All the Sweet Tomorrows (7 page)

“My little Earl of Lynmouth is page at court. You see, Adam, I am forbidden court, but my Robin is Elizabeth’s favorite pet. He grows more like Geoffrey every day, I am told.” She smiled softly. “They called Geoffrey the Angel Earl. Our son, Robin, is known at court as the
Cherub
. How proud Geoffrey would be of him,” she said. “My Burke children are safe in their castle.

“No, Cecil cannot use my children against me. Only Robin is readily available to him, and as one of England’s premier noblemen, he is inviolate. Besides, Cecil is too softhearted to war with children, thank God. A soft heart is the curse of an honorable man, Adam, and Lord Burghley is an honorable man for all he is Elizabeth Tudor’s creature.”

“You haven’t forgiven her, have you, Skye?”

“No, Adam, I will never forgive her for what she did to me.
Nor will I forgive her the time she stole from Niall and me, especially now that Niall is … is dead.”

“Skye, sweet Skye.” He took her in his arms and held her against his hard chest. “No more wars with Bess Tudor, little girl. Promise!” He was suddenly afraid for her.

“I promise you, Adam. I am a wiser woman than she who pirated the Queen’s ships from right under her nose. The fact that Elizabeth could never prove it was victory enough.”

“We were lucky that time, Skye,” he admonished her gently.

She chuckled throatily. “I only regret the loss of the emeralds,” she said, and he laughed with her. Then she pulled away from him. “Dammit, Adam, I am ravenous! You’re a poor host not to feed me.”

“I thought you had all you wanted from me, little girl,” he teased her, ducking the pillow she threw at him.

“I’ve not had a decent meal in several days. Does Glynnis cook?”

“ ’Tis one of her best talents,” he remarked, waggling his heavy black eyebrows at her. Skye laughed as de Marisco continued, “I’ll have her fetch us something now that you’re obviously up and determined to be on your way.”

Skye sobered. “Aye, Adam, I have to go. My messenger must be off to Cecil this morning.”

Within the hour Glynnis made her way from the taproom below to the tower antechamber, her sturdy legs bowed under the weight of the tray that she carried. “I’ve brought a bit of everything,” she said with a friendly grin. “Ye’ll not go hungry this day, m’lady.” Glynnis then bobbed a curtsey and left them to contemplate the bounty that she had prepared for them. There were two steaming bowls of oat porridge smothered in stewed pears; a covered silver dish, badly tarnished, of eggs poached in heavy cream, dry Spanish wine, and dill; a platter of pink country ham, sliced thickly; a hot loaf of wheat bread wrapped in a linen napkin to keep it warm; sturdy stoneware crocks of sweet butter and thick honey. A silver pitcher of brown ale completed their repast.

“God’s bones,” Skye exclaimed, delighted with the meal, “Glynnis can have a job in my kitchens anytime, Adam!” Then she took up a simple wooden trencher and filled it up. The porridge was quickly eaten, the eggs and ham devoured, and Skye, sitting back in her chair wrapped in de Marisco’s huge silk shirt, her long legs stretched out, quaffed down half a goblet of brown
ale and then reached for the loaf of bread. Carefully she sliced herself a piece, and spreading it first with butter and then with honey, she proceeded to eat it down.

Adam, no mean trencherman himself, watched her with fond amusement and indulgence. He had always admired her fine appetite. Women who picked at their food believing it good manners annoyed him. Skye enjoyed good cooking, and ate as if she did. “I’ll sail you to Lynmouth myself,” he said, and she nodded, her mouth still full. “Do you want me to stay with you until you hear from Cecil?”

She swallowed. “No. Better Cecil not be reminded of your existence. I may need to run, and Lundy’s a safe port for me.”

“Always, little girl!” he agreed with a smile that warmed her to her toes.

They left Lundy as the sun was beginning to creep over the horizon, and with a fresh southwest breeze, they were easily and quickly at Lynmouth. He brought his small boat into the little cove beneath the castle’s cliffs where a hidden cave had served the Earls of Lynmouth as an escape hatch for several centuries. He would not stay.

“The wind will die by midday, and I’ll be becalmed here if I don’t go now, sweet Skye. I don’t particularly relish rowing home eleven miles.” He pulled her roughly into his arms and kissed her quickly, tenderly. “Behave yourself, little girl. If you need me use the old signals. I’ll have a boy on watch round the clock.” Then while she watched, easy tears pricking at her eyelids, he sailed away from the landing out into the cove, and from there to the beckoning blue sea.

