Authors: Bertrice Small
Darling Jasmine (36 page)
“Good!” she told him. “I'll help!”
“You are already a good Highland wife,” he teased her.
Jasmine slid easily into the curve of his arm. “Your Aunt Fiona says that Leslie women are every bit as hard and fierce as Leslie men,” she told him. “Besides, St. Denis really does deserve to be severely punished for being such a poor loser and so damnably troublesome.”
“I agree,” her husband said, “but we will probably just let the king decide the marquis's fate, unless, of course, we are given no other choice than to protect ourselves. I believe, however, that we can probably just stay out of his way for the present.”
The following morning they rode back down from the hills to Glenkirk and took up residence once again. Word of their antagonists's whereabouts was brought to them on a regular basis. He visited all the homes that Adali had listed and, unsuccessful, finally headed even farther north to the Huntley, to the Gordons. The summer bloomed about Glenkirk, and they had it all to themselves.
“Let us go down to Edinburgh,” the earl suggested one day. “There is but one road to travel, and if we do not meet our messenger returning from England, we will wait there for him.”
“I think, perhaps, that we should,” Jasmine agreed. “It will be better to resolve this matter most publicly, and thus put an end to it, Jemmie. I almost feel sorry for St. Denis. What will he do when he no longer has us to stalk and to hate? He will never be welcomed at court again, and it was his life. And no decent family will give him a female relation to marry. He might as well be dead.”
“His hate will eventually devour him,” James Leslie said fatalistically.
They departed for Edinburgh the following morning, arriving several days later. Adali accompanied them, along with a young servant, Maggie, Fergus More, and Red Hugh. There were two houses in Edinburgh that belonged to the Leslies of Glenkirk. Leslie House had been inherited by the earl's aunt Fiona. She and his uncle Adam lived there when they were not visiting their various relations in the north. The other residence, Glenkirk House, had belonged to James Leslie's mother, a gift from his father, the previous earl. Unlike Leslie House, which was set off the High Street, Glenkirk House was off Cannongate near Holyrood Palace.
Of brick, it stood five stories high and had a deep basement, where the kitchens, pantry, stillroom, storeroom, washroom, servants' hall, and servants' quarters were located. It possessed its own stables and was set amid its own gardens, both kitchen and flower. Unlike many town houses in Edinburgh, Glenkirk House had its own indoor sanitary facilities. They settled into it quite nicely and waited for something to happen. Most of the great families who lived in the city were gone to the north or to their homes in the borders, as it was deep summer. The weather was wet and mild, but the mists clung to the hills beyond the city and wreathed about the battlements of Edinburgh Castle.
Farther south, at Queen's Malvern, Skye was pleased to be home again. Her grandson, Charles Gordon, had taken the Lindley children to young Henry's seat at Cadby and was watching over them closely. The earl of BrocCairn, impatient, had ridden off to court to see whether the king had sent to Scotland to prevent any further mischief on the part of the marquis of Hartsfield. Only Velvet and her three youngest sons remained with Skye. Her daughter was so busy with her rambunctious offspring that she left her mother much to her own devices. Skye spent many hours seated upon a small stone bench she had instructed placed by Adam's grave on the hillside. It was peaceful there, and she felt comforted despite the turmoil going on just beyond the fringes of her own life.
“I can no longer make everything all right for everyone, Adam. Am I getting old at last?” she said aloud to the stone marking his grave. She sighed deeply. “Our darling girl is in danger, and the king is obviously still dragging his feet. Ahh, Adam! Bess would have never tolerated such goings-on, even among her favorites, except for Dudley, of course. Dudley could do anything, and he did. We can but pray our son-in-law can move poor old Jamie Stuart to action before it is too late.”
The earl of BrocCairn found the king in his hunting lodge near Winchester and had hurried to gain an audience with him. As he stood among the petitioning courtiers, George Villiers spotted him and wondered who the tall distinguished man in the kilt could possibly be. He asked the queen, with whom he was walking.
