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Authors: Bertrice Small

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BOOK: Darling Jasmine
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In midmorning of the fifth day of March Jasmine told her grandmother and Fiona that she might be going into labor. By late afternoon she was absolutely certain she was in labor. The birthing table was brought from the castle attics and set up in the dayroom of the Glenkirk's apartments. Rohana, Toramalli, Adali, and the two older women stood in attendance.
“What can I do?” the earl asked of his wife, kissing her moist brow. “I know how hard birthing can be. I well remember Isabelle's travails when she bore Jamie and George.” It was the first time Jasmine could ever remember hearing him speak of his dead sons by name.
“You and Uncle Adam keep the children amused,” she told him, drawing his head to hers, and kissing him lightly. “I have shamefully easy births when compared to most women, or so Grandmama says.”
“ 'Tis true but for Fortune, who decided to be born wrong-way around. We were in Ireland, as you know, Jemmie, and had not my late sister, Eibhlinn, come from her convent and turned the babe about, it would have been an even worse situation. Both Jasmine and the baby might have died. Of course Fortune was born a healthy infant, thank God! This child is positioned quite properly,” Skye quickly reassured him.
“And will be born before much longer,” Jasmine assured her husband with a grin. Then she winced as a pain swept over her. “The little devil is anxious enough, my lord. Another determined Leslie for the world to contend with, I'll vow.”
Patrick Leslie, destined to be the sixth earl of Glenkirk, was born three minutes after midnight on the sixth of March. He was his father's image, with a headful of dark hair and eyes that, while a baby blue, already showed signs of darkening to green-gold in future. Cleaned and swaddled, he was put to his mother's breast and suckled strongly from the start, causing his mother to declare him a little beast of a bairn. When she said it the infant stopped sucking for a moment and regarded his maternal parent with strangely intelligent eyes for a long minute, then turned back to the nourishing nipple.
“God's nightshirt!” Jasmine said softly.
Her husband chuckled. “He's a Leslie all right. He reminded me of my father just then, the little devil!”
“Strange,” Jasmine replied, “he reminded me of mine.”
Since the new heir to Glenkirk was to be named Patrick, he was baptized on the seventeenth day of March, the Feast of St. Patrick. Jasmine asked Skye to stand as Patrick's godmother, and young Henry Lindley would be his half brother's godfather. The baby shrieked properly as the water was poured gently over his head, indicating to all that the devil had flown out of him.
By mid-April young Patrick was in the care of his wetnurse, chosen by Adali, as all Jasmine's wetnurses had been. Adali seemed to know everything that went on around them wherever they went. When Jasmine teased him about it, he smiled.
“If I am to protect you and yours, I must know
everything,”
he told her. “Mary Todd is Will's niece by marriage. Her husband died soon after her child was born. Will brought her to Glenkirk to look after himself. I knew her child would be weaned by the time your new babe was born. Her milk is rich and plentiful. She's a good, healthy girl, and is content to reside here in the castle until your lord Patrick is himself weaned from her breast.
And
you, my princess, do not have to be separated from your son. A most perfect arrangement, eh?”
“You are, too, Adali,” Jasmine said laughing. “I could not do without you, my old friend.”
“I pray God, my princess, that you will never have to,” he replied seriously.
By mid-April the snows were melting off the bens, and Adam and Fiona decided to return to Edinburgh.
“Find out if Piers St. Denis is still lurking about,” Jasmine said.
“If it was St. Denis,” James Leslie murmured.
“You know it was!”
Jasmine said angrily. Then she said, “I am sending a Glenkirk man with you, Uncle Adam. He carries a letter to my friend, George Villiers, who is at court. Steenie will know what is going on if no one else does. See he gets safely out of Edinburgh and on the road to England.”
Adam Leslie nodded. “I will, lassie. Best we
all
be reassured should we hae to defend ourselves from this Englishman.”
Spring began to evince itself on the hillsides which were now green with new growth. The roads were open, and Skye began to consider a visit to Dun Broc to see her daughter, Velvet.
“I will remain with Velvet a few weeks,” she announced to them, “and then we can all travel south to Queen's Malvern for your English summer. It will be good to get home again.”