She brushed the wetness from her eyes, and, mounting the worn stone steps within the cave, hurried unseen upward into Lynmouth Castle. Emerging from the narrow passage of the stairway into a corridor in the oldest part of the castle, she gained her own apartments.

“Good morning, m’lady,” Daisy chirped cheerfully as she came through the doors. “As luck would have it, I saw Lord de Marisco’s little boat as it was sailing into the cove. Shall I get you something to eat?”

“No,” Skye replied. “I have already eaten. Is Wat Mason here, Daisy?”

“Aye, m’lady.”

“Fetch him at once, Daisy. He’s to ride to Whitehall with a message for Lord Burghley.”

“Lord Burghley is here in Devon, m’lady, at Sir Richard de Grenville’s home.”

“He is?” Skye was surprised. “The old spider rarely leaves court. I wonder what has brought him down here.”

“The news is of rebellion, m’lady,” Daisy said, her voice bright with importance. “Ever since last year when the Queen of Scots fled to England there have been murmurings. There is fear of a rebellion in the north among the marcher lords. They say those who would revolt would bring back the old religion, begging your pardon, m’lady.”

“It’s all right, Daisy. I was born a Roman Catholic, and I see no reason to change my ways, but I also see no reason to involve myself in a damned rebellion over religion. Religion should be a personal and private thing between a soul and God. The northern lords are fools if they think that they’ll dislodge Elizabeth Tudor and replace her with her cousin, Mary Stewart; but then they don’t know Harry Tudor’s daughter as well as I know her. They’ll lose everything, the idiots, and the church won’t restore what they’ve lost! Better to keep one’s faith and one’s possessions separate. Now go get Wat Mason. He’ll have to go to de Grenville’s house with my message.”

Daisy hurried from the room, and Skye sat down at her small writing table to pen her note to the Queen’s Secretary of State and most powerful adherent, William Cecil, Lord Burghley. She had no doubt that the old fox would see her, but whether he would take her part was another thing. Still, Cecil didn’t need any more trouble in Ireland, especially with rebellion brewing in England. Thank God for Mary Stewart, Skye thought. I’ve never laid eyes on her, nor she me, but she has done me a good turn just by being in England for the malcontents to rally about. The note Skye wrote was a brief one, greeting Lord Burghley and saying that the Countess of Lynmouth would like an audience with him before his departure for court. She would either go to him, or be pleased to entertain him at Lynmouth. Would he kindly return his answer with her groom.

Daisy returned with Wat Mason, who knelt in respectful greeting to his mistress. Skye sealed the message with her heavy gold signet ring, the O’Malley sea dragons pressing themselves into the hot green wax. Looking up, she handed the letter to Wat, and said, “Take this to Lord Burghley, the Queen’s Secretary of State and Lord Treasurer. He is at Sir Richard de Grenville’s home. Deliver it into his hands only, and then wait for his reply.
Do you understand me, Wat? You will give my message to no one but William Cecil himself.”

“Aye, m’lady, I understands.” Wat rose from his knees and hurried from the room.

And now, Skye thought, the game begins. To her surprise, however, she did not have to wait long. Wat was back at Lynmouth by day’s end, bringing with him a reply from William Cecil. Eagerly Skye tore the message open and read. Then she smiled with satisfaction and relief. Cecil would come to her. He would arrive at Lynmouth in two days’ time, and stay the night before returning to London. She wondered what he would want in return from her. His help would not come cheaply, but Padraic’s inheritance and name must be saved.

“M’lady!” Daisy flew into the room. “They’re here!”

Skye looked up, startled and for a moment unable to think what Daisy could possibly mean. Then, before she could gather her thoughts, her small daughter, Willow, ran into the room.

“Mama!” Willow threw herself enthusiastically into Skye’s arms.

Skye’s arms closed about her daughter and she hugged her hungrily. “Ah, my little love, how I have missed you,” she said, and suddenly she was weeping happy tears at the sight of Khalid’s daughter, so very much like him with his amber-gold eyes fringed in long, thick dark lashes, and her black hair.

“Will you be here for my birthday, Mama?” Willow squirmed from Skye’s arms and fixed her with a serious gaze.

“Is it April already?” Skye pretended to consider it.

“Oh, Mama! Of course it is April, and my birthday is in five more days! I shall be nine!”

“So you shall, Willow. I shall soon have to find a husband for you.”

“I shall find my own husband, thank you!” Willow replied pertly, and Skye was reminded of herself. Willow might look like her father, but she was her mother’s daughter, too.

