In his sleep Adam heard the baby whimper, and he was instantly awake, stumbling across the room and through the door. To his surprise and his relief, the nurse was already there. She smiled at him, and curtseyed. '"Tis all right, monseigneur. Go back to sleep." He gratefully complied, and the sun was halfway across the skies above Archambault when he finally awoke again. He had fallen into bed without even removing his clothing, although he had remembered to take off his boots. Now Adam peeked into Skye's bedchamber, and seeing his wife sitting up in her bed eating an egg, he hurried to make himself presentable. Stripping off his clothes, he called for old Guillaume to bring him water for washing, and while he bathed and trimmed his beard and mustache, the old valet laid out fresh clothing for his master which Adam hastily donned.

Her blue eyes lit up as he came into the room, and she smilingly held out her arms to him. "Bonjour, mon mari!" she said gaily.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, he took her into his arms and kissed her passionately. "Je t’aime, I love you," he murmured softly at her. "You are the most marvelous woman in this world, Lady de Marisco!"

"Gracious," she teased him, "and what has made you so happy today, my lord?" But then Skye could not keep up the pretense, and she called to the nursemaid, "Ila, bring the baby for my lord to see. Oh, Adam, you should see her! She is so perfect!" Her own eyes were shining with joy and happiness, and he took her hand, raising it to his lips to kiss it.

"Merci, ma femme," he said. "Mille fois merci!"

Ila brought the baby from its cradle. Laying her carefully upon the bed, she said, "I shall go and get the extra linen I need if Madame will permit it."


"Yes, yes," Skye encouraged the nurse, and then she turned to her husband. "Look at her, Adam. Isn't she just perfect?"

He looked down at the swaddled little bundle with only its small, heart-shaped face showing. "I really can't tell," he said honestly. "Can we undress her?"

Skye unwrapped the baby from her blanket, and carefully removed the little shirt and napkin. Then she looked up at her husband. "Well?"

Adam de Marisco gazed down with wonder at his daughter. She was indeed perfection. She had plump little arms and legs and a fat little tummy. She was rosy and creamy with a thick headful of dark curls, and now when she opened her eyes he saw that they were a beautiful blue. She stared at him boldly, and with a soft chuckle Adam touched the baby with a gentle finger. Her skin was softer than anything he had ever known, and he was enchanted by it. "She's roses and ebony, ivory and white velvet," he said quietly.

Skye smiled at his pride as she carefully redressed and rewrapped the baby. The infant whimpered, and quietly her mother opened her gown and put the baby to her breast. Skye's milk would not be in for another day, but her breasts already tingled with a clear liquid that preceded the milk, and it was this nourishment she offered her daughter. Adam sat watching her, and he felt more at peace now than he had ever felt in his life.

"What are we going to name her?" he asked his wife. A name for the child was something that Skye had not been able to discuss while she believed it to be Henri of Navarre's baby.

"Would you like to call her after your mother, and she might have Marie as a second name as May is the month of the Blessed Mother?" Skye looked to her husband.

“That is kind, sweetheart," he remarked, "but Clarice has a daughter who is Marie-Gabrielle, and Alexandre has a daughter who is Gabrielle-Marie. Our daughter might bear both those names, but she must also have her very own name, a name by which she can be distinguished from her cousins." He looked again at his daughter, who was busily and hungrily nursing upon her mother's breast. Once more he was overcome by the urge to touch her, and he did so gently, his pinky rubbing softly against her cheek. Again the word velvet came into his mind, and then Adam's eyes lit up. "Velvet," he said. "I want to call her Velvet!"


"It is perfect!" Skye said excitedly. "Velvet Gabrielle Marie. Velvet de Marisco!"

Velvet de Marisco chose that moment to get a bout of the hiccoughs, much to her parents' amusement; and then the baby, not the least bit impressed by the importance of the occasion that had elevated her from nameless infant to Velvet de Marisco, fell asleep. Over her daughter's head Skye looked lovingly at her husband, and Adam de Marisco smiled back. For the moment there was no longer any need for words.

