All the Sweet Tomorrows (92 page)

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 firmly.

“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.”

The next morning Skye arose early to write to the Queen.

Skye watched dispassionately as the thick green sealing wax dripped onto the folded letter, and she pressed the O’Malley ring
of office into the hot puddle before it hardened. The letter was dispatched immediately aboard one of her ships, captained by Bran Kelly. She was relieved to have the letter off, and the matter settled. She walked back into the bedchamber, crawled back beneath the down coverlet, and sighed.

Adam reached out and pulled her into his embrace, his arm cradling her, settling her head against his shoulder. “What is it, little girl?” he asked, kissing the top of her head.

“I find I’m losing my taste for adventure,” she said.

He understood her completely. “You’ve borne a heavy burden all alone, and for a very long time, Skye. ’Tis no wonder you’re weary, sweetheart, but will you not rely on me now? Let me shoulder some of the load, or at least help you with it.”

“Oh, Adam, how can I involve you in this? You’re English.”

“English, Irish,” he replied. “It matters not, Skye. You are a woman; I, a man. We love each other, and because we do one’s problems become the other’s. It’s really that simple. Your brothers’ nationality has nothing to do with their being pigheaded. I’ve known Frenchmen, and Devonmen, and other Englishmen just as stubborn. It’s simply their nature, and together you and I will overcome that nature. I am encouraged that Conn desires to see the Tudor court.”

“Let’s take him back to Lynmouth first,” she said. “We’ll have to clean him up, and get him outfitted, and teach him how to behave, for I’ll not have the court laughing at him. Like as not, Conn would kill half a dozen men should he feel insulted. I’m not introducing him into Elizabeth Tudor’s world to cause havoc and be sneered at as a typical Irisher. I want those letters of marque for the O’Malleys.”

“You’ll get them, Skye.”

“I wish I was as sure as you are, Adam.”

Adam chuckled. “If Conn is half the charmer I suspect he is, the Queen will melt. Besides, being a practical woman, she will be relieved to have the O’Malleys of Innisfana off harrying the Spanish instead of the English.”

Skye smiled to herself, realizing the simple truth of Adam’s words, and she snuggled harder against him. “Then I’ll not worry, my husband, and instead I shall concentrate on indulging my baser appetites,” she murmured, sliding her hand beneath his nightshirt. With teasing hands she fondled him, caressing and cupping him, and feeling him grow hard beneath her touch.

Adam lay very still, only the sudden quickening of his breath
indication at first of her success. He loved the way she touched him with her hot and gentle little hands. In his lifetime he could not remember any woman rousing him as completely and as quickly as Skye could. When she moved herself down to take him in her mouth he groaned with unashamed pleasure at her actions, and fought to maintain his control, for now he desperately desired to possess and be possessed. “Ann, my Celtic witch, ride me!” he finally begged her, and Skye willingly obeyed her husband’s request, lifting her head from his manhood, kissing its throbbing scarlet head, and then mounting him to plunge downward so that he was enclosed by her eager sheath. Reaching up, Adam played gently with her beautiful breasts, tormenting the little nipples so that they thrust and quivered with his touch. Watching her through half-closed eyes, he was amused to find her own eyes closed.

Drawing her closer, he raised his head up and took one of those little peaks into his mouth. Balanced on one elbow, he cupped her breast in his other hand, loving it thoroughly as he did so. His tongue encircled the tautness, warm and so, so soft against her hardness. He sucked and nibbled on her flesh, and Skye gasped with pleasure as small darts of liquid fire raced through her veins, leaving her weak. With a smile of triumph Adam rolled her onto her back, and began thrusting into her honeyed warmth. Skye’s nails dug fiercely into his muscled shoulders, but her rounded hips began to thrust back at him. He pushed deeper and deeper into her until she thought he could go no further, but the next thrust penetrated deeper still as she threw her legs up and wrapped them around him. Now her nails raked down his back, scoring the smooth skin with fine crimson lines. Skye felt she was soaring; soaring higher than she had ever gone before. She felt helpless beneath his strength, and yet she felt stronger than she ever had.

The first wave of passion washed wildly over her, and Adam slowed his movement despite her whimpered protest. He laughed softly, a deep and sensuous sound. “Oh no, little girl, not quite yet. You’re a hungry wench, I can see, but I’m of a mind to play with you a bit longer. What you started, sweetheart, I shall finish.” All the while he spoke he moved slowly upon her. Again he increased the tempo of his erotic rhythm until she was sobbing with pleasure.

The whirling world was filled with a golden light that pulsed and throbbed all about her. His possession filled her with unbelievable peace amidst the turbulence of their passion. He gave so
much, and Skye wanted to give back, but the second wave overtook her, and then in quick bursts the third and forth waves overcame her, rendering her almost unconscious, and she cried out. To her surprise, he cried out also, and then she felt his seed filling her full, and his head dropped to her breasts. She could barely catch her breath, but she kissed his head and caressed the back of his neck soothingly. He rolled away from her, and they lay side by side until at last the storm had passed and they drifted into a contented sleep.

When they awoke the morning was well along, and Skye scrambled guiltily from the warmth of their bed. “God’s nightshirt!” she swore. “My family will think me a slugabed. ’Tis past nine, I’m certain, and I had planned to visit my Uncle Seamus today. Where in Hell is Daisy with my bath water?” She flung open the bedchamber door and peered into the dayroom.

“So, ye’re up!” Daisy looked somewhat askance at her mistress, and Skye realized she was nude.

“Where’s my bath?” she demanded with an effort at nonchalance.

“If I’d fetched it earlier,” Daisy replied tartly, “ ’twould be ice cold at this moment. I’ll see to it now, m’lady,” and she bustled out of the room.

“You’ve the prettiest bottom I’ve ever seen,” Adam teased her.

Skye whirled about, laughing. “Oh, ’tis a bold one you are, my lord husband! It’s a good hour’s ride to my uncle’s house, and I did promise him I’d come whenever I arrived back on Innisfana. ’Tis certain he knows I’m here, and has, I’ve not a doubt, been waiting for me since dawn. He’s an old man, Adam, and frail. I would not disappoint him.”