All the Sweet Tomorrows

by Bertrice Small

  Suddenly Shane asked, “What do we do then, Skye? If we don’t go pirating with Grace O’Malley, and fight the English, what do we do?”

  For the first time that afternoon Skye smiled. Her brother’s plaintive question was what she had been waiting for. She didn’t want to have to order them about. She wanted them to want her aid. “Well, Shane, I think that you and your brothers should do what you do best, and obviously that is pirating. However, don’t pirate the English, for they’re not rich enough. The Spanish are.”

  “The Spanish?”

  “Aye! You want adventure? Then get yourselves letters of marque from the Queen, and harry the dons along the Spanish Main. You’ll rebuild your wealth, and therefore your power base in no time.”

  “We need no letters of marque from the English,” Brian boasted. “We can go on our own.”

  “That’s up to you, Brian, but go on your own and you’re prey to anyone and everyone. Get caught, and you’ll be hung for a common pirate. Carry letters of marque, and you’re protected by a powerful queen, and you’ve powerful allies in every other ship sailing with Bess Tudor’s blessing. Should you get caught by the French or the Dutch, you’re more apt to be ransomed than hung.” She smiled lazily at her eldest brother. “ ’Tis your decision, of course, Brian. Now get out! I’ve said all I am going to for now. I will see you later, for I’ve not come home to go away quickly, little brothers.”

  The four men shuffled to their feet and clumped from the room, pausing at the door to pull their boots back on before departing. When the door had closed on them at last, Skye moved across the room to settle herself in Adam’s lap. “Kiss me,” she demanded, and he was happy to comply, covering her mouth with his in a fiery possession that left her breathless. “Hmmmmm,” she purred at him, slipping a hand around to caress the back of his neck.

  “Do you really want to be quit of them?” he asked her as she sent wonderful little shivers down his spine and he moved a hand around to slip into her silk shirt.

  “Yes,” she said, and nuzzled him just below his ear.

  His hand cupped her breast, the thumb stretching up to tease at the nipple. “What if they don’t take your suggestion?”

  Skye gently bit on the lobe of Adam’s ear, and then blew softly into it. “They will,” she said with certainty, loving the warmth of his hand as he cupped her.

  “And then what, little girl?” Adam could feel himself beginning to stir with desire as she nestled provocatively against him, kissing his face and neck with wonderful little kisses.

  “Then, my lord, we will be finished with the Tudor Queen—and her court! We shall go home, wherever that may be, and I shall spend my days being a dutiful chatelaine, and my nights being your own personal wanton!” She turned his head with her fingers and kissed him passionately.

  The beast within him leapt forth, crushing her within the iron of his arms, meeting her flaming challenge with a fire of his own that burned hot and fierce. He turned her so that she lay helpless within the enchantment of his embrace, her fair breasts half exposed, their little nipples pushing arrogantly forth to taunt him. With a groan of surrender he buried his face in the perfumed softness of her. “Dammit, Skye, I want you! I cannot get enough of you, and ’tis unkind of you to tempt me so now.”

  Skye laughed, and wiggled from his arms. Walking across the room, she turned the key in the lock of the door, and with an almost impish grin she sauntered back across the room to stand before him. Slowly she drew her silk shirt off and slipped from the half-chemise she wore beneath it, letting them fall to the floor. Adam expelled his breath in a slow hiss of delight at the wonders she displayed to him so proudly. She slid her legged skirt over her hips, and removed the remaining undergarments and stockings, rolling the latter down shapely legs that he had viewed a thousand times before and still found beautiful.

  Boldly she moved forward to face him, and began undoing his silk shirt while with eager hands he yanked and pulled at the rest of his clothing, anxious to join her in this natural state. Seating him, Skye removed his boots and pulled off his hose. He was quickly as nude as she, and made no resistance when she led him across the room to lie with her on a sheepskin rug before the warm fire.

