All the Sweet Tomorrows

'The Huguenots are no better,' he answered her. 'Religious fanatics hear nothing but their own dogma. What matter how one finds God as long as we find him. Do not look, sweetheart. There is nothing you can do for those poor souls now.'

They didn't bother to stop but for brief meals and to change the horses. Antoine de Saville was anxious to get back to Archambault. There was going to be another civil war, and in times of trouble it was best to be in one's own chateau. The trip to Paris had taken them five days, but the return only took three. They arrived at Archambault after dark, tired and emotionally exhausted by what they had seen and been involved in over the last two weeks. The Huguenots in the district around Archambault had for the most part been untouched, although their pastor had fled to La Rochelle with some of his flock. The majority waited, knowing that the comte would protect them, for they were his best vintagers, barrel-makers, and cultivators. It was fortunate that the village priest was a kindly old man with a good heart who abjured the Catholics not to imitate the excesses of Paris and the other cities that had followed its example.

Because they were far from Paris, the shock of the St. Bartholomew's Day massacre was not strongly felt among those who made Archambault their home. Life swiftly returned to normal with the return of the de Saville family, and the preparations began for the marriage of Adam de Marisco and Skye O'Malley. Originally it had been planned that the celebration be a small, intimate family one; but now with the Queen's promise to attend that was all changed. It would be a grand fete.

***

As August dissolved into September Skye counted the days eagerly until her marriage, and until her children were with her once again. The wedding was set for the twenty-ninth of September, the feast day of St. Michael, and Skye's children arrived on the twentieth, tumbling excitedly from the coach that had brought them from Nantes, where Skye's ship had docked. They were all there, even her eldest son, Ewan, who had left his holding in Ireland to be with his mother on her wedding day.

'Don't worry, Mother,' he told her with a grin. 'My uncles, Shamus and Conn O'Malley, are holding Ballyhennessey for me.'

'Where is your wife?' she demanded.

'Gwyn and I decided to wait until you could be with us before getting married. She's still very young, Mother. Are you anxious to be a grandparent?' he teased.

'Are you so sure you can be a father, Ewan?' she countered.

He chuckled, and then blushed as his brother, Murrough, said, 'He's spawned two bastards already, Mother!'

'Ewan!” Skye was mortified, but Adam and the de Saville men laughed heartily with obvious approval of Ewan's accomplishments.

'Sacre bleu,' the comte said, wiping his eyes, 'these are fine new grandsons you give me, Skye!' He peered at Ewan through kindly, nearsighted eyes. 'So you like the ladies, eh lad? I, of course, am too old for such games, but my sons can, I am sure, tell you the nicest girls on the estate.'

'Beau-pere,' Skye scolded, 'you must not encourage him in this behavior.'

'Why not, cherie? He is a man full grown! Be proud of him!'

Skye looked helplessly to Gaby, who raised her eyes heavenward in sympathy, but said nothing. Nonetheless the de Savilles welcomed all of Skye's children as if they were blood kin; and the children who had never had any real grandparents wanned to the French couple. The comte and comtesse loved children, and indeed their two sons and their daughter lived at Archambault along with their spouses and children. Isabeau and Clarice and their families were within just a few miles, and consequently the chateau was always filled with family. For Skye's children, who had had so little family life, the great change was wonderful. Ewan and Murrough quickly made friends with Henri and Jean St. Justine, who were close to them in age; and together the four young men spent their days riding and hunting and, Skye suspected from the occasional self-satisfied smirk on her sons' faces, wenching as well. Catherine-Henriette St. Justine was just a year younger than Willow, and the fact that the eleven-year-old had attended a ball at the Louvre made her an object of much admiration to Willow, who had still not been allowed up to the Tudor court. Robin's new friend was Charles Sancerre, and little Deirdre Burke, who was going to be five in January, was placed in the chateau nursery with five-year-old Antoinette de Saville. There was even a little boy his age for Padriac to play with, Michel Sancerre.

Skye marveled over her children. The older ones were, of course, happy to see their mother again, but the two Burke babies did not remember her and were cautious in their approach. Deirdre, however, remembered Adam, who had been with her a great deal of the time that Skye was away. She was quite determined that he was her 'Papa,' and Padraic Burke, who followed his older sister's lead in everything, therefore called him papa, too.

'Let them,' Adam said quietly when she attempted to correct them. 'In time they will understand about Niall, but for now they need a father.'

To Skye's great surprise, her four older children took to calling Adam 'Father' also. Robin had never called anyone but Geoffrey father before, and her O’Flaherty sons, who could not remember Dom, had in their Irish pride not been able to call either Geoffrey or Niall by that title. Willow had called Niall 'Papa,' but even she succumbed to Adam de Marisco's charm.

'What magic is this you weave about my children?' she teased him.

'No magic, sweetheart, it is simply that we need each other.'

'Oh, Adam!' she said feelingly. 'I am so glad that you do!' and she kissed him with love upon his mouth.

Then, three days before the wedding, as the dressmaker worked on the final fitting of Skye's gown, the kneeling woman remarked, her mouth full of pins, 'Madame, you have fattened again! You must be very happy indeed, for most brides lose weight before the wedding. I shall have to alter the waist again.'

Skye stood very quietly as the woman did her job, but Gaby had seen how she had paled at the dressmaker's words. When the woman had made her adjustments and taken the gown away, Mignon helped her mistress into a comfortable chamber robe and departed on an errand. Gaby de Saville looked at Skye, and asked, 'What is it, ma fille? Why are you so worried?'

Skye looked up at the lovely woman who was to be her mother-in-law, and said brokenly, 'I am pregnant, Gaby. There is no mistake. I am pregnant. Dear God, what am I to do?!'

For a moment a stricken look crossed the Comtesse de Cher's face, and her hand moved instinctively to her mouth to stifle her cry of distress. Then seeing Skye's anguish, Gaby de Saville pulled herself together, and spoke firmly. 'It is, of course, Navarre's child. Curse him! Why could he not leave you alone?'