She was, Jasmine considered, finally recovered from the shock of Adam de Marisco's death. Skye would mourn him for the rest of her life, her granddaughter knew, but the worst was over now, and she would finally get on with the business of living once again, Jasmine thought. It was a relief, for now she could get on with
her
life, too. She did not know if she would always make the summer trip south into England because Glenkirk had gained a serious hold on her heart, but while Skye lived, Jasmine knew she would go.
But before Skye's servants could even pack her trunks for a departure from Glenkirk, a messenger arrived from Adam Leslie in Edinburgh. Piers St. Denis, the marquis of Hartsfield, was indeed in the city; and Adam, himself, had seen the royal warrant he possessed with the king's signature, calling for the arrest of the earl and countess of Glenkirk on a charge of treason.
“Treason?”
James Leslie was astounded. “What treason?”
“The warrant don't say,” the messenger said, “but Master Adam says this Englishman is coming north to Glenkirk, and he's got a troop of men in his pay wi him.”
“It's a fraudulent warrant,” the earl said, “but we'll have to run until we can get it straightened out.”
“That's what Master Adam suggests,” the messenger said. “He told me to tell her ladyship that her messenger got off safely to England and is already across the border, well on his way south.”
“I will not run!”
Jasmine told her husband.
“Not this time.”
“The hell you won't!” he answered. “Do you realize the danger we're in, Jasmine? St. Denis is a madman, but he somehow got the king's signature on that damned document, or forged the king's signature. It doesn't matter. He appears to have the law on his side for now. I don't intend to wait here at Glenkirk for him to come and get us.”
“This castle is strong enough to withstand a siege,” she said.
“Aye, if we could get the drawbridge up,” he told her. “It's been down for so many years now I doubt the mechanism works anymore. Besides, even if we holed up in the castle, it's the wrong time of year for a siege. There are no crops in yet to feed us. We're practically out of our winter stores. And what of my people? I don't intend leaving them vulnerable to St. Denis and his mercenaries. Mercenaries, in a temper, could destroy the fields and slaughter my cattle and sheep. I won't have it! There is no other choice open to us but to run.”
“We can't leave the children,” she protested, “and we can't take them on the run, especially the baby. Do you think St. Denis will not use them against us? I know he will!”
“Only the Glenkirk heir and your not-so-royal Stuart are of any real value to him,” Skye spoke up. “Secrete them at the abbey with Mary Todd and Adali. Your little Lindleys can come with me to Dun Broc. They will be safe there with their grandparents. This will leave you and Jemmie free to play hide-and-seek with St. Denis. He's at a great disadvantage here in your Highlands.”
“Aye,” the earl said. “He could bring an army and still never find us. My family is large, and we can visit with each one of them. St. Denis doesn't know who is who, and there are none who will tell him once we get the word out that he is an enemy.”
“But won't his mercenaries pillage and burn if we are not found?” Jasmine worried.
The earl of Glenkirk shook his head. “It's very unlikely, darling Jasmine,” he reassured her. “While he is free to look for us, and even free to take us into custody should he find us,” James Leslie told his wife, “if he attempts to ravage the land in a temper, or allows his men to thieve from our people, he is quite apt to find himself in serious difficulties. Besides, he isn't here for spoils. He's come for us. Horses stolen. Throats cut in the darkness of night. No food available. Even with his little band of men to back up his perfidy, we can exercise some control over him, sweetheart.”
“I'll go south into England with Velvet and her family when they make their annual pilgrimage,” Skye told them. “The Lindleys must spend the summer in their father's house, and all must appear as if 'tis normal.”
“Tell my brother, Charlie, I want him with the children when they are at Cadby. They must not be unprotected,” Jasmine said.
Skye cast an indignant look. “Indeed,” she said.
“Ohh, Grandmama, I am sorry,” Jasmine cried. “Of course you wouldn't leave the children unprotected.”