  They clung together, their bodies touching the length of one another while they kissed, their lips moving softly against each other. He stroked her satiny flesh gently, feeling the desire rise in him as it had the very first time he had touched her, as it always did when they made love. She hovered over him, her breasts brushing his chest as she twined her fingers in and out of the dark mat upon his torso. Her touch incited his passion, and he pulled her against him only to turn her so that now she lay underneath. His lips traveled a tender pathway over her face, pausing at her closed eyelids, her nose, her rose mouth. He kissed a trail down her neck to the throbbing hollow in her throat, and paused there to feel the very blood coursing wildly beneath his lips.

  “Sweet Skye, how I love you!” he whispered against her fragrant skin.

  “And I love you, my darling husband,” came back the breathless reply. “Oh, Adam! I love you so!”

  There had never been a moment in time like this, she thought. Oh yes, there had been others to whom she had given her heart and genuinely loved in their time, but none had been like Adam de Marisco. The others had loved her, but there had always been a pride of possession of her in their love. Niall had been her first love; and Khalid the only safe harbor in a frightening and unremembered world. Geoffrey! Ah, for Geoffrey Southwood, the Angel Earl, with his pride and his arrogance, she had been the only woman he had ever really loved. She had loved him too, she thought with a touch of sadness in her heart. Nicolas St. Adrian, her charming Frenchman, had caught her heart when she most needed him. They had all been marvelous, but Adam was different.

  Adam de Marisco had always treated her like his equal, and perhaps that was why he was her friend as well as her husband and her lover. He adored her with a mixture of love and amusement and wonder; but he had always respected her intelligence as well. It made him different from the others. He was proud that she was his wife, but his pride stemmed from the fact that he had been fortunate enough to win her. To all the others she had been a possession to be proud of and to be envied. To Adam she was simply sweet Skye, his beloved wife.

  As he slowly filled her with his pulsing manhood she opened her sapphire eyes and took his head in her two hands. Turning him so that their eyes met, she held his gaze as he entered her, her eyes growing ever more full of the love she felt for this wonderful man. There were no words spoken between them, for their beating hearts spoke silently for them. With tender passion he moved upon her until finally she could bear the sweetness no longer, and her eyes closed again as a soft cry welled up and burst from her throat.

  Adam’s own heart was so filled with love for Skye at that moment that he could barely contain his own passions. With wonder he watched her, seeing all the turbulent emotions that played across her beautiful face. Gently he bent his leonine head to kiss her, and tasted the salty tears on her cheeks. That she wept from sheer happiness he understood, yet it moved him just the same.

  When moments later she opened her beautiful sapphire eyes again he smiled softly at her, and she smiled back dazzling him with her love for him which shone so clearly in her face.

  “How very much I need you, little girl,” he whispered to her.

  “How very much I need you, my husband,” she returned, and then as he moved them so that they lay on their sides she touched his mouth with a delicate kiss. They were still joined in conjugal embrace, but he had wanted to spare her his weight while they loved, for he was not yet ready to spend. In this half-facing position Skye had one leg between his, and one of Adam’s legs was between hers. It was an intimate position that allowed them to stroke and caress each other freely. Adam enjoyed taking her sensitive little nipples in his mouth from this posture, and sucking long and lovingly upon them.

  She began to feel the flames flickering
throughout her body once more as he did this, and she ran her hand down his long back to fondle a taut buttock with teasing fingers. “Witch!” he growled at her, nipping playfully on her sentient flesh and beginning to feel his own hunger rising once more. She bit at his earlobe, and then ran her tongue about the shell of his ear, whispering shamelessly to him how he made her feel at this moment. “Oh, my darling, you’re so very big! Why is it I cannot get enough of you, Adam? I love it when you fuck me. Oh darling, don’t stop! Please don’t stop, my love! Ahh! I could go on forever!”

