loving woman as she gazed with pride across the room to her beloved daughter and holy grandchild. Her skin was pale, her braids dark, her eyes genuine topaz, her robes a dark red.
There were only four pews on either side of the chapel, and they and the altar were beautifully carved with religious scenes. As Skye and Mignon entered the chapel a priest in green and gold vestments greeted them. Mignon stepped respectfully back and curtseyed. 'Bonjour, mon pere.'
'Bonjour, ma fille,' the priest replied softly, and then he gave his complete attention to Skye. 'Madame la Comtesse has told me about you, Madame Burke. You are Irish, and I believe, a true daughter of Holy Mother Church?'
'Oui, mon pere. My uncle is a bishop.'
'And when was the last time you made your confession, ma fille?”
Skye reddened. 'I have been in a Moslem country for over a year, mon pere. It was not possible.'
Pere Jean smiled. 'Of course,' he murmured understandingly, 'but you will, naturally, wish to confess to me now before the mass, and before you take your vows with M'sieur Adam.'
'Oui, mon pere' Skye was mortified, but she knew that there would be no escaping her religious duties. She wondered almost hysterically what the priest was going to think of what she had to tell him. She would wager that he had never heard a confession such as she was going to give him now. Meekly she followed him to the confessional, where she knelt and said, 'Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned.'
Some twenty minutes later both she and Pere Jean exited the booth, the priest looking somewhat exhausted and bleary-eyed. 'Never,' the priest declared softly, 'never have I listened to such a tale, ma fille. I am astounded that these things can occur in our poor world.'
'Yet you gave me no penance, mon pere.'
The priest stopped, and looking into Skye's face, he took her hand in his. 'What penance could I possibly give you, ma fille, that you have not already suffered? You have twice lost the same husband, a man for whom you truly cared. You have suffered a shameful and degrading captivity in your brave if foolish effort to free your husband from an equally shameful captivity. You have been bereft of your children, threatened wickedly by your sovereign Queen, and yet still you survive without bitterness. I may only be an unsophisticated country priest, ma fille, but I know anguish when I see it. God has already punished you. I can certainly do no more.' He smiled at her and patted her hand. 'You are a good daughter of the Church, ma fille. It has taken great courage to tell me your mountain of sins, but you were brave enough to do it. Now you are following the dictates of Holy Mother Church by marrying once more. I will pray that God bless this union between yourself and the Seigneur de Marisco with many children. Come now, the family is assembled and ready for the mass, ma fille.'
