All the Sweet Tomorrows (71 page)

Skye wasn’t willing, however, and Catherine knew enough about human nature to see that the lady was not playing coy. It was unfortunate, the Queen Mother thought, but then she had a number of lovely creatures in her
Flying Squadron
who could be ordered to distract the King of Navarre if the proper time came.

Henri de Navarre, however, was not discouraged by Skye’s stern rebuffs. All women, he had discovered, could eventually be wooed and won. Some were just harder to win than others, but it had been his experience that those ladies were the sweetest conquests of all. Reluctantly he allowed Skye and Adam to pass on, but he was determined that sooner than later he would hold the Irish beauty in his arms, and she would swoon with delight as all the others did at his passionate kisses.

“You are angry,” Adam said when they were out of earshot of the royals. “I must assume that the young King of Navarre made indecent suggestions to you, sweetheart.” He took two goblets of chilled wine from the tray of a passing servant and handed her one. “I cannot imagine Henri of Navarre not being taken by your beauty.”

“It is outrageous!” fumed Skye. “He is to be married tomorrow, and here he is propositioning women the night before!”

Adam chuckled. “Typical behavior of the young man, I am told.”

“The poor princess!”

“God’s bones, Skye, don’t feel sorry for that hot-tempered little bitch, Marguerite de Valois. She is the Duc de Guise’s mistress. In fact she wished to marry him, and he was quite agreeable. Unfortunately Catherine de Medici felt the match with Navarre more favorable to her, and de Guise had just hurriedly wed with the Princess de Porcienne to escape a possible royal assassination. The Queen Mother wouldn’t hesitate to inflict
la Morte Italienne
upon de Guise. In face I suspect she is quite sorry he escaped her. The de Guises are too ambitious, and Catherine considers them a threat to her sons. She has never forgiven them for the way they treated her when her eldest, François II, was married to their little niece, the Queen of Scots.”

“What a family!” Skye exclaimed. “They are as bad as the Tudors!”

Adam chuckled. “Power,” he said, “is a very heady draught, sweetheart.”

From some hidden corner the musicians started to play, and the guests began to get into formation to dance. Skye moved gracefully in and out of the figure, smiling softly in her pleasure at Adam, who partnered her with the utmost grace for so big a man. Mischievously he stole a kiss, and she found herself laughing up at him with pure happiness. As far as she was concerned, they were the only two people on the face of the earth. How fortunate I am, she thought. Somehow it has all come out all right. In less than two months Adam and I will be married. Bess Tudor will be angry, but I know that eventually she’ll forgive us, and we’ll go home again. We’ll rebuild Adam’s castle on Lundy. It is the perfect place for us—an island between our two countries. We’ll gather my children, and together we will grow old together. That didn’t seem like such an awful idea to Skye.

He saw her smiling, and asked, “What makes you so happy, sweetheart?”

Gazing back up at him, she said, “I was thinking of our growing old together, Adam.”

He chuckled. “Do you think we might be young for just a little while longer, Skye? With you for my wife, my life is but beginning.”

“Oh, my darling!” she cried softly, and there were quick tears sparkling like diamonds in her sapphire eyes. “What a lovely thing to say to me!”

“Adam!
Adam de Marisco, is it really you?” As the dance ended they heard an excited feminine voice.

They looked about for the owner of the voice and an incredibly beautifully woman whirled into their sight. Reed-slender with a magnificent high bosom and tiny waist, she was dressed in apple green and gold silk, which complemented her wonderful reddish-blond hair.

“Merde!”
Adam swore under his breath, and Skye giggled at the oath.

The woman stopped before them, eyed Skye briefly, dismissed her insultingly, and then flung herself on Adam’s chest. “A-dam,
mon chéri!
I cannot believe it is really you!
Mon Dieu!
You are a hundred times more handsome than when we last met!”

Detaching the woman from his doublet, Adam set her back
from him, and said in an icy tone, “Skye, this is Athenais Boussac.”

“Non, non, chéri!”
The beauty was not a bit disturbed by Adam’s unfriendly tone. “You will remember I married de Montoire. I am the Duchesse de Beuvron.”

“And how is your husband, Madame la Duchesse?”

“Quite dead,
chéri
, and in Hell, I hope. He was the most wretched man, you know.”

“But a
real
man, Madame la Duchesse, I have no doubt, knowing your opinion on that subject. Tell me, how many sons did he father on you?”