“I have played this little game many times before you, darling girl,” her grandmother said. “You must remember one thing, however. At no time can you allow yourself to be afraid. St. Denis is playing at a great and dangerous deception in his forlorn effort to gain power and wealth. His chicanery is doomed to failure, for the king has no part in it, and the king is all-powerful. St. Denis will be exposed for the dishonest and dangerous trickster he is. The children will be safe. Glenkirk Abbey is in an even remoter area than this castle. No one will think to look for Charlie-boy and little Patrick there even if they learn of the abbey. Henry, India, and Fortune will be safe with me. Even if St. Denis learns where they are, what can he do? He has no rights over your children,” Skye said. “And to keep his mind off your children, it will be up to you two to play cat and mouse with the villain. At no time should you appear to be hiding from him. You will be here, then there, and gone again by the time he reaches where he thinks you are. It should really be quite amusing, darling girl. From all previous indications, the marquis of Hartsfield is not a very patient man, nor a good loser. When a man is angry, he makes mistakes, forgets to be clever and careful. You, however, will be clever and careful. Your only obligation is to each other and your safety. And most important of all. Do not believe any rumors bruited about, Jasmine. St. Denis will eventually attempt to frighten you by claiming to have your children in custody. Do not believe him, darling girl. It will be a lie, like all the other lies he has told and is telling. Unless you hear from me to the contrary, your children are safe, whatever the circumstances otherwise that you may believe, or that may be presented to you as fact.
Do you understand me?”
Jasmine nodded. “Yes, Grandmama.”
“Very good,” Skye said. Her mind was racing. She could feel the blood surging through her veins. It was just like the old days!
“I knows that look,” Daisy whispered to Nora. “We're in for a time of it, I can tell you, girl! I've been by her side almost my whole life, and that look bodes no good, I can promise you.”
“What does it mean?” Nora whispered back. “That look of hers?”
“It means she's ready to do battle, and she don't go into battle to lose, I can tell you.”
“But we're going back to England,” Nora said.
“Hah!” Daisy said. “But before we gets there, girl. That's what I'm worried about.
Before we gets there!”
“What are you two mumbling about?” Skye snapped.
“I was just telling Nora it seemed like the old days,” Daisy said.
“Aye, doesn't it,” Skye O'Malley de Marisco said, and she smiled mischievously.
Chapter
16
A
dali watched from the battlements of Glenkirk Castle as Piers St. Denis, the marquis of Hartsfield; his brother, Kipp, by his side; and a party of twenty men made their way down the hill road that led to the castle. Other than St. Denis, and his brother, the riders were poorly equipped and poorly mounted. Dregs from the alleys of Edinburgh, Adali thought scornfully. They had been bought with the promise of whiskey and coin and could be subverted by anyone with more whiskey and more silver. Nonetheless, St. Denis was a dangerous man, and Adali would not underestimate him. As the first clop-clop of horses' hooves hit the solid oak of the drawbridge Adali hurried from the castle's heights so he might be in the courtyard to greet their visitors.
Piers St. Denis's bright blue eyes missed nothing as they entered Glenkirk. The castle was old but in excellent condition. The men on the battlements were alert and appeared hardened. This Leslie earl obviously had plenty of gold and silver of his own. The marquis let his mind wander for a moment to the possibility of controlling two fortunes—Jasmine's and her husband's. And Rowan Lindley had not been impoverished either.
Three fortunes!
And if some of the children did not reach adulthood, well, could those fortunes not be his? And whatever happened, the king would surely forgive him. After all, despite the queen and that arrogant snake, Villiers, Piers St. Denis could still command a place by the king's side. James Stuart loved him. Despite his apparent indifference and apathy toward the marquis of Hartsfield of late, the king still had an affection for him. He would be forgiven whatever he did despite what Kipp had said to the contrary.
Of late he had begun to mistrust his brother's loyalty to him. Kipp had developed a rather unpleasant habit of questioning his every move, and attempting to anticipate him. He hadn't liked the men Piers had recruited in Edinburgh, claiming they were too rough, and would run at the first sign of danger. He had even disputed his brother's giving these alley rats part of their pay in advance, but the marquis knew he could have never gotten his little band put together without a show of coin.
“Honest men would trust you,” Kipp said.
“I don't want honest men,” Piers responded. “Honest men have a conscience. I want none of that. These creatures will obey me for no other reason than to obtain the rest of their silver.”
“They could as easily slit your throat for it one night,” Kipp remarked dryly. “You've wasted your money, Piers. All we had to do was remain in Edinburgh and command the earl of Glenkirk to come to you in the king's name. If he didn't, the Scots government would have then sent out their own men to capture him. They would have known how to handle the situation. You have marched into James Leslie's own territory with twenty men of dubious report, and you believe you can take him? The local authorities would have acted had you but shown them the king's signature on your warrant.”
“I could not take the chance that someone here would see that signature,” the marquis of Hartsfield told his brother. “What if someone knows the king's hand, Kipp?”