Queen Anne turned, and her eyes lit up. “Why that is the king's cousin, the earl of BrocCairn. I wonder what he is doing here.” Catching his eye, the queen waved at BrocCairn and beckoned him over.
He came and, bowing to her, kissed her hand. “Madame, I am pleased to see you once again.”
“Alex, what are you doing here of all places? I would think you at Dun Broc; nay, 'tis summer so it would be Queen's Malvern to visit your wife's family. Oh! I am rude! This is George, Viscount Villiers, but we call him Steenie, for he has the face of an angel.”
The earl of BrocCairn bowed politely to Villiers, and then he said, “I hae come to importune the king, madame, for the marquis of Hartsfield is in Scotland causing much trouble. Can ye gain me my cousin's ear, madame? And yer influence upon him would also be much appreciated by our family.”
Villiers was fascinated. He followed along as the queen bustled into her husband's privy chamber, saying as she came, “Here is your cousin of BrocCairn, Jamie, and he brings wicked news. You must hear him at once!”
Viscount Villiers melted back against a paneled wall to listen.
“Alex!” The king came forward slowly. His joints were stiff from the damp weather they had been having. It was almost like being home in Scotland again, he considered irritably. “What news, mon? Ye dinna come to court anymore but rarely. It must be verra serious to bring ye so far south, eh laddie?”
Alexander Gordon bowed low before the king, kissing his cousin's outstretched hand. “It is verra serious, Jamie,” he said.
“Sit! Sit!” the king invited him, and they sat together on a bench by the fire. “Now, laddie, tell me what troubles ye?”
“The marquis of Hartsfield hae been in Scotland since early last winter. He hae a royal warrant wi yer signature, Jamie. It is for the arrest of my stepdaughter and her husband on a charge of treason. Now, I dinna believe ye signed such a document, nor hae any unkind intent toward the Leslies of Glenkirk, but St. Denis would appear to hae yer permission in this evil unless ye say otherwise. If he can capture Jasmine and her Jemmie, the law will seem to be on his side.”
“Ohhh, the wicked devil!” the queen cried. “Jamie, ye must do something this very minute! Poor Jasmine and Jemmie. Have they not had enough troubles these past few years?”
“I dinna sign any warrant,” the king said slowly. “Piers did surely importune me to do so many, many times, but I dinna.”
“Nonetheless who is to say in Scotland that it is nae yer signature, Jamie?” BrocCairn replied to the king. “Did ye nae get Glenkirk's message? A man was sent south weeks ago, and we know he got as far as Queen's Malvern in safety. The rest of the journey would have been surely easy. And he knew where to find ye.”
“Steenie, fetch Barclay to me,” the king said, then turned to his cousin. “He is my secretary, and will know what messages came, but since Stokes was killed, the workings of my royal office are nae so efficient, Alex.”
When the king's secretary entered he was immediately questioned as to the arrival of a message from the earl of Glenkirk.
“From Scotland?” Barclay sniffed. “One of my assistants would have seen to it. Was there to be a reply? If there was, the messenger would have been told to wait at the court.”
“Find that message at once!”
the king thundered in a rare show of spirit. “How dare ye keep it from me! 'Tis a matter of life and death, Barclay. This willna do, mon. This inefficiency willna do at all.” And when Barclay had run off to find the message, the king muttered ominously, “There will hae to be changes made, I can see that.”
the king thundered in a rare show of spirit. “How dare ye keep it from me! 'Tis a matter of life and death, Barclay. This willna do, mon. This inefficiency willna do at all.” And when Barclay had run off to find the message, the king muttered ominously, “There will hae to be changes made, I can see that.”
“My lord?”
“Aye, Steenie, my sweet love,” the king answered.
“A day ago Kipp St. Denis sought an audience with me,” Viscount Villiers said. “Do you think it might have something to do with this matter? I did not see him, fearing to offend you, but I know he is about the court, my lord. Shall I find him for you?” His handsome face looked anxious, as if he feared he had done something wrong.
