Skye's second letter was sent to her uncle, the old Bishop of Connaught. In it she outlined all that had happened, her own plans, and her plans for the children. She begged him to watch over all of her offspring in the event she did not return. She then outlined what she wanted done with the O'Malley shipping interests, and how she wanted her children's wealth disbursed, and the children raised. She knew how much this letter was going to pain Seamus O'Malley, but she also knew the dangers involved in her trip to Algiers, and she wanted those she loved cared for in the event she should not return. This letter she closed by asking for her uncle's prayers.

A letter was also sent to her stepmother, Anne, and one to her brother, Michael, the guardian of her eldest son, Ewan; a final missive went to the Countess of Lincoln, thanking her for her care of Murrough these last few years, and explaining his desire to go on to Oxford rather than remain with the court. At last she was finished, and as she arose from the writing table she felt as if a chapter in her life were closing. She wondered what the next chapter would bring her.


***

Back in her bedchamber, Skye saw through the windows that the day was almost gone. Upon the bed were laid out her seagoing clothes, the double-legged skirt, the silk shirt, the hose and the undergarments. By the bed stood her high boots. Daisy, however, was nowhere in sight. With a sad sigh Skye began to pull off her own garments, not even bothering to pick them up as they fell to the floor. She stood only in her chemise when the door between her room and Nicolas's opened, and he entered her chamber.

She wanted to weep at the pain she saw etched in his handsome face. Why was it that she was always giving such agony to those good men who did naught but love her. Why should her love bring such pain? Instinctively she held out her arms to him, wanting to comfort him somehow. "Oh, Nicolas," she murmured against his reddish hair. "Dear, dear Nicolas! I am so sorry, my love. I am so sorry!" Her arms closed about him, and she held him as she would hold a hurt child.

He shuddered against her. "I don't want you to go," he said softly.

"You know I have no choice. If Niall Burke is alive how can I stay with you, Nicolas? We could not marry. Our children would have no right to inherit Beaumont de Jaspre."

"Do you love Niall Burke?" His voice was ragged.

"I have loved him since I was fifteen," she cried.

"Do you love me?"

"You are asking me to choose, Nicolas, and the choice is not mine to make."

"Do you love me?" he repeated.

"I had begun to, Nicolas. Yes! I had begun to love you."

"This is madness," he said to her. "How can your husband be alive after all this time? You go but to chase a dream, doucette!”

"Perhaps," she allowed. "But if Osman has said he is alive, then he is alive. I do not know how, but if I did not go to find out the answer to this puzzle, Nicolas, I should always wonder. If Niall is indeed alive I cannot in good conscience marry you, for I should be committing a mortal sin."

"You will come back to me," he said firmly, and he pulled back from her, looking with love into her face.

Now it was Skye who wanted to cry. "Seek elsewhere for a bride, my love," she said softly. "It is unlikely that I will ever come back, Nicolas. I cannot ask you to wait for me. Every day that you remain unmarried you endanger your duchy, and you are the last hope of Beaumont de Jaspre. How your people love you! Since you came from your home in Poitou there has never been such gladness here. Find some sweet young girl to make your wife, the mother of the next generation."

"No!" He was suddenly angry; frustrated that what he wanted so desperately was being torn from him. "I will only marry you, Skye. If I cannot have you then I want no woman. I shall go back to my holding in Poitou, and to Hell with Beaumont de Jaspre!"

Skye became equally angry, and her hand flashed out to make very hard contact with his cheek. Stunned, he fell back, for she had put all her strength into the blow. "Coward!" she said furiously. "Is this how you keep your promise to Fabron de Beaumont who so generously bestowed his realm and his wealth upon you? You gave your half-brother a death-bed promise that you would rule this duchy and keep it safe from the French. You gave him your promise to care for Edmond and Garnier. Do you think a French overlord will care for them? They will be thrown into the streets to fend for themselves, if they are not driven from Beaumont entirely!"

Her hand had left a bright red mark on his cheek, and rubbing that mark, Nicolas tried to explain. "I have never loved anyone before you," he said in a low voice. "How can I live without you?"

