All the Sweet Tomorrows (34 page)

“No!”
His handsome face was anguished. “No,” he repeated softly.

“Yes,” came the voice of Edmond de Beaumont, and the dwarf hopped down from the large chair where he had been sitting quite hidden. He had heard all, and now he spoke urgently to his uncle. “Have you forgotten why you were made Fabron de Beaumont’s heir, Nicolas? Of all the eligible men in this family only you are whole, normal, able to father the next generation. For that, my Uncle, you will need a wife.”

“I have Skye,” came the stubborn reply.

“No longer, I think,” Edmond de Beaumont said sadly. “It pains me also, Nicolas. Never in my lifetime has this castle been as happy as it has been since she came into it bringing her laughter and joy for life and love. We should, however, do Skye’s memory a great disservice if we allow ourselves to fall back into the old and gloomy ways.” His violet eyes brimmed with sympathy for his uncle. Of them all, he understood her loss best, for
Edmond de Beaumont loved Skye, too. Looking at her now, he said, “Must you go,
chérie?”

“Yes, Edmond, I must go. If Osman says that Niall is alive, then Niall
is
alive. How, or where, or why I do not know, and I will not know until I see Osman.”

He nodded. “Then you must go, and you will go with our prayers.”

“The children,” Skye said, “I must tell the children.” Without a further glance at either of them she turned and hurried from the hall.

They stood watching her go, each man lost in his own thoughts. Robbie wondered if what she was about to do was foolhardy. How could Niall be alive? And if he was, how in Hell did Osman know about it? Still, and here he grimaced, he remembered Osman. He was an honorable man, and had been a true friend to Khalid el Bey.

Seeing Skye go from the hall, Nicolas thought his heart would surely break. How could he lose her now, just before their wedding? Surely this was not happening! It was a bad dream from which he would shortly awaken. A sound, something like a sob, escaped his lips. It was no dream. It was a real and waking nightmare. He was about to lose to a dead man the only woman he had ever loved.

In his agile mind Edmond de Beaumont cursed the twist of fate that had wrought this terrible situation. His uncle was shattered, grief-stricken at the loss of Skye. It was going to be difficult, if not impossible, to find a bride who would suit Nicolas St. Adrian now; but a bride would have to be found quickly else the menace of France arise again. The knowledge of Skye’s affair with Nicolas prior to their marriage had kept the French at bay, for Skye might have been with child, a child who would have been the next heir to Beaumont de Jaspre. Now, however, Skye would be gone, and without a wife Nicolas would be prime target for a French assassination. If he were to die then Beaumont de Jaspre would fall like a ripe fruit into the lap of Queen Catherine.

While the men behind her thought their thoughts Skye practically ran from the hall to find her children. By chance they were all gathered in the garden, and the older three, instantly seeing her distraught look, hurried toward her. Skye collapsed upon a marble bench, her white skin unusually pale. Reaching
his mother first, Murrough sat next to her, putting an arm about her.

“What is it, Mother?” he begged her, and then Robin and Willow were squeezing in on the other side of her.

“Do you remember my speaking of my old friend, Osman the astrologer, in Algiers?” They all nodded, and Skye continued. “I have had a message from Osman, a strange and frightening, yet wonderful message. Osman begs me to come to Algiers, for he says that Niall is alive!”

“It is possible,” Murrough said thoughtfully, “although the odds are quite incredible, Mother.”

She was stunned by his words. “How is it possible, Murrough?” He was the first person who had not said she was mad to go, and she wondered why.

“Remember the mad nun’s words, Mother. She left Niall’s body upon the beach for the sea to claim. Later, when the others went back to the beach, the tide had already come in, and they assumed the sea had taken Niall’s lifeless body. We know that she stabbed him, but was he really dead? Did his lifeless body indeed wash out to sea? Mannanan MacLir usually returns the dead shells of those whose souls he has taken. Niall’s body was never found, Mother. Therefore it is possible that he was not dead, but badly injured; and it is equally possible that he is alive today, and your friend, Osman, knows his whereabouts,” Murrough concluded triumphantly.

“God’s bones!” Skye said, totally surprised by her son’s reasoning. “You are a scholar, Murrough! You have a mind that reasons!” For a moment she forgot her own problems. “Is that what you want, my son? To be a scholar?”

