All the Sweet Tomorrows

Nicolas flung himself into a chair, and with a gesture of frustration ran his hand through his auburn hair. 'Please,' he said to Robert Small, 'where is she? Is she all right?'

'Lady Burke is aboard her ship, which is anchored at quaiside in your harbor, monseigneur,' Robbie said. 'She has returned to Beaumont de Jaspre to ask that you allow her to bury her late husband, Lord Niall Burke, in a niche in the cathedral. She intends in several years, when the flesh has left his bones, to return those bones to his own home in Ireland. In the meantime she must inter him where she can retrieve him when the time comes. M'sieur Edmond has graciously agreed to allow Lord Burke burial space.'

'Ma pauvre doucette,' Nicolas said softly. 'I must go to her!' He stood up, and was gone from the room before the tiny Edmond could prevent his leaving.

'Nicolas!' the dwarfs voice followed his uncle.

'Don't fret yourself, Edmond,' Robbie said, an amused smile creasing his face. 'Do you remember Lord de Marisco?'

“The black-haired giant? Indeed I do!' Edmond replied.

'He is with her aboard her ship, and he will not allow Nicolas either to hurt her or to make a fool of himself. It is better this way, my friend. The young duchesse will not be party to any of what transpires between those three, and Nicolas will understand once and for all that Skye is not for him.'

Edmond relaxed back into his seat. 'You are right, Robert! It is better this way. More wine?'

And together the two sat companionably quaffing the Beaumont rose while Nicolas St. Adrian called for his horse and then hurried from the castle down through his tiny capital to the harbor. It wasn't hard to find her vessel, for the pennant flying from its mast, the gold sea dragon upon a field of sea blue, was as clear a signal as a beacon on a black night. As he stamped up the gangplank he was met by Bran Kelly.

'M'sieur le duc,' Bran said, bowing politely. 'It is good to see you again.'

'And you, Captain Kelly. Your good Daisy is well, I trust.'

'Yes, monseigneur.'

'Announce me to your mistress, Captain.'

'As you will, monseigneur. Please to follow me.' Bran led him across the deck to Skye's quarters, knocked at the door, and, entering, said, 'Duc Nicolas to see you, m'lady.'

'He may enter,' came her voice, but Nicolas was already pushing past Bran into the cabin.

'Doucette!⁰

'Monseigneur.' Her voice was impersonal, her gaze equally so.

Nicolas St. Adrian felt some of the confidence drain out of him. The pale, beautiful woman garbed in black who stood before him was somewhat forbidding. His remembrance was of a passionate creature whose every movement, every gesture, every word was filled with life and love. The lady before him was, however, quite distant and cool. He recognized the face, and the exquisite form, but as for the rest… 'I welcome your return to Beaumont de Jaspre, madame,' he said feebly.

For a second her manner softened. 'Thank you, Nicolas. I am so sorry to inflict this pain upon you, but there was nowhere else I might go. You do understand?'

He nodded slowly, and then he said quickly, 'I have never stopped loving you, doucette! Never!' and his arms were about her, drawing her close to him.

'I, however, stopped loving you the moment I knew that my beloved Niall was alive!' she said harshly, pushing him away, freeing herself from his unwanted embrace. 'For shame, Nicolas! Do you think that because my husband is dead I shall come running to you? What of your bride? What of the child she carries?'

'They mean nothing to me, doucette!' he exclaimed rashly. 'You! Only you mean anything to me! I have prayed! Dear God, I have gotten down on my knees and prayed for your return to me! I have not prayed like that since I was a child!'

'You are still a child, Nicolas! A selfish little boy! Do you hear what you are saying? You are saying that you will abandon your wife and your heir for me. Where is your sense of responsibility, Nicolas? Did I teach you nothing?! Your duty is to Beaumont de Jaspre, and then to your people. You also now owe a duty to your wife, and the child that will soon be born. I do not want you. I want no man ever again. All I ask of you is that you allow me to bury my husband here. If you are not of a mind to grant me that request, then tell me now, and I will be on my way.'

'Doucette, I implore you,' he said, and she felt a certain pity for him.

'Nicolas,' Skye said in a sad, yet patient voice, 'I implore you. I implore you to give up this fantasy you seem to have about me. I loved you. I will not deny that fact, but now I question the quality of that love. I felt no reluctance in leaving you, Nicolas. I was only sad to go because I disliked hurting you.

'I would have never returned to Beaumont de Jaspre were it not for Niall. Even if I had not found him, Nicolas, I would have gone home to Ireland, or perhaps back to Elizabeth Tudor's court; but I would not have come back to you. Instinctively you must have sensed that, and you did what you should have done. You married and begat an heir.' She reached out and touched his face gently. 'I left the Gull this afternoon, and walked about the market by the harbor, a hood about my head so I might not be recognized. The talk is all of the little Duchesse Madelaine and her coming child, Nicolas. They say she is a madonna; and that God blessed them greatly when Duc Fabron made you his heir and you took Madelaine di Monaco to wife.

'You have done the right thing, Nicolas. Why can you not see it? Why do you seek to destroy that which has brought you the most happiness? Can you tell me truthfully that you do not love your wife?'

'Of course I love her!' he exclaimed. 'One cannot know Madelaine and not love her. She is sweetness itself, but with you it was different. She is honey, but you are fire, doucette! How I crave your warmth!'

Skye allowed herself a little smile. Nicolas would ever be the romantic Frenchman. He was irrepressible. 'Fire, mon brave, can destroy you,' she said. 'Hear me well, Nicolas. When Niall Burke died, I died. Oh, I realize that my mind and my body still function, but believe me when I tell you that I am a dead woman. There is naught left inside me but a wasteland. Go home to your wife, Nicolas, and leave me be.'

He stood staring dumbly at her, and Skye would have sworn that there were tears in his forest-green eyes. Then, suddenly, from the comer of the cabin a shadow arose, and Nicolas was stunned to see a giant of a man with raven-black hair and smoky blue eyes come forth. 'You have heard Lady Burke, lad. Go now.'

Pure unreasoning anger swept over Nicolas, and blindly he drew his sword. 'Who is this man?' he shouted at Skye. 'He is your lover! I know he is your lover!' He lunged murderously at Adam.

Adam de Marisco stepped easily aside, and with a quick movement disarmed the younger man. 'I am Adam de Marisco, the lord of Lundy Island, M'sieur le Duc. My own holding is larger than this tiny bit of land you call a duchy. I have known Skye for many years. I intend to marry Skye when she is over her grief. It is an honest offer which I can make her, but you cannot, monseigneur. Now you may leave this ship under your own power, as Lady Burke has asked, or I shall toss you from the upper deck if you so choose, M'sieur le Duc.' He smiled affably down into Nicolas's surprised face.

'Adam!' Skye gently admonished him. Then she turned to Nicolas. 'Please go, Nicolas. What was once between us is but a memory.'

'Yet a sweet memory, doucette, and one I will remember all of my life.' The anger had drained from him as Adam's sensible speech penetrated his brain. Gallantly he took her hand and raised it to his lips to kiss it ardently. 'You are welcome in Beaumont de Jaspre as long as you choose to stay, and I shall not disturb your mourning again, Skye. Forgive the impetuosity of my behavior,