All the Sweet Tomorrows (79 page)

In the big nursery of Archambault little Deirdre Burke learned her first embroidery stitches with her very best friend, Antoinette de Saville, while wee Lord Padraic Burke played on the floor at wooden soldiers with his new cousins, Jean-Pierre, Claude, and Michel, the four watched over by their nurses, plump, rosy-cheeked country girls with broad laps and big pillowy bosoms who spoiled the little boys shamelessly.

It was an ideal situation, for Skye’s pregnancy was not an easy one in the beginning. To her great amusement and equal annoyance, Adam reveled in her condition. He happily held the basin for her when she awoke in the mornings feeling wretched; her fussy appetite was an excuse for him to hover over her, offering any delicacies he thought might please her; he rubbed her
ankles, which seemed to ache at the most inconvenient times. Sometimes it made her feel guilty as she remembered that this wasn’t Adam’s child, but the child of a royal rape. She tried for his sake to maintain a cheerful attitude, but occasionally a shadow of unhappiness would cross her face, and when it did there were four people who understood the reason for it. When they were together, Adam’s sisters, Isabeau and Clarice, consoled their beautiful sister-in-law as best they could.

“You must not hate the child, Skye,” said Isabeau, the elder. “Poor baby. ’Tis as much a victim as you were.”

“I pray it not look like its father,” Skye said. “If it does how can I help but detest it?”

“Think of Adam,” Clarice said, her blue eyes filled with concern. “Oh, Skye, you don’t know what it was like for him when that awful Athenais broke off their betrothal! He was so young then, and he believed himself in love with her. He needed her understanding at the most, and at the least he needed discretion. Instead she shamed him publicly, spreading terrible lies around the district concerning his manhood. With her quick match to the old Duc de Beuvron, nobody, of course, believed her. They thought she was attempting to make excuses for taking a better offer, but Adam, knowing the truth, was so shamed. He has always wanted a child. Let this be his child, I beg of you!”

Skye remembered how Adam had told her that several of the girls on Lundy claimed that he had fathered their babies; and he had not denied it, but rather acknowledged the paternity, and seen to it that neither mother nor child wanted for anything. She saw how good he was with her own children, slipping easily into his role of father. He wrote letters filled with news and advice to the O’Flaherty boys in Paris, and both Ewan and Murrough wrote back, respecting their stepfather and, Skye realized when they arrived for Christmas, even harboring affection for him.

Willow, Skye discovered, was trying out newly discovered feminine wiles on Adam, constantly soliciting his opinion on everything. When at New Year’s he presented her with a strand of pale-gold pearls to complement her skin, which was darker than Skye’s, Willow flung her arms about Adam, crying, “Oh, Papa! I do love you so, and I am so glad that you are my father!” Skye felt the quick tears pricking at her eyelids, and she turned away, her heart overflowing with happiness.

Robin quite openly idolized Adam de Marisco. He had been so little when his own father, Geoffrey Southwood, had died along with his baby brother, John. He had not been six when
Niall Burke disappeared. Adam was the most stable male influence in his life, and had always, it seemed to him, been there. In Robin’s mind, it was only natural that the lord of Lundy marry his mother. Adam, of course, reciprocated the young boy’s feeling, loving the little golden lad, the child of his cousin, as he would love a child of his own had he one.

Each day the two would ride together early in the morning, Robin exchanging boyish confidences with his stepfather. Each afternoon Adam would invade the nurseries of the château to romp and play with Deirdre and Padraic; and the nursemaids nodded approvingly at the big bluff man when he tossed the little ones high, laughing with them as they shrieked their delight. Later, when the babies slept watched over by the undermaids, the nursemaids would gossip in the servants’ hall about what a fine father the Seigneur de Marisco was to his wife’s children, and smile that he was to become a real father himself soon. They knew that the babe would come
early
, but what did it matter that the Seigneur and his beautiful wife had celebrated their wedding night before the wedding? The child was fortunate to be born to two such lovers!

At New Year’s the de Savilles held a fête to which the neighboring nobility were invited, including the Duchesse de Beuvron. It was not expected, however, that she would attend, as she far preferred living in Paris. To everyone’s surprise, Athenais de Montoire arrived squired by her son, Renaud, a gangly youth with a pock-marked face, who danced attendance on his mother like a trained dog.