“I do for now,” he said with a smile, thinking that he was only applying common sense to the situation and that this was a strange time for them to be having this little talk; but then if his mother was rushing off to Algiers to find Niall Burke, Heaven only knew when he would see her again.

“Where would you study?” she demanded of him.

“Merton College at Oxford,” he answered her promptly.

“Your father studied in Paris,” she said in one of her few references to Dom O’Flaherty, “for all the good it did him.” Then she smiled at him. “When I return from Algiers I will see to it that you go to Oxford, Murrough. Of course it will mean that you and Joan must wait to wed. Will you mind that?”

“Arrange it now,” he said quietly. “You do not know how long it will take you to find Niall, and I cannot bear another year
playing the popinjay of a page in the Earl of Lincoln’s household. For Robin the court is a joy, as he is, for all his age, one of England’s premier noblemen. I, however, am a different matter, Mother. Both of my parents are Irish, and there are some English who cannot abide anyone Irish.”

“Who has dared to mistreat you,” she demanded angrily, but Murrough soothed his mother quickly.

“No one would dare to mistreat me, Mother. I am the son of the Countess of Lynmouth, and brother to Lynmouth’s earl. I am generous with my allowance, which always assures friends, and the Countess of Lincoln is Irish herself. No one short of a fool would mistreat Elizabeth FitzGerald’s personal page. Still, there are tiny insults and sly innuendos that I must constantly face with good cheer, for if I lost my temper and fought I should be called a brawling Irishman. I do not like the court, Mother. I know that you have told me that I must make my way there in order to win my own lands for Joan; but Joan is like me, Mother. She is shy and gentle. She wishes no more than to be my wife someday, and to raise our children in a peaceful place.

“I wish to study at Merton College. Then—and I think you will be amazed at my decision—I want to go to sea. Someday I hope to captain one of your ships, Mother. You have said that I will never lack for money, and that money will allow me to buy a fine house with a pretty garden where I can live with my family between voyages. Joan is almost three years younger than I am, and she is really yet a little girl. There is no hurry for us to wed, and we had hoped to wait until she was sixteen. That will give me six years in which to make my way in this world.”

Quiet Murrough, she thought. She had never seen this side of him before. He was really still a boy, and yet he seemed this minute like a young man. Skye was not sure she was ready to have a young man for a son. “Why have you not spoken to me before?” she asked him.

“There was never any time,” he said honestly, and she knew that to be true.

“I will write to Lord Burghley tonight before I leave for Algiers,” she said to him. “I will also write to the Countess of Lincoln, and to my secretary, Jean Morlaix. If it can be arranged you will be at Oxford in time for the Michaelmas term.”

“Thank you, Mother,” Murrough said, hugging her hard.

“What about the rest of us?” Willow demanded. “If you go rushing off to Algiers what is to become of the rest of us?”

“You will all remain here until midsummer,” Skye said. “By
that time I hope to know the many answers in the Niall puzzle. If he is alive, as Osman claims, then you will all leave for England and Ireland at that time. If, however, it turns out that Osman was mistaken, and I have been chasing after naught but a ghost, then only Murrough and Robin will return to England. You, Deirdre, and Padraic will remain here, and I shall return to marry with Nicolas, as we had planned.”

Willow nodded. “Poor Dame Cecily is certainly going to be mightily surprised when she finally arrives, Mother. She hates to travel, but she hates to travel upon the sea most of all.”

“You may go back through France,” Skye promised. “You shall see Paris, and then you will have nought but a quick trip across the channel.”

“Paris!” Willow breathed. “Oh, Mama, you must give me my entire allowance for next year if I am to go to Paris!”

“What?” teased Skye. “So you may spend it all?”

“Every pennypiece!” Willow said almost reverently. “I shall buy laces, and embroidered laced gloves, and a silk dress.”

“And where will you wear them?” Robin mocked, a little unkindly. “Will you display your finery before the pigs and peasants of Devon?”

Skye was about to scold her little son quite severely, but Willow was quite able to take care of herself. “The Queen has asked me to be one of her maids of honor, my noble brat of a brother!” she said smugly.

“She hasn’t!”

