncomfortable. "All right, Robert Southwood," Skye snapped. "What else is there?"

"I bring an invitation from the Queen for Willow. She is invited to join the maids of honor."

"Ohhh," Willow shrieked esctatically, and then she turned on her mother. "You promised me that one day I might! You promised, Mama!"

"You've been to court!"

"A French court," Willow scoffed scornfully.

"No!"

"Please, Mama! Soon I shall be too old to go! Please!"

Skye looked at the children all ranged in a row, and seemingly allied against her. Ewan, Murrough, Gwyneth, Joan, Willow, Robin, and Padraic. They all wanted to leave. Her hand flew to her mouth, and she cried, "But I have had you such a short time!" Then toning from them, she ran from the hall.

Adam watched her go, his own eyes saddened, and then he said, "Of course you must follow your own destinies, mes enfants. You are all quite old enough now, but it is hard for your mother to understand this. Leave her to me, and I will make it all right for everyone."

Adam found her weeping piteously on their bed, and quietly gathered Skye into his arms. She sobbed for some minutes as he gently rocked her back and forth, and then gradually her sobs began to fade away. "It will be dull without them, I know," he said soothingly.

"I like dull," she said. "I have had enough adventure to last me three lifetimes, Adam! Why, when it is finally as I want it, does it have to change?"

"Because the years have flown, little girl, and they arc grown, or half grown. They are their mother's offspring, for they wish to strike out on their own, and why shouldn't they? I know that it is hard for a mother to admit that her sons are grown, but your O’Flahertys have become men, my darling." He chuckled. "If you had eyes in your head, Skye, you'd see at least three of their bastards on this estate. High time that they were married, I say!"

"But Willow…"

"Skye, all of your children but Willow spring from the loins of noblemen. Willow may be a great heiress, but she hasn't a great name. She needs to go to court if she is to find a suitable husband."

"Willow's father was a Spanish nobleman," Skye said hotly.

"His family neither knows of her existence, nor would they recognize her as a legitimate offspring if they did. You and Khalid el Bey were married under Muslim law, and in the eyes of the Christian world that makes Willow a bastard. Your good name, your wealth, and your power, along with Robbie's generosity to Willow have, however, protected her from that stigma. Nonetheless she must make the proper contacts for a suitable marriage, and as the Earl of Lynmouth's sister, she will have the opportunity at court. Unless, of course, you propose a French marriage for her. My nephew, Jean-Antoine St. Justine, is seeking an heiress. He would be very good to her."

"And very French," Skye responded. "No, a Frenchman is not right for Willow. She is an Englishwoman to her toes, and she needs an English husband."

“Then let her go to the Tudor court, Skye."

"How strange this all is," she said. "We are not welcome there, but the Queen personally invites our children. I wonder at it, Adam."

"You are too suspicious, little girl."

"It never hurts to be too suspicious when dealing with the Tudors, mon mari," Skye warned him.

"Perhaps this is the Queen's way of making friendly overtures and eventually forgiving us."

"Why should she even be reminded of us?" Skye mused.

"Robin is with her," Adam reasoned, "and then, too, this business of a French marriage for her, and we are in France. It is logical."

"It is odd," she answered him. Then she sat up and pulled away from him. "Let us go tell the children that they may go before I am accused of breaking their hearts; or worse, before I change my mind."

Skye's two eldest sons, Ewan and Murrough O’Flaherty were married to Geoffrey Southwood's twin daughters on July 26th. Although the girls were not identical twins they chose to wear identical ice-blue satin gowns embroidered in silver thread and clear crystals. Their lovely hair was unbound and fell to their hips, and atop their heads they wore wreaths of white roses and fluffy baby's breath. The young Earl of Lynmouth proudly gave his half-sisters away in the church at Archambault, where the wedding was held. It was not a large wedding, the only guests being the family of the comte and comtesse along with Skye and Adam's family. Tables were spread out over the lawns for the feasting afterward, and following the dancing the young couples were put to bed with much teasing and hilarity. On the next morning two bloody sheets hung from the two nuptial chambers at the château, waving in the summer breeze as the two couples, accompanied by their brother, Robin, and their sister, Willow, rode off to Nantes to embark upon an O'Malley ship for Bideford, and Ireland.

Willow was torn between the wild excitement she felt over returning to England and joining the court, and leaving the security and love of her mother and stepfather. Skye hadn't stop lecturing her eldest daughter since the decision had been made to allow Willow to go.

"You must beware of the young men at court. Believe me, they will seek your virtue, and that virtue along with your fortune are the only assets you possess to obtain a titled husband."

