Page 4 of All the Sweet Tomorrows (O’Malley Saga #2)

ADAM de Marisco had read Skye’s message, and his first thought was to refuse her. Another meeting between them was sure to result in one of their passionate couplings. He had never known a woman who was so sexually attuned to him. To even think about her was to want her unbearably.

“Damn!” he growled softly. He loved her so terribly, but he had always known that he would never have her permanently. His small kingdom, this island of Lundy, was all he had ever really claimed. Oh, he had had his time in the outside world. His lovely mother was a Frenchwoman, and he had spent many years at the elegant French court, but in the end he had returned to this small, lonely rock that was his heritage, and his inheritance.

He had known for many years that his seed was barren, the result of a childhood fever, and so he had never married. He enjoyed women, but until he had met Skye O’Malley there had never been one he wanted to keep; but he wasn’t enough for her. Oh, sexually he was more than her equal, and his family tree was as noble as hers, but he was a simple man, an island lord, a man of no power or influence. He might have been. He had the wealth necessary for both power and influence; but he had chosen to avoid such responsibilities. Court intrigues were simply not in his nature; not that they were in hers, but she was a beautiful woman, a woman who had had several husbands of wealth and stature. That was her right. It never occurred to Adam de Marisco that Skye would have been happier living a quiet life. He loved her too deeply to see clearly.

In the end, however, his great love for her won out over his common sense. He traveled to London to bid her farewell. It was very likely that they would never see each other again. He would return to Lundy, and she would travel on to a small Mediterranean duchy where she would undoubtedly live out her life, the wife of a wealthy lordling who would be welcome at both the French and the English courts. His big heart leapt in his chest as he entered Greenwood and she flung herself into his arms in greeting. With a helpless groan he buried his face in her hair, her glorious perfumed hair.

“Adam! Oh, my darling Adam! I knew that you would come. I told Robbie that you would!” She snuggled into his arms.

“When do you leave?” he asked her, dreading the answer.

“A few days.” She squirmed from his bearlike grasp and looked up at him. “Don’t I get a kiss?” she demanded.

“Yes,” he said slowly as all his good intentions and his willpower disappeared. “Yes, I think you most certainly do get a kiss,” and then his shaggy head dipped downward, his mouth found hers, and he mercilessly took possession of it. Her lips softened beneath his, parting just slightly, enough to pleasure, enough to tempt him onward. “Witch,” he muttered against her mouth. “How is it you can wreak this mayhem with me?” His big hand gently caressed her upturned face.

“I’m so glad that you came,” she answered him. “I don’t think I could have borne to go away and never see you again.” Then quick tears came to her eyes. “Oh, Adam! Why are you so stubborn? I have been bartered into a marriage with a stranger! If only you had married me I should not be forced from my homeland and my children!”

“What could I offer you, Skye? Lundy?” He laughed harshly. “I once told you that I was not a star catcher, and you were a bright and brilliant star. How could I pen up a star, Skye? You have always deserved more than I could give you.”

“I don’t need things, Adam. You could have given me the one thing in this world that I need. You could have given me love, my darling.”

“But you could not have given me the same in return, Skye,” he said seriously. “We have been over this a hundred times, and it always comes to the same thing. I love you as I have never loved another woman in my life, and you love me. You do not, however, love me as a woman should love a man. You love me as a friend, and that is not enough, little girl! I have my pride too, Skye O’Malley.”

“You’re too much of a romantic, Adam. You will not have me because I love you as a friend, but you will stand by while I am sent away to marry a virtual stranger who from the looks of him never loved anyone! Somehow your logic escapes me, Adam.”

He chuckled. “If this duc of yours turns out to be the great love of your life, Skye, you will thank me.”

“I think instead I shall make you regret your foolishness,” she said ominously, her slender hands slipping beneath his doublet to rub against his silk-covered chest. “Shall I make you regret your decision, Adam?” He could feel the warmth of her palms through the fabric of his shirt. “Will you be my lover just this once more?” she whispered boldly, standing on her toes so she might kiss him in the sensitive spot just beneath his ear. She could feel his mighty heart pounding beneath her hands.

“You’re a betrothed woman,” he protested faintly, but his hands were already pulling her closer to him.

She nibbled upon his earlobe. “I may never see you again, my darling,” she said low, and then she ran her little pointed tongue around the inner shell of his ear.

