All the Sweet Tomorrows

'Go back to sleep then,' he said, drawing her down into the curve of his arm so that her head might rest on his shoulder. She lay her dark head upon him, but she did not sleep, and he knew it. 'What is the matter, doucette?'

Skye sighed. 'I thought I had prayed it all away, but alas, I have not!' She was obviously very distressed.

'What?' he asked.

'My desire for you, Nicolas.'

'You will never stop wanting me, doucette, as I will never stop wanting you. Go back to sleep now, my angel. This afternoon we bury my half-brother and tonight I must begin my three nights of penance.'

'Pere Henri has ordered you to pray three nights also?' He heard the laughter in her voice as she realized what the priest had done. He was glad, for it meant she still had a sense of humor. To be able to laugh was a good thing.

When Skye awoke he was gone, and Daisy was bringing her a goblet of freshly squeezed fruit juice. 'You'll have to hurry, m'lady,' Daisy said, 'for the old duc’s funeral procession is to begin soon.'

Skye arose and was dressed in the appropriate black. Descending to the courtyard, she found herself amid a small uproar. Little Garnier de Beaumont had been brought forth by his nurse to take his place in the procession. Skye had never seen her unfortunate stepson in the few months she had lived in Beaumont de Jaspre, but now she understood Fabron's desperate need and desire for an heir. The child was fat, and not totally in control of his limbs. His head was enlarged and his eyes were slanted in an odd fashion. The head lolled, as if it were too heavy for his neck. He did not talk, but rather made little animal noises that his old nurse pretended to understand completely.

Now the old woman stood adamant, defending her baby's rights while both Nicolas and Edmond argued furiously with her. Skye listened a minute, and then, brushing the two men aside, said gently, 'You cannot send the boy to his father's funeral, old nurse. Poor child, he does not understand, and all this anger is frightening him.' She stroked the boy's cheek, smiling and speaking softly to him. 'There, mon petit, everything is all right.' She turned again to the nurse. 'You know that he is not a normal child, nurse. He cannot, therefore, be expected to behave in a normal manner in this situation. Duc Nicolas has promised that he will care for this child as tenderly as if he were one of his own. Now take Garnier back to his own rooms, nurse.' Skye then bent and kissed the child in a loving gesture.

The old nurse nodded, satisfied. 'Madame la Duchesse is kind, and she understands.' Then the old woman took her charge by the hand and led him away.

'Now, gentlemen, may we go?' Skye walked to her white palfrey and was helped up into the saddle by a groom.

The funeral procession wound its way down the hill from the castle to the little Cathedral of St. Paul, Skye leading the way as Fabron de Beaumont's widow. When the service had concluded, and Fabron had been interred in his tomb beneath the marble main altar in the family's crypt, the packed cathedral emptied out and Nicolas St. Adrian, the new duc, led the procession back up the hill. One era had ended and another was beginning. The people of Beaumont de Jaspre were getting their first good look at their new duc, and they liked what they saw. As they made their way through the narrow winding streets of the town, languid, ripe-mouthed beauties with melting invitations in their dark sloe eyes leaned from their balconies to pelt their new lord with flowers. But he saw none of them. He was far too engrossed in the woman who rode at his side. He could not take his eyes from her.

At one point she whispered over the roar of the crowds, 'Do not look at me so, Nicolas. You will shame me.'

Seeing them together, Edmond de Beaumont wondered why he had not noticed it before. His new uncle was obviously hopelessly and completely in love. Now he understood all those questions about the English treaty, and knew why he himself was being sent back to England almost immediately with Captain Kelly. Nicolas St. Adrian wanted his brother's widow to be his wife. For the briefest moment Edmond was overcome by a feeling of terrible hopelessness. If he had only been born normal then perhaps Skye would have been his. Then he shrugged. What was, was. Besides, if she had that kind of love for him his height wouldn't matter. He looked at her now and saw the soft rose blush staining her cheeks as she gently scolded Nicolas. They were two of a kind, Edmond thought. Proud, passionate people who would do very well together. He considered himself fortunate to have her friendship, for never had he known anyone like Skye O'Malley. She was unique. There would be no festivities honoring Nicolas's possession of the duchy. The celebrations would come later when he married, and now the speculation began as to when and whom Nicolas would marry. Several important families had marriageable daughters, and in neighboring Provence and the Languedoc there were several noble families whose nubile offspring might make Nicolas St. Adrian an eligible partie. The new duc, however, appeared in no hurry to choose a wife.

Edmond de Beaumont departed for England aboard Skye's own ship, Seagull, several days after the funeral. When she had asked him why he returned to the Tudor court he replied that she must ask Nicolas. She had wanted to leave with him, but knew that she must stay at least until the spring to officially mourn poor Fabron. It was the least she owed him.

As Seagull sailed from Beaumont de Jaspre's main harbor Skye watched from her bedchamber balcony. For the first time since she had left England she was actually alone except for the faithful Daisy. Robbie, certain that she was settled, unaware of Fabron's death, wandered the eastern Mediterranean in his leisurely voyage to Istanbul. Now Bran was gone back to England, taking Edmond once more to Elizabeth Tudor's court.

Nicolas came up behind her, slipping an arm about her waist, and drawing her back against him. 'Do you wish you were with Edmond?'' he asked.

'Yes,' she answered honestly.

'Do you have a lover you miss back in England, Skye?' She could hear the jealous note in his voice.

'My children are there, and in Ireland,' she said, sidestepping his query and realizing that she hadn't thought about Adam de Marisco in weeks. 'When I was forced to leave him my youngest son was just over two months old. His little sister isn't even two years old, Nicolas. I have four other children as well. I miss them. Yes, I wish I were aboard Seagull on my way home.'

'I will never let you go,' he said quietly.

'Nicolas, you must.' There was a note of quiet desperation in her tone.

'Do you know why I have sent Edmond to England, Skye?'

'No, he would not tell me. He said that I must ask you.'

'I sent him to your Queen to ask that you be given to me as my wife. I offer England the same terms my brother did, the ports of Beaumont de Jaspre.'

Skye shook her head and laughed ruefully. 'I sent a letter to William Cecil asking to be allowed to come home now that Fabron is dead.'

'Which request do you think that your Queen will favor, doucette?⁰

'Do not be cruel, Nicolas. We both know that your ports are of value to England.'

'You are of value to me!' His arm tightened, and he put his face in her hair near her ear. 'Skye, sweet Skye! I love you! From the moment of our first meeting I have loved you. I want you for my wife. I want you for the mother of my sons and daughters. You feel much more for me than you did for my brother. I will teach you to love me, doucette! I need you so much!'

'Do not seek to marry me, Nicolas,' she begged. 'When my beloved Niall was murdered I realized that I was ill luck to the men who have loved me, and wed me. Everyone dies in time, Nicolas, but these were young men! None were safe, even your half-brother Fabron, whom I did not love. It is as if I am not meant to have a husband. I would not want my ill luck to endanger you. Seek some young girl of good family to make your wife.'