All the Sweet Tomorrows

the Queen's presence.'

He nodded. 'Where are your children now? Not all together, I hope.'

'Nay, Adam, I am too wise for that. My oldest son, Ewan O’Flaherty, is on his lands at Ballyhennessey. My uncle has sent my eldest brother, Michael, to oversee Ewan. He is thirteen now, almost a man. In three years we will celebrate his marriage to Gwyneth Southwood, Geoffrey's daughter by his first wife. Ewan's younger brother, Murrough O’Flaherty, is with the Earl of Lincoln's household. He will need influential contacts, as he is landless. I can give him wealth, but I can't give him lands. Those he must gain himself, Adam.

'Willow is with Dame Cecily Small. My eldest daughter does not like Ireland. I think it must be her father's blood in her that makes her prefer a slightly milder climate. So I allowed her to winter with Dame Cecily as Robbie has been away. They are good company for each other, and Dame Cecily is teaching her all the housewifely arts. Thank God, Robbie and his sister adopted her formally, and gave her their name as well as made her their heiress. Having a Spanish father could harm her socially, and if it were known that Willow's father was once the Great Whoremaster of Algiers!' Skye shuddered. 'As much as I loved Khalid, his daughter shall never know that.' Then she was forced to chuckle. 'It would amuse Khalid to know his offspring is a most proper little English girl; but without Robert Small's name to protect her, she would be lost. Most people assume she is actually related to Robbie.

'My little Earl of Lynmouth is page at court. You see, Adam, I am forbidden court, but my Robin is Elizabeth's favorite pet. He grows more like Geoffrey every day, I am told.' She smiled softly. 'They called Geoffrey the Angel Earl. Our son, Robin, is known at court as the Cherub. How proud Geoffrey would be of him,' she said. 'My Burke children are safe in their castle.

'No, Cecil cannot use my children against me. Only Robin is readily available to him, and as one of England's premier noblemen, he is inviolate. Besides, Cecil is too softhearted to war with children, thank God. A soft heart is the curse of an honorable man, Adam, and Lord Burghley is an honorable man for all he is Elizabeth Tudor's creature.'

'You haven't forgiven her, have you, Skye?'

'No, Adam, I will never forgive her for what she did to me. Nor will I forgive her the time she stole from Niall and me, especially now that Niall is… is dead.'

'Skye, sweet Skye.' He took her in his arms and held her against his hard chest. 'No more wars with Bess Tudor, little girl. Promise!' He was suddenly afraid for her.

'I promise you, Adam. I am a wiser woman than she who pirated the Queen's ships from right under her nose. The fart that Elizabeth could never prove it was victory enough.'

'We were lucky that time, Skye,' he admonished her gently.

She chuckled throatily. 'I only regret the loss of the emeralds,' she said, and he laughed with her. Then she pulled away from him. 'Dammit, Adam, I am ravenous! You're a poor host not to feed me.'

'I thought you had all you wanted from me, little girl,' he teased her, ducking the pillow she threw at him.

'I’ve not had a decent meal in several days. Does Glynnis cook?'

''Tis one of her best talents,' he remarked, waggling his heavy black eyebrows at her. Skye laughed as de Marisco continued, “I’ll have her fetch us something now that you're obviously up and determined to be on your way.'

Skye sobered. 'Aye, Adam, I have to go. My messenger must be off to Cecil this morning.'

Within the hour Glynnis made her way from the taproom below to the tower antechamber, her sturdy legs bowed under the weight of the tray that she carried. 'I've brought a bit of everything,' she said with a friendly grin. 'Ye'll not go hungry this day, m'lady.' Glynnis then bobbed a curtsey and left them to contemplate the bounty that she had prepared for them. There were two steaming bowls of oat porridge smothered in stewed pears; a covered silver dish, badly tarnished, of eggs poached in heavy cream, dry Spanish wine, and dill; a platter of pink country ham, sliced thickly; a hot loaf of wheat bread wrapped in a linen napkin to keep it warm; sturdy stoneware crocks of sweet butter and thick honey. A silver pitcher of brown ale completed their repast.