"Yes, Mama."

"What you did in Paris last winter was very good, my darling. Never be alone with a young man lest you compromise your good name. Gossip can be such a vicious thing, Willow, and even if it is not true it raises an element of doubt."

"Yes, Mama."

"The Queen prefers her maidens to be virtuous, remember that."

"Yes, Mama."

"Do not lend money to anyone. People will quickly know that you are an heiress, and they will come begging. You cannot afford to lend to anyone lest you offend someone else. Say that you have a small allowance, and that barely enough to last until the next quarter. Dame Cecily will be in charge of your funds, Willow, and she will advance you nothing before you should have it, so be advised you must live within your income. I am sending you with more than enough clothes so what you will need monies for I know not. Still I would not have you penniless."

"Yes, Mama." Willow stifled a yawn. Her mother was being so tedious. She had said these things a hundred times over the last few weeks.

"You will listen to your brother."

"Robin? He's three years younger than I am!" Willow looked outraged.

"Nonetheless he has spent a good deal of his life at the Tudor court. He knows its ways, and he knows the gossip. Pay heed to him, Willow, for he would not have you shamed."

"Yes, Mama."

"A final word about men, Willow."

"Oh, Mama!"

"Do not Oh, Mama! me, miss! In this I have experience, and you would do well to listen to me. Men can be utterly charming creatures when they seek to gain their own way with a girl. When you are tempted to listen to some young gallant, Willow, ask yourself, If I give in to his pretty pleas will he still marry me? Is he in a position to marry me? If he is, why is he assaulting my virtue prior to our wedding night? Does he not respect the delicacies of my feelings enough to wait? You will find, Willow, that a decent young man will approach you through your brother, or Sir Robert, or the Queen. You do not have to settle for a relationship of stolen kisses in a dark corner."

"What makes you trunk that I would, Mama?" Willow demanded.

"You are ever a practical little puss, my darling," Skye said, "but you lack experience. I only seek to share my experience with you so you will not be hurt."

Willow flung herself at Skye, and hugged her hard. "Oh, Mama! I shall make you so proud of me, I promise you! I shall only have the most noble of husbands, and I shall make the Queen relent and allow you and Adam to come home."

Skye smiled through her tears, and kissed her daughter tenderly. "I am going to miss you," she said. "Oh, how I am going to miss you!"

"Let us be off!" the Earl of Lynmouth fussed impatiently. "She has either learned her lessons, Mother, or she has not. Willow has always been bright, and I do not expect her to be an embarrassment to us."

Skye next advised her eldest son to attempt to remain neutral in the continuing fight between the English and the Irish.

"It won't be easy," she said, "but try to consider the long run. You have a wife now, and soon there will be children, Ewan. All you have to offer them is Ballyhennessey, and it's been O’Flaherty land for over three hundred years. Don't be driven by the hotheads or the Church into losing your heritage, my son."

"It will come down to religion in the end, Mother."

"I know that, Ewan, but ask yourself this. What difference does it make how you worship God as long as you worship Him? Ask yourself why you should endanger your lands and your family because an Italian pope and an English monarch cannot decide, and argue over dogma?"

"Is that why you never took sides, Mother?"

"Your grandfather, Dubhdara O'Malley, of sainted memory, God assoil him, taught me that the family came first, Ewan. It has ever been thus with me. I have not had as much of a hand in raising you as I would have wanted, but you are my son. You will do what you believe best, and you will follow your conscience. I do not envy you, Ewan. Ireland is a torn and angry land." She held out her arms to him, and walking into them, he hugged her. "God speed, my eldest," Skye said.

The others came then for their hugs and kisses while his young and impatient lordship, the earl, stood tapping an elegantly shod foot. He had said his good-byes privately, as Robin believed befit his dignity. Finally the others were ready, and the three young women climbed into the coach. The men were to ride. Leaning from the windows of the vehicle as it pulled away, they waved happily to Skye and Adam. Behind them came a second, larger coach containing the tiring women, the valets, and the luggage. The household goods that the newly married young women would need had gone on to Nantes several days earlier.

When the travelers had disappeared from view around the bend in the drive Adam heaved a mighty sigh. "Let's go home, little girl!" he said, and he helped her into the smaller waiting carriage.

Skye climbed into the vehicle feeling terribly depressed. Her elder children were gone, and her three youngest would be staying at Archambault for several days visiting their cousins. She sighed deeply as the carriage moved down the drive and onto the forest road back to Belle Fleur. "I am old," she announced in a sad voice.

