The duchess smiled at him. “I am satisfied then,” she replied, and later when she was alone with her daughter, she told India of his words. “Let it set your heart and mind at ease now, my daughter,” she said gently to India. “Jemmie is feeling guilty, for he knows I thoroughly disapprove of his actions, but he will not relent until he sees you happy again, and wed. You must make an effort, India, for all our sakes, especially wee Rowan’s.”
“I will,” India promised her mother. “More than anything, I want my son back again!”
Two wedding gowns had been made for India. She would wear the simpler one at her proxy wedding. The bodice of the rose-colored silk gown had a square neckline, and the bride wore a wired lace collar about her slender throat. The opening of the skirt was decorated with an embroidered golden braid trim. The skirt petticoat was silver and gold tissue. The puffed sleeves were decorated with cloth-of-gold bows to match the trim. About her neck, below the lace collar, India wore a single strand of fat pearls with matching ear bobs. Her hair was dressed in a simple chignon on the nape of her neck. On her feet she wore rose-colored silk slippers.
Her half-brother was dressed in his blue-and-green kilt, his white shirt trimmed with lace on the sleeves, silver buttons on his sleeveless velvet doublet. Patrick, with his father’s dark hair and his mother’s turquoise-colored eyes, proudly escorted India to the altar, where the Anglican minister awaited them. He made the responses required of him as the earl of Oxton’s representative in a clear, loud voice. India’s voice was less sure. The memory of her marriage day to Caynan Reis flooded her senses so painfully that she almost wept, and was unable to speak for a moment.
When it was finally over, she stood motionless, receiving the congratulations of her family, and wondering why they bothered tendering their good wishes when they knew she had been forced to the altar. Wordlessly she witnessed the marriage of her two servants, Meggie and Diarmid, a happier event for her as she knew the two were in love. The formalities over, they repaired to the Great Hall to break their fast.
The duke of Glenkirk toasted his stepdaughter. “May ye be happy always, and may ye hae healthy sons.” He lifted his goblet to her, and then drank it down.
India glared, outraged, at him. Then she lifted her goblet. “To my son, Rowan, wherever he may be,” she said softly.
James Leslie’s eyes darkened with anger, but then he laughed. “Ye’re nae my problem any longer,” he said honestly. “Eat yer meal, India, and then Godspeed to ye, lassie.”
Jasmine squeezed her daughter’s hand beneath the highboard, silently begging India not to quarrel with James Leslie. The younger woman squeezed back her reassurance as the wedding breakfast of poached eggs in heavy cream and Marsala wine was served, along with baked apples flavored with cinnamon, freshly baked bread still warm from the ovens, newly churned sweet butter, thick slices of ham, and thin slices of salmon simmered in white wine with dill. There was a honeycomb for the sweet tooth. Ale, cider, and wine were served to drink.
India gazed about the table; her eyes lighting upon her siblings. Henry and Charlie were in England. She would see them soon enough. Her half-brothers, Patrick, Adam, and Duncan, now eleven, ten, and seven, she would probably see rarely, if ever again. Patrick, of course, would one day be the second duke of Glenkirk. The younger two would have to marry heiresses. We’ll never really know each other, India thought sadly. How lucky Fortune and I were to have each other!
Fortune. Beautiful, practical, yet impulsive Fortune. What did fate have in store for her? MacGuire’s Ford, its castle and lands in Ireland, were, of course, her marriage portion, but Ireland was such a disturbed land. Still, her parents had always spoken of seeking a husband for Fortune in Ireland. Her sister wasn’t getting any younger. She would be seventeen in July. But who on earth was there in Ireland who might make a suitable husband for Fortune? She looked at her sister. Fortune gazed up at that moment, and smiled encouragingly at her. Whatever was meant for Fortune, she obviously had no fear of it. I envy her, India thought, and how Fortune would mock and tease her if she ever knew that, India considered with a wry smile.
“Now that you have married me off, madame,” India said to her mother, “I expect Fortune will be next, eh? What have you in mind for my sister? As you have obtained an earl for me, certainly you must do as well for her.”
