"Excuse me, madame, but it is time for Mademoiselle Velvet's feeding," the nursemaid said, bringing the baby to her mother.

Skye took her little daughter, who was now six months old and growing more like her father every day. Her coal-black curls were already thick and tangled, her blue eyes were avid in their curiosity about everything.

"Ah, ma petite bébé!" Gaby crooned. "Have you a small smile for Grandmère?"

Velvet's eyes swept tolerandy over her grandmother, and then turning away, she grasped at her mother's breast, thrusting the nipple into her mouth. With a sigh she settled down to the business of food.

Skye chuckled. "Like her father and her mother, she will not be deterred from her desires."

"You are still nursing her? Why?" Gaby demanded. "Surely you can find a wet nurse. I could find you one, ma fille.'"

"Adam prefers that I feed her myself," Skye said, "and frankly I am enjoying it, Gaby. This is the first time in my life I have been able to enjoy being a mother. There was always something to take me from motherhood. This time there is not!"

"Will you stay in France, Skye?"

"I do not know, Gaby. There is nothing for me in Ireland any longer, and I would far prefer not to have to live beneath Elizabeth Tudor's thumb. Still, Adam longs for England, and he says that it is Velvet's heritage. Perhaps one day the Queen will forgive us for marrying without her permission, and then I know that Adam will return. We are his family, and we will have to go with him, but we shall keep Belle Fleur even when that day comes, for I have been happier here than anywhere in my whole life."


***

Adam returned from Nantes, and shortly thereafter they received word that his lordship, the Earl of Lynmouth, had reached England safely. Christmas, New Year's, and Twelfth Night came and went, and the winter settled in around Archambault and Belle Fleur. Willow wrote from the French court that the King was not well, and it was expected he would die soon. As for court, she wrote, "It seems very much as Robin has described the English court to me. There is much intrigue both serious and silly. Most people are terribly impressed by one's title and/or pocketbook. The young men play a game as to who can seduce the greatest number of noble ladies. What they do not know is that these ladies are playing the same game. You need not worry, Mama," wrote Willow, "for my stepsisters and I are shocked by such disgraceful behavior. Gwyneth and Joan, of course, are relatively safe, for they are neither overly pretty nor wealthy enough. As for me, I have my share of admirers, but I will not permit them to be alone with me, thereby avoiding any idle gossip that should destroy my good name."

Skye smiled reading Willow's letter. She had no fears about Willow, who was a practical little miss with ambitions to wed an important title. Little? No, Willow could no longer be considered little. She would be fourteen in April, and it would soon be time, Skye realized, to seek a husband for her eldest daughter. Remembering Dom O’Flaherty, Skye prayed that her daughter would fall in love with a suitable young man and thus avoid the pain that she had suffered. She would not force her child to any marriage, as she had been forced by her well-meaning father.

The spring of the year 1574 was more promising, and Velvet de Marisco celebrated her first birthday. She was already walking, toddling about the château with so much zeal that Skye forbade the baby's nursemaid to leave her alone for a moment, for she feared her daughter would fall into the moat. Velvet was also talking, making her demands, which were many and constant, known in a mixture of both English and French.

Adam was an appallingly doting father, but then Skye had expected it. Yet she worried when her big husband took their tiny daughter up on his horse and rode out into the forest. Velvet, however, was no more fearful of that than Skye had been of the sea at her age. Skye could simply not bring herself to chide Adam, for his great love and delight in his daughter were so painfully obvious. She could not spoil his fun, and so it fell upon her shoulders the task of disciplining their child.

"Non, non, méchanceté!" Skye scolded her baby daughter one afternoon as Velvet attempted to stuff a sweetmeat into her mouth. She spanked the tiny hand gently, and wiped the stickiness from it.

Velvet's enormous eyes grew moist, and she ran on fat little legs to her father, clutched at his leg, threw her mother an angry glance, and distinctly said, "Papa loves!"

Adam longed to laugh and pick his precious child up in his arms for a kiss, but seeing Skye's warning look, he instead said, "Mama loves you too, Velvet, but you must always obey her."

Outraged at this unpleasant turn of events, Velvet stalked away to her nurse, who took her from the hall.

"What a minx she is," Skye said. "You realize that we are going to have our hands full with her? Could le bon Dieu not have given us a gentle and quiet child?"

He chuckled. "She is our daughter, sweetheart."

Skye smiled back at him. "You will not feel so indulgent when she is older, and the men begin to crowd about her," she teased.

"That's a long time away," Adam said smugly. "She's just a baby, barely a year old."

“The time goes quickly, Adam. Ewan is eighteen now, and I don't know where the years went."

"Madame, you are depressing me," he said. "Let us go to bed now before we are too old, although I have been told by authorities on the matter that one never grows too old. Based on the wisdom of your vast age, what do you have to say on the matter?"

"Come to our bedchamber, monseigneur, and I shall explain my thoughts to you in detail," Skye promised with a seductive glance at her husband as she went from the hall.

These were the times she loved the best; the times when they might retire to the delicious isolation of their apartment. In the big bed that he had had made specially for them-an enormous oak bed with its eight-foot-high headboard all done in linenfold paneling, its carved and turned posts, its natural-colored linen hangings with an embroidered design of grass green velvet-they could lie for hours in the nude, caressing each other leisurely, and making long, slow love until the fire burned down to nothing but glowing ashes and they were forced to retreat beneath the down coverlet.

For them the lovemaking grew better each time, particularly after Velvet was born. Adam could not love her enough, and Skye adored her giant of a husband when he lay his naked length against hers, pressing her deep into the mattress. She reveled in the firm flesh of his thighs against hers, the tickly feeling of his furred chest against her breasts, the hardness of his very maleness seeking to mate with her. There were times when she could not get enough of her handsome husband, and she would shamelessly awaken him with delicious kisses across his big, sleeping form. Several times Adam awoke to find she had roused him while he slept, and now sat astride him. Reaching up, he would caress her beautiful breasts until they thrust forward with taunting invitation. Yet with the incredible passion that blazed between them was also a profound sense of peace, as if both Skye and Adam understood that what was between them would be forever.


***

Charles IX died, and his next brother, Anjou, who had the previous year been made King of Poland, fled his adopted country like a thief in the night to return to his beloved France. Anjou, however, stopped in both Vienna and Venice to be royally feted before finally gaining his native borders, where his irritated mother awaited him. Elizabeth of Austria retired from court, and because her retinue was smaller now, Skye's daughters came home to Belle Fleur that summer. Ewan arrived from the university in Paris; Murrough appeared bronzed and taller, home from his first voyage; and even Robin appeared suddenly one day to surprise them all.

A great deal of fuss was made over the baby, although Skye begged her older children not to spoil Velvet. "She is already quite impossible, mes enfants,” their mother said with an indulgent smile.

After several months back in England, Robin was once more the perfect English courtier. "You should really let me take Padraic back with me in the autumn, Mother," he said to Skye. "He will be close to six then, and should begin his education at the Tudor court. The Queen may have taken his lands, but my brother is still Lord Burke."

"No!" Skye said. "As long as Adam and I are not welcome at the Tudor court then none of my children except you, Robin, shall go. A nobleman without lands is nothing, and until the Queen restores the Burke lands to the Burkes I want nothing to do with either her or England. Besides, Padraic is still a baby."

"I am not!" Padraic Burke, his father's image, glowered up at her.

Skye looked down at Niall's son, and smiled at him. "In time, my darling," she promised him. "Be patient for now." Then she looked around the hall, and said, "I am so glad to have you all here again. This is how I like it best, my children about me, Adam by my side."