“I was not until she was born,” Skye said truthfully, “but she bears a birthmark that has been borne for centuries by the women in her father’s family.”
“The little black heart atop the left hip,” said the king softly, his relief evident.
“You bastard!”hissed Skye, so low that only he heard it.
Henri de Navarre held his hands palms turned outward as he gave a little shrug of resignation.“Chérie, did you expect any less of me?” he said.
Skye shook her head and laughed ruefully. “No,” she answered him frankly, “I did not.”
“You have not changed,” he said. “You are still the most beautiful woman I have ever known.”
“And you, monseigneur, are still, despite the civilized veneer of kingship that you bear, a rude boy!”
The king laughed. “I must go,” he said, “before it gets dark, and I fall once more into your lake. It will be a cold ride toChenonceaux, and last night I could hear the wolves.”
“I always promised myself that if we ever met again I should kill you, monseigneur,” said Adam de Marisco, “but it seems that having restored my only child to us I must count us even.”
The king nodded.“Adieu, Lord de Marisco, Comte de BrocCairn,” he said to the two gentlemen, and then he turned to Skye and Velvet. “It has been good to see you again,chèrie,”he said to Skye as he raised her hand to his lips and kissed it slowly. Then he took Velvet’s hand and kissed it also. “Farewell,chèrie,” he said softly. “Be happy!” And, turning, he was swiftly gone from the hall.
Her eyes widening with surprise and sudden certainty, Velvet looked at her mother. “Mama?” she asked.
Skye’s mouth turned up in a mischievous smile that acknowledged her daughter’s unspoken question. “Yes,chèrie,”she said.
“Mama!”Velvet repeated, and then the delighted laughter of mother and daughter filled the hall atBelle Fleursas they shared their newfound kinship.
His heart in me keeps me and him in one,
My heart in him his thoughts and senses guides:
He loves my heart, for once it was his own;
I cherish his because in me it bides.
His heart his wound received from my sight,
My heart was wounded with his wounded heart:
For as from me, on him his hurt did light,
So still methought in me his hurt did smart.
Both, equal hurt, in this change sought our bliss:
My true Love hath my heart, and I have his.
—Sir Philip Sidney
“Name this child,” said Père Jean-Paul to the assembled company.
“James Francis Henry Alexander,” said Scotland’s king as he gingerly cradled his godson.
Velvet smiled proudly up at her husband, squeezing his hand in silent love. They stood quietly together amid her entire family in the chapel atDun Brocas their firstborn son was baptized on this third day of June in the year of our Lord 1593. The child had been born atBelle Fleurson the first day of April.
Velvet and Alex had lived in France with Skye and Adam from the time of their second reunion until just three weeks ago when they had returned toDun Broc.The entire village of Broc Ailien had turned out to greet their returning lord and lady who brought with them their newborn son and heir, the next earl. It had been an incredibly joyous occasion for them all. At the castle Jean Lawrie awaited, holding little Sybilla by the hand. The child had been shy of her father and stepmother at first, but had quickly warmed when Velvet had drawn from the luggage cart a beautiful French doll dressed in silks and laces. Even if Sibby, who was almost three, remembered Alanna, which both Velvet and Alex doubted, it was Velvet who from that moment on became “Mama” to the little girl.
Jean was delighted with the new baby and took him proudly to the nursery, Sibby dogging her heels. Sybilla very much enjoyed being a big sister, and from the first was most adoring of her tiny infant brother. Seeing them together, Velvet sent a silent prayer of thanks to the God who, though he had taken Yasaman from her, had given her another daughter in return to raise.
Yasaman.Velvet’s heart contracted at the thought of her first child. What did she look like now? Did she speak? Was she happy? She had been such a beautiful, contented baby. Velvet knew that Rugaiya Begum would love Yasaman as if she were indeed her own. What would they tell her daughter about her real mother? She sighed. There were already two pearls on the chain Akbar had given her; Skye had shown it to her in France. Velvet only needed to know that her daughter continued to thrive. Now her thoughts and energies must be with little Sybilla and Sandy, as the baby had already been nicknamed.