  She was his wife, and yet her bold words roused his lust to a furious pitch. He shuddered with passion and ached with the pleasure possessing her gave him. Once more he towered over her, his great manhood thrusting again and again and again into her excited flesh. He vaguely felt her nails raking down his back; heard her excited panting hot in his ear; felt her body writhing beneath him.

  Beginning to slip from reality into the golden world of sensual rapture, Skye had a brief, startling thought. It was with Adam as it had been with Geoffrey! Each time it was better. Each time it was more passionate than the last time. If this was her reward for all she had borne then it had been worth it, for to be loved by such a man was worth anything! Then she was caught up in the whirlwind of passion and, flying high, was lost to everything except their love.

  “Ah, sweet Skye, you’ve unmanned me!” she heard him cry, and collapsed upon her breasts. Her arms tightened about him as he whimpered with his own pleasure, and she could not help but kiss his tousled dark head.

  They lay together for some minutes, attempting to regain their composure. He finally managed to roll off her, and catching her hand in his, they lay silently side by side. Beneath them the thick sheepskin was soft, and the warm fire crackled merrily, the only witness to their passion. Outside they could hear the soft roar of the rising wind about the stone tower house. Everything else was silence.

  He spoke first. “I wish we could stay like this all winter.”

  She laughed softly. “So do I, but I suspect that Anne will want her rooms back this night. I feel almost guilty thinking on how we have spent this afternoon while Anne has overseen the servants at their cleaning chores.”

  “If this sheepskin could talk …” he teased her.

  “Poor Anne would be shocked. I imagine my father was not a particularly inventive lover. Stamina and vigor were his traits, I have been told. He was a simple man.”

  “Why didn’t she remarry? She was yet a girl when your father died.”

  “Aye, she was twenty-two to his fifty-eight. She says she didn’t remarry because she had the boys to raise, and no dowry. I would have given her a dowry, though; and a good man seeking sons would have been happy to have her to wife, for she was certainly a proven breeder. No, I think she chose not to remarry. She had borne my father four sons in four years, and I think she had no wish to place herself in another man’s care. It was far more convenient to deify my father and his memory. Not all women like the marriage bed. I suspect Anne is one of those women. To my knowledge, she has had no lovers since Da died.” Skye propped herself up on an elbow and, lowering her head, kissed her husband lingeringly. “I can’t imagine not loving you,” she said.

  He smiled back at her. “I don’t ever intend you stop loving me, little girl. It would break my heart if you did,” and then his arm came up to draw her down against him.

  When they finally heard the knocking on the door both felt silly and foolish. They were behaving like young lovers instead of the adults that they were.

  “Skye dear, the hall is cleaned and sweetened, and if you and Adam would care to come forth the servants are waiting for your approval,” Anne O’Malley called.

  “We’ll be there in a moment, Anne,” Skye said, her voice quavering with amusement. “Help me to dress, you buffoon!” she hissed at Adam who lay on his back waggling his black, bushy eyebrows at her while she attempted to maintain her composure. They both heard Anne’s retreating footsteps.

  “Gracious, m’lady, yer gown is all rumbled, and bless me, is this a tear in yer bodice?!” Standing up to his full six feet six inches, Adam successfully mimicked Daisy.

  Skye burst out laughing. “You devil!” she scolded him. “Stop teasing me.”

  His warm laughter rumbled about the room. “Very well, little girl, I’ll behave if you’ll tell me where we’re going to sleep tonight in this ancient pile of stones you call your ancestral home.” He picked up her undergarments from the floor, and began handing them to her.

  “My old room is at the top of the tower,” Skye told him. “I imagine Anne will have it prepared. This is actually the only decent-sized apartment in the whole place, and it was my father’s. I am pleased to see Anne did not give it to Brian and his wife.”

  Adam and Skye redressed as quickly as they could and, leaving Anne O’Malley’s rooms, returned to the hall. Skye was delighted, for the room once more looked like the one she remembered. A smile split her face, and seeing it, the servants visibly relaxed. “Anne, you’ve worked a miracle!”

