“He has, I am sure, by this time found a bride. Besides, I am not interested in taking another husband, Robbie, and I am most certainly not interested in Nicolas St. Adrian. He was a most charming and loving man, but that moment is past. One should always know when a moment is past, when it is time to walk quietly away.”
“What if they want to see you?”
“Then they are most certainly welcome to visit me on board this ship, but please make it most clear, Robbie, that I will not set foot in the castle.”
Robbie bowed formally. “As you wish, Lady Burke,” he said shortly, and backed from the room.
“What will you do once Niall is buried, Skye?” Adam de Marisco asked.
“I don’t know, Adam. Sail home, but then where is my home? Is it at Burke Castle? I think not. I have never liked Burke Castle, but I lived there because it was Niall’s home. Innisfana is the home of the O’Malleys, but it really belongs to my stepmother Anne and her sons. Ballyhennessey is Ewan’s holding, and Lynmouth is Robin’s. Only Greenwood, my London house, is truly mine, and for now I am not of a mind to live in London. I don’t know where I belong, Adam.” She smiled a small, rueful smile. “Skye O’Malley, the wealthy and all-powerful,” she gently mocked herself, “is without a place to lay her head.”
“Come with me,” he said to her.
“Where?”
“I am of a mind to visit my mother,” he said slowly, a smile lighting his big features.
“And where does your mother live?” she demanded, a small smile surfacing on her own lips.
“In the valley of the Loire. I told you that my mother remarried when I was twelve. My stepfather is the Comte de Cher, and the owner of Archambault, a château located on the River Cher a small ways from Blois. Archambault cannot rival Chambord, or Amboise, or Blois, or even Chenonceaux; but it is a charming and warm place. I would like you to see it, Skye. I would like you to meet my family.”
“How strange,” she remarked seriously. “I have never thought of you having a family, Adam.”
“Yet I do. Though I left France twenty years ago to return permanently to Lundy, I have occasionally made visits to see my mother and her family; but this time I have not been back in seven years. Did you know that I have two full sisters, a half-sister, and two half-brothers, Skye? They are all grown and married, but I have family, sweet Skye. I have a family almost as large as your own. Come with me to them!”
“Why not,” she answered flatly. “There is nothing else for me to do now.”
“You will have to go home eventually, Skye. You have your children, but for now I think it best you come with me and purge your grief for Niall Burke.”
“Adam, my children do not need me. With the exception of the last two they are virtually grown, and the little ones have done without me for two years. If I never came back it would not matter to them. I have no husband, and I am not needed by anyone. The O’Malleys have obviously managed quite well in my absence, so what is to keep me from joining you at Archambault?” she said dully.
He had never heard her sound like this, so spiritless, so lacking in enthusiasm for everything, life in particular. He would have rather she had screamed and raged at the heavens for Niall’s death. He would have far preferred she sobbed and wept at her loss. This cool detachment was a little frightening. Adam prayed it would pass with time.
She was wrong, he thought. Her children did need her, and more important from his point of view, he, Adam de Marisco needed her. Once he had lost her; once he had deliberately let her go. Now he had no intention of ever letting her go again. She didn’t know it yet, but he was never going to let Elizabeth Tudor use Skye again. He would never again let her be helpless in the face of the Queen’s demands. Skye would not return across the channel until she was his wife. Once she had accused him of not loving her enough to fight for her. This time he would fight any and all who tried to take her away from him. Skye was his for now, and for all time!
Part 4
FRANCE
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 Honoré. 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 rosé. 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 dwarf’s 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 rosé 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!”
“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 corner 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 mo
vement 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.
All the Sweet Tomorrows Page 48