“Renaud is not yet betrothed,” Athenais simpered coyly to Henri St. Justine. “Your Marie-Gabrielle is just a year younger than my son. Perhaps we might talk. It would be quite a feather in your cap to marry your daughter to a duc.”

Inwardly Henri shuddered at the mere thought of turning his lovely daughter over to Renaud de Montoire. He knew the reason for Renaud’s pitted skin. The boy had the pox. Left alone on his estate while his mother cavorted in Paris, he ran wild; and having Athenais’s unquenchable appetite, he was hardly fastidious in his choice of partners. “Alas, Madame la Duchesse,” Henri St. Justine said smoothly, “both my girls have previous contracts,” and then with a bow he left her standing alone.

It was at that point that Skye and Adam entered the château’s Great Hall, and to those who had been unaware of her condition it was quite evident that Madame de Marisco was
enceinte
. It
was also quite evident that she and her husband were deeply in love. Athenais’s green eyes narrowed maliciously. She had just received a hard setdown from Baron St. Justine, and she knew it. She felt a need to retaliate, and here was a perfect opportunity. Smilingly she approached the couple, and then as she reached them her eyes widened with apparent surprise as she gave a little shriek.

“Madame de Marisco, you are
enceinte!”
Athenais declared loud enough for everyone in the vicinity to hear. “I thought it was fat, but you really are with child.
Mon Dieu!
How can this be?”

About them the men snickered at what appeared to them to be obvious. Each had the same thought. If the beautiful Madame de Marisco was newly married to them she would indeed be
enceinte
. Adam, however, was aware of the hidden insult to his wife, but before he could defend her, Skye said sweetly,
“Mon Dieu
, Madame la Duchesse, has it been so long since you were able to lure a man to your bed that you have forgotten how these things are accomplished? I do not think it is something that we might discuss in mixed company, but if you would care to come with me I shall be happy to enlighten you privately.”

About them everyone laughed at Skye’s words, for although she did not know it, she had come very close to the truth. Athenais de Montoire, at forty, was finding it harder to get lovers, and it was said by the court gossips that she paid young men to service her desires.

The duchesse gritted her teeth angrily. “What I meant,” she said cruelly, “but then perhaps, madame, you did not know it, was that my betrothal to your husband was broken off twenty years ago because of his inability to sire a child.”

A soft hiss of shock escaped the assembled guests, and now the entire hall was listening avidly. “I do not understand, Madame la Duchesse,” Skye replied, smoothing her hand across her distended belly, which was covered in claret-colored velvet, “how such a thing can be. On my husband’s holding in England are several mothers who would, like me, disagree with such a statement. One might accuse a peasant of a less than accurate memory, but one could not accuse me of such a thing.”

There was a dangerous silence while Skye’s Kerry-blue eyes looked defiantly into the green ones of Athenais de Montoire. Then the duchesse said sullenly, “I only know what I was told back then, madame.”

“Bah!” the Comtesse de Cher snapped, coming to her son’s
defense. “You rejected my son, for which I now thank God, because you were eager to marry the old Duc de Beuvron, Athenais! The entire district knows the story of how your late papa bartered your virginity in order to make you a duchesse! Do not put the onus on my son. You are just feeling spiteful because when you recently tried to regain his affections he spurned you, being in love with
ma belle
Skye! The entire court knows how you begged Queen Catherine to intercede for you; that Adam wouldn’t even speak to you except Her Majesty requested it.”

Athenais de Montoire gasped, and then grew pink with her outrage. “How dare you!” she cried. “How dare you insult me so! I shall complain to the Queen, Madame la Comtesse! She will see I am compensated for these insults! I will stay no longer at this stupid country gathering. My son and I but came to lend lustre to what would otherwise be a dull fête. Come, Renaud!” and with a swish of her gold-embroidered white velvet gown she stormed from the hall.

“Good riddance!” Gaby snapped, and then she signaled to the musicians in the gallery above. At once they began to play a sprightly tune and, unable to resist, the guests began to form the figures for the dance.

“I could kill that bitch!” Skye muttered.