Adam looked at his wife's beautiful woebegone face, and began to chuckle. "Have I domesticated you so, sweetheart, that you are that lost without your brood of chicks?"

"Don't you understand?" she said. "My two eldest sons are married. After last night their wives could already be with child. My eldest daughter is off to court to seek a husband. I could be a grandmother in a year! I am old!"

He began to laugh, and pulling her into his arms, he slipped a hand into her dress to capture a plump breast. "Madame," he said as he began to tease at her nipple, "you are a woman of maturity, I will grant you, but you've not yet attained your thirty-fourth birthday, Skye." His fingers skillfully undid the laces on her bodice, successfully freeing both her breasts. "God, they're beautiful!" he groaned, burying his face in the valley separating them and covering her suddenly trembling flesh with hot kisses.

Skye felt herself begin to grow tingly with the pleasure he was arousing in her. Her slender hand entangled itself in his thick black hair, and began to slip softly down to the back of his neck to rub against the soft flesh. "If you think to turn my interest, monseigneur," she murmured with faint protest, and then as his other hand slipped beneath her skirts and moved upward, she cried out, "Adam! Oh, my darling!"

"What a shameless hussy you are, old woman," he teased her.

"I am not old!" she said suddenly, realizing how foolish she must have sounded, and also realizing that she didn't feel one bit older now than she had at twenty. Feeling better, she mischievously moved her hand to caress him, and felt her heart quicken at the hard, hungry length of him. "I shall never be old as long as I can do that to you, my darling," she whispered in his ear as she loosened his garments and released him.

Roughly Adam pulled her onto his lap, raising her skirts to position her on his mighty lance. With a gasp of delight she found he had taken the most complete possession of her. Her legs were over his thighs, her feet pushing into the velvet upholstery of the carriage seat. His arms were tightly about her as hers were about him, and he was suddenly kissing her ardently, his tongue fencing with hers while they rocked back and forth with the motion of the coach.

The sensation was one of complete rapture, and Skye cried out softly to her husband as the delicious warmth and excitement of his lovemaking began to fan a flame of incredible passion within her dazzled and stimulated body. "Ohhh, Aaadam," she breathed as the first small wave of pleasure swept over her, and then, "Oh! Oh! Oh!" as the full impact of the delight rendered her weak and satisfied, and she fell against his chest panting.

His breathing was ragged in her ear, but she was too weak to move for the minute. Finally, as the wild beating of their hearts calmed, he said softly, "Haven't you ever made love in a coach before, little girl?"

"No, though once Geoffrey mentioned it as we came down from London. In the end, however, he decided it was far more comfortable to do so in a bed," she laughed softly, remembering.

"Yes," Adam considered, "Geoff was always one for his comforts, as I recall. Tell me, madame, are you still feeling ancient and haggard?"

"I feel marvelous!" she enthused.

"How quickly do you think you can make yourself presentable?" he queried.

"Why?" She snuggled against him.

"Because, little girl, Belle Fleur is in sight, and I should hate to shock the footman who will open this coach door in a few moments."

With his amused aid she quickly scrambled off him, and began relacing her bodice, smoothing her skirts and her hair. "You had best see to your own dishabille, monseigneur," she teased him as his smoky eyes fastened upon her bosom.

"How long are the children gone for, little girl?"

"A fortnight," she answered.

"Good," he said. "I intend to spend all of that time with you, my love, and most of it in our bed. It has been a long time, it seems to me, since we were alone and free to be lovers."

"Can we not ride, and picnic in the forest?" she teased him.

"Only if you allow me to make love to you beneath the stately oaks."

Her face softened, and she whispered, "Yes, oh yes, mon mari!" just as their carriage clattered over the drawbridge and into the courtyard of the château.

Adam de Marisco was a man of his word, and so for the next two weeks he and Skye spent almost every waking and sleeping moment together. It seemed to them both that they were more deeply and powerfully in love than they had ever been. When the three youngest children returned Adam took it upon himself to begin to instruct young Padraic in the business of running an estate, while Deirdre began to follow after her mother, learning all that was necessary to the running of a household.

Of all her children, Skye noted, Deirdre was the quietest. She seemed to learn with ease whatever she was taught, be it the proper way to make soap and perfume, or her Latin. She was a pretty child who looked very much like her mother, but Skye could only assume Deirdre's shyness came from all the time she had spent away from her mother in her early years. Now Skye worked very hard to make up those years to her daughter. Still, it was to Adam that Deirdre always went with her successes and her problems.

