All the Sweet Tomorrows

by Bertrice Small

  “This is not love, monseigneur,” Skye whispered. “This is rape! Do you not know the difference?”

  “How stubborn you are, ma belle,” he groaned, “but I will not give up. I have been known to stay hard and potent within a woman an entire night before spilling my seed.”

  From the city there was the faint sound of the two o’clock tocsin, and Henri of Navarre buried his face into the perfumed tangle of Skye’s hair, inhaling the taunting fragrance of her damask rose scent. He had been modest, if anything, when he numbered the women he had possessed in his young life; but this woman! Never had he enjoyed a female as he was now enjoying Madame Burke. Had she been willing instead of reluctant, she would, he suspected, have unmanned him half a dozen times already.

  Skye lay beneath him wondering if he would ever cease. She had been gone from the ballroom an hour now, and Adam might begin to seek her. How was she going to explain a longer absence? God only knew what Anjou would say to set Adam on the wrong track. The passion Navarre had managed to arouse in her died away with her concern. She had to force him to release his seed, and Skye knew just how to do it. Closing her eyes so he could not see she was deceiving him, Skye moaned convincingly, and began to move her body in time with his. Using the old trick she had learned in the harem she tightened her internal muscles about his manhood.

  Navarre groaned with total pleasure. “Ah, chérie,” he half-sobbed into her ear, “what delicious torture you abuse me with. Don’t stop, I beg of you!”

  He was not an easy man to break, she found, and she almost grew too tired to continue when, with a loud shout of triumph, he flooded her with his creamy tribute. Skye cried out herself, but it was with relief. Now perhaps he would be content, and she could go back to Adam before he learned of her shame. For several long moments the King lay on her breasts catching his breath. “Mon Dieu, chérie,” he finally exclaimed, “you are magnificent, but then I will wager you have been told that, too.”

  Skye let a deep sigh escape her. “Now, monseigneur, now that you have satisfied yourself, may I please go?”

  “Chérie, we have only just begun to love. I have no intention of releasing you until the dawn.” Still lying atop her, he bent and kissed her softly. “Come, ma belle, did I not please you the tiniest bit? You most assuredly pleased me.” He smiled winningly at her, and although Skye felt she should hate this arrogant young man, to her surprise she found that she did not.

  “Monseigneur, if you hold me until the dawn what will I tell my betrothed husband? I will have to tell him the truth. That the Duc of Anjou kidnaped me from the ballroom under a false pretense, and prepared me for your rape. My husband’s mother was with me when Anjou came to me. She will swear to my story. Think of the scandal, M’sieur de Navarre. You are married less than a week to a princess of the blood royal of France, and you are already philandering with another woman, and an unwilling woman at that. Release me now, and I can return to the ballroom with no one the wiser.”

  “You reason well, ma belle, but the fact I am already chasing other women will cause no scandal. It is my nature, and it is expected of me, bridegroom or no. My dear wife has already betrayed me with her lover, de Guise, allowing him into her bed in the afternoons when I have been with my brother-in-law Alençon. Now that, madame, is a scandal, but because I am a Huguenot and Margot a good Catholic, it is not considered a sin by the good people of France. Margot considers it her royal duty to cuckold me. Therefore my making love to you, madame, will be no scandal.”

  “M’sieur, be reasonable! Where is your pride? Do you truly find deep satisfaction and pleasure for your ego in forcing a bound woman who does not want you? For shame, M’sieur de Navarre!”

  “You are really most adorable, chérie, when you are angry,” he teased her, but before Skye could spit out her angry reply, the door to the study burst open, and the Prince of Condé rushed in frantically calling to his cousin.

  “Henri! Thank God you are safe! Get up! Get dressed! We are about to be murdered, and we must escape!”

  Navarre looked lazily at his cousin as he rolled off Skye. “Henri,” he said, “your timing is deplorable as usual. What are you babbling about?”

  “Paris is in civil disorder, cousin!” Condé cried. “Our people are being massacred in their beds by the members of the Catholic League led by de Guise! Already a mob looking for you and for me has tried to storm the Louvre. The King’s soldiers held them back, but God only knows how long they can! I have already received word that Coligny is dead. Get up, Henri!”