The king nodded. “What can my poor Piers hope to gain by arresting the Leslies of Glenkirk?” the king wondered aloud.
“He means to murder them, cousin,” BrocCairn said bluntly. “He believes he can gain our wee grandson and thus hae power over ye, the damned fool! And, he hae nae forgiven Jasmine for choosing Glenkirk. What on earth ever made ye even offer her to him, cousin?”
“Because he's a meddlesome old fool!” the queen snapped.
The king shrugged helplessly, seeming to agree with his wife's sharp assessment. “ 'Tis past now,” he said.
“Nae for the marquis of Hartsfield,” BrocCairn replied. “Jasmine was forced to be parted from her bairns, Jamie. We brought the little Lindleys to Cadby, and my Charlie is wi them. As for our mutual grandson, and the infant heir to Glenkirk, he hae to hide them at Glenkirk Abbey for fear of St. Denis. They should nae be parted from their mother, cousin, but we could do nae else gien the situation. Ye maun stop St. Denis before he does a serious damage to our family.”
The king's secretary, Barclay, returned, and sheepishly handed the king an unopened message from Glenkirk. Glaring at him, James Stuart broke the seal on the missive and, opening it, read it through. He had no sooner finished than his favorite returned, Kipp St. Denis in tow.
St. Denis knelt before the king, head bowed.
“Speak,” said the monarch.
“I ask your pardon, my liege,” Kipp St. Denis said quietly, and he raised his eyes to the king. “I am nothing more than my father's bastard, but he gave me his name and raised me with his heir. I promised my father, when he lay dying that I would always look after Piers. Now I have no choice but to break that vow, my liege, for my poor brother is surely mad to have done what he has done. Have mercy on him.”
“And what hae he done?” the king said softly.
“When we went into Scotland I did not know that the signature upon the royal warrant was forged, my liege. It was at Glenkirk that my brother admitted it to me. His desire to revenge himself upon the Leslies is so overwhelming it has certainly rendered him demented. He took the warrant off your secretary's desk, signed it, added the names of James and Jasmine Leslie, and then sealed it with your seal. I did not know this when I went to Scotland with him. I only went to protect him, as I have always tried to protect him from himself.
“We were caught in Edinburgh over the winter, and I thought to dissuade him during that time, but I could not. He hired a group of cutthroats to take with him, and when the roads opened in the spring we marched north. When we arrived at Glenkirk, and found the Leslies gone, I realized we should never find them unless they chose to be found. The summer, I thought, and my brother would grow bored, and seek to return to court; but Piers's talk became more wicked, more evil, and when he spoke of hanging the Leslies, and making little Lady India Lindley his wife, and that perhaps her brother would not reach his manhood and he would then control his fortune, I knew I could no longer influence him; that he had become crazed and evil beyond all.
“I went to Master Adali, the castle steward for help, and he saw that I was able to reach Your Majesty safely. You must not allow my brother to continue on along his wicked path, my liege.
You mustn't!”
You mustn't!”
“Ahhhh, my puir Piers laddie,” the king mourned, “but I think ye are overfearful of yer brother's actions. I nae ere saw that much wickedness wi'in him, Kipp St. Denis. I dinna believe my sweet laddie would murder, even if his puir heart was broken.”
“My liege,” Kipp St. Denis said quietly, “my brother, Piers, murdered the earl of Bartram with his own hand. He lured him outside of his gates and drove a dagger into his heart because he feared that you might grant Lord Stokes custody of your grandson, Charles Frederick Stuart. He coldly removed his rival, then he attempted to place the blame upon the Leslies of Glenkirk. Fortunately Your Majesty was too wise to believe such ill of them. Then he made certain that the message telling the Leslies to remain in England, which Your Majesty sent to the Leslies, was never dispatched. That is why they were gone from England when Your Majesty, again at my brother's suggestion, I would remind you, invited them back to court.”
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