  “No miracle, only proper cleaning, and the return of the pretties with which I once decorated this hall.”

  Coming in for the evening meal, Skye’s brothers were equally pleased, and even Maggie shyly admitted carpets upon the stone floors were nicer than rushes. The meal was a simple one, for Anne did not set an elaborate table. There were mussels boiled in white wine, baby lamb roasted with rosemary, and a bowl of cress. There was fresh bread and a tub of sweet butter, a hard cheese and a dish of apples. The men ate heartily, washing it all down with brown ale. Eibhlin O’Malley had come from her convent on Innishturk to see her sister, and after the meal the four women sat companionably talking about the fire while the men remained at the table drinking and, from the sound of the ribald laughter, telling stories a lady should not hear. Skye could not help but notice how well her brothers got on with Adam, and it gave her great pleasure. The O’Malley brothers might not realize it, but they were taking their first step along the road to tolerance. They had accepted an Englishman into their midst without any trouble at all.

  Skye was surprised when Brian came to her amid the chatter of the women, and drew her aside. “My brothers and I have been talking this afternoon about what you said. Do you really think the English Queen would give us letters of marque?”

  “Yes, but make no mistake, Brian, ’tis for her good as well as yours.”

  “Ye mean she’ll be getting a share of the booty we capture?”

  “Aye, but she’ll also be getting the O’Malleys of Innisfana off of her royal neck. If there is one thing Elizabeth Tudor believes in, little brother, it is peace. She wants no wars, for she knows that wars destroy a country’s economy.

  “There is one other thing about the Queen, Brian,” Skye continued. “You’ll have to come with me to England if you’re to get your letters of marque.”

  “Never!” Brian shouted, and everyone in the hall turned to look at him. “I’ll not leave blessed Ireland to set foot in that accursed land!”

  “Don’t be an ignorant and superstitious fool, Brian!” Skye retorted as quickly. “You’ll come with me to England, and present yourself before the Queen. You can’t ask Elizabeth Tudor for a favor from afar.”

  “I’d rather not ask her for anything,” Brian grumbled.

  “You’ll be a rich man in no time, Brian,” Skye wheedled him. “You can then afford to build a whole new wing onto the house just for yourself and Maggie and the children. Wouldn’t you like that, Maggie?” Skye appealed to her young sister-in-law.

  “Aye, I would!” Maggie said bluntly.

  “You’d all be rich,” Skye promised her half-brothers, “and then you could each build a wing onto the house and marry the lass of your choice, for with gold in your pockets you’d have a choice and be a desirable match to any father’s eye. Isn’t that better than the cheap chances you take with Grace O’Malley?”

  “I’ll not go to England,” Brian said fir
mly.

  “The Queen won’t give you the letters of marque sight unseen,” Skye argued.

  “I’ll go.”

  They all turned to look at Skye’s youngest brother, Conn. “You’ll go?” she said.

  “Aye,” Conn replied. “I’ve a mind to see England, and the red-haired virgin vixen who rules it. Will I do, Skye?” He grinned engagingly at his sister.

  Skye looked him over critically. Conn was the youngest, but he was the biggest, standing almost as tall as Adam. Cleaned up, his beard barbered decently, elegant clothes upon his back, and a quick course in manners, he might very well do. Elizabeth did like clever and attractive young men, and Skye had to admit that Conn was both. “Aye,” she said. “You’ll do quite well.” She looked at Brian and the others. “Do you have any objections to Conn going?”

  “Nay,” they replied with one voice, all obviously relieved not to have to go themselves.

  “It’s settled then,” Skye said.

  “When will you leave?” Brian asked.

  “Not for several days,” Skye answered him. “I want to see Ewan and Gwyneth and our uncle, the bishop. I’ll send a message off tomorrow, however, to tell Bess Tudor that we’re coming to pay her a call.”