A quick knock upon the door followed by Skye’s permission to enter brought Captain Kelly into the cabin. He was the youngest of her captains; a man with bright-red hair and warm brown eyes. He was slender and not a great deal taller than Skye; but he had a quick mind, and was a daring seaman. “We’re entering Lundy harbor, m’lady. Have you any instructions for me while you’re ashore?”
“I want you to go on immediately to Lynmouth,” she said. “Daisy will stay with you. Please remain at Lynmouth until I advise you further.” Skye turned to Daisy. “See that the castle is made ready for my arrival. I will come the day after tomorrow. Send to Wren Court for Dame Cecily, and my daughter, Willow. I will want to see them both.”
“I’ll wait till you’re safely ashore, m’lady, and I know that you’ve made contact with Lord de Marisco,” Captain Kelly said. “MacGuire would keelhaul me from here all the way to the Giant’s Causeway if I didn’t.”
“MacGuire’s behaving like an old woman these days,” Skye grumbled, but she couldn’t help but be pleased that Sean MacGuire, the senior captain of her fleet, yet pulled that kind of weight with the other men. MacGuire was her voice on many occasions, and she valued him highly.
“Are you sure you don’t want me to go with you?” Daisy asked.
“No, Daisy. I’ll be fine. Lundy is no place for a respectable girl such as yourself.”
Captain Kelly chuckled. “Nay,” he said in a happy voice, “there is not a respectable lass on the island, praise God!”
“Why, Kelly,” Skye teased, “I’m surprised at you.”
“Well, I’m not!” Daisy snapped. “He has the look of a lecher about him!”
“Mistress Daisy,” Kelly protested, quickly contrite. Skye, her glance moving swiftly between the two, suddenly realized that Bran Kelly cared what Daisy thought; and Daisy obviously cared for the handsome young man.
“Now, Daisy,” she soothed, “a sailor without a true love is apt to have a roving eye, and so far I’ve not heard that Captain Kelly’s pledged his heart to any lass.”
“And none is apt to accept him if he continues so fickle in his affections,” Daisy warned ominously.
Skye hid a little smile, and said, “Daisy, take my saddlebags on deck, please. I shall be out shortly.”
Daisy bobbed a curtsey to Skye, then tossed her head in a snub toward the captain and hurried from the cabin as Bran Kelly looked longingly after her.
“Seduce her,” Skye said warningly, “and you’ll answer to me, Kelly. She’s no lightskirt, and she is under my protection as well as being very dear to me.”
“I’m thinking of settling down,” Kelly replied. “I’m past thirty now, and it’s time.”
“When you make up your mind in the matter I’ll give you permission to court her if it pleases her. Until then keep your codpiece tightly fastened, Kelly.”
Bran Kelly looked into the serious blue eyes of the O’Malley of Innisfana, his overlord and his mistress, and nodded blushingly. “I’d best go topside,” he said, “and see to the landing. Lundy harbor is tricky, as you well know.”
She smiled at him. He understood. “I’ll come with you, and thanks for the use of your quarters this trip.”
Together they went out onto the deck, and while Captain Kelly saw to the lowering of the ship’s anchor Skye gazed upon Lundy. It had been over a year since she had seen it, the great granite cliffs rising above the sea, the lighthouse at one end of the island, de Marisco’s half-ruined castle before her. She sighed sadly. She had never again expected to see Lundy, or to lean so shamelessly upon Adam de Marisco; but dear God, she needed someone to comfort her, and only Adam would understand that need.
“The boat’s ready to lower, m’lady,” Kelly advised her. Large ships such as the Ban-Righ A’Ceo anchored in Lundy Bay, away from Lundy’s dangerous cliffs and rock-strewn shore.
“My thanks, Kelly, for a good trip,” she called up to him as she climbed into the small boat.
“Your saddlebag, m’lady,” said Daisy, leaning over the rail and proffering it to her mistress.
“I won’t be needing it now, Daisy,” Skye replied with a quick smile, and then she commanded the lone sailor who would row her, “Let’s away!”