“Why are you doing this?” It was his last defense.

“Because in four days I am sailing to a place I don’t know, I will marry a man I don’t know, and then I will get into bed with him and he will mate with me like some animal, for that is all he wants of me, Adam. Heirs! Heirs for his tiny duchy. And for my body, my healthy and proven fertile body, he will give England a safe harbor on the Mediterranean, and a listening post at France’s back door. For my part, I have the Queen of England’s word that she will not allow her Anglo-Irish lords—or anyone else, for that matter—to pillage my Burke son’s lands. This is not a love match, Adam. It is a business arrangement, and so before I leave all that is familiar and dear to me I want a little loving, a little tenderness, a little caring with someone that I care for, Adam de Marisco.”

“Damn you, Skye,” he said softly, then enfolded her back into his arms. She sighed with such obvious relief that he laughed gently, and smoothed her dark hair. “I’ve never known such an honest woman as you are, my darling. Sometimes it can be a little bit frightening.”

Edmond de Beaumont, watching all of this from behind the bannisters on the second-floor landing of Skye’s house, could not quite make out the words said between the two people below. What was obvious was that the giant of a man was deeply in love with Lady Burke, and she cared for him also. As the young Earl of Lynmouth came abreast of him Edmond asked the boy, “Who is that man with your mama, Robin?”

Robin Southwood looked to the main floor of the house, and a smile lit his beautiful features. Ignoring the Petit Sieur de Beaumont, he ran downstairs, calling, “Uncle Adam! What are you doing in London?” Pure delight was written all over his young face.

Edmond de Beaumont hurried after the boy in time to hear the giant reply in a thunder-deep voice as he swept the lad up into an embrace, “I have come to bid your mother a safe voyage, my lord Earl. Have you come from your duties at court to do the same?”

“We have been here almost a whole month, Uncle Adam. Willow and Murrough and me! We have gone riding with Mother, and we have gone on picnics, and we have shopped and seen the dressmaker. Mother’s having all new gowns made, for the climate in Beaumont de Jaspre is warm almost year round. Edmond says so.”

“And who is Edmond, my lord Earl?”

“I am Edmond de Beaumont,” a voice replied, and Adam de Marisco looked about, puzzled. He could see no one.

“I am down here, m’sieur,” the voice came again, and Adam de Marisco looked down. “I am Edmond de Beaumont, Petit Sieur de Beaumont,” he repeated.

Adam was astounded. “Is this the man you are to marry?” he demanded, his voice tight.

“No, Adam, this is his nephew, sent to escort me to Beaumont de Jaspre.”

“Is the duc as he?” Adam was considering throttling William Cecil.

“I, m’sieur, am an accident of birth,” Edmond said. “My uncle is quite as other people, I assure you.”

“Edmond, this is Adam de Marisco, the lord of Lundy Island. Remember that I told you I had two best friends in this world? Well, this is the other.”

Adam de Marisco looked down at Edmond de Beaumont, and then he bent and lifted the dwarf up, balancing him so that he sat in the curve of his muscled arm so that they were eye to eye. “This is how two men should speak, m’sieur,” he said.

“Agreed, my lord giant! How tall are you? ”

“I stand six feet, six inches,” replied Adam.

“Then you are nearly twice my size, for I stand but three feet four inches.”

Skye stood amazed as Adam walked calmly off holding Edmond de Beaumont upon his arm, the two men now talking in earnest.

“What an excellent way for them to speak,” Robin observed. “How clever of Uncle Adam to think of it!”

Skye smiled to herself. It was clever of Adam, but then he had always had the knack of putting people at their ease. Elizabeth Tudor’s court had really lost a valuable courtier in him, though he preferred his island home to London, and she could not blame him at all.

When Edmond de Beaumont had returned to Whitehall, Robbie gone off prowling the seamier sections of London, and Dame Cecily and the children settled themselves for the night; then and only then did Skye and Adam come together again. She had ordered her cook to prepare a supper for two, choosing the menu herself, for Adam was somewhat of a gourmet due to his days in France. They would begin with mussels in a white wine broth and thin-sliced Dover sole with carved lemon wedges; followed with a second course that was simplicity itself, boned breast of capon upon a bed of watercress with a delicate gravy of champignons and white wine, a salad of new lettuces and radishes, freshly baked bread and newly churned sweet butter; and, lastly, fresh strawberries with thick, clotted Devon cream. It was a plain meal, but one that Skye knew would delight Adam.