  But Navarre was already up, and pulling on his clothes. His smiling, boyish face of moments before had grown grim and old with his cousin’s words. “I believe that we are safe, Henri,” he told Condé. “I don’t know how involved Madame le Serpent is, but she is involved.” He turned to Skye. “Madame, I regret I ignored your words of caution earlier. My weakness has always been that my cock ruled my head; still, I regret nothing of our interlude but that it was not longer. Follow the stairs from this room down three flights. The door at the bottom opens into the gardens, and you will easily find your way back to the ballroom from there.” Bending, he kissed her quickly, the regret clear in his eyes. “Adieu, chérie!” He turned to go.

  “Monseigneur!” she cried after him.

  Henri of Navarre turned. “Madame?”

  “Monseigneur, you have not unbound my hands.” The King leaned over and quickly undid the silken knots.

  “Your pardon, ma belle,” he said softly.

  “God go with you, Navarre,” she answered him quietly.

  Suddenly he grinned rakishly at her, saying as he ran from the room, “I knew I had touched your heart, chérie!” Then both he and Condé were gone.

  Skye had to laugh. That damned vain boy was within a hair’s breadth of losing his life, and all he cared about was that he had been successful in his lovemaking. Suddenly she heard the sounds of battle and terrible cries of agony outside. Skye rose from the tumbled bed and dressed hurriedly, her fingers fumbling with the laces and ties of her gown. She had to find Adam, and she knew that he would be frantically searching for her. It was not easy getting into court gear without Mignon to help her, but Skye managed to attain some semblance of order with her clothes and her hair. Without a backward glance at the room, she fled down the staircase to the gardens.

  Once outside, she could hear the frantic screams of the poor unfortunates being murdered in the various districts of the city. Stopping a moment to get her bearings, Skye saw the lighted windows of the ballroom across the garden from her, and she moved swiftly to gain its safety. The cacophony within the ballroom was tremendous as the court chattered frantically to dispel their nervous tension. Notably quiet were the few Huguenot noble families who felt like early Christians in the arena as they huddled in small groups about the room trying to look inconspicuous. On the raised royal dais Catherine de Medici sat quietly with her son, his wife, and her daughter, Margot. Navarre, Condé, and Condé’s wife. Catherine’s sharp eye noted Skye’s entry into the room, and for a minute the two women’s eyes met and Skye knew in that instant that the Queen Mother had planned everything, including her own seduction by Navarre. Shaking her head, Skye looked away, missing the look of triumph that flickered briefly across de Medici’s fat face.

  “Skye! My God, sweetheart, I have been frantic! Where have you been?” Adam, catching her shoulders, whirled her about and looked down into her face.

  Suddenly seeing him, Skye realized the danger she had been in, and unable to control herself, she burst into tears. “Oh Adam! I was so frightened!”

  “There, lamb,” he murmured at her. “Come now, sweetheart, it’s all right. Come with me. Maman was worried, too.” His loving arm about her he walked her across the room to where Gaby and the entire de Saville family awaited.

  “Ma fille, what is wrong?” Gaby was instantly anxious. “You were gone so long. I had begun to grow worried, especially considering the atrocities going on in the city now.”

&
nbsp; “Not here, Gaby,” Skye pleaded. “Later, I will explain later.”

  “Now that we have Skye safe,” the comte said, “we must get to the house, my sons. Are you ready?”

  The men in the party nodded, and Adam, seating Skye next to his mother, explained, “Antoine is worried that because the house we are renting is owned by a Huguenot the mob is apt to attack it. He wants to go back to the Marais district and get the children and the servants lest they be hurt. We should not be long.”

  She nodded. “I’ll be all right, my darling. Go with them. I’ll be here with your maman.”

  The Comte de Cher, his sons, sons-in-law, and stepson moved quickly to the royal dais, where Antoine spoke urgently to Queen Catherine for a few moments. Finally the Queen nodded, and the party of men hurried from the ballroom. When they had gone Gaby turned to Skye.

  She sighed. “It was a trick to keep Navarre occupied and safe from the mob, Gaby. The Duc d’Anjou took me to his mother’s private closet, stunned me with a blow, disrobed me, and left me trussed up like a Christmas goose. Navarre thought I was meeting him for a love tryst.”

  “But when he found you had been duped, ma fille?”

  “Alas, Gaby, chivalry did not prevail in Navarre’s case. He raped me, and you mustn’t tell Adam. Adam will lose his temper and kill him!”

