"Bonne nuit, Adam," the comte said. "Bonne nuit, ma belle Skye."

Skye bid him goodnight softly, and then taking her leave of Gaby and all the others, she followed Adam from the dining room. Silently he led her up the main staircase of the château to the bedroom wing, then down the hall to their apartment. Inside both Mignon and old Guillaume awaited them, and they parted and went into their separate chambers.

Inside her bedroom Skye bore with Mignon's delighted chatter, for the tiring woman had already heard of the official betrothal. Indeed, the château's servants were all atwitter, and as pleased as could be that M'sieur Adam had at last found true happiness. Skye found herself smiling as Mignon asked, "Madame's children will like M'sieur Adam as their beau-père?"

"My children adore Adam. They will be very pleased, Mignon."

Mignon bridled with pleasure at her reply, as she silently admired Skye's ring. Adam was quite obviously a favorite of hers. "He is a good man," she declared, and then she lowered her voice. "I lit candles in thanksgiving when that one scorned him. She did not fool me for a minute with her virginal airs and her soft voice. She was ambitious for wealth and position, that one! She would have destroyed him the same way she destroyed the old duc she finally wed." Mignon handed Skye a silken nightgown, but Skye shook her head.

"I will not need it," she said. "Just this little knit shawl for my shoulders," and she climbed into bed.

"Bon!" Mignon said with a chuckle of approval. "Then I will let you sleep," she finished as she hurried out, leaving Skye alone, a little fire glowing in the fireplace and one small chamber stick lit by the bedside. She sat quietly enjoying the peace of the room, the smooth feel of the lavender-scented sheets beneath her, and the plump goose-down pillows behind her back. The fire cast playful shadows upon the ceiling as it sputtered and whisded softly in the grate. The door to Adam's room opened, and Skye looked up to see him silhouetted between the two rooms. She held out a hand to him, and he was quickly at her side.

Bending, he blew out the chamber stick, then climbed into the big bed. Pulling her into his arms, he held her gently. Skye's head was resting upon his shoulder, one palm flat against his chest. They lay together for some time in silence, and then as her fingers began to entwine themselves playfully in the dark mat upon his chest she asked mischievously, "How many hearts have you broken, my lord of Lundy, since we were last together?"


"I have never been a man for keeping count," he said seriously, "but know, my love, that I tried very hard to forget you. To forget the Kerry blue of your eyes, the sweetness of your kisses, the outrageous softness of your skin." His hand now began to stroke her as he might a cat, and Skye shivered with pleasure. Adam's voice deepened with his desire. "I could not forget you, my Celtic witch! You are in my blood, and now I shall never let you go, Skye! Never! I shall defend what is mine against all, including the Queen if need be, sweetheart!"

"I am not afraid anymore, Adam. I am not afraid, for I know that we are meant to be together, and what a pair we shall make, my darling! Elizabeth Tudor will be hard pressed to stand against us!"

"We may have to remain in France, Skye," he said quietly. "I intend to marry you with or without the Queen's permission, and before we return to England. If the marriage displeases her she will attempt to separate us, as she has done with others. Our only refuge then will be here in France."

"My children," she said softly.

"If we are forced to remain in France then your children must come here. Ewan is virtually a man grown with his own holding, and God willing, 'tis so small a holding that the English will leave him in peace. The others, however, must be with us. Murrough can study here in Paris, as did his father, and his little betrothed will live with us until the marriage. Robin cannot be left to Elizabeth Tudor, despite the fact that he is her favorite. His holdings will be safe in de Grenville's hands until he is ready to marry Alison de Grenville. Mistress Willow should be with us too. Your little Burkes have the most to lose I know, but the English will eventually snatch the Burke lands, as they will all of Ireland. Perhaps your O'Malleys can hold your son's lands until he comes of age, but until then it is not right that Deirdre and Padraic be separated from you, Skye." He turned his head and kissed her mouth quickly. "I want you to be happy, sweetheart."

"What of the responsibilities I owe to the O'Malleys, Adam? I cannot simply walk away from them. I promised my father! 'Twas a deathbed promise!"

"A promise made fourteen years ago, Skye, when your brothers were babes; but they are men grown now, and Brian already has children of his own. It is time they accepted their responsibility. Brian O'Malley has run the O'Malley enterprises these last two years while you have been away. Your Uncle Seamus could not do it and defend Burke lands as well. He is growing very old, although he would knock me down if he heard me say it.

"I would take nothing from you, sweetheart, and neither would your brothers. We adore you, but if we must live in France, then you will have to allow your family to take care of themselves."

"I have always taken care of them," she worried.

His big hand reached out to cup one of her perfect little breasts. "You will have me to take care of now, Skye O'Malley, and I am a very big responsibility," he said as he rolled her in one smooth motion onto her back to take a nipple into his warm mouth.

"Ohhh," she gasped softly, his action catching her by surprise. His lips, clamped firmly around that sensitive little knob of flesh, seemed determined to draw her soul from her body. Gently he bit down upon the tingling peak, eliciting another "Ohhhh!" from her. She didn't need this torture to know that she wanted him desperately.

With a groan Adam raised his dark head, and she could see the hunger in his stormy eyes. "God forgive me, little girl," he whispered harshly, "but I cannot attend to any of the niceties this time. I must have you, Skye! I ache for you!"

"Oh, God, yes, Adam!" she answered, to his delight. "I cannot wait, either! I keep remembering how it was with us before I left England, and I shall die if you do not take me now!"

Assured he would neither harm her nor offend her, Adam covered her beautiful body with his own. Beneath him, her shapely thighs opened smoothly, and she eagerly reached for him to guide him home. With a low cry of pleasure he thrust deep, feeling her push up to ease his passage even more. Her arms wrapped themselves around him and their mouths met in a searing kiss. The kiss was seemingly endless, deepening and easing again and again as his strong hips drove her downward into the feather mattresses. He could not get enough of her, nor she of him. Skye reveled in his strong passion, urging him onward with soft little cries that were obvious in their delight. She felt the delicious tensing begin as his wonderful maleness filled her with his love and his warmth. The first rocket's burst came quickly thereafter, followed by several other starbursts in quick succession. Her sharp nails raked fiercely into his smooth back as he tore his head away from her, gasping for breath. "Sweet, hot little bitch!" he moaned. "Damn, but you have unmanned me too quickly!" Then she felt the warm rush of his love flooding her, and she wept with joy and murmured softly, "Je t’ adore, mon mari! I love you, my husband!"

Adam de Marisco shuddered with the pleasure both her body and her words had given him. "Marry me when we return to Archambault after the royal wedding," he begged her.

"Will Michaelmas be soon enough?" she teased him.

“The end of September? 'Tis too far away," he grumbled.

"I need time for a trousseau," she pouted, "and perhaps we shall even be able to have the children here."

"I foresee problems in marrying an older woman," he said mischievously.

"Older woman!" With a little shriek of outrage she shoved him off her, catching him unawares in his relaxed and weakened condition.

"You'll be thirty-two in December," he countered, beginning to laugh.

“You are no gentieman, Adam de Marisco, to mention such a thing out loud!" she said with mock anger, and began to tickle him. "You are ten years my senior, a veritable graybeard! I might have a young man of twenty for a husband should I so desire," she mocked him from her perch atop his chest.

He laughed until the tears rolled down his cheeks. "Stop, witch!" he begged her as her nimble fingers found yet another sensitive spot upon his helpless flesh to tickle. God, how he loved her! It was a dream come true for him.