Her mode of dress would also delight him, for she was wearing one of her Algerian caftans; a rose-colored silk garment with wide, long sleeves and an open neckline with tiny pearl buttons that moved downward from just below her breasts. Her slippers were delightful confections of matching silk, heel-less with turned-up toes. Her hair was loose, freshly washed, and sun-dried that afternoon. She wore no jewelry.

“I don’t know why you didn’t marry the lord of Lundy,” Daisy remarked to her mistress.

“Because he wouldn’t have me,” Skye replied.

“Go on with yese, m’lady!” Daisy was astounded. “Ye’re funning with me.”

“No, I’m not, Daisy. He thinks that I should have a great and powerful lord for a husband, not a simple island chieftain.”

“Then he’s a fool,” Daisy said bluntly as a knock sounded at Skye’s bedchamber door.

“Open the door, Daisy,” her mistress commanded, “and then you may retire for the evening. The supper is safe on the sideboard, and I’ll not need you for anything else tonight.”

Daisy curtseyed and opened the door to admit Adam de Marisco. “Good evening, m’lord,” she said brightly, curtseying again, and then she was gone, closing the door behind her.

“You’re beautiful,” he said quietly, his smoky blue eyes devouring her with love.

She smiled back at him. “I’ve had my cook prepare you a delicious gourmet meal.”

“You’re the only thing I want tonight, Skye.” He reached out for her, but she easily sidestepped him.

“Would you offend my cook?” Her blue eyes were dancing with merriment. “If you leave this marvelous supper untouched you will cause a scandal, for my household will ask why, when I went to the trouble to have a supper prepared for us, we did not eat it.”

“One kiss, you Irish witch,” he said.

“One kiss and I am lost, you villain! I see I must treat you like my children. You cannot play, Adam, until you have eaten your supper.” She attempted to look stern, and he laughed.

“Very well, I shall eat.”

Settling himself in one of the two chairs that had been placed on either end of the small rectangular oak table, he waited as Skye served him a plate of steaming mussels and poured him a goblet of pale golden wine. She seated herself, and silently they ate the first course. Clearing the table, she offered the second and he hummed his approval.

“Your cook had a French teacher, Skye lass. I’ve not tasted this dish since I was last in Paris. The mushrooms are exquisitely fresh, and the wine sauce as delicate as any I’ve ever tasted. I will tender my compliments in the morning.”

She smiled at his pleasure, but ate little. They were going to make love soon, she knew, despite the fact that he had sworn never again to be her lover. As she absently nibbled on a radish, she wondered why it was she did not love him with the passionate and all-consuming love that she had felt for her last three husbands. They too had been her friends. They too had been as skilled and as tender as Adam was at lovemaking. Geoffrey and Niall and Khalid had all been vital, interesting, ambitious men. Adam was certainly vital and interesting. But he was not ambitious. He was content to sit upon his island, and that was not enough for her. For all her desire for a quiet life Skye knew that she was never happier than when she was in the midst of things. Adam, however, wanted peace, and if the price of his peace was to sit upon Lundy growing old, never having a true and abiding love, then he would pay that price. She wondered why he had insulated himself so. It was not the decision of an intelligent man, and Adam de Marisco was an extremely intelligent man.

Suddenly she was aware that he was staring at her, and she raised her eyes to his, a guilty blush coloring her cheeks. His smoky blue eyes were very serious, and for a brief moment she wondered if he could have been reading her thoughts. “I was just thinking,” she said lamely.

“About me? About us?”

“Yes.”

“And have you decided that perhaps it is not a good idea that we be lovers again, Skye?”

“No, I have decided that there is a mystery about you, Adam. I know now what it is that keeps me from loving you with all my being. You don’t love me enough to fight for me, Adam.”

He looked stunned. “That’s not so, Skye!”

“Yes, Adam, it is. You say you love me, but that you cannot marry me because I deserve a powerful man for a husband, and you are a simple island chieftain. Well, Adam de Marisco, money buys power, and we both have gold enough to spare. You say that you cannot wed with me because one day I might meet the great love of my life, and stay with you out of misguided loyalty, making myself unhappy, which you could not bear. With the exception of my first husband I have loved completely and well all my other husbands. None was ever slow to take me to wife for fear I might meet someone else later on in my life. They wanted me enough to overcome all obstacles. Yet you will not take such a chance.

