LITMIR.BIZ

      Queen’s Malvern

      TWELFTH NIGHT, 1615

      Prologue

      Adam de Marisco was dead. One moment he had been sitting at the highboard in the Great Hall of his home, surrounded by the many members of his family who were gathered to celebrate the holidays. Three of his stepsons and two of his stepdaughters, along with their families, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren packed the hall, which until a minute ago had been filled with laughter. Adam’s laughter. Even at the advanced age of eighty-four, Adam de Marisco’s laughter boomed loudly when he was amused. It was a particularly ribald jest spoken by his daughter-in-law, Valentina Burke, that had occasioned his latest bout of mirth.

      Wiping his eyes, he had taken his wife’s hand up in his and kissed it tenderly. Smiling out at them, he had said, “God bless you all, my dears!” Then his great leonine head had fallen forward upon his chest, and the hall was suddenly deathly silent.

      She knew! Skye had, to her great shock, seen the life-light fading rapidly from his blue eyes even as his lips had touched her skin. Almost immediately she thought, Oh, Adam, my dearest, dearest love, how could you leave me like this? And yet what a magnificent death it had been. He had not been ill, nor had he suffered, and he had left them with his blessing. It was so typical of Adam. His great heart had always been filled to overflowing with his love for them all. It was a merciful God that had taken him when he was surrounded by those whom he loved best.

      “Mama?” Her daughter Deirdre Blakeley’s voice quavered nearby.

      Skye looked up, her eyes brimming with tears. How can I cope with them at this moment, she wondered. Yet who else was there? She knew she would not be allowed to mourn in peace until she had comforted them all, and assured them that everything was going to be fine despite the awful loss they had just endured. She loved her family, but would there ever come a time when they would look to themselves, and not to her? For a moment she was bitterly resentful, but swallowing back her own grief, she said, “It will be all right, Deirdre.”

      And then her children were surrounding her, offering her their love, their comfort, and support. But in Skye O’Malley’s heart there was now an enormous empty place that could never, ever again be filled. Adam de Marisco was dead, and she was left alone to continue on without him.