Her mother-in-law replied, “You would have to stand in line,
chérie
, for Madame la Duchesse is a daughter of the Devil himself, and has made many enemies. You must not worry, however, for she cannot hurt you.”

Skye’s tart remarks to the duchesse earned her the instant respect and approval of the noblewomen of the district. For too long they had suffered under Athenais’s superiority. The evening was declared a success by all.

The winter set in, and Skye grew larger with the child during Lent with its forty days of fasting. Because she was
enceinte
and also thirty-two, the château’s priest absolved her from the strictest fast, allowing her meat on Sundays, Tuesdays, and Thursdays. On the other days she was expected to keep the fast with the others. She felt guilty about having the chef broil her meat while about her everyone was forced to eat fish. The de Savilles, however, were more fortunate than many, for they could catch fresh fish in the Cher rather than being limited to a diet of salted cod and herring.

To Skye’s secret relief, Adam’s devotion never wavered, even now as her time drew near. None of her other husbands had been
so enchanted by her fertility as he was. It seemed to give him great pleasure to lie in their bed with her propped against his broad chest, her chamber robe open, while he stroked her swollen belly, and caressed and marveled over her suddenly heavy breasts. “God’s bones,” he muttered to her one morning, “how I long to see the baby suckling at your wonderful breasts!”

“I had thought to put the child out with a wet nurse,” she replied casually.

“Perhaps later,” he said. “But for a time I want you to nurse our child.” Gently he lifted one of her breasts. “From the looks of it, sweetheart, you’ll have plenty of milk for the baby. Why put the child with a peasant who must feed both her own and our baby when you are capable of nursing yourself.

“I am of a mind to stay in France for a while longer. We are happy here, and so are the children.” His long face, however, belied the reasonableness of his words. What he had to tell her was something he’d been avoiding for several days in hopes of finding a good time. There was, it seemed, no good time.

“You have heard from Robbie?” She was instantly wary.

He nodded, knowing better than to conceal it from her. “Yes, I have heard from Robbie. The Queen, may God damn her sour and dried-up maiden soul, will not recognize our marriage. She says we have forfeited her goodwill by our deceit. What deceit, I should like to know? The witch is simply jealous of our happiness! She has never been woman enough to give up all for love, but she resents those who are brave enough to do what she secretly longs to.”

“The Queen can go to Hell,” Skye muttered irritably.

Adam laughed, but then grew serious again. “There is more, my love.”

Skye smiled grimly. “I would expect that Elizabeth Tudor would not content herself with mere words. Tell me all, Adam, for it will get no better with the waiting.”

“She’s taken the Burke lands, Skye.”

“The bitch! She swore to me Padraic’s claim was safe if I wed with the Duc de Beaumont de Jaspre. I kept my part of the bargain, Adam. Damn these Tudors for the treacherous dogs they are! Damn her! Damn her! Damn her!” Then suddenly Skye remembered, and she asked of her husband, “Uncle Seamus? What has happened to my uncle?”

Here Adam chuckled. “He did not give in easily, Skye. First he tried diplomacy, reminding the Queen of her promise to you,
and that you had indeed kept your bargain. When that did not work that wily old cleric secretly filled Burke Castle with gunpowder, and then blew it to smithereens the night before the new English owner was to take possession. Every tenant farmer on the property had been given notice of eviction by the new owner, and so, as Burke Castle went so did all the cottages and farmhouses on the estate. All that’s left of the holding is the land itself and a number of piles of stones, the castle being the largest pile.”

“But the people,” Skye fretted. “What is to become of the Burke people?”

“They’ve left the land, Skye. Some have gone to the O’Malleys, and others to Ballyhennessey, which so far has escaped the Queen’s eye.”

“Ballyhennessey is too small,” Skye said. “It can barely support its own peasants let alone refugees from Burke lands. Where has my uncle gone?”

“To the O’Malleys, of course, with a large price on his head for wantonly destroying Crown property.”

“My brothers will protect him, Adam, but he is such an old man now to have to face such a commotion. He’s seventy-one, you know.”

“Would you like me to bring him to France, Skye?”

“He’d not come, Adam, for he has his duty to his people as bishop of Connaught, especially now.”

He could see that her eyes were sad with his revelations, and it pained him to fret her further, but he had no choice. “The Queen has also taken Lundy, Skye.”