Now Skye knew who the woman was. This was the very same creature who had once scorned Adam’s love when she found out he could not have children. Skye put a gentle hand on Adam’s arm. “Come, my love,” she said. “I see your mother signaling to us across the room.”

“Who is this female, Adam? Tell her to go away! We have much to talk about,
chéri.”

“As always, Athenais, your manners are deplorable. This female is my betrothed wife, Madame Burke. Now if you will excuse us …”

“A-dam!”
Athenais de Montoire caught at his sleeve. “Adam,” she repeated pleadingly, “we must talk!”

“There is nothing to talk about, Madame la Duchesse,” and taking Skye’s arm, Adam moved across the floor to where his mother and stepfather were standing.

“Sacré bleu!”
exclaimed Gaby, who had witnessed the entire exchange. “That creature is shameless! What did she want, my son?”

“To talk, she said.”

“Hah!” was Adam’s mother’s angry reply. “Athenais de Montoire was never noted for her ability to converse. More than likely, she has decided she wants another husband, and now that she is rich and titled in her own right she is after you again!
Quelle chienne!”

“You will remember, maman, that the reason Athenais broke our betrothal was that she learned I could not have children. I doubt she has changed so much over the last twenty years, and in any case I am not interested in the bitch.”

“My son,” Gaby de Saville said, “men can often be great fools. Athenais cares nothing for children. She said what she said to you twenty years ago because the Duc de Beuvron had made her father a rather handsome offer for her, and it was more
to Baron Boussac’s advantage to marry his daughter to a wealthy old duc than to a then penniless English lordling.

“It was a miracle that they received such a magnificent offer, but de Beuvron was elderly and childless. He lusted openly after Athenais, and she was a virgin. How she used that one honest jewel of hers to lure de Beuvron onward to his doom! It is said that the duc demanded to know from Baron Boussac what Athenais’s dowry would be. Well, my dear, there was no dowry, as you well know, and so,” here Gaby lowered her voice, “it is rumored that the baron brought Athenais into the room where he and the duc were ironing out the agreement, and when he removed her cloak she was stark naked beneath it! As I heard the story, de Beuvron looked at Athenais, who turned to show him all and the duc almost had an apoplectic fit then and there his lust was so hot. Then the baron said, There, monseigneur, is my daughter’s dowry to you. A flawless face and form. No amount of gold that I could give you would equal such graces.’ As he covered his daughter again with her cloak the duc practically fell over his feet to sign the marriage contract.

“Instead of Boussac
giving
de Beuvron gold, he received a fortune for Athenais’s maidenhead! The duc did manage to get one son on her after five years of marriage. The birth almost killed her, it is said, for the baby came feet first. She was never able to have another, not that she minded. The old duc died two years ago, and his son is now fifteen. The boy is the image of his father, and it is said, a bit weak in the head. He dotes upon his mother, I am told.”

“You have certainly kept up, Mother, haven’t you?” Adam teased with a grin.

“Athenais de Montoire has always been the topic of gossip in the district, Adam. After her son was born any man who took her eye was quickly in her bed. Her lovers were legion. But since de Beuvron’s death she has spent a great deal of time at court, and I have lost track.”

“But only for a lack of any informant to gossip with,” the comte chuckled.

“Antoine!” Gaby pouted, pretending to take offense.

“She is very beautiful,” Skye said thoughtfully.

“Oui,”
Gaby replied, “but it is the same kind of beauty that a rotting lily has. To the eye, all is perfection, but beneath the surface one finds decadence and writhing maggots.”

“You are far more beautiful,” Adam soothed Skye.

“It is not her beauty that disturbs me,” Skye said. “There is
something about her, something wicked. I see it in her eyes.” She looked across the room to where they had left the Duchesse de Beuvron.

Athenais de Montoire stared boldly back at her, but Skye was not one bit perturbed. Equally bold, she openly surveyed the woman. In defiance of fashion the duchesse wore her gorgeous reddish-blond hair long and loose. It fell in rippling waves down her back like a shining mantle. Her face was a little cat’s face with a high, broad forehead, narrowing into a determined little pointed chin. Her amber yellow eyes were large and round, her mouth long and narrow and painted red. Only her nose might be considered less than flawless, for although long and elegant, it hooked under slightly at the end, spoiling the perfection. She was still a beautiful woman, though as she grew older she needed more of the artifice of paint to catch the eye.