"I don't think she likes me," Skye said to Adam one day.

"She is in awe of you," he said, "and she fears you a little, but I believe she loves you."

"She loves me because I am her mother," Skye replied with keen insight, "but she does not like me. I don't understand why. I have tried so hard with her."

"If you feel that way then why don't you ask her, sweetheart. Best to get it out in the open rather than let whatever is disturbing her fester until it is blown so out of proportion that it cannot be controlled."

"I will if you will be with me when I do."

"No. If we stand together while you attempt to interrogate Deirdre she will feel we are allied against her, and she will say nothing, and deny all. This must remain between you two."

It was not easy, but Skye finally screwed up her courage one afternoon in late summer as she and Deirdre sat on the lakeside making daisy chains. "Why is it you dislike me, Deirdre?" she asked bluntly.

For a moment Deirdre Burke looked startled, and she slowly flushed a beet-red. Then as bluntly as her mother had spoken, she replied, "Because you left Padraic and me when you went off to your new marriage. Because when you finally brought us to you, you sent us quickly away, again promising to bring our real father back to us. You never did, Mama. Before you married Adam we had not a happy life, and I cannot help but wonder how long it will be before you run off from us again with some excuse or another."

Skye was shocked by the venom in her small daughter's voice. "Does your brother feel this way, too?" she asked.

"Padraic says you love us. It seems to be enough for him."

"But not for you, my daughter, I can see. Your brother is right, you know. I do love you. It never, however, occurred to me to explain to a baby the difficulties of my life, Deirdre. If you had asked me when these things began to fret you, I would have told you anything I felt you needed to know."

Skye took her daughter's resisting and stiff little form into her arms. "Deirdre," she said, looking down into the child's cold and closed face, "I love you. You are a child born of love, the love that Niall Burke and I had for each other. I will try not to ever go from you again, although there will come a day when you go from me to marry."

"You say you will try not to go from me, but you must promise me you will not go!"

"Deirdre, I cannot," Skye said. "I have never lied to you, and I will not lie now, even to gain your approval. I will try!"

Suddenly Deirdre burst into tears, her whole small face crumbling with her distress. "Don't leave me, Mama! Don't leave me!" she begged her mother between sobs.

Wordlessly Skye took her daughter onto her lap and rocked her soothingly. All the others had survived her travels, but despite her stiff little spine, Deirdre was a creature easily bruised by life. In a way, Skye thought, she is much like Niall, despite the fact she looks like me. "I have no plans to go anywhere, Deirdre," she said quietly. "Do not weep, my baby. I'll not leave you, my precious one."

On Michaelmas the servants were paid for the year, but the nursemaid who had tended Velvet since her birth found herself with child by a footman, and was quickly married. A new girl, a plump, cheerful lass from Archambault village, was found to replace the first nursemaid, and Velvet seemed to take to the change well. But less than a week after the girl had been hired, both she and the baby disappeared, and could not be found.

Both Skye and Adam were frantic, afraid that the girl and her charge had fallen into the moat, but they quickly discarded that thought, for the château gatekeeper had seen Margerie and the baby walking across the drawbridge and down the forest road. A search was quickly made for fear that a wild animal had attacked the pair, but no trace of them was found. The search expanded to Archambault and its village in the hopes that Margerie had simply taken Velvet on a visit without requesting permission, but the girl's family had not seen her. Her best friend in the village, however, came forward timidly to say that Margerie had told her that she would soon have enough gold for a fine dowry, and it would not come from drudging at Belle Fleur.

Comte Antoine could see that his big stepson was close to the breaking point, and very desirous of shaking the informant until her teeth rattled. Taking the girl by the hand, he gently said, "Jeanne, ma petite, try and remember exactly what Margerie said to you. Did she mention where she would get the gold for her dowry?"

The peasant girl scrunched her brow in thought, and then suddenly she grinned. "But of course, M'sieur le Comte! Margerie said she met a man-though he spoke our language, she said she could tell he was a foreigner, for his accent was something terrible. He told her that he had heard that the petite Velvet was the most beautiful child in Christendom, and if Margerie would bring the baby to him to see with his own eyes he would give her six gold ecus!" Jeanne finished trumphantly.

"Where was Margerie to bring the baby?" the comte probed further.

"To some inn at Tours," was the reply.

"Did Margerie tell you the name of the inn, Jeanne?"

"No, M'sieur le Comte, but Gilleet the carter would know. Twas he who gave her a ride yesterday."

"Find the carter!" the comte ordered. "You're a good girl, Jeanne," he said, and then he dropped several pieces of silver down her bodice.

