Adam was an appallingly doting father, but then Skye had expected it. Yet she worried when her big husband took their tiny daughter up on his horse and rode out into the forest. Velvet, however, was no more fearful of that than Skye had been of the sea at her age. Skye could simply not bring herself to chide Adam, for his great love and delight in his daughter were so painfully obvious. She could not spoil his fun, and so it fell upon her shoulders the task of disciplining their child.
“Non, non, méchanceté!” Skye scolded her baby daughter one afternoon as Velvet attempted to stuff a sweetmeat into her mouth. She spanked the tiny hand gently, and wiped the stickiness from it.
Velvet’s enormous eyes grew moist, and she ran on fat little legs to her father, clutched at his leg, threw her mother an angry glance, and distinctly said, “Papa loves!”
Adam longed to laugh and pick his precious child up in his arms for a kiss, but seeing Skye’s warning look, he instead said, “Mama loves you too, Velvet, but you must always obey her.”
Outraged at this unpleasant turn of events, Velvet stalked away to her nurse, who took her from the hall.
“What a minx she is,” Skye said. “You realize that we are going to have our hands full with her? Could le bon Dieu not have given us a gentle and quiet child?”
He chuckled. “She is our daughter, sweetheart.”
Skye smiled back at him. “You will not feel so indulgent when she is older, and the men begin to crowd about her,” she teased.
“That’s a long time away,” Adam said smugly. “She’s just a baby, barely a year old.”
“The time goes quickly, Adam. Ewan is eighteen now, and I don’t know where the years went.”
“Madame, you are depressing me,” he said. “Let us go to bed now before we are too old, although I have been told by authorities on the matter that one never grows too old. Based on the wisdom of your vast age, what do you have to say on the matter?”
“Come to our bedchamber, monseigneur, and I shall explain my thoughts to you in detail,” Skye promised with a seductive glance at her husband as she went from the hall.
These were the times she loved the best; the times when they might retire to the delicious isolation of their apartment. In the big bed that he had had made specially for them—an enormous oak bed with its eight-foot-high headboard all done in linenfold paneling, its carved and turned posts, its natural-colored linen hangings with an embroidered design of grass green velvet—they could lie for hours in the nude, caressing each other leisurely, and making long, slow love until the fire burned down to nothing but glowing ashes and they were forced to retreat beneath the down coverlet.
For them the lovemaking grew better each time, particularly after Velvet was born. Adam could not love her enough, and Skye adored her giant of a husband when he lay his naked length against hers, pressing her deep into the mattress. She reveled in the firm flesh of his thighs against hers, the tickly feeling of his furred chest against her breasts, the hardness of his very maleness seeking to mate with her. There were times when she could not get enough of her handsome husband, and she would shamelessly awaken him with delicious kisses across his big, sleeping form. Several times Adam awoke to find she had roused him while he slept, and now sat astride him. Reaching up, he would caress her beautiful breasts until they thrust forward with taunting invitation. Yet with the incredible passion that blazed between them was also a profound sense of peace, as if both Skye and Adam understood that what was between them would be forever.
Charles IX died, and his next brother, Anjou, who had the previous year been made King of Poland, fled his adopted country like a thief in the night to return to his beloved France. Anjou, however, stopped in both Vienna and Venice to be royally fêted before finally gaining his native borders, where his irritated mother awaited him. Elizabeth of Austria retired from court, and because her retinue was smaller now, Skye’s daughters came home to Belle Fleurs that summer. Ewan arrived from the university in Paris; Murrough appeared bronzed and taller, home from his first voyage; and even Robin appeared suddenly one day to surprise them all.
A great deal of fuss was made over the baby, although Skye begged her older children not to spoil Velvet. “She is already quite impossible, mes enfants,” their mother said with an indulgent smile.
After several months back in England, Robin was once more the perfect English courtier. “You should really let me take Padraic back with me in the autumn, Mother,” he said to Skye. “He will be close to six then, and should begin his education at the Tudor court. The Queen may have taken his lands, but my brother is still Lord Burke.”
