All the Sweet Tomorrows

by Bertrice Small

  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 re-entered 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 coming 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 êtes 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 duel 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 filled 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 ray 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 whistled 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.