“You shall only marry the man you love, my darling,” Skye promised her oldest daughter.

“You spoil her,” a familiar voice snapped, and Skye smiled over Willow’s head at Dame Cecily, who was just entering the room.

“So do you,” she chuckled.

“I did not expect you in England,” Dame Cecily said, settling herself in a comfortable chair by the fireplace.

Skye sat in the chair facing the older woman and, taking
Willow onto her lap, replied, “I had to come. I have bad news. The old MacWilliam is dead, and without an adult heir, my wee Padraic’s inheritance is in danger. Lord Burghley is at de Grenville’s, and will be here in two days’ time to speak with me.”

Dame Cecily nodded. “Does he know of the old man’s death?”

“No one does,” Skye said. “We buried him in secret, and my uncle Seamus is now in control of Burke Castle. I’ve come to present my petition to the Queen if Burghley will allow me back at court. If not, I don’t know what I will do. Perhaps Dickon de Grenville will speak for me, and then when Robbie returns next month he can help me also.”

Dame Cecily sighed deeply. “Dearest Skye,” she said. “I will go to the Queen for you myself, if necessary.” Then she reached out and, taking Skye’s slender hand in her plump one, said, “I am so very sorry about Niall.” Her honest blue eyes filled with sympathetic tears.

Before Skye might answer her, however, Willow spoke up. “Will you get me another father, Mama?” she asked. “I never knew my real papa, but I did so like Geoffrey and Niall.”

“I don’t think I shall ever marry again, my love,” Skye said. “Four husbands are quite enough for your mama, and I think I have all the children I shall ever need. You have not yet seen your new brother, Padraic. He is a fine little boy, just like Niall. Will you come home to Ireland with me this summer, and see him?”

Willow nodded sleepily, for it had been a long day for her. Skye nodded to Daisy, who came forward saying, “Come along, Mistress Willow, and I shall give you a good supper of toasted cheese and sweet Devon cider. Then I shall tuck you into your own bed.” Willow climbed from her mother’s lap and, taking Daisy’s hand, departed the room.

“Have you heard from Robbie?” Skye asked Dame Cecily.

“Aye. His advance ship put into Plymouth just last week. The Portuguese may think that they have a monopoly on the Spice Islands, but Robbie has his friends, too. The holds of his fleet are bulging with cloves, nutmegs, peppercorns, and cinnamon. He also told me to tell you that he has some particularly nice gemstones for you.”

“We’ll make another small fortune with this trip,” Skye remarked. “Even after the Queen’s share we will have a fat profit.” She smiled almost grimly. “It’s all I have left, Dame Cecily. The children, and making a fortune.”

“You will love again, my dear.”

“Not this time,” Skye said. “If I can insinuate myself back into the Queen’s good graces I shall not need a man to protect me.”

“Remember, Skye, that it was the Queen who caused you to need a husband’s protection the last time,” Dame Cecily reminded Skye.

“But the Queen knows that should she do to me again what she did last time, I shall revenge myself on her once more as I did before. Even if she couldn’t prove that it was me pirating her ships, she knew.”

“Make no hasty decisions now, my child,” Dame Cecily chided. “Wait until you have spoken with Lord Burghley. He may be the Queen’s man, but he is a fair man for all of it.”

“Aye,” Skye replied. “He is an honorable man.”

She kept that thought in her mind as she prepared the castle for Lord Burghley’s brief visit. With its young lord away at court, and herself on her estates in Ireland, Lynmouth had been like a sleeping prince. Its mistress back, however, the servants polished and scrubbed, dusted and swept every corner of the castle. Great porcelain bowls of spring flowers began to appear in the main hall, and in the bedrooms herb-scented sheets and comforters appeared on the beds. When William Cecil and Sir Richard de Grenville and their train arrived two afternoons later they rode slowly up the raked gravel drive, admiring the well-manicured green lawns and brightly colored gardens around the castle. The moat round Lynmouth had been filled in in Geoffrey’s father’s time.

Skye greeted her guests in the Great Hall, noting as she came forward that all the men in the party were most admiring of her. She had chosen to wear a black velvet gown, its very low neckline exposing her creamy chest and the soft swelling of her small breasts. Her neck wisk, a standing, fan-shaped wire collar, was of silver lace, as were the ribbons on her leg-of-mutton sleeves and her underskirt. About her neck was a necklace of silver and Persian blue lapis. Her dark and luxuriant hair was tucked beneath a fetching little silver lace cap.