“No!” Skye said. “As long as Adam and I are not welcome at the Tudor court then none of my children except you, Robin, shall go. A nobleman without lands is nothing, and until the Queen restores the Burke lands to the Burkes I want nothing to do with either her or England. Besides, Padraic is still a baby.”
“I am not!” Padraic Burke, his father’s image, glowered up at her.
Skye looked down at Niall’s son, and smiled at him. “In time, my darling,” she promised him. “Be patient for now.” Then she looked around the hall, and said, “I am so glad to have you all here again. This is how I like it best, my children about me, Adam by my side.”
“I can only stay a month,” Robin said. “I promised Her Majesty that I would rejoin the court in its summer progress at Hardwick Hall. I have given my word.”
“I’ll be returning to Ireland when Robin goes,” Ewan said suddenly.
“What?!” Skye looked sharply at her eldest son. “This is rather sudden, Ewan, isn’t it?”
“I’ve been in correspondence with my Uncle Michael for over a year, Mother. He’s done the best he could, but he’s a priest. My other O’Malley uncles have not been interested in Ballyhennessey since they joined with Grace O’Malley to fight with the Queen. I have to go home, Mother. My lands need me,” he finished, then he looked at his mother. “I want to take Gwyneth with me, Mother. It is time for us to marry.”
“But she is just fifteen!” Skye protested. The twins had celebrated their birthday on June 4th.
“You were fifteen when you wed my father,” Ewan said quietly.
“I was too young!”
“No, Mother, you were not too young. You were simply wed to the wrong man. That is not the case with Gwyneth and me.”
“I cannot bear it if Ewan leaves me, madame,” said the quiet Gwyneth. “I am past ready to be a wife.”
“I, also,” Joan said.
“But Murrough has just begun to learn seamanship. If he is to make it his life, he cannot stay home to husband you, Joan.” Skye was beginning to feel besieged by her offspring.
“MacGuire is not sailing again for almost two months, Mother,” Murrough said. “His ship needs repairs. Joan and I can be wed, and even have time together before I must leave. Whenever she weds me she still has to get used to having a sailor for a husband. I will buy us a home in Devon, near Lynmouth.”
Robin coughed a bit, and looked a trifle uncomfortable. “All right, Robert Southwood,” Skye snapped. “What else is there?”
“I bring an invitation from the Queen for Willow. She is invited to join the maids of honor.”
“Ohhh,” Willow shrieked esctatically, and then she turned on her mother. “You promised me that one day I might! You promised, Mama!”
“You’ve been to court!”
“A French court,” Willow scoffed scornfully.
“No!”
“Please, Mama! Soon I shall be too old to go! Please!”
Skye looked at the children all ranged in a row, and seemingly allied against her. Ewan, Murrough, Gwyneth, Joan, Willow, Robin, and Padraic. They all wanted to leave. Her hand flew to her mouth, and she cried, “But I have had you such a short time!” Then turning from them, she ran from the hall.
Adam watched her go, his own eyes saddened, and then he said, “Of course you must follow your own destinies, mes enfants. You are all quite old en
ough now, but it is hard for your mother to understand this. Leave her to me, and I will make it all right for everyone.”
Adam found her weeping piteously on their bed, and quietly gathered Skye into his arms. She sobbed for some minutes as he gently rocked her back and forth, and then gradually her sobs began to fade away. “It will be dull without them, I know,” he said soothingly.
“I like dull,” she said. “I have had enough adventure to last me three lifetimes, Adam! Why, when it is finally as I want it, does it have to change?”
“Because the years have flown, little girl, and they are grown, or half grown. They are their mother’s offspring, for they wish to strike out on their own, and why shouldn’t they? I know that it is hard for a mother to admit that her sons are grown, but your O’Flahertys have become men, my darling.” He chuckled. “If you had eyes in your head, Skye, you’d see at least three of their bastards on this estate. High time that they were married, I say!”
