Chapter 15

Chapter 15

T HE 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 chateau. 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, barrelmakers, 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 fête.

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.

"Sacré 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 warmed 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 chateau 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 chateau nursery with five-year-old Antoinette de Saville. There was even a little boy his age for Padraic 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 reentered 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 fête by virtue of Catherine de Medici's appearance, it could not be held in the chateau'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 chateau 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 chateau 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 and 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 chateau 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 Marguerite 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 chateaux. 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 chateau 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 paté 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 gateau of several layers topped by a marzipan bride and groom, the sides of the top layer having alternating marzipan shields bearing 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 chateau. 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 reaching 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 coming 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 chateau 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 fête 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 pock-marked 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 chateau'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 fête. 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 chateau'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 the 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 due 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!"

Eibhlin, 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 chateau 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 coming 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.