Kipp St. Denis was shocked by his half brother's words. “You told me the king signed that warrant, but just left out the names,” he said. “Are you now saying the king didn't sign the warrant?”
“I asked him to, but he never seemed to have the time,” came the startling answer. “I know his hand well enough, and so I signed it for him, smudging it slightly. Then I took his seal and stamped partly over it in the sealing wax.” Piers St. Denis laughed, almost childishly. “Do you think he will be angry at me, Kipp? Old king fool always forgives me when I'm naughty. He likes me to be naughty, so he can correct me with his
wisdom.”
The impact of what his half brother had done slammed into Kipp St. Denis with an almost physical force. He had forged the king's name to a document that would allow him to murder two innocent people. This was treason! Didn't Piers understand this? Nay. He didn't. All he understood was that he wanted something, and he would have it at all costs because he always got whatever it was he sought.
And he always escaped punishment for his sins.
But not this time, Kipp thought. God help him. This time his brother had gone too far, and there would be no escape.
“When it is discovered the king's signature is a forgery,” he said to Piers, “you will be charged with treason, and if you have harmed the Leslies of Glenkirk, with the crime of murder as well.”
“Who is there to discover it?” Piers said.
“You cannot kill the earl and countess of Glenkirk and expect the king not to avenge them. In the name of God, Piers, James Leslie is related to the king! His clan will march into Whitehall itself to demand revenge. You have lost this game.
It is over.
“Jasmine de Marisco Lindley chose James Leslie for her husband and has by now delivered a child sired by him.
It is finished.
Let us return to England before it is too late. No one need know about the warrant. We will say it was merely a rumor, and we will burn the damned document today before anyone can steal it off of us and prove otherwise. If you make up to the queen as Villiers has done, she will relent and find you a wife. She is a vain woman, but well-meaning. You will keep your favor with the king. Do not throw everything you have gained away in this passion you have for revenge. It is not worth it, Piers.
You will lose all!
You must come to your senses, brother, I beg of you!”
“You grow tiresome, Kipp,” the marquis replied wearily. “Ahh, look! There is her Indian, Adali, awaiting us.”
Adali noted Kipp's urgent conversation as the two men approached. He wished he knew what was being said. The marquis's faithful dog, Kipp, looked mightily distressed. Interesting. They came to a halt before the staircase leading up to the castle door. “Welcome, my lord,” Adali said in a pleasant voice. “Welcome to Glenkirk Castle. Your men will be shown to their quarters by our own men-at-arms. Dougie, lad, take the gentlemen's horses to the stable,” he instructed a stableboy. “And if you will follow me, please.” He led them into the Great Hall, clapping his hands as he entered the room and telling the servant who hurried forward, “Wine, for my lord St. Denis, and our other guest. Please to sit by the fire, sirs. A gray day always seems colder.” Taking the tray from the servant, he personally offered them the silver goblets of red wine.
The marquis of Hartsfield sniffed appreciatively. “Ahhhh,” he said, “Archambault wine. It is the finest!”
“It is, my lord,” Adali agreed pleasantly, and remained standing attentively as they drank. When they had put their cups down, he said, “And how may I be of service to your lordship?”
“You may inform the earl and his wife that I have arrived,” the marquis of Hartsfield said.
“I am afraid I cannot do that, my lord. You see, the earl of Glenkirk and his countess are not here right now.”
“Where are they? When will they return?” demanded Piers St. Denis.
“I cannot be certain where they are right now, my lord,” Adali said in a noncommittal tone, “and as for when they will return, I have absolutely no idea. Glenkirk is always in readiness for them, of course, whenever they do come home, and generally they send a messenger ahead so I may have meals prepared, but the messenger only arrives a few hours before my master and mistress do.”
“How long have they been gone?” the marquis said.
“This time? Several days, I believe. It is so peaceful here that one day rolls into the next, and I forget the time myself,” he said.
“I do not understand why it is, you, who are so careful of your mistress's safety, don't know where she is,” Piers St. Denis said skeptically.
“I have no fear for my lady's safety when she is with her husband,” Adali replied. “And as for where they are, the earl has not been home in several years. He has, I have discovered, an enormous family, and a large clan, many of whom are also distantly related to him. We arrived here last autumn, and then a short time later the winter set in so that the roads were blocked with ice and snow until recently. The earl wished to begin visiting his family and clansmen and women—to introduce his wife to them and to renew old acquaintances and loyalties.”