The cockle seemed to skim just atop the bobbing waves as it was rowed swiftly into the shore and the long stone quay that served de Marisco as a landing place. The sun, bright scarlet with streamers of gold and purple, was beginning to sink into the dark western sea as they reached their destination. From the grog shop in the bottom of the old castle a giant figure emerged and strode down the quay toward them. Skye scrambled from the boat, and then she began to move quickly forward.
Adam de Marisco, his unruly shock of tousled dark hair blowing in the light breeze, hurried toward her. Though he had spent his youth at both the Tudor and the French courts, he was no elegant gallant, as his thigh-high leather boots, his doeskin jerkin with the horn buttons, and his open-necked silk shirt showed. Despite the chill, he wore no cloak.
“Adam!” she called, running, “Adam!”
“Little girl! Is it really you?” His deep voice boomed across the quiet evening, and then he was sweeping her into his bearlike embrace, burying his face for a long moment into the scented softness of her neck, his blue eyes warm with longing.
“Oh, Adam,” she breathed, feeling his familiar bulk and knowing with certainty now that everything would be all right.
“I’m sorry about Niall, little girl.”
She pulled away from him and looked up into his handsome face. “You knew? How?”
“A ship put in here several days ago, and its captain told me. They had met with an O’Malley ship, and learned the news from them.” He put an arm about her and together they began to walk down the stone quay to his castle. “Was the babe you were carrying a boy?”
“Aye, praise God!” she answered.
“Then at least the old MacWilliam has his heir, Skye.” They entered the lower level of the castle and walked through the rather dirty and disreputable tavern there, Skye nodding to those she knew, de Marisco’s evil-looking retainers and the ever-present Glynnis, whose ample blowsy charms were well known by the men who passed through Lundy. Together they mounted the stairs to de Marisco’s two-room apartment in the one remaining whole tower of the castle. Safely inside the big antechamber with its blazing fireplace, Skye turned to Adam de Marisco, and said, “The MacWilliam is dead. My infant son, Padraic, is now heir to the Burke lands.”
He drew a deep breath. “It’s not public knowledge yet, is it?”
“Not yet. The Dublin English have had their eyes on the Burke lands for some time now, Adam, but as long as the old man and Niall were alive they knew they had not a chance. We were fortunate in that Elizabeth Tudor needed my O’Malley ships, and dared not to offend me. I intend to send word from Lynmouth to Lord Burghley that I must see him. If I am to protect my Burke son’s inheritance from predators, I must have the Queen’s blessing. Each day England’s fleet grows larger and stronger. If I and my ships are no longer of use to the Queen she will divide the Burke lands among her courtiers without another thought, and Padraic will be landless and nameless. I can’t let that happen, Adam. I can’t!”
He moved over to the oak sideboard and poured them each some rich, sweet wine; the crimson liquid cascading gracefully into heavy, carved silver goblets. Turning, he handed her a goblet, and said, “So, little girl, you’re in the same defenseless position you were three years ago when Geoffrey died. Now, however, Elizabeth Tudor has an old score to settle with you, and you are even more vulnerable with two more babes to support.”
She nodded, and her sapphire eyes filled with tears which spilled uncontrolled from beneath her black lashes onto her pale cheeks. “Damn,” she whispered, “I am prone to weeping these days. I don’t know what’s the matter with me, Adam.”
He snorted impatiently. “Skye, my sweet, sweet Skye! You are human is what is the matter with you. For all your great strength you are hu
man! In the last ten years you have buried four husbands, three of whom you loved dearly. You have borne seven children altogether, one of whom you lost in a terrible epidemic. You have fought the Queen of England, and won, despite your imprisonment in the Tower. All these things cannot help but have taken their toll on you. Now you must once more, unprotected and alone, fight for your children. You wonder why you weep easily, my darling? I don’t. I stand in awe of you, little girl. I am amazed you have not gone mad from it all.”
She looked up at him, the tears still spilling down her face. “I need you, Adam,” she said low. “I have no right to ask it, but I need you so very much!”
