little knob of flesh, seemed determined to draw her soul from her body. Gently he bit down upon the tingling peak, eliciting another 'Ohhhh!' from her. She didn't need this torture to know that she wanted him desperately.
With a groan Adam raised his dark head, and she could see the hunger in his stormy eyes. 'God forgive me, little girl,' he whispered harshly, 'but I cannot attend to any of the niceties this time. I must have you, Skye! I ache for you!'
'Oh, God, yes, Adam!' she answered, to his delight. 'I cannot wait, either! I keep remembering how it was with us before I left England, and I shall die if you do not take me now!'
Assured he would neither harm her nor offend her, Adam covered her beautiful body with his own. Beneath him, her shapely thighs opened smoothly, and she eagerly reached for him to guide him home. With a low cry of pleasure he thrust deep, feeling her push up to ease his passage even more. Her arms wrapped themselves around him and their mouths met in a searing kiss. The kiss was seemingly endless, deepening and easing again and again as his strong hips drove her downward into the feather mattresses. He could not get enough of her, nor she of him. Skye reveled in his strong passion, urging him onward with soft little cries that were obvious in their delight. She felt the delicious tensing begin as his wonderful maleness filled her with his love and his warmth. The first rocket's burst came quickly thereafter, followed by several other starbursts in quick succession. Her sharp nails raked fiercely into his smooth back as he tore his head away from her, gasping for breath. 'Sweet, hot little bitch!' he moaned. 'Damn, but you have unmanned me too quickly!' Then she felt the warm rush of his love flooding her, and she wept with joy and murmured softly,
Adam de Marisco shuddered with the pleasure both her body and her words had given him. 'Marry me when we return to Archambault after the royal wedding,' he begged her.
'Will Michaelmas be soon enough?' she teased him.
“The end of September? 'Tis too far away,' he grumbled.
'I need time for a trousseau,' she pouted, 'and perhaps we shall even be able to have the children here.'
'I foresee problems in marrying an older woman,' he said mischievously.
'You'll be thirty-two in December,' he countered, beginning to laugh.
“You are no gentieman, Adam de Marisco, to mention such a thing out loud!' she said with mock anger, and began to tickle him. 'You are ten years my senior, a veritable graybeard! I might have a young man of twenty for a husband should I so desire,' she mocked him from her perch atop his chest.
He laughed until the tears rolled down his cheeks. 'Stop, witch!' he begged her as her nimble fingers found yet another sensitive spot upon his helpless flesh to tickle. God, how he loved her! It was a dream come true for him.
'Not until you apologize!'
'For marrying you, or for saying you will be thirty-two?' he teased.
'Ohh, beast!' She leaned forward and, grasping a handful of his thick black hair, yanked it hard in retaliation.
'Ouch!' he roared in pain. 'Enough, you witch!' And reaching out, he grasped her about the waist and lifted her high off of him. For a brief moment he held her above him while she shrieked in mock terror, and then he lowered her gently onto the mattresses while his mouth swiftly found hers. 'I love you, Skye O'Malley,' he whispered against her trembling lips. 'I love you, my little girl!'
They loved seemingly without ceasing that night and in the days that followed. The night before they left for Paris Skye drifted off to sleep, replete with his love and wondering how they would ever start off the next day. She was still tired when she was forced to crawl from her bed as the dawn was beginning to tint the edges of the horizon. Adam was gone, and Mignon was bustling busily about.
'I have already packed your things, madame, but you must hurry. The comtesse has arranged with Pere Jean that the formal betrothal ceremony be said in the chapel before you leave for Paris!
Her bath was drawn, and she was not allowed to enjoy soaking in its perfumed warmth. The bath this day, Mignon declared, was for washing, not pleasurable daydreaming. Skye was washed, and dried, and powdered and perfumed quickly by her adept tiring woman. Her silk stockings with the climbing roses were rolled up her slender legs and fastened with rosette garters of silver ribbon. Her silk chemise, silk blouse, and silk petticoats were swiftly donned to rustle elegantly beneath her crimson silk gown with its pink satin undershirt. Creamy lace dripped from the sleeves and modestly garnished the neckline of the gown, which revealed more breast than Skye would have normally shown, but the chateau's dressmaker had sworn that it was the
'If Madame will allow me I will escort her to the chapel,' Mignon said as she picked up Skye's crimson silk cloak with its pink satin lining. 'Pere Jean is to say a late mass for the family, and then you and M'sieur Adam will repeat your vows before God.'
Skye nodded to Mignon and followed her from the apartment. She caught her breath with delight as they entered the family's private chapel, for the octagon-shaped room was really a little jewel. Although she had seen it earlier, its beauty still astounded her. Situated in the oldest part of the small chateau it had floors and walls of stone; but on either side of the altar which faced the double doors entry doors were long Gothic windows of exquisite stained glass. The rich reds and blues and golds of the windows cast dancing shadows on the gray stone. On either side of the room were dainty shrines, one to the Blessed Mother Mary, the other to her mother, Saint Anne. The delicately carved statues had been painted so that the two women resembled living creatures.
Mary had been portrayed as the young mother, and was gowned modestly in pale sky-blue robes, a white veil over her blond hair. Her coloring-pink cheeks, fair skin, and real sapphire eyes-was quite lovely. She was seated, and in her lap a laughing pink and white cherub of a baby boy sat waving his fat little hands. The statue of Saint Anne, opposite that of Saint Mary, represented her as a slender, standing woman. Her face was that of a warm and