“Where are the children?” St. Denis asked suspiciously.
“They, too, are visiting the family,” Adali said smoothly.
“I have a royal warrant for the arrest of the earl and the countess of Glenkirk,” the marquis of Hartsfield said. “If you do not tell me where they are, I will have you taken on a charge of obstructing the king's justice, Adali!”
“My lord, I have told you the truth. I have no idea where they are. I am a stranger in this land and know little of it, or of the earl's relations. I have not had the time to learn yet. However, like my mistress, I respect the king. The old man who was steward here before me lives in a cottage nearby. Perhaps he can tell you some of the places you might look to find my lord and my lady. Come, I will take you to him.”
Adali led them from the Great Hall and out into the courtyard again.
“Where are my men?” Piers St. Denis inquired nervously.
“They have been housed in a barracks and are being fed,” Adali told him cordially, as they passed beneath the castle's iron portcullis and out across the drawbridge, off the main track and into the woods, picking out a barely discernible track to follow.
“Why are we going this way?” St. Denis queried Adali.
Adali stopped. “This is the way to Will Todd's cottage, my lord. He lives near a mountain stream, and will probably be fishing when we get there. There is nothing to be fearful of, my lord.”
“I am not
fearful,
I was just curious,” the marquis snapped.
Adali smiled to himself and continued onward. Actually, there was an easier path to Will's cottage, but he chose the more roundabout way in order to confuse the two men with him. It was a rocky path that led up a hill, and down again, through sharp brambles, and thick gorse bushes. He could hear the men behind him cursing as their clothing caught on the briars, but he moved with such fluidity that neither his white pants nor his white coat was shredded or torn. Finally, they could hear the water of a stream ahead of them as it tumbled over the rocks in its bed, but it was not Will's water, Adali told them, leaping from stone to stone as he quickly crossed it. Again he could hear cursing behind him as his companions unsuccessfully followed him, splashing their way through the stream. He chuckled softly to himself.
At last they exited the wood and crossed over a meadow filled with shaggy, big-horned cattle. “Mind your feet,” Adali warned them as he tiptoed through the clumps of cow manure, almost laughing aloud at the marquis of Hartsfield's yelp of dismay.
“How much farther is it?” Kipp called to him.
“We're almost there,” Adali replied calmly.
And then they saw the cottage on the far side of the meadow, heard the swiftly flowing water beside it. As they approached it they could see a figure, almost hip-deep in the stream, fishing rod in hand.
“Hello, the house!” Adali called loudly. “ 'Tis Adali, Will Todd, and I've brought visitors.”
The figure turned slowly, openly annoyed to be disturbed at his pastime. Then, reluctantly, he moved nearer the bank, but did not come from the water or cease his activity. “What 'tis it ye seek?” he asked, his local accent thick to the ears of the two Englishmen.
“Good morrow, Will Todd,” Adali said cheerfully. “These two gentlemen are seeking his lordship. I would not know where to tell them to look, but I am certain you can help them.”
“Here,” Will Todd moved nearer the bank, and thrust his fishing pole at Adali. “Dinna drop it, mon! I canna chatter wi it in hand.” He pierced the two strangers with a sharp glance. “So yer seeking his lordship, eh? Weel, I canna rightly say where he maught be, but hae ye sought at Sithean for him? He maught be there. Or he and his lassie could hae gone to Hay Hoos or Greyhaven. Or mayhap he's at Briarmere Moor or Leslie Brae. Hae ye looked in any of these places, sir?”
“What is he saying?” St. Denis demanded tightly. He could hardly make out a word the old man was uttering.
“I thought he was quite clear,” Adali replied, “but then I've been listening to these people for several months now, and I do have a rather good ear for accents.”
“Yes! Yes!” St. Denis almost shouted, “But what the hell did he say? It sounded like gibberish to me.”
“Will Todd said that the earl of Glenkirk and his wife might be over at Sithean visiting the earl of Sithean, who is Lord Leslie's uncle. Or he could be at Hay House or Leslie Brae, visiting with his uncles, or he might be at Greyhaven or Briarmere Moor, with his brothers.”
“Or the Gordons,” Will Todd spoke up again. “He maught be wi the Gordons, fer our Morag is wed wi a Gordon.”
“He could also be visiting with the Gordons, his late wife's family. Their youngest son is wed to the earl's youngest sister,” Adali translated quickly.
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