“In a few short days I will leave England for what Cecil promised me would be a short-lived marriage to an ill man. The Duc de Beaumont de Jaspre is not, however, either elderly or ill. According to his nephew, he is a healthy man in early middle life. I may never see either you or my own Ireland again, and believe me, Adam, this marriage is not a love match.” She stood up and, moving to the sideboard, opened a drawer and took out a miniature. “Here,” she said, handing him the tiny painting. “Look upon the face of my betrothed, and tell me if that looks like a man who will be a great love to me. It is a cold face, Adam, and his eyes frighten me. His nephew’s reassurances are not encouraging, although Edmond seems to have a genuine affection for the duc.

“So I must go to the powerful husband you felt best for me, my darling, but before I go we will have a glorious few days. We deserve it, Adam, and perhaps in that time you will tell me why you have not loved me enough to fight for me, which, my dearest, is why I have never been able to love you completely. You lack ambition, Adam, and I wonder why.”

“And do you intend to punish me for it?” he queried her.

“No, Adam. I intend to love you as I have always loved you. Perhaps not enough to satisfy your vanity, but then you have not given completely of yourself, either. One gets out of a relationship what one puts into it.”

“Put this thing away,” he said sharply, handing her the miniature back.

She took it from him and replaced it in the drawer of the sideboard. A tiny smile touched the corners of her mouth. She had at last reached him. True, it was too late now for them to do anything about being married. That opportunity was gone, and she would keep her word to Elizabeth Tudor; but if she had roused Adam enough then perhaps he might find someone to really love. She hated the thought of his being alone, even though she knew it would take a very special girl to love Adam de Marisco, and to live with him on Lundy.

Coming back to the table, Skye brought with her a basket of early strawberries and bowls of clotted cream and sugar set upon a silver tray. Setting them down, she plucked a large berry from the basket, dipped it in the sugar, swirled it in the thick cream, and popped it into her mouth, neatly detaching the stem and leaves. He grinned at her, relieved. Then, standing up, he said, “Later!”

“Lecher,” she purred at him, holding her ground.

His smoky blue eyes narrowed with contemplation, and then, reaching out, he slowly began to unbutton her rose-colored caftan, his big fingers surprisingly nimble with the tiny pearl buttons. Skye started unbuttoning the silver buttons on his padded dark blue velvet doublet. He unbuttoned her to the navel and slid his hands inside the gown to fondle her breasts, delighting in her nipples, which hardened at his gentle touch, thrusting forward like thorns on a rose, to push against his palms. She pushed his doublet off, and loosened his shirt at the neckband. It opened easily beneath her touch, baring him to the waist. Playfully her slender fingers marched up his chest through the dark mat of hair, to clasp themselves about his neck.

His hands slid upward to work her caftan off her shoulders. It fell with a silken hiss to her ankles, leaving her nude. His hands moved to tangle themselves in the heavy, raven mass of her hair, drawing her head to him so he might kiss her. He hesitated just a second, long enough to see her gorgeous eyes close, the thick dark lashes fluttering like dragonflies upon the soft pink of her cheeks. Only then did his sensuous mouth begin a delicate exploration of hers.

He kissed her as if it were the very first time, tenderly tasting her lips, sending delightful shivers of anticipation up and down her spine. He felt her response, and exerted more pressure upon her mouth, gently forcing it open. His tongue plunged into that sweet cavern to dance a mad caper with hers until suddenly they were stroking each other with sensuous abandon. Their passions flamed simultaneously as he tore his mouth away from hers, and began kissing her closed eyes, her cheekbones, the corners of her mouth, her determined chin, the elegant tip of her nose, with hungry ardor while she moved her hands to pull frantically at his shirt, to loosen his breeches.

“Sweet Skye,” he murmured softly, “sweet, sweet Skye.” She succeeded with his shirt, but before she could entangle him in his half-loosened breeches he swept her up in his arms and carried her to the bed. “Nay, my love, I can do that faster, and a great deal more easily than you can,” he gently admonished her.

“Then do it, dammit, Adam. I am not ashamed to admit that I want you, and I want you now!”

