It was painfully obvious that the lovely young Queen of France, Elizabeth of Austria, would produce no more children than her little daughter; and King Charles IX's only son was a bastard by his official favorite, Marie Touchet. The king's heir was therefore his younger brother, the Comte d'Anjou, whose favorite pastime was dressing as a girl. The French, a practical race, realized there was not much hope there. The eventual king would be Henri of Navarre, who, it was hoped, would by then be converted to the true Church; and his queen would be their own beloved princess. Perhaps this union would bring an end to the religious wars that had been plaguing France the last few years.

The de Saville coaches raced onward toward Paris, the women of the family chattering excitedly about what they would wear to the ball that was to be held the night before the wedding at the Louvre. Skye could not but help feel some of their excitement in her own contentment and happiness. Outside the coach, the French countryside was lush with midsummer; the fields ripening, the vines heavy with their fruit. It was very different from both her beloved Ireland and beautiful England, but Skye thought it was just as lovely in its own way. She prayed that someday she might return home, but if she could not, it would not be so difficult to live in this fair France. At least here she had no fears that she would be disdained for her race or her religion.

Although there were many disreputable inns along the highway, the comte seemed to know the best places to stop; and despite the fact the roads were thick with other travelers on their way to Paris and the wedding, there always seemed to be places to sleep and a private dining room for them. Skye shared a chamber with Gaby, and her two older daughters, Isabeau and Clarice, while her youngest daughter, Musette, shared with Isabeau's sixteen-year-old, Matilde, and Alexandre's eight-year-old, known as petite Gaby, and Clarice's two daughters, Marie-Gabrielle and Catherine. The three youngest girls were in a positive frenzy of excitement, for it was their first trip to Paris. Their elder cousin, Matilde, a betrothed young lady, had been there twice, and was quite superior about it. Skye cheered the younger ones by telling them it was her first trip, too.

Suddenly they were there! Paris! Skye swiveled from one side of the coach to the other, looking, looking, looking. If anything, she was a bit disappointed, for it reminded her of London with its narrow, crowded streets. They would have to be ferried across the Seine, for the house they had rented from a wealthy Huguenot was next to that of the Duc de Guise in the Marais district on the Rive Droit. The Huguenot, unlike most of his persuasion, had been forced to remain in the country to mourn a recently deceased wife.

The de Savilles were not wealthy in the sense that Skye and Adam were wealthy. They had Archambault and its lands; successful vineyards; and a happy, productive peasantry. They had a small house in Paris, but as Adam gently pointed out to his stepfather, the small house in the Rue Soeur Celestine would simply not shelter them all, and no one had wanted to be excluded from the wedding of Henri of Navarre and Marguérite of Valois. The lord of Lundy suggested that the Paris house be rented to someone else coming up to Paris for the festivities, and it had been quickly and easily done. Then the larger house was rented for the Comte and Comtesse de Cher and their family. Adam discreetly insisted upon paying the lion's share of the rental.

"Our own mansion on the Rive Gauche was in a far better location," Gaby declared emphatically. "I don't care if the de Guises have made the Marais fashionable, this place was once a swamp, and the air is still bad if you ask me! I'm only sorry we couldn't all squeeze into our Paris house, but it only has six bedrooms, and we need a minimum of nine. Drat! I dislike renting other peoples' homes. They are never clean enough to suit me! You wait! The place will be thick with dust, mark my words!"

"Now, now, ma chérie," Antoine soothed. "Huguenot housewives are known for their cleanliness."


"But the lady is dead, and how long since she was last up to Paris? No, the servants will have to turn everything out!"

A little to the comtesse's chagrin and, Skye thought amused, even her disappointment, the rented mansion was fresh and welcoming to its guests. The owner, though bowed by grief, was nevertheless not so overcome that he forgot his wife's ways. He had sent orders to his caretaker to hire the necessary help to clean the house for its tenants. The windows sparkled, the draperies and the upholstery were cleaned and brushed. There were bowls of fresh flowers in every room.

"You see, ma chérie," the comte said to his wife, his brown eyes twinkling. "It is all quite in order. We have but to enjoy ourselves."

