All the Sweet Tomorrows (62 page)

“The choice is not mine to make, Skye. Now kiss me, my darling wife. One kiss before I must leave you. A final memory for me to take with me on my journey.” His glance was steadfast, almost sympathetic of her plight, for he knew it would be far harder on her than it would be on him.

Skye wanted to flee this nightmare. In her brain pounded the one thought!
Had it all been for this?

“Skye!” His voice was urgent. His hand pulled loose of hers.

Slowly she bent her head, her eyes closing as her lips met with his. For a brief moment she felt incredible joy at the touch of his mouth on hers, but then the pressure of his kiss slackened and, lifting her head, Skye saw that his silver eyes were suddenly dull and sightless; Niall Burke was dead. She sat frozen by his side for some time, feeling nothing; neither heat nor cold, certainly not the beat of her heart. She was numb to her very soul. Finally Skye slowly rose and, reaching up, gently drew his eyelids shut. “Farewell, my first love, my final love. You’re home safe in Ireland now, Niall Burke. You’re safe at long, long last!”

She turned as the door to the cabin opened, and Robert Small entered the room. “He’s dead, Robbie,” she said in a calm, detached voice.

“Skye …” He moved toward her to comfort her.

“Set a course for Beaumont de Jaspre, Robbie. I will not give my husband’s body up to the sea. I will ask permission of Nicolas to bury Niall in the cathedral at Villerose. In a few years when the flesh has rotted from his bones we will bring his remains home to Ireland. He would want it that way. As would the old MacWilliam.”

“Skye, ’Tis madness you speak. Let us bury him now.”

“If you give him to the sea, Robbie, then I will follow him into the sea. Do you understand me?” Her voice was flinty hard, its tone unlike anything he had ever heard from her before.

Robert Small knew instinctively that he must not argue with her, or anger her. She was poised on the very brink of madness, and the merest, faintest touch would send her hurtling into its dark depths. “All right, lass,” he said quietly. “We’ll do it your way. Do you want the body removed from the cabin now, or shall we leave it?”

“The cargo hold is empty but for ballast?”

“Aye.”

“Then put him there, Robbie, but not in the dark. Let there be
candles about him, and a velvet cloth on his bier. I want a watch about him the entire time, and I shall pray by his side until we reach port.”

“Let me have the boy bring you something to eat before you begin your vigil,” Robbie suggested gently.

“Some wine,” she answered. “Nothing more. I could not eat now.”

“Some wine,” he repeated, and backed from the cabin.

She stood where he had left her, silent and stonelike. The door opened again, and she heard a small voice say, “M’lady, the wine you asked for is here.” Looking down, Skye encountered the curious glance of a flame-haired boy about nine. “The wine, m’lady.” He held out a small tray upon which rested a goblet.

“What is your name, boy?”

“Michael, m’lady.”

“Michael what?”

“Don’t know, m’lady. Captain Small found me in an alley with me head all bloodied. I don’t remember nothing except I’m called Michael.”

“I have a brother named Michael, Michael. He is a priest. Would you like to be a priest?”

“No, m’lady! I wants to be like Captain Small!”

Skye looked down at the boy and, touching his hair with a gentle gesture, said, “Perhaps you will be like him one day, Michael. He’s a good man to follow.”

“Yes, m’lady,” the boy said, and then hurried from the room.

The doorway was instantly filled by Adam de Marisco’s huge bulk. “Skye.” He stood looking anxiously in at her.

“Come in, Adam,” she said.

“You’re not surprised to see me, little girl,” he stated flatly.

“Have you not always been there when I needed you, Adam?”

He stepped across the threshold and closed the door behind him. “I should never have let you go from me, Skye.”

“The choice was neither yours nor mine, Adam. We are both Elizabeth Tudor’s loyal servants. Besides, once my friend, Osman, knew where Niall was, he would have found me wherever I was. Have I not given you enough pain, Adam, that you seek me out to suffer further?”

“I only suffer because you suffer, Skye.” His arms went about her, and he held her tightly against his chest. Then without a word Adam picked her up, carried her across the cabin, and sat down with her in the stern window seat. He cradled her tenderly
as he would have cradled a child, and sighing, she pressed her face for a moment against his silk-covered chest. The smell of him was familiar and reassuring. “Can you not cry, little girl?” he asked her.

She shook her head in the negative. “I seem to have no tears left in me, Adam. I have wept so often for Niall Burke that now in the hour of his death there is nothing inside of me but a vast and cold emptiness.”

He understood. Of all the people she knew in the world he understood the best. “I am here, Skye,” he said quietly. “I will not leave you.”

“I know, Adam,” was her answer, and then they settled into silent sorrow.

It didn’t surprise him that she fell asleep in his protective embrace. He watched her slip from the painful reality of consciousness into a deep slumber, not moving as several seamen led by Robbie entered the cabin and quietly removed Lord Burke’s body. Then the boy, Michael, returned to change the sheets and coverlet upon the bed, and when he had departed Adam de Marisco placed Skye into it, carefully removing her boots, her hose, her belt, and her double-legged skirt. Having tucked her snugly beneath the down coverlet, he slipped from the cabin knowing that she would sleep for many hours, for Robbie had put a sleeping draught into her wine. Sleep, Adam knew, was the best healer of all.

Skye slept for almost two days, her vigil forgotten, and by the time she awoke they were arriving in Beaumont de Jaspre. Her long rest had wiped the dark smudges from beneath her beautiful sea-blue eyes, but she was as calm and emotionless as when she had fallen asleep. She sat propped up by several large pillows, giving orders from her bed. On the small table by her was a plate with the remains of an egg that had been poached in marsala to tempt her appetite. Skye had eaten it, but it had had no taste. She ate to survive, nothing more.