He threw his great leonine head back and laughed with pure delight. “God’s nightshirt, Skye, you’re an incredible woman! You want me, and you tell me so! Well, my blue-eyed Celtic witch, I want you also, and I suddenly find that I want you for all times, not just a few nights! What have I done to us in my pride, Skye?”

She reached up and drew his big body down to hers. “Later,” she soothed him, “we will speak on it later, my darling.”

He didn’t argue. His hands were sliding down her long torso, molding themselves along her waist, filling themselves with her hips, caressing her long legs. She kissed his face ardently, and he groaned with the total pleasure that was beginning to envelop them. She lay upon her back, and he said in a quiet voice, “I don’t want you to do anything, sweet Skye, but let me love you. Let me adore the perfection of your beautiful body. For tonight at least, you belong to me!”

He lowered his head, and with his hot tongue began an encirclement of her nipple. Around and around and around until she began to whimper deep within her throat, and he took the entire nipple in his mouth, sucking hard, sending a knife-sharp pulse of rapture through her body. He began again, this time with the other nipple, and when he felt her trembling like a small, wild thing beneath him he ceased the torture, moving his large body down the bed.

Taking one of her slender feet in his hands, he kissed it then began licking it sensuously, his tongue thrusting between the toes, slipping along the outside curve of the arch. His hungry mouth kissed, his tongue lapped tenderly in the hollows of her ankle, and when he reached her knee he began again with the other foot. Pulling himself back up level with her, he licked her chest and quivering breasts; his tongue slid easily over her torso, not missing an inch of skin as he moved along. He turned her over, and she felt the warm wetness against her shoulders, along her spine, the curve of her waist, the mounds of her bottom, the length of her legs, the soles of her feet.

“Dear Jesu, Adam,” she gasped, “stop! You will drive me mad!”

He rolled her onto her back again. “Then we shall be mad together, sweet Skye,” he said, and lowered his head once more, this time his tongue snaking out to touch her in her most sensitive place.

“Ohh, yes,” she breathed as she began to flame wildly beneath his impassioned touch, her beautiful body twisting under his hungry mouth.

He felt as if he would burst with his desire as he tasted and breathed the musky sweetness of her. Finally he could no longer control his own passions, and raising his head, he drew himself up, swinging over her to thrust within her honied sheath. Like some unearthly creature, she wrapped herself about him, moaning wildly, pushing her hips up to meet his frantic rhythm. A soft scream told him that she was near her release and mercilessly he pushed her to the brink only to force her back. She cursed him furiously, and he laughed softly, admonishing her, “You hurry too much.”

“I hate you!” she gasped.

“You want me,” he countered, “and I want you. I have always tried to teach you patience in pleasure.”

“Give me release!” she begged.

In answer he drove deep into her, forcing her body into the mattress with each downward plunge of his hips. She had been grasping him tightly with her hands, but now his subtle torture sent her sharp nails clawing down his back. “Bitch!” he groaned, and then he took her mouth in a savage kiss, forcing her lips apart to catch her tongue, which he proceeded to suck fiercely.

Skye thought she would die in that very minute. Her love juices released themselves in a hot, wild rush, crowning the head of his throbbing manhood, which liberated its own salute to her in the same instant. They shuddered together, lost in a world of white-hot desire that drained them, leaving them weakened and only half-conscious.

He rolled off her, and instinctively she sought for the comfort of his embrace. His strong arms tightened about her as her head fitted itself into the hollow of his shoulder. His breathing was ragged, hers came in soft pants. His big hand began to stroke her, gentle, long touches that soothed them both. He sighed, and then began, “You know that I am unable to have children. As a young boy I suffered a severe fever that burned the life from my seed. Praise God it never destroyed my enjoyment of the fair sex, but I cannot give a woman a child.

“I learned my fate when I was twenty, and had already fallen in love with a girl I sought to marry. I might have said nothing, and let her believe that it was she who could not conceive; but instead I was honest with her and her family. Her father said he would rather she enter a convent than be childless. My love said that if I could not be a real man she didn’t want me.” He sighed again. “Her father was a down-at-the-heels French count. She was his eighth child, fifth daughter. Her dowry so small that not even a religious order would have her, as they later found. I loved her back then, Skye. I do not love her now, and yet I can still hear her voice, condemning me for my lack of manhood, for my inability to father a son on her or any other woman.