The carter, who had only just returned, was quickly brought before the comte, and readily admitted having given Margerie a ride from Archambault to the nearby city of Tours. Yes, she had a little girl with her, her sister's child for company, she said. He let her off at an inn, Le Coq D'Or on the west side of the town. Adam, the comte, and his two sons immediately rode for Tours. When they returned several hours later to Belle Fleur, Adam carried with him a heavy sealed parchment addressed to Skye. With grim face he handed it to her.

Skye broke the seal and tore the letter open. For a moment she could not breathe and her vision blurred at the sight of the familiar hand. The message was brief.

Madam, it began. I have need of your services. Come immediately. It was signed Elizabeth R.

"Where did you get this?" Skye demanded of her husband.

"It was awaiting me on my arrival at Le Coq D'Or in Tours. It had been left by two gentlemen who arrived alone, and departed with a nursemaid and a child. The innkeeper said they took the Nantes road, and they left the parchment for whoever came looking for a woman and a child."

"Do you know who has our child?" Skye handed Adam the parchment. 'That damned Tudor bitch has Velvet! She has kidnaped our baby for God only knows what purpose, but you may rest assured, mon mari, that that purpose will be to Elizabeth Tudor's liking alone! Dear God, I had thought to be quit of the Tudors, and all their ilk!"

"I will go to England," Adam said.

"We will go to England," Skye amended. "She doesn't want you, my darling, she wants me; but this time, by God, I'll not be cowed by that bitch! She holds Velvet hostage in return for my aid, but before she's through we'll have lands for ourself, Adam de Marisco, and Lundy back, and my Burke son will be given back what belongs to him! The Queen will accept with good grace that we are truly and lawfully married, and there will be no more talk of Velvet not being legitimate!"

"Skye!" Adam's voice held a warning. "It is my daughter's life she holds in her hands. Do not trifle with Velvet's survival!"

"It is our daughter, Adam, and believe me, I would not allow any harm to come to Velvet. Listen, my darling, the Tudor Queen quite obviously desperately needs my help. Needs it enough to try to insure that I will be forced to give it. That is why she took Velvet. She knows that I will come after her; but Elizabeth Tudor is no murderer of innocents. She will not harm a hair on Velvet's head, Adam; but I shall bargain hard this time! We leave tonight!"

"I knew that you would leave me sooner or later!" Deirdre cried, entering the room and hearing only Skye's last words.

"Leave you? No, ma fille, you and your brother are coming with us! We will stand before England's Queen a family united, Deirdre!"

"I don't know if you are magnificent or a madwoman," Adam said as he put his arms about both his wife and his stepdaughter.

"Probably a little of both, my darling, for I don't even know what the Queen wants. Perhaps I go to do battle for naught."

"No, Skye, this time you will not do battle against the Queen alone. This time your lord will stand by your side. The Queen has never had to face that. Whenever you have been vulnerable you have been alone. This time you are not alone, little girl."

They left Belle Fleur that night, and it was with great sadness Skye left their home behind. The château would not, however, be closed, and the comte would watch over it for his stepson. While Deirdre and young Lord Burke dozed in the traveling coach their parents rode knee to knee through the early autumn night. A bright moon lit the coast road, silvering the villages and the vineyards and the small stands of oak forests. It took them two days of traveling at top speed to reach Nantes, where an O'Malley ship awaited them, for Skye had several of her vessels based in this French port to import wine to England and northern Europe from the Loire Valley's famous vineyards.

Even with a good wind it was several days' sail from Nantes to England. The weather was good as they edged around the Bay of Biscay, staying within sight of the French coast. Just past Brest they swung around into the English Channel to meet with a spanking sharp breeze from the south that pushed them across the water with greater rapidity than they had anticipated. Again they kept within sight of land, and Skye pointed out to her children the various landmarks as they went. They passed the Isle of Wight, and the great chalk cliffs of Dover, and at Margate Head moved into the Thames, sweeping up the river with the tide to the Pool of London. Skye stood silently with Adam at the rail of her ship as they anchored. On the shore beyond they saw a small party of the Queen's guards.

"My God," Adam said, "is she expecting us, then?"

"She's expecting us," Skye said with a smile of satisfaction.

"You have on your battle smile," he chuckled. "I haven't seen that look on your face since…" He thought. "I can't remember when, for it's been that long."

"The last time I smiled like this was probably the last time the Queen and I did battle. Once before I beat Elizabeth Tudor, Adam, and I will defeat her again. Pray God that this time will be the last time."