'What did Ewan do?' Skye's voice was tense.
'Burned Black Hugh's fine house down about his ears, put his fields to the torch, and drove off his sheep. They were arguing about the sheep when I last heard. Ewan felt Black Hugh owed him some sort of fine for the inconvenience to which he'd been put. Black Hugh wanted his sheep back, feeling that having his house and fields burned was fair enough. I’ll wager that Ewan keeps at least half of the sheep!'
'So he should,' Skye said. ^ am glad that your brother did not hesitate to exact revenge upon Black Hugh. He must be strong else his other neighbors think him easy prey. As for hiding behind Robin's name, 'tis only his pride that makes him angry. What is important is that he retain his lands and his power. There is no shame in Ewan having the right family ties.'
'Even if they be English?' Murrough teased his mother.
'If more Irish had learned to put the English to use,' Skye said wryly, 'we would not have half the troubles we have between us.'
Nicolas stood, amazed at the conversation between Skye and Murrough. He had been even more amazed to hear Skye's approval of her oldest son, Ewan's, actions. This tough and fierce side of her was not something that he had seen before. He had not even suspected she had such a side. Then he laughed at himself for a romantic fool. She had been telling him of her lands, of her wealth, of the lands and wealth she administered for others. She had to be strong to hold such power!
'Are you still sure you would wed such an independent woman as myself, Nicolas,' she gently teased him, and then put a soft hand on his arm.
'The first moment I laid eyes on you,
Skye looked about the cabin of the ship at her children. 'Let us go home, Nicolas,' she said. 'I seem to have everything that I need to be a happy woman now.' Reaching out, she took her infant son from his red-cheeked Irish nurse and, turning, she walked through the door onto the deck and into the bright sunshine of the December afternoon, her children, Edmond, and Nicolas trailing in her wake.
Chapter 6
The winter was a mild, sunny one, the rainy season coming only in February, and then giving way to a beautiful warm March when the hillsides filled with softly blowing red and blue windflowers. It had been a wonderful winter, and for the first time in many months Skye O'Malley and her children felt loved and safe. Beaumont de Jaspre was a happy place. The menace of France had subsided with the Pope's message to Queen Catherine, and Nicolas's unquestioned loyalty. There was no Elizabeth Tudor and her court to overshadow their happiness.
It was the first time since Geoffrey's death and the early days of her reunion with Niall that they had all been together. She saw her two older sons gradually become boys again, dropping away the sophisticated courtier's veneer that they had worn on their arrival as easily as a snake sheds his skin. Nicolas took them hunting in the small range of mountains that served as one of Beaumont's borders. He took all the children swimming on a deserted beach below the castle. The boys were like young dolphins, splashing and diving. Willow, however, was content to paddle around the shore with her baby sister, Deirdre; and tiny Padraic crowed with delight when Nicolas took him by his little hands and floated him in the gentle sea. The baby wriggled with pleasure in the warm waters, his plump little arms and legs moving busily. Her children quite obviously approved of Nicolas St. Adrian, Elizabeth Tudor certainly approved of him, and Skye began to believe that she might even dare to love him.
He assuredly adored her, and he seemed to genuinely care for her offspring. She could see that he was a man who loved children easily, and would do well with them. If only she were not plagued by that tiny nagging doubt that would not leave her in peace. She yet worried that if she married Nicolas he would be touched by the bad luck that seemed to strike at all of her husbands. Still, she had no choice. The wedding was set for the day after her one-year period of mourning was over. When he had told her that, she had blushingly protested his lack of decency, but Nicolas had laughed, saying that no one who had seen her would lack for understanding of his unseemly haste.
Robin and Murrough intended to stay with their mother until midsummer, then return to court. The other three children would remain with Skye and Nicolas. Bran had sailed in early spring for Bideford to fetch Dame Cecily back for the wedding. Bran and Daisy were planning to marry shortly after Skye and Nicolas. Robbie had returned in midwinter from his voyage to Istanbul. He was very surprised by the turn of events that had made Skye a widow, and was now making her a bride again. Nonetheless he fully approved of Nicolas, and the two had become very good friends. He had never really warmed to Fabron de Beaumont, but liked his half-brother.
It was too perfect, and she had known it. The messenger came a month before the scheduled wedding. They tried to protect her from him, Nicolas and Robbie both. Nicolas did not like the look of the dark man. To the young duc he was an infidel to be wary 'of, but Robbie knew better. The dark man came from Algiers.
'Give me the message,' the Devon sea captain demanded of the messenger in flawless Arabic. 'I will see that she gets it.'
'I cannot do that, sir,' was the polite reply.
'Who has sent you?' was Robbie's next question.
'I will only speak to Skye Muna el Khalid,' was the answer, and then the thin man in the long white robes stood silent.
'I’ll have him thrown in the dungeons beneath the castle,' Nicolas said impatiently as Robbie translated the conversation.
'It will do you no good,' Robbie remarked. 'You could pull his fingernails off with burning pincers and he would not say another word. The only way we will learn anything further is to get Skye so she may hear his message.'
Nicolas sighed. Some instinct warned him that this strange man was about to destroy his happiness. Nonetheless he had no choice. He sent a servant for Skye.
Coming into the Great Hall, her eye instantly found the man in white, and she stopped, growing pale. She, too, had recognized the garments of Algiers, garments she had never again thought to see. 'Who is this man?' she begged of Robbie.
'We don't know, lass. He arrived here asking for you. He will say nothing of who he is, or who has sent him. He seems to speak only Arabic. Do you remember the language?'
She nodded and then, drawing a deep breath, walked over to the man. 'You wish to see me?'
'You are Skye Muna el Khalid?'
'I am she.'
The man in white bowed low and respectfully. 'I am Haroun, the servant of Osman the astrologer,' he said. 'I bring you a message from my master.'
'Have you been offered refreshment, Haroun?' Skye asked. 'You have traveled far if you come from Osman.' Skye turned to one of the castle servants. 'Bring cakes and fresh fruit juice,' she commanded.
'You are kind, lady,' Haroun said. 'Let me do my duty, and then I will gladly partake of your hospitality.'
'Speak then, Haroun, the servant of Osman.'
“The message my master sends to you is this. Your husband is not dead. He whom Osman once told you was your true mate lives. You must come to Algiers immediately so that my master may tell you the truth of this matter.'
'I did not mean to harm the lady,' Haroun said worriedly to Robbie.
'You've just shocked her, man,' was the reply. 'Did your master say to tell it that way?'
'Yes, sir. I have but repeated the words given me by my master, Osman.'
