All the Sweet Tomorrows (68 page)

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!”

S
KYE
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.”