“But Willow …”
“Skye, all of your children but Willow spring from the loins of noblemen. Willow may be a great heiress, but she hasn’t a great name. She needs to go to court if she is to find a suitable husband.”
“Willow’s father was a Spanish nobleman,” Skye said hotly.
“His family neither knows of her existence, nor would they recognize her as a legitimate offspring if they did. You and Khalid el Bey were married under Muslim law, and in the eyes of the Christian world that makes Willow a bastard. Your good name, your wealth, and your power, along with Robbie’s generosity to Willow have, however, protected her from that stigma. Nonetheless she must make the proper contacts for a suitable marriage, and as the Earl of Lynmouth’s sister, she will have the opportunity at court. Unless, of course, you propose a French marriage for her. My nephew, Jean-Antoine St. Justine, is seeking an heiress. He would be very good to her.”
“And very French,” Skye responded. “No, a Frenchman is not right for Willow. She is an Englishwoman to her toes, and she needs an English husband.”
“Then let her go to the Tudor court, Skye.”
“How strange this all is,” she said. “We are not welcome there, but the Queen personally invites our children. I wonder at it, Adam.”
“You are too suspicious, little girl.”
“It never hurts to be too suspicious when dealing with the Tudors, mon mari,” Skye warned him.
“Perhaps this is the Queen’s way of making friendly overtures and eventually forgiving us.”
“Why should she even be reminded of us?” Skye mused.
“Robin is with her,” Adam reasoned, “and then, too, this business of a French marriage for her, and we are in France. It is logical.”
“It is odd,” she answered him. Then she sat up and pulled away from him. “Let us go tell the children that they may go before I am accused of breaking their hearts; or worse, before I change my mind.”
Skye’s two eldest sons, Ewan and Murrough O’Flaherty were married to Geoffrey Southwood’s twin daughters on July 26th. Although the girls were not identical twins they chose to wear identical ice-blue satin gowns embroidered in silver thread and clear crystals. Their lovely hair was unbound and fell to their hips, and atop their heads they wore wreaths of white roses and fluffy baby’s breath. The young Earl of Lynmouth proudly gave his half-sisters away in the church at Archambault, where the wedding was held. It was not a large wedding, the only guests being the family of the comte and comtesse along with Skye and Adam’s family. Tables were spread out over the lawns for the feasting afterward, and following the dancing the young couples were put to bed with much teasing and hilarity. On the next morning two bloody sheets hung from the two nuptial chambers at the château, waving in the summer breeze as the two couples, accompanied by their brother, Robin, and their sister, Willow, rode off to Nantes to embark upon an O’Malley ship for Bideford, and Ireland.
Willow was torn between the wild excitement she felt over returning to England arid joining the court, and leaving the security and love of her mother and stepfather. Skye hadn’t stopped lecturing her eldest daughter since the decision had been made to allow Willow to go.
“You must beware of the young men at court. Believe me, they will seek your virtue, and that virtue along with your fortune are the only assets you possess to obtain a titled husband.”
“Yes, Mama.”
“What you did in Paris last winter was very good, my darling. Never be alone with a young man lest you compromise your good name. Gossip can be such a vicious thing, Willow, and even if it is not true it raises an element of doubt.”
“Yes, Mama.”
“The Queen prefers her maidens to be virtuous, remember that.”
“Yes, Mama.”
“Do not lend money to anyone. People will quickly know that you are an heiress, and they will come begging. You cannot afford to lend to anyone lest you offend someone else. Say that you have a small allowance, and that barely enough to last until the next quarter. Dame Cecily will be in charge of your funds, Willow, and she will advance you nothing before you should have it, so be advised you must live within your income. I am sending you with more than enough clothes so what you will need monies for I know not. Still I would not have you penniless.”
“Yes, Mama.” Willow stifled a yawn. Her mother was being so tedious. She had said these things a hundred times over the last few weeks.
“You will listen to your brother.”
“Robin? He’s three years younger than I am!” Willow looked outraged.