Gaby put a hand on Skye’s arm, drawing her attention away from the duchesse. “I have heard that Athenais is a member of the Queen Mother’s
Escadrille Volante.”

“Her Flying Squadron?” Skye cocked her head puzzled. “What on earth is that?”

“The Queen uses beautiful women here at court to seduce the men she wishes to use and to influence. The women who do her bidding are called the
Escadrille Volante
, or, as you would say in your tongue, Flying Squadron. More than one hapless man has been lured to his doom in Catherine de Medici’s quest for power.”

Skye let her eyes wander back to where Athenais de Montoire had been standing, but the duchesse was gone now. The hidden musicians were playing another sprightly tune now, and Adam led her back onto the dance floor. Forgetting about the Duchesse de Beuvron, Skye began to have a wonderful time. She danced with Adam, and his charming half-brothers, and the husbands of his sisters, and his nephew. They all partook of the magnificent buffet that had been set out in the rooms surrounding the ballroom; a buffet so incredible that Skye thought never to be hungry again just looking at the bounty of France spread before her wondering eyes.

There were pâtés: foie gras from Toulouse, partridge pâtés from Nérac, fresh tunny pâtés from Toulon. There was seafood in profusion: raw oysters, opened cold and fresh by kitchen boys for the diners, mussels in Dijon mustard, sole in white wine, lamprey eel, platters with whole salmon on beds of cress, and with whole carp, both from the Loire River. There were dishes
of salted white herring, smoked red herring, and a herring that had been bloated, salted, and smoked. There were silver platters of small game birds: partridge, woodcock from the Dombes, and skylarks from Pézenás. There was roast goose, and capons from Caux in ginger sauce, cooked tongue from Vierzon, Bayonne hams, boar, stag, roe deer, beef, and lamb. There were pies of sparrow and lark, rabbit and hare. There were plates of larded ducks and roasted teal, heron, and whole swans. The greens were few: artichokes in olive oil, bowls of new lettuce, scallions, and radishes. There was fresh bread and rolls, and tubs of butter both sweet and salted, as well as half a dozen varieties of cheese and platters of eggs both hard-boiled and deviled. An entire table was devoted to sweets, the centerpiece being a huge marzipan confection of the Cathedral of Notre Dame, its square complete with the bridal couple as they would appear tomorrow. There were gâteaux of every description, meringues, early apples, Anjou pears, sweet black cherries, large, round golden peaches, and small plump apricots. The wine flowed, both red and white, the entire evening. Catherine de Medici did not stint on the prenuptial feast of a Princess of France.

After they had eaten, and Skye swore that Adam sampled everything on all the tables, a point he vigorously denied, there was more dancing. When the young King of Navarre appeared before the startled de Saville family and claimed Skye for a dance he first made it a point to charm all the ladies. He was courteous and smiling to Gaby and her two eldest daughters. He flirted mischievously with Musette and two of his nieces, Matilde and Marie-Gabrielle. He was charmingly teasing to the youngest girl in the family attending the ball, and little Catherine-Henriette later swore to her mother she would never in her lifetime love anyone else but King Henri of Navarre. Then with a polite bow and a smile to the gentlemen, Henri of Navarre led Skye firmly to the dance floor.

“Have you missed me,
chérie?”
he laughed down into her face.

“How could I miss you, monseigneur? I do not even know you,” was her cool reply.

His arm tightened about her waist. “We must remedy that oversight, madame, for you have enchanted me with your Celtic beauty.”

“You would do better to contemplate the beauty of your bride, monseigneur.”

Henri laughed at the severe tone of her rebuke, and bringing
his face close to hers, he murmured, “You have a mouth that was meant for kisses,
chérie
. How can you be so cold to me when I burn for your touch, for a kind word?”

Skye turned her head to the left as the pattern of the dance dictated, and then she deliberately stamped upon her partner’s foot. “Mind your manners, Monseigneur de Navarre!”

He winced as her little pointed heel dug into his foot, but he could still not resist a chuckle. “Your coldness inflames me,
chérie,”
he said with disturbing intensity, “for I know that beneath the icy hauteur of your words is a passionate woman. The softness of your lips gives you away, as does the adorable little pulse in your beautiful white throat that is beating so frantically at this very moment.”