“I am here for you, Skye,” he said quietly. “I have always been here for you, and I always will be.” Tenderly he looked down at her, and then tipped her face upward to his. Bending, he gently brushed her mouth with his. “You’re tired and you’re worn, little girl. Shall I comfort you as I once did? It seems so long ago, sweet Skye, that we gave of ourselves to each other.”
“Oh, Adam, what kind of woman am I?” she whispered low. “My husband is dead but a month—and I loved Niall! Dear Heaven, how I loved him! Still I need you.”
He could see that she was trembling with emotion, and with pure exhaustion. She was not really ready to make love with him and, he thought, she might never be ready again. He loved her; he had always loved her, but Adam de Marisco was a realist. Once she had asked him to marry her, but as desperately as he had wanted her he had to refuse, for he knew that he had neither the power nor the great name that he felt Skye O’Malley deserved and needed. Reaching out, he lifted her into his strong arms and carried her into his bedroom. As he carefully deposited her upon his huge bed, he said, “I want you to get some sleep, little girl. Afterward we will discuss our needs, but first you will rest and calm yourself.” He drew the fur coverlet over her.
She nodded, strangely grateful to him, but sure she would not sleep. He watched over her as she finally did, wanting her with every ounce of his being. The wine in his goblet grew less, and he rose to refill it, returning quickly to his post. Adam de Marisco was a handsome man, standing six feet six inches tall with a body proportioned to match. His black hair was the color of a raven’s wing, and his beard, once full, was now barbered as elegantly and neatly as any court dandy’s, the round of his mustache giving his mouth a very sensuous appearance. He had heavy black eyebrows and thick lashes that tangled themselves over his heavy-lidded smoky blue eyes. His aristocratic nose, long and narrow at the nostrils, was a gift from his Norman ancestors.
His wine now finished, he placed the goblet on a nearby table and, fully clothed, lay down next to her. Sometime in the night she whimpered with a bad dream, and he half woke to draw her into the safety of his arms, sliding his big body beneath the coverlet, murmuring comfort in her ear until she quieted and slept peacefully again. Once more he slid into sleep himself, the scent of her damask rose perfume in his nose, clinging to his silk shirt, bringing back a hundred memories that for him were as clear as when they had happened. The knowledge that he was holding her again gave him a wonderful comfort, and he slept heavily, contentedly.
Adam de Marisco dreamed an incredible dream. He dreamed that he was nude, and being attacked by a flock of brightly colored tiny butterflies. Playfully they fluttered over his bare thighs and belly, tangling themselves in the thick mat of black hair on his chest. He could feel an ache of longing in his groin, and with a little moan he opened his eyes. The first thing he saw was Skye’s dark head bent over his chest, and he realized that the butterflies were her lips that kissed him lovingly. “Celtic witch,” he muttered, yanking her up by her hair so he might see her face.
Her beautiful blue eyes stared half shyly at him, and then she said blushingly, “I need you, Adam!”
His breath caught in his throat. She was naked, her pert small breasts as beautiful as he remembered, the dainty pink nipples thrusting forward. She ran a teasing finger down his thigh, and he realized with some shock that he was practically nude himself.
Seeing his look, she chuckled, a distinctively mischievous sound, and said, “You sleep far too heavily, Lord of Lundy. Were I an enemy the castle would now be mine. While you snored and made little happy noises, I removed your pantaloons, drawers, and hose. Your shirt, alas, I could only unfasten.”
Moving her aside, he sat up and took off the offending shirt. “You’re a shameless and bold wench, Skye O’Malley,” he said through gritted teeth, “but I want to fuck you. God’s bones, I want to fuck you!”
She reached up, pulling him back down to her, and Adam de Marisco did what he had craved doing all night. He kissed her. His mouth closed fiercely over hers, demanding more of her than he had ever asked. He bruised her soft lips with his own. Her arms slid around his neck and pulled him as close to her as was humanly possible, and her tongue licked at his lips. He could feel the sweet small mounds of her breasts pressing against his furred chest, and he groaned guiltily. He had sworn to himself, when he had realized that Skye could never be his, that he would never again make love to her, but he knew tonight that that was a promise he couldn’t keep. She said she needed him, and by God he needed her!