“Will you go to Edmond de Beaumont, Robbie, and request a place in the cathedral for Niall’s body? Tell him I will meet all expenses involved, and of course there will be a generous donation to the bishop for his kindness. Then go to the coffinmaker. I want the finest.”

“What of the young duc, Skye lass?”

“What about him?” She looked puzzled.

“He loved you,” Robbie said helplessly.

“He has, I am sure, by this time found a bride. Besides, I am
not interested in taking another husband, Robbie, and I am most certainly not interested in Nicolas St. Adrian. He was a most charming and loving man, but that moment is past. One should always know when a moment is past, when it is time to walk quietly away.”

“What if they want to see you?”

“Then they are most certainly welcome to visit me on board this ship, but please make it most clear, Robbie, that I will not set foot in the castle.”

Robbie bowed formally. “As you wish, Lady Burke,” he said shortly, and backed from the room.

“What will you do once Niall is buried, Skye?” Adam de Marisco asked.

“I don’t know, Adam. Sail home, but then where is my home? Is it at Burke Castle? I think not. I have never liked Burke Castle, but I lived there because it was Niall’s home. Innisfana is the home of the O’Malleys, but it really belongs to my stepmother Anne and her sons. Ballyhennessey is Ewan’s holding, and Lynmouth is Robin’s. Only Greenwood, my London house, is truly mine, and for now I am not of a mind to live in London. I don’t know where I belong, Adam.” She smiled a small, rueful smile. “Skye O’Malley, the wealthy and all-powerful,” she gently mocked herself, “is without a place to lay her head.”

“Come with me,” he said to her.

“Where?”

“I am of a mind to visit my mother,” he said slowly, a smile lighting his big features.

“And where does your mother live?” she demanded, a small smile surfacing on her own lips.

“In the valley of the Loire. I told you that my mother remarried when I was twelve. My stepfather is the Comte de Cher, and the owner of Archambault, a château located on the River Cher a small ways from Blois. Archambault cannot rival Chambord, or Amboise, or Blois, or even Chenonceaux; but it is a charming and warm place. I would like you to see it, Skye. I would like you to meet my family.”

“How strange,” she remarked seriously. “I have never thought of you having a family, Adam.”

“Yet I do. Though I left France twenty years ago to return permanently to Lundy, I have occasionally made visits to see my mother and her family; but this time I have not been back in seven years. Did you know that I have two full sisters, a half-sister,
and two half-brothers, Skye? They are all grown and married, but I have family, sweet Skye. I have a family almost as large as your own. Come with me to them!”

“Why not,” she answered flatly. “There is nothing else for me to do now.”

“You will have to go home eventually, Skye. You have your children, but for now I think it best you come with me and purge your grief for Niall Burke.”

“Adam, my children do not need me. With the exception of the last two they are virtually grown, and the little ones have done without me for two years. If I never came back it would not matter to them. I have no husband, and I am not needed by anyone. The O’Malleys have obviously managed quite well in my absence, so what is to keep me from joining you at Archambault?” she said dully.

He had never heard her sound like this, so spiritless, so lacking in enthusiasm for everything, life in particular. He would have rather she had screamed and raged at the heavens for Niall’s death. He would have far preferred she sobbed and wept at her loss. This cool detachment was a little frightening. Adam prayed it would pass with time.

She was wrong, he thought. Her children did need her, and more important from his point of view, he, Adam de Marisco needed her. Once he had lost her; once he had deliberately let her go. Now he had no intention of ever letting her go again. She didn’t know it yet, but he was never going to let Elizabeth Tudor use Skye again. He would never again let her be helpless in the face of the Queen’s demands. Skye would not return across the channel until she was his wife. Once she had accused him of not loving her enough to fight for her. This time he would fight any and all who tried to take her away from him. Skye was his for now, and for all time!

Part 4
FRANCE

E
DMOND
de Beaumont sighed sympathetically. “Of course Skye may bury her husband in the cathedral, M’sieur Robert.
Pauvre belle!
How is she?”

Robbie shrugged. “She grieves, but shows it not. Her mien is strange and distant, but I have known her for so long that I know she is in shock over the suddenness of Lord Burke’s death.”

Edmond nodded. “Will she see me?”

“Of course,” Robbie said, “but she did say that you must tell the duc she’ll not set foot in this castle.”

Edmond nodded. “I understand, but I doubt he will.”

“He has a wife?” Robbie prayed the answer would be yes.

“But of course!” Edmond said. “We could not take the chance of the French claiming Beaumont de Jaspre. Three months after Skye left him Nicolas was married to Madelaine di Monaco. Their first child is due within the next few weeks.”

“Good!” Robbie said. “She’s poised on the edge of insanity, Edmond, and she’d not be able to cope with the young duc spouting a lot of passionate nonsense at her. I’m glad that Nicolas is happy.”

Edmond nodded again, but said nothing. It was better that Robert Small not know that Nicolas still hungered for Skye. He had done his duty to the duchy by marrying a young daughter of Monaco’s Prince Honoré. The Duchesse Madelaine was a lovely
child of sixteen with pale-gold hair and soft, brown eyes. Where Skye had been tall and slender, Madelaine was petite and round. The two women were alike only in their sensitivity and intelligence. Edmond had chosen his uncle’s bride carefully, seeking someone who would understand Nicolas’s disappointment, and be willing to wait for it to ease. He had found the perfect candidate in Madelaine di Monaco, who adored the young duc from the first, but sensing his pain sought to soothe it.