“She has,” Willow said, a small, satisfied smile spreading over her face. “After all, Robin, if I am to find a noble husband I must go to court.”

“You have no great name,” Robin protested. “To win a great man you must have a great name.”

“I have something better,” Willow replied.

“What?” He looked at her disbelievingly.

“I have gold,” Willow said wisely. “I am a great heiress, and I possess a great deal of gold. I will have no lack of suitors for my hand once I am at court.”

Shocked, Skye could only gape at her daughter, but she quickly recovered and said, “I hope that you will marry for love as well as a great name, Willow.”

“Love,” Willow replied with the certainty that only a ten-year-old could possess, “can be extremely hurtful. I should prefer a far more businesslike arrangement.”

“You had best seek love, my daughter,” Skye remarked.
“Once you marry your great wealth will belong to your husband, and if he does not love you but another, you will find you have made a very bad bargain. You could easily end up with nothing.”

“I shall retain my own wealth as you have, Mother,” was the cool reply.

“That is not usually the way of things in marriage, Willow. Had the men I married not loved me they would have never agreed to my demands. Best you seek love among the great names, my daughter.” Then she laughed lightly. “At ten you are much too young to be discussing marriage. At least wait until I return to wed, Willow.”

“She must not come to court this year, Mother,” Robin said worriedly. “The Queen’s maids of honor are always fair game for the lechers. She is much too young!”

“Look who speaks of youth,” Willow scoffed. “Her Majesty’s youngest page; he who is three years younger than I am; he whom they call the Cherub!”

“He who has been at court two years, and knows more than you do, Mistress Ignorance!” came back the quick reply.

“Enough!” Skye ordered her quarreling offspring.

“Robin is right,” Murrough put in, and Willow sent her older brother a furious look.

“I know he is,” Skye said. “Willow is not going to court until she is at least thirteen.”

“Mother!”
Willow protested.

“If
I allow her to go at all,” Skye continued with a warning look at her daughter. Willow fell silent.

“You will leave tonight?” Murrough asked.

“Yes,” Skye answered him. “Osman says that time is most important, and to linger here would only hurt poor Nicolas more. He is, as you may imagine, quite heartbroken.”

“You do not believe you will be returning to Beaumont de Jaspre, do you, Mother.”

“No, Murrough, I do not. I keep saying
if
Osman is correct,
if
he is right; but I know that he would not have sent for me if he were not certain.” A sad little smile flitted across her beautiful face for just a brief moment. “I shall, of course, be staying in his house in Algiers.” She looked at Willow. “It was your father’s house once, my dearest, and I never thought to see it again. Dear God, the memories it will bring back to me! I do not know if I can bear it. Algiers! Never did I expect to be in Algiers again!”

“What of the wicked Turk who sought to make you his wife?” Willow asked a bit fearfully. She had heard the story of Skye’s flight many times, and until now it had been a romantic fairy tale in which her beautiful mother was the enchanted princess. This, however, was reality, and Willow was afraid for Skye.

“He is in Istanbul, my love,” Skye reassured her. “He cannot hurt me. Poor Jamil was never my match.” Skye stood up from the bench. “Come, my loves. It is already late, and I must make other arrangements before I leave.” She looked at her two Burke children, who lay sleeping in the grass with their nurse. “Be sure the bairns are well cared for,” she implored her elder children, and they nodded their promise.

When she arrived at her apartments Daisy was already packing for her. “You’ll not be needing all these fancy clothes you’ve got,” said the ever-practical Daisy. “I’ve the thought you won’t want to stick out like a red silk banner, m’lady, and so I am packing only those outlandish garments you brought with you from Algiers years back. I hope that there’s enough, for most of them are in England at Lynmouth.”

“If my stay is lengthy,” Skye said, “I can have more made, but I expect that these few will do.”

“Is it really true that Lord Burke is alive, m’lady?” Daisy’s eyes were wide.

“So Osman’s messenger has said.”

“Can you really trust this Osman?” Daisy was suspicious.

Skye laughed. “Yes, he is trustworthy, Daisy.”

“What does a tiring woman wear in Algiers, m’lady? I have to know what to take for myself.”

“You cannot come, Daisy,” Skye said.

“Not come?” Daisy was scandalized. “Who will take care of you, I should like to know, if I don’t come with you?!”