“Nonetheless he has spent a good deal of his life at the Tudor court. He knows its ways, and he knows the gossip. Pay heed to him, Willow, for he would not have you shamed.”
“Yes, Mama.”
“A final word about men, Willow.”
“Oh, Mama!”
“Do not Oh, Mama! me, miss! In this I have experience, and you would do well to listen to me. Men can be utterly charming creatures when they seek to gain their own way with a girl. When you are tempted to listen to some young gallant, Willow, ask yourself, If I give in to his pretty pleas will he still marry me? Is he in a position to marry me? If he is, why is he assaulting my virtue prior to our wedding night? Does he not respect the delicacies of my feelings enough to wait? You will find, Willow, that a decent young man will approach you through your brother, or Sir Robert, or the Queen. You do not have to settle for a relationship of stolen kisses in a dark corner.”
“What makes you think that I would, Mama?” Willow demanded.
“You are ever a practical little puss, my darling,” Skye said, “but you lack experience. I only seek to share my experience with you so you will not be hurt.”
Willow flung herself at Skye, and hugged her hard. “Oh, Mama! I shall make you so proud of me, I promise you! I shall only have the most noble of husbands, and I shall make the Queen relent and allow you and Adam to come home.”
Skye smiled through her tears, and kissed her daughter tenderly. “I am going to miss you,” she said. “Oh, how I am going to miss you!”
“Let us be off!” the Earl of Lynmouth fussed impatiently. “She has either learned her lessons, Mother, or she has not. Willow has always been bright, and I do not expect her to be an embarrassment to us.”
Skye next advised her eldest son to attempt to remain neutral in the continuing fight between the English and the Irish.
“It won’t be easy,” she said, “but try to consider the long run. You have a wife now, and soon there will be children, Ewan. All you have to offer them is Ballyhennessey, and it’s been O’Flaherty land for over three hundred years. Don’t be driven by the hotheads or the Church into losing your heritage, my son.”
“It will come down to religion in the end, Mother.”
“I know that, Ewan, but ask yourself this. What difference does it make how you worship God as long as you worship Him? Ask yourself why you should endanger your lands and your family because an Italian pope and an English monarch cannot decide,
and argue over dogma?”
“Is that why you never took sides, Mother?”
“Your grandfather, Dubhdara O’Malley, of sainted memory, God assoil him, taught me that the family came first, Ewan. It has ever been thus with me. I have not had as much of a hand in raising you as I would have wanted, but you are my son. You will do what you believe best, and you will follow your conscience. I do not envy you, Ewan. Ireland is a torn and angry land.” She held out her arms to him, and walking into them, he hugged her. “God speed, my eldest,” Skye said.
The others came then for their hugs and kisses while his young and impatient lordship, the earl, stood tapping an elegantly shod foot. He had said his good-byes privately, as Robin believed befit his dignity. Finally the others were ready, and the three young women climbed into the coach. The men were to ride. Leaning from the windows of the vehicle as it pulled away, they waved happily to Skye and Adam. Behind them came a second, larger coach containing the tiring women, the valets, and the luggage. The household goods that the newly married young women would need had gone on to Nantes several days earlier.
When the travelers had disappeared from view around the bend in the drive Adam heaved a mighty sigh. “Let’s go home, little girl!” he said, and he helped her into the smaller waiting carriage.
Skye climbed into the vehicle feeling terribly depressed. Her elder children were gone, and her three youngest would be staying at Archambault for several days visiting their cousins. She sighed deeply as the carriage moved down the drive and onto the forest road back to Belle Fleurs. “I am old,” she announced in a sad voice.
Adam looked at his wife’s beautiful woebegone face, and began to chuckle. “Have I domesticated you so, sweetheart, that you are that lost without your brood of chicks?”
“Don’t you understand?” she said. “My two eldest sons are married. After last night their wives could already be with child. My eldest daughter is off to court to seek a husband. I could be a grandmother in a year! I am old!”
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