'God's bones,' Skye exclaimed, delighted with the meal, 'Glynnis can have a job in my kitchens anytime, Adam!' Then she took up a simple wooden trencher and filled it up. The porridge was quickly eaten, the eggs and ham devoured, and Skye, sitting back in her chair wrapped in de Marisco's huge silk shirt, her long legs stretched out, quaffed down half a goblet of brown ale and then reached for the loaf of bread. Carefully she sliced herself a piece, and spreading it first with butter and then with honey, she proceeded to eat it down.

Adam, no mean trencherman himself, watched her with fond amusement and indulgence. He had always admired her fine appetite. Women who picked at their food believing it good manners annoyed him. Skye enjoyed good cooking, and ate as if she did. “I’ll sail you to Lynmouth myself,'' he said, and she nodded, her mouth still full. 'Do you want me to stay with you until you hear from Cecil?'

She swallowed. 'No. Better Cecil not be reminded of your existence. I may need to run, and Lundy's a safe port for me.'

'Always, little girl!' he agreed with a smile that warmed her to her toes.

***

They left Lundy as the sun was beginning to creep over the horizon, and with a fresh southwest breeze, they were easily and quickly at Lynmouth. He brought his small boat into the little cove beneath the castle's cliffs where a hidden cave had served the Earls of Lynmouth as an escape hatch for several centuries. He would not stay.

'The wind will die by midday, and I’ll be becalmed here if I don't go now, sweet Skye. I don't particularly relish rowing home eleven miles.' He pulled her roughly into his arms and kissed her quickly, tenderly. 'Behave yourself, little girl. If you need me use the old signals. I'll have a boy on watch round the clock.' Then while she watched, easy tears pricking at her eyelids, he sailed away from the landing out into the cove, and from there to the beckoning blue sea.

She brushed the wetness from her eyes, and, mounting the worn stone steps within the cave, hurried unseen upward into Lynmouth Castle. Emerging from the narrow passage of the stairway into a corridor in the oldest part of the castle, she gained her own apartments.

'Good morning, m'lady,' Daisy chirped cheerfully as she came through the doors. 'As luck would have it, I saw Lord de Marisco's little boat as it was sailing into the cove. Shall I get you something to eat?'

'No,' Skye replied. 'I have already eaten. Is Wat Mason here, Daisy?'

'Aye, m'lady.'

'Fetch him at once, Daisy. He's to ride to Whitehall with a message for Lord Burghley.'

'Lord Burghley is here in Devon, m'lady, at Sir Richard de Grenville's home.'

'He is?' Skye was surprised. 'The old spider rarely leaves court. I wonder what has brought him down here.'

'The news is of rebellion, m'lady,' Daisy said, her voice bright with importance. 'Ever since last year when the Queen of Scots fled to England there have been murmurings. There is fear of a rebellion in the north among the marcher lords. They say those who would revolt would bring back the old religion, begging your pardon, m'lady.'

'It's all right, Daisy. I was born a Roman Catholic, and I see no reason to change my ways, but I also see no reason to involve myself in a damned rebellion over religion. Religion should be a personal and private thing between a soul and God. The northern lords are fools if they think that they'll dislodge Elizabeth Tudor and replace her with her cousin, Mary Stewart; but then they don't know Harry Tudor's daughter as well as I know her. They'll lose everything, the idiots, and the church won't restore what they've lost! Better to keep one's faith and one's possessions separate. Now go get Wat Mason. He'll have to go to de Grenville's house with my message.'

Daisy hurried from the room, and Skye sat down at her small writing table to pen her note to the Queen's Secretary of State and most powerful adherent, William Cecil, Lord Burghley. She had no doubt that the old fox would see her, but whether he would take her part was another thing. Still, Cecil didn't need any more trouble in Ireland especially with rebellion brewing in England. Thank God for Mary Stewart, Skye thought. I’ve never laid eyes