"You think only of yourself, Nicolas," she said scornfully. "I told you once that wealth and power are a great responsibility, to be wielded carefully. I have been wielding both since I was scarcely more than a girl. There have been times when it has been hard for me not to yield to my own desires, but I have not, and you cannot! If you love me you will let me go, Nicolas, because you cannot keep me now. All the devils in Hell could not keep me here by your side now that I know my Niall is alive!"

For a moment he closed his eyes, and she knew that he was fighting back the tears, as she struggled to contain her own sorrow. She must be strong, and she must instill in him some of that same strength. But she had not lied to him when she had said that she was beginning to love him. How could she not when he adored her so, and was so good both to her and the children? She had felt so safe with him.

"I will never forget you, doucette," he said.

"Nor I you, Nicolas," she answered him.

"You are sure?" For the briefest moment his green eyes held a flicker of hope.

"I must go," was her simple reply, and for an equally brief moment Skye wondered if she was totally mad. Then, regaining control of herself, she said brightly, "You will have a wonderful time, Nicolas. You are now a most eligible man of considerable wealth. Think of all the lovely girls available to you, but choose quickly lest the French be tempted to a rash art."

He sighed deeply, and she almost screamed with the sadness in the sound. "What kind of a girl should I choose, doucette? After you, mon amour, how will I be content with anyone?"

"I think, perhaps, a very young girl, Nicolas, but choose one with spirit, intelligence, and a sense of humor. Do not look for one who reminds you of me. Trust Edmond's judgment, for he is a very wise man and he loves you dearly. He will want you to be happy."

Nicolas reached out for her, but Skye quickly sidestepped him. "Will you not kiss me good-bye, doucette?" he said softly.

She glanced down at the gossamer of her chemise, and then shook her head. "Not as I am now, Nicolas." A small smile lit her eyes. "You are very wicked, mon brave, even to suggest it. Go now, and let me dress, for I shall be late if I do not hurry."

With another deep sigh he turned and left her to dress. She knew how difficult the interview had been when her hands began to shake as she buttoned her shirt and fastened her skirt. He was such a good man, and she knew how deeply he was hurting, for in a strange way she was hurting, too.

"It's almost time, m'lady." When had Daisy entered the room?

"Where are the children?"

"Waiting in the anteroom to say good-bye, m'lady." Daisy's honest eyes grew misty. "Are you sure I can't go with you, m'lady?"

Skye hugged her tiring woman affectionately. "I am going to miss you terribly, Daisy," she said, "but it is much too dangerous for you to come with me. Besides, I shall need you to watch over the children until Dame Cecily arrives and you begin your return journey home."

"I'll worry about you the whole time you're away, m'lady."

"You concentrate on marrying Bran and making him a happy man," Skye counseled, and then before Daisy could become overly emotional Skye gave her a quick kiss on the cheek and hurried from the bedchamber into the anteroom where her children awaited her.

"I wish I could go with you," Murrough said enthusiastically. "Algiers sounds so exciting, Mother."

"Algiers is dangerous," Skye replied.

"I should like to fight the infidel!" Robin said bravely.

“The infidel would be enchanted by your blond hair and your fight eyes, my darling. He would geld you like a horse, and if you survived the operation you would become the plaything of some wealthy man with a taste for boys. Not exactly the fate for an Earl of Lynmouth. Stay home, my sons, so that I do not have to fret over you."

"I far prefer to go home to England," Willow said primly.

Skye smiled, faintly amused. "I am relieved, Willow, that you do not choose to seek adventure as your brothers do. You will be safer back in your own homes, my darlings. Murrough, I have written to both Lord Burghley and the Countess of Lincoln regarding Mer-ton College. I am sure they will comply with my wishes."

“Thank you, Mother!" His blue eyes shone with delight and gratitude, and Skye felt great satisfaction to have pleased this second son of hers by such a small act. Murrough stepped forward and bent to kiss her. "Take care, Mother," he said. "This time I feel no sadness because I know that you but go to return to us."

She hugged him hard. "Dearest Murrough," she murmured. "I do love you, my son."

Murrough stepped back, rosy with a mixture of pleasure caused by her words and embarrassment at her public affection. "God speed," he said as he pulled away from her.