All the Sweet Tomorrows

Skye barely heard them. I am loved, she thought. Dear God, don't take Adam away from me as you have taken the others. I could not bear to hurt him! Please let us grow old together.

Again, as if she had uttered the words aloud, Adam de Marisco understood her feelings. Bending, he tenderly touched her mouth with his, then murmured softly, 'I will always be here for you, little girl. Always!'

Looking up into his eyes, Skye had a sudden premonition that she was finally safe. This time there would be no parting or pain. She remembered that Osman had told her that her happiness would be assured by the influence of a strong Leo in her life. 'What is your birthdate, Adam?' she asked him. 'We are to be married and I realize that I do not know your birthday.'

'His birthday is in two weeks, my dear,' Gaby said. 'It is the ninth of August. My oldest son is born beneath the sign of the Lion. Does it make a difference to you? Are you compatible?'

Skye looked again at Adam, and the relief in her eyes puzzled him. 'Yes, Gaby,' she answered the comtesse. 'We are compatible, two fire signs, for I am born beneath the sign of the Archer.'

'What is it?' he asked her in a low tone.

'Osman,' she said. 'But it is all right. My happiness, he said, would be assured with a man born beneath the sign of the Lion. For some reason I suddenly remembered that.'

Adam smiled at her, half relieved himself, half amused. 'You will always be safe with me, little girl,' he promised. 'Always!'

Chapter 13

Skye and Adam came together again as man and woman the night of their betrothal. The welcome-home dinner, a magnificent feast, began with thin slices of Loire salmon served on silver platters decorated with watercress and carved lemon halves. The fish was followed by a turkey stuffed with truffles from the Perigord, a Bayonne ham, Beef Rissoles, a small roe deer basted in Burgundy, rabbit pie with a marvelously flaky pastry crust, tiny whole partridges stuffed with rice and dried fruit, and small silver platters of Rhine perch. There were bowls of creamed onions, carrots glazed with honey, saffroned rice, cress and lettuce, scallions and radishes. The last course was made up of several cheeses; Brie, Angelot from Bray in Normandy, and a Caci Marzolini from Florence. There were baskets of black cherries and fat golden peaches; and a wonderful brandy-flavored gateau with marzipan decorations. Throughout the meal the goblets were kept well filled with the fine red and white wines bottled on the estate from Archambault grapes.

The family ate heartily and with appreciation of the chateau's fine chef, but Skye and Adam picked at their food, casting long and languishing looks at each other throughout the meal. How strange, thought Skye. I feel like a young girl again instead of a woman who has seen a thirty-first birthday. Toast after toast was raised to the betrothed couple, and Skye's heart beat erratically as Adam took her right hand in his, and began to delicately kiss each fingertip with a slow, lingering kiss. His smoky eyes caught hers in a blazing blue gaze, and she was so fascinated with the passion she saw in their depths that she forgot to breathe and suddenly found herself gasping. She blushed, realizing that she could barely wait to be alone with him, and he chuckled softly.

'I, also,' he said in a low voice, obviously reading her mind.

Her color deepened. 'How can I feel this way, and Niall but newly buried?' she protested, her stern conscience demanding the answer.

'Niall was dead to you long ago,' he replied softly. 'A second death was but anticlimactic, sweetheart. You have had a bad time of it this last year in your attempts to rescue him, and now you need my soothing.'

She thought a moment, and realized that it was true. 'You were ever good at soothing me, Adam,' she teased him, running a playful finger down his cheek.

Around them the de Saville family watched the lovers with tolerant amusement. They were French, and they understood better than any other race in the world the sparks that flew between Skye O'Malley and Adam de Marisco. Antoine feigned a yawn as the servants were clearing away the remnants of the meal from the long table. 'Mon Dieu,' he murmured. 'I must be getting old, for I cannot seem to keep my eyes open.' He turned to his wife. 'Do you think, mon amour, that I should be considered a bad host if I called a halt to this day?'

'Mais non, cheri,' the comtesse exclaimed brightly. 'I am sure that both Adam and Skye are exhausted after their long journey, n'est-ce pas, mes enfants?'

'Yes, maman,' Adam said solemnly. 'We are quite fatigued.'

Skye suppressed a giggle. Fatigued! Adam spoke with such delicacy. Was this the lord of Lundy, the very same fellow who upon their first meeting had so boldly demanded her presence in his bed in exchange for his aid? Her mirth but increased when he fiercely waggled his thick black eyebrows at her in mock warning as he rose from the table, pulling her up with him.

Taking her by the hand, Adam led her over to his mother and stepfather. 'Good night, maman, beau-pere,' he said quietly, as if daring Skye to laugh.

'Good night, my son,' Gaby murmured, and looking closely at her, Skye saw that Adam's mother was also close to total mirth. She obviously knew her big son well.