All the Sweet Tomorrows (6 page)

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 human! 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 having 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.

They slept for several hours, awakening as the early light came through the single window in the tower bedchamber. She knew that he slept no longer by the sound of his breathing, and for a few long minutes she remained silent, unable to speak, not knowing what she might say to him. He solved the problem for her, saying quietly in his deep voice, “How can any mortal woman give such pleasure, little girl? How I wish that I were the man for you, Skye O’Malley.”

“I wish you would wed with me, Adam, for you’re the strongest man I have ever known. I have always felt safe with you, and you know you’ve always told me that without a man my wealth and beauty make me vulnerable to those in power. I am ashamed to have used you so, but I did need you.
I did!
”

“Skye, there is no wrong in a woman desiring a man, but ’tis not reason enough for a marriage between us. You know that.” He laughed in an effort to lighten the situation. “I cannot help but think that there isn’t a man at Elizabeth’s court who wouldn’t have sold his soul to be in my boots last night.” He raised himself up on an elbow and looked down at her. “You do understand
however, why, I will not seriously entertain your proposal?”

“I understand, Adam.”

“We are friends,” he smiled down at her, “and I should hate you to meet a man you could really love and turn him away because of mistaken loyalty to me.”

“There will be no one else,” she said firmly. “God’s bones, Adam! I have outlived four husbands in fifteen years. Dom, of course, was no loss, the pig! Khalid, however, and Geoffrey and Niall are another matter. I loved them, Adam, and I cannot go through the death of another man that I love. I am beginning to believe that I am bad luck for the men that love me. I think I have had enough of husbands! My six children are enough to satisfy any woman. From now on I shall be free! Free to run my own life, and to choose my own companions.”

“And your lovers,” he said quietly.

“Perhaps,” she said slowly, and then she blushed. “I find that I am not a woman to do without a man. Is that so awful, Adam?”

“You could do without a man if you chose, little girl,” he said. “Last night was different. You needed to be with a friend, with someone who loves you, with someone who could comfort you.”

“Ah, Adam,” she teased him. “No one has ever comforted me better than you.”

Their eyes met and both remembered their first encounter when he had offered her his help, badly needed, if she would spend one night in his bed. She had been in pain then too, suffering over the loss of Geoffrey, and the loss of their youngest son, Johnny. When she had broken down and wept in his arms he had made passionate love to her.
“Let me comfort you, little girl,”
he had said. Since then it had been a joke between them, and now both laughed with the same memory.

“How long will you be at Lynmouth,” he asked her when their laughter had died.

“That will depend on Cecil. First I must send a message to him, and then I must await his decision as to whether I am allowed to go to court so I may petition the Queen for Padraic’s lands.”

“And if you are not allowed back at court, Skye?”

“Then I petition the Queen from Lynmouth. Robbie will be
back soon, and he can speak for me if I am forbidden the Queen’s presence.”

He nodded. “Where are your children now? Not all together, I hope.”

“Nay, Adam, I am too wise for that. My oldest son, Ewan O’Flaherty, is on his lands at Ballyhennessey. My uncle has sent my eldest brother, Michael, to oversee Ewan. He is thirteen now, almost a man. In three years we will celebrate his marriage to Gwyneth Southwood, Geoffrey’s daughter by his first wife. Ewan’s younger brother, Murrough O’Flaherty, is with the Earl of Lincoln’s household. He will need influential contacts, as he is landless. I can give him wealth, but I can’t give him lands. Those he must gain himself, Adam.

“Willow is with Dame Cecily Small. My eldest daughter does not like Ireland. I think it must be her father’s blood in her that makes her prefer a slightly milder climate. So I allowed her to winter with Dame Cecily as Robbie has been away. They are good company for each other, and Dame Cecily is teaching her all the housewifely arts. Thank God, Robbie and his sister adopted her formally, and gave her their name as well as made her their heiress. Having a Spanish father could harm her socially, and if it were known that Willow’s father was once the Great Whoremaster of Algiers!” Skye shuddered. “As much as I loved Khalid, his daughter shall never know
that.
” Then she was forced to chuckle. “It would amuse Khalid to know his offspring is a most proper little English girl; but without Robert Small’s name to protect her, she would be lost. Most people assume she is actually related to Robbie.