Chapter 16

When she was three days old, Velvet de Marisco was baptized in the family chapel of Archambault by the château's priest. To everyone's surprise, Queen Catherine and her daughter, Marguérite, arrived from Chenonceaux, where they had celebrated May Day. The princesse insisted upon standing as godmother to the baby.

"She is not Navarre's child," Skye said boldly. "I would have no misunderstandings between us, Highness."

"She is too pretty to be Navarre's child, madame," the princesse laughed. "No, I choose to be this little girl's godmother because if I were a good wife I should now be giving birth myself. I am not a particularly good wife, but then Henri is not a good husband. Humor me, madame. I shall be good to the child."

Skye bowed her head politely. "You do my daughter great honor, Highness."

"Who is the other godmother-to-be?" Catherine de Medici asked.

"Elizabeth Tudor, " Skye said softly.

"Ha ha!" the Queen laughed. "You play your cards well, Madame de Marisco. Well, it cannot hurt the little one to have both an English queen and a French princess on her side. Who knows where she may end up someday. Who is the godfather?"

"M'sieur le Comte," Skye replied, "and her half-brother, the Earl of Lynmouth."

"A good choice," the Queen approved. "Again you chose to straddle both sides of the channel." The wars of religion were giving everyone a nervous summer. A nearby wealthy Huguenot merchant decided to relocate to the Protestant stronghold of La Rochelle, and was very grateful to find in Adam de Marisco a buyer for his small château, Belle Fleur. Belle Fleur was only four miles from Archambault, a fairy-tale gem of a house located upon a small lake and set in the middle of an enormous garden on the edge of a forest.

Skye was charmed by her new home, which had been built in the early fifteenth century by an ancestor of the previous owner's wife. Belle Fleur had an air of enchantment about it with its witch's cap roofs and its moat, which spread into a small lake on one side. The château appeared to hover on the smooth surface of the water, and seemed even more mysterious by virtue of the surrounding forest of Archambault. Built of flattened, rough-hewn blocks of reddish-gray schist, it had four polygonal towers crowned by dark slate roofs shaped like witch's hats which defended each corner of the building. Access to the cour d'honneur could only be gained through a tall, heavily fortified châtelet flanked by rounded and corbeled towers that rose high on either side of the entrance arch. Surrounded by water on three sides, the château was on its fourth side planted in an exquisite and colorful garden filled to overflowing with sweetly scented blooms. The creatures of the forest were kept from the garden by a low stone wall. It was this magnificent garden that had given the château its name.

It was not a large home, but it had a fine hall where the family might gather, and where they could entertain on a small scale; and there were enough bedchambers for all of the children, and room for a decent staff of servants. There were good-sized stables for the horses, a respectable kennel for the dogs, and a suitable place for the falcons. The former owner had sold the château furnished, and it was filled with pleasingly good furniture and hangings. Adam had a bed made to his own specifications for himself and Skye; she purchased both table and bed linens from a nearby convent; and they were ready to move into their new home. Mignon and Guillaume came with them from Archambault, along with a full staff of servants provided them by the comte.

They spent the rest of the summer settling in, surprisingly isolated from France's unpleasant religious wars. They were the contented parents of nine children, six of Skye's, her two stepdaughters, and their own baby daughter, Velvet. Skye could not remember a more content and domesticated period in her life. Ewan and Murrough were home from the university in Paris for several months, and along with their younger brother, Robin, and their stepfather, they spent long days on horseback hunting or sprawled lazily by the lakeside, fishing. Then, too, the older boys had suddenly become very aware of Gwyneth and Joan South-wood, to whom they had been betrothed since childhood.

Skye's stepdaughters, the children of Geoffrey Southwood's previous marriage, were pretty girls with long, dark-honey-blond hair and soft, gray eyes. They were now fourteen, and had been in Skye's care since they were five. The twins adored their stepmother, and Skye loved them back with all of her generous nature. She had placed them with Anne O'Malley when she had left for Beaumont, and under that sweet lady's tutelage the Southwood girls had learned all that needed be known by a good wife and mother. As little girls they had been rather plain, and their new prettiness delighted Skye and greatly pleased her sons.