Her softly taunting tongue was almost unbearable in its sweetness. His lips parted, and he allowed that tongue to dart within his mouth, to explore, tease, and caress as it met with his own tongue. Now he took the initiative, chasing her tongue back to her own mouth where he proceeded to harry and badger it with his own until she pulled her head away, moaning as a great shudder raced through her beautiful body and her nipples grew rigid with her desire.
Adam de Marisco smiled as he looked down on her face. She was the most marvelously sensuous woman he had ever known. She gave herself totally and completely to him, trusting him as no other woman had ever trusted. Her eyes opened, and he said softly, “You are so lovely, little girl. When I contemplate all the delights that you offer me, I don’t know where to begin.” She smiled at him, and lowering his great dark head, he nuzzled at her breast. She sighed and made a soft “Mmmmm” of pleasure.
For a long moment he contemplated those beautiful breasts. He had always thought that she had the loveliest little tits, sweet, and small rounds of honied flesh with their dainty pink nipples. He gently bit at one of them while his big hands kneaded her other breast hungrily. She threaded her fingers through his thick, black hair, one hand moving low to caress the back of his neck. Her touch sent a flash of heat through him, and he shuddered.
Raising his head up he rained kisses on her upturned face, her slender throat, soft shoulders, and palpitating breasts. He swept lower, tonguing her navel, covering her belly with scorching kisses, and she blossomed beneath his loving hands and mouth. “Ohh, Adam,” she murmured. “Oh, yes!”
He couldn’t resist a chuckle despite his own passion. She was so damned honest even in her desire. “Remember what I once told you, little girl. Love making is a great art. I will not hurry our pleasure, especially as I will not allow this to happen again between us.”
“Adam!” She tried to sit up, but he gently pushed her back and caught her gaze with his.
“I will not be your lover, Skye O’Malley, and as I once told you I have neither the name nor the power to be your husband. You are dearer to me than any other person on this earth, and I would slay dragons for you, but I will not be your lover!”
She did not have to ask him why, for she knew. He loved her, and she loved him, but it was not the abiding love that a woman gives her husband. They both knew it. Along with her business partner, Robert Small, he was the best friend she had in all the world, and she had treated him shabbily by coming to him, and asking, nay, practically begging that he service her as her prize stallion serviced her mares. She flushed with shame at that thought, and said, “Oh, Adam! I beg your pardon. Let me up. I shall go from you now for I had no right to come here at all.”
“Nay!” He gently pinioned her beneath him. “Have you become a wanton tease, sweet Skye, that havi
ng roused the beast in me you would now leave me?” He laughed softly. “You said you needed me, little girl. Well, now I need you, and I am weary of talk. Talk is for the afterward.” His mouth made feathery movements down her body in a swift assault that caught her totally by surprise and left her breathless.
“Adam!” she gasped.
“Be silent, my darling!” he answered her, and then his tongue was gently seeking at the honey of her, sending small love darts of pure blazing heat into her very soul. His tongue was wildfire, stroking at the velvet of her greatest secret; rousing her to pleasures both known and unknown. Her beautiful body responded with the hunger of one long denied, and indeed she had had no lovemaking since the fifth month of her last pregnancy. She moaned as the liquid fire bathed her body, as his tongue sought and found, tantalized and pleasured, loved and pained her in both body and soul.
Adam de Marisco took great delight in Skye’s response, and when at last she was writhing and creamy with her passion he sat back on his haunches, his great lance thrusting forward. Lifting the almost unconscious woman up, he lowered her carefully onto his weapon as he cradled her in his arms. He was gentle, for she was tight with her abstinence, and as he filled her she cried out her rapture. Together they rocked back and forth until Skye shuddered violently and with a whimper went limp. Satisfied that she had attained her fulfillment, he took his own, laying her back now on his enormous bed to tower over her as he thrust deep and hard and sweet within her throbbing sheath. Then, satisfied, he withdrew from her, and rolled away to catch his breath again before he drew her back into the comfort of his arms.
All the Sweet Tomorrows Page 4