  “I would certainly hope so, ma fille,” Gaby replied indignantly.

  A small giggle escaped Skye. The whole situation was total madness. “No, Gaby. Adam cannot kill a prince of the blood, an heir to France’s throne. He cannot even complain to the Queen, who is responsible for the whole situation. If Elizabeth Tudor refuses to recognize our marriage then we cannot go home to England, and France is our refuge. If we displease France, then where may we go, Gaby? Please promise me you will not tell Adam.”

  Gaby nodded. Skye was as practical as she herself was, and Adam’s mother approved. There was no necessity to tell Adam. Skye was correct in that he would be monumentally angry, and of course would want his honor avenged. The disadvantages far outweighed the advantages. “You are right, ma fille,” Gaby said, “but before we drop the matter there is one thing I must know. Is he as good a lover as they say?” Her lovely eyes sparkled with curiosity.

  “He is young yet,” Skye replied drily, “but his skill is growing, and the potential is there.”

  Gaby laughed softly, completely understanding Skye’s point. “I imagine the King of Navarre would be most disappointed in your rather candid evaluation of him,” she said low.

  “Madame Burke.”

  Both Gaby and Skye started, and then rose quickly to their feet to curtsey to Catherine de Medici. The Queen Mother smiled warmly at Gaby, and then turned her eyes to Skye.

  “I will not forget the favor you have done me this night, madame,” she said. “Whatever may be said of me I do not forget those who give me their aid. You have a friend in Catherine de Medici.”

  “Why me?” Skye asked, quietly wondering why she felt no anger.

  “Because, madame, you were his passion for the moment, and I needed you, for only you could keep him occupied long enough and safe from de Guise and his mob. You did not seek Navarre’s attention, which in itself was a stronger attraction. My beau-frère is not used to being disdained and spurned by a beautiful woman. You are a member of the Tudor court, madame, and my information on you says that you are an intelligent woman. If you did not understand my position you would now be screaming and shrieking charges for all this court to hear.”

  “I would not hurt my betrothed, Majesty, with the dishonor that has been visited upon us both tonight; but know one thing, I do not like being used.”

  “Nonetheless,” came the disconcerting reply, “it is the way of the powerful to use, and you well know it. When is your wedding?”

  “At Michaelmas at Archambault.”

  Catherine de Medici turned to Gaby. “I shall come,” she said calmly. “I will be staying at Ussé that week, but I shall stop a night at Archambault. I understand from Comte Antoine that you will be leaving Paris tonight, so I shall bid you adieu until Michaelmas.” With a nod at Gaby the Queen Mother turned away and walked back to the royal dais.

  “Mon Dieu!” Gaby gasped. “We have never entertained royalty at Archambault! I cannot believe it! Skye, ma fille, do you realize the honor being done us? The Queen is coming to your wedding!”

  Skye had to laugh. Royalty! She would never really understand them. Royalty were the damnedest people in the world. Well, perhaps Catherine de Medici’s appearance at their wedding would sit well with Elizabeth Tudor, and she would give her blessing to them despite the fact that they were marrying without her royal permission. “When I was married to Adam’s cousin, Geoffrey Southwood, I was married in Elizabeth Tudor’s presence at her palace at Greenwich,” she told Gaby. “In fact Geoffrey and I spent our wedding night there.”

  Gaby was impressed. “Adam did not tell me that,” she said. “It was a happy marriage with Southwood, was it not?”

  “Very happy!”

  “So the Queen’s presence brought you luck. Now you will be married again in a queen’s presence, and that will bring you luck once more, chérie.”

  “What a good thought, Gaby!” Skye leaned over and hugged the older woman. “Do you know,” she said, “I have never had a mother-in-law, as my previous husbands’ mamas were all dead. I am so glad you are going to be my belle-mère, Gaby!”

  Gaby de Saville felt the tears pricking at her eyelids. She would have made the effort to love any wife of Adam’s; but with Skye it was so easy. Not only that, they were friends, and Gaby considered that even better. “I shall light a hundred candles to the Blessed Mother that my son has you,” she said feelingly.

  “And I shall light a hundred more to her that I have him,” Skye replied. “Oh, Gaby! This time I know that everything is going to be all right!”

  Chapter 15

  THE 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 throug
h 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 château. 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.