"Have you brought Edmond back?" she demanded.
"Indeed, m'lady, I have, and a surprise from your duc that I hope will please you." Bran turned to Nicolas. "Now, sir?"
Nicholas smiled. "Now," he said.
"If you will come into the main cabin with me, m'lady," Bran said politely, and Skye, puzzled, followed as he opened the door and stepped back to allow her through first.
Walking over the threshold, Skye suddenly stopped, and stared hard. Then without warning she burst into tears. Instantly she was surrounded by her children all laughing, shouting, and crying themselves. A small dark-haired little tot peered wide-eyed around Edmond de Beaumont's legs at her, and another, a fat blue-eyed baby boy, gazed seriously at her from his nurse's arms.
"Are you not glad to see us, Mama?" the practical Willow demanded.
Skye O'Malley stared at five of her six children, quite overcome with pure and total joy. She had everything! Speechless for a brief moment, she held out her arms to the children and the three older ones rushed to her, all talking at once. She hugged Murrough. God's nightshirt! He was taller than she was now. How had that happened in only seven months? She kissed Willow, her beautiful and treasured little daughter. Willow's checks were damp, but she smiled a blindingly radiant smile at her mother, and words were not necessary between the two. "Robin!" She finally found her voice, and gathering Geoffrey Southwood's son into her arms, she hugged him hard. Robin, usually very conscious of his position in life, did not complain, but kissed his mother's cheek enthusiastically.
Skye stepped back and viewed her offspring delightedly. Then, turning, she looked at Nicolas. “Thank you," she said quietly. He smiled back at her, but said nothing. Words were unnecessary.
"Chérie," Edmond de Beaumont said, "here is a little child who would greet you." Gently he drew Deirdre from her hiding place behind him.
Kneeling, Skye held out her arms to the small girl, a soft smile touching the edges of her lips. Niall's daughter looked so very much like her. Deirdre Burke was indeed her mother in miniature, with her camellia-fair skin, a tumble of dark curls, and her blue-green eyes. Thumb in her rosebud mouth, she eyed Skye suspiciously.
"Silly one!" Willow scolded her baby sister. This is our mama."
Deirdre looked at Skye, then at Willow who nodded her head vigorously, then at Skye again. She took a hesitant step forward, then another, and, reaching out, Skye pulled her youngest daughter into her arms to kiss her on her fat cheeks. The little girl snuggled into her mother's embrace happily, and Skye almost wept. Deirdre was just two, and in the several months in which she had been separated from her mother, she had forgotten her entirely. She would never remember Niall, her father, and this fact did cause Skye to shed a few sad tears, especially when she looked up and saw her youngest child, Padraic, who was as much his father's image as Deirdre was her own.
"You arc happy now, doucette?" He was standing by her side.
Skye stood up holding Deirdre in her arms. "I am very happy, Nicolas. How can I thank you?"
Deirdre looked at Nicolas. "Papa," she said in a definite voice.
A huge grin spread over Nicolas's face. "Indeed I shall be," he said happily, "if the Queen of England has granted my request. Nephew Edmond? Am I to be a happy bridegroom?"
“Indecd, my enthusiastic uncle, you are. You have England's blessing upon your union."
"I thought you were already married, Mother." Murrough stepped protectively to his mother's side.
Deirdre squirmed in her mother's arms, holding out her fat baby hands to Nicolas, who delightedly took her. Deirdre snuggled down into his arms, and coyly repeated, "Papa." Her look was one of supreme self-satisfaction, and if her older siblings were slightly embarrassed by her behavior she was not one bit concerned.
Skye hid a smile at the older ones' discomfort. “The duc whom I wed seven months ago, Murrough, died shortly afterward. This gentleman is Nicolas St. Adrian, his heir, and Beaumont's new duc. He will be your stepfather come the spring, when my year of mourning is over."
Murrough nodded, and then, turning to meet Nicolas's gaze, bowed politely. "How do you do, my lord?" he said.
"I do very well-Murrough, is it?"
"Yes, my lord. I am Murrough O’Flaherty."
Skye reached out to draw her other two older children forward. "Nicolas, this is my son, Robin, the young Earl of Lynmouth, and my oldest daughter, Willow Small."
"Welcome to Beaumont de Jaspre, children," Nicolas said.
Willow curtseyed prettily, and Robin bowed gravely.
"Are these all of your children, doucette?" Nicolas asked admiringly.
"No, my eldest is not here. Why did Ewan not come?" she asked Murrough.
"He did not feel it wise to leave Ballyhennessey at this time, Mother."
"Has there been difficulty?" Skye looked worried, wondering about her oldest child, who would in three months' time be celebrating his fourteenth birthday.
"Not really. The English are most respectful of the Earl of Lynmouth's older brother." Murrough chuckled and added, "Although it does infuriate Ewan to have to hide behind Robin's title. Still, Uncle Michael insists he do it. The problem has been with Ewan's neighbors, old Black Hugh Kenneally of Gillydown to be specific. He thought that because Ewan was barely weaned from his mother's teats, as he put it, he might take some of the lands of Ballyhennessey for himself."
"What did Ewan do?" Skye's voice was tense.
"Burned Black Hugh's fine house down about his ears, put his fields to the torch, and drove off his sheep. They were arguing about the sheep when I last heard. Ewan felt Black Hugh owed him some sort of fine for the inconvenience to which he'd been put. Black Hugh wanted his sheep back, feeling that having his house and fields burned was fair enough. I’ll wager that Ewan keeps at least half of the sheep!"
"So he should," Skye said. ^ am glad that your brother did not hesitate to exact revenge upon Black Hugh. He must be strong else his other neighbors think him easy prey. As for hiding behind Robin's name, 'tis only his pride that makes him angry. What is important is that he retain his lands and his power. There is no shame in Ewan having the right family ties."
"Even if they be English?" Murrough teased his mother.
"If more Irish had learned to put the English to use," Skye said wryly, "we would not have half the troubles we have between us."
Nicolas stood, amazed at the conversation between Skye and Murrough. He had been even more amazed to hear Skye's approval of her oldest son, Ewan's, actions. This tough and fierce side of her was not something that he had seen before. He had not even suspected she had such a side. Then he laughed at himself for a romantic fool. She had been telling him of her lands, of her wealth, of the lands and wealth she administered for others. She had to be strong to hold such power!
"Are you still sure you would wed such an independent woman as myself, Nicolas," she gently teased him, and then put a soft hand on his arm.
"The first moment I laid eyes on you, doucette, I knew that there was but one woman for me," he said quietly, "and you are she."
Skye looked about the cabin of the ship at her children. "Let us go home, Nicolas," she said. "I seem to have everything that I need to be a happy woman now." Reaching out, she took her infant son from his red-cheeked Irish nurse and, turning, she walked through the door onto the deck and into the bright sunshine of the December afternoon, her children, Edmond, and Nicolas trailing in her wake.
Chapter 6
The winter was a mild, sunny one, the rainy season coming only in February, and then giving way to a beautiful warm March when the hillsides filled with softly blowing red and blue windflowers. It had been a wonderful winter, and for the first time in many months Skye O'Malley and her children felt loved and safe. Beaumont de Jaspre was a happy place. The menace of France had subsided with the Pope's message to Queen Catherine, and Nicolas's unquestioned loyalty. There was no Elizabeth Tudor and her court to overshadow their happiness.