“I left France then, and returned to Lundy. I had been its lord since I was ten, when my father had died. My mother returned to France with me and my two younger sisters a year after his death. She remarried when I was twelve, and gave her new husband several children. After my betrothal was broken Lundy was my refuge, and no one there knew or cared about my inability.

“I am known as the lusty lord of Lundy for my prodigious appetite for women. Several have even claimed their bastards are mine, and I have paid them off, glad to have my prowess attested to; but I know the truth. Then you came into my life, Skye, and I loved again; but I never admitted it to you. I have never admitted it aloud even to myself, not until now.

“I have always called you a star, a bright and shining star, and so you are, my darling. In wealth we are equal, in lands you far surpass me, but it matters not, for you know I care little for such things. You have given children to each of your husbands, Skye, and perhaps that is what bothered me. If you wed with me you could have no other child. I could not do that to you.”

“You were afraid I would scorn you?” she answered him. “Yet on two occasions I have asked you to marry me, Adam, and I have known for some time that your seed was barren.”

“Ah,” he answered her, “if you had wed me after Geoffrey had died then you would have once again been separated from Niall Burke. You would not have had your little Deirdre and your infant son, Padraic. I will wager, my love, you don’t regret those two innocents.”

“No, I don’t regret them, Adam; but I wonder if the fates ever really meant for me to be wed to Niall. For years everything had conspired to keep us apart. If I had not wed him, then Claire O’Flaherty would not have revenged herself upon him, for there would have been no need. Now he is dead, and because I must protect those two Burke children I have accepted marriage to a man I don’t even know. How much simpler had you wed me, my darling, my dearest, dearest Adam. I could love you; really love you had you cared enough to fight for me. You feared getting hurt again more than you wanted me as your wife.”

“And if I suddenly changed my mind, Skye, would you marry me?”

“I would have, Adam, but it is too late now. I cannot break my word to the Queen. We have an agreement for better or worse, and I will keep my part of that agreement as long as Elizabeth Tudor keeps faith with me. Had my marriage to you been a fact, and had I then gone to Cecil, the Burke lands might have been safe by virtue of my strong new husband. I, however, went helpless to the Queen, and she took the opportunity to use me for her own ends. Cecil knows that my word is my bond.”

“How I love you,” he whispered against her hair, “and what a fool I have been, my sweet Skye.”

“We have the next few days, Adam, and when I am gone I want you to find yourself another woman to love. If that French girl had really loved you, your barren seed would not have bothered her. She was not worthy of you Adam, but somewhere there is a girl or a woman who is. Someone who will love you for yourself, not for what you can or cannot give her. Do not be afraid to seek that woman out, my darling!

“When Khalid el Bey died, I told Robbie I should never love again. That loving only led to pain. But without the pain, Adam, how can one know, or enjoy, the sweetness? There may be pain in your search, but when you find your love it will be all the better for the pain.”

He hugged her close, and she snuggled deeper into his big shoulder, not seeing the tears in his smoky blue eyes as he turned his head away from her. He knew that she was right and, having unburdened himself to her, he felt better than he had in years. Still, with the unburdening came the terrible knowledge that he loved her deeply; perhaps too deeply to ever love another woman again. Only time would tell the answer, but at least they had the next few days to be together, to love each other, to make memories to carry them through the long years he envisioned ahead.

For two days and two nights they stayed within her rooms, talking, and loving, and even fighting a bit over what she termed his monumentally stubborn nature and he termed her Irish pig-headedness. The children joined them in the afternoons to chatter and play their games, though only young Murrough O’Flaherty understood the relationship between his mother and Adam de Marisco.

“Why didn’t you marry him?” he asked his mother in a private moment, when Robin and Willow were totally engrossed in some tale that Adam was telling them.

“Because he didn’t ask me in time,” she answered.

Murrough nodded. “I don’t suppose you could get the Queen to change her mind, Mother? Then you could stay here, and we should not lose you to some strange land, and a man whom we do not know. Could you ask Her Majesty? She admires you very much.”

Skye hugged her son lightly. “I wish it were possible, my love, but it is not. The duc has been sent word of my coming as well as my miniature. He would be greatly offended if a substitute bride were sent.”

“We could say you died,” Murrough suggested hopefully.

“I do not think that M’sieur de Beaumont would lie to his uncle, my love. I am afraid I must go.” She patted Murrough. “It will be all right, my son. It will be all right.”