They had barely time to rest from their long journey. The royal ball was to be held the following evening, and the de Saville servants spent almost all the night and the following day pressing out ball gowns for all the ladies. Skye had chosen to wear a magnificent creation of peacock-blue silk, its shockingly low-cut bodice embroidered in tiny blue crystals and silver beads to match its embroidered cloth-of-silver underskirt. Skye lived in nervous apprehension that if she took a deep breath her entire bosom would be freed of its restraints. Adam chuckled with delight at the prospect as he fastened the diamond necklace about her throat.

"I do not remember this necklace," he remarked casually as he fussed with the clasp, "but then you have a great deal of jewelry."

"Nicolas presented me with it as a going-away gift when we left Beaumont," she said, deciding to hide nothing from him. "It was really quite thoughtful, and typical of his nature, for he knew that I had no jewelry, Daisy having returned to England with my own things." Skye stood very still wondering at Adam's reaction as he stood behind her, his hands yet on the clasp.

The hands moved slowly from her neck and smoothed over her shoulders. "Is it ducal jewelry?"

"No. He had it made especially for me when he believed that I might come back. It was before he was even contracted to his little duchesse. I would not have accepted it otherwise, Adam."

"I wonder that you accepted it at all." She heard the jealousy in his deep voice, though he strove hard to hide it. Funny, Adam thought, I have never been a jealous man before. Then he smiled to himself. I have never been betrothed to Skye O'Malley before, either.

"I cannot return the jewels without hurting Nicolas, but if it displeases you I will put them away for my daughters, and never wear them again," Skye said, and then she turned to face him. "I love you, my lord of Lundy!" Smiling, she stood on her tiptoes and kissed him sweetly. “The damned jewels mean nothing, and well you know it, Adam de Marisco!"

He grinned ruefully down at her. "You can hardly go to the most elegant court in Christendom without jewels," he admitted, and that was the end of it.

The carriages were at the door, and as they exited the house into the courtyard Skye could see that next door's inhabitants were also preparing to leave for the Louvre.

"The Duc de Guise!" hissed Adam's eldest sister, Isabeau de Rochouart, to Skye. "He is the Princess Marguérite's lover."

"Guard your tongue!" Gaby snapped at her daughter. "Like your late father, you do not know when to be quiet!"

"Well, everyone knows it," Clarice St. Justine declared, coming to her big sister's defense.

"What people know and what is said are two different things," Gaby replied, "and you two are more than old enough to comprehend that!"

The two sisters flushed under their mother's rebuke, and made a great pretense at smoothing down their ball gowns as they prepared to enter their coach. They would be sharing it with their husbands, Isabeau's daughter, Matilde, and Clarice's eldest daughter, Marie-Gabrielle. In the first coach Skye found herself wedged between Adam and his eldest half-brother, the widowed Alexandre, while across from them Comte Antoine sat between his wife and granddaughter, Catherine-Henriette St. Justine who was but eleven. It was her very first ball, and the child was almost sick with the excitement. In the third coach the rest of the party, Yves and Marie-Jeanne de Saville, Musette and Robert Sancerre, and their two nephews, Henri St. Justine, and his brother, Jean-Antoine, were crowded. The three younger children, who would be left behind, stood with their nurses watching sadly as the coaches pulled away.

Once out of the courtyard the coaches moved briskly through the streets of the Marais district, quickly gaining the Rue St Honore, which would take them directly to the Louvre Palace. Now, however, they were forced to join a long line of carriages that were also bound in the same direction, and their pace slowed considerably. Adam took Skye's hand in his and squeezed it lovingly.

"I am indeed blinded by the presence of so much beauty, maman," Alexandre remarked. "Both you and my belle-soeur are radiant tonight."

"Beware, little brother," Adam warned teasingly. "I have only this evening discovered how jealous a man I am."

"If I were betrothed to so glorious a creature as Skye I should also be jealous, Adam, but fear not. I don't believe I could steal her away from you. Now that my period of mourning for Hélène is over I shall have to find myself a nubile young heiress to wife. Little Adam, your godson, is a healthy fellow, but one son is not enough for Archambault."