“I don’t care who he is as long as he has a brain in his head and a good heart,” Fortune replied, laughing. “I don’t need some man’s title to make me presentable. I have my own title.”
“We plan a visit to MacGuire’s Ford this summer,” Jasmine said. “We will not be coming to Queen’s Malvern. I have been in correspondence with Rory MacGuire, our estate manager. As Fortune is the heiress to those lands, the folk are very interested in meeting her, as they have not seen her since she was an infant.”
“I remember when Fortune was baptized,” India said. “It was in the church at MacGuire’s Ford. I remember telling Great-grandfather Adam that I had wanted a pony, not a baby sister. A black pony! Who baptized Fortune, madame?”
“My cousin, Cullen Butler,” the duchess replied.
“A Papist?” Fortune looked shocked. “I was baptized by a Papist, Mama? Why was I never told?”
Jasmine spoke quietly. “You certainly know how I feel regarding religion, Fortune. I hold to the old queen’s maxim that there is but one Lord Jesus Christ, and the rest is all trifles. My father held to such thought, allowing all faiths to be practiced in his kingdom. It is outrageous arrogance for any one faith in God to believe it is the be-all and end-all of religion. That all other faiths are wrong. Did not our Lord Christ Himself say that in His Father’s house were many mansions? Surely He did not lie. And if there are many mansions, then there must be many paths leading to the doors of those mansions in God’s kingdom. Aye, you were baptized in what is referred to as the old faith. Your godparents are a good lady named Bride Duffy, who is the most respected woman in the village, and Rory MacGuire, our estate manager. Before the English took away his lands, and gave them to me, Rory was the lord of Erne Rock Castle. He has cared for your lands with honest diligence. I am very grateful to him, as you should be. The descendants of Nighthawk and Nightbird are the most sought-after horses in both England and Europe. Rory MacGuire has made you a rich woman, Fortune. Remember it well. As for your baptism by a Papist, it is a valid one, even in England.”
Fortune flushed. “I think I am going to have a great deal to learn about Ireland, Mama. I hope Master MacGuire will help me so I do not offend the people I must care for; but tell me this: How is it that there has been peace on my lands all these years?”
“Because both the poor beleaguered Catholics and our Protestant tenants have been taught to respect one another. Each has a church. The village elders are equally divided, and we keep our people as isolated as possible from the rest of the area so they will not be contaminated by the hate generated by the political and religious factions. Anyone unhappy with our rule is free to leave and go elsewhere,” the duchess of Glenkirk said. “I will not have our lands in constant turmoil. It is unproductive and wasteful. That dreadful hate was responsible for your father’s death. I will never forget that.”
“I do not know if I can keep such order,” Fortune said nervously.
“You are the lady of Erne Rock Castle,” her mother told her. “With Rory MacGuire’s aid, and the right husband, MacGuire’s Ford will continue to flourish.” She now turned to India. “It is time for you to change your gown, daughter, and leave us. You have a long trip ahead of you, and the sooner you are on your way, the better.”
India arose from the highboard, and departed the hall. She found her bedchamber virtually bare, and quite sparse, for all her belongings, had, in accordance with her instructions, been packed. The baggage train that would accompany her was large.
Meggie helped her from her gown. “Shall I pack it?” she asked.
“Nay, leave it. I do not want it,” India said. “I would give it t
o you, but I don’t ever want to see it again to remind me of this day.”
“ ’Tis too grand for me,” Meggie said cheerfully. “And, besides, when and where would I wear it? I laid out yer riding clothes. I thought you would prefer to be a-horse as to being in a closed carriage.”
India nodded in agreement. She pulled on the doeskin breeches and stout woolen socks. Her leather boots were more comfortable than the slippers she had worn. A white shirt, and doeskin jerkin with silver-edged horn buttons completed her outfit, along with the small green velvet cap with a single eagle feather she clapped upon her head. She took the perfumed leather gloves Meggie handed her, and then stopped a moment to look about the room. Meggie discreetly withdrew.
While India was still furious with her stepfather, she did have mixed feelings about departing Glenkirk. It had been her home for many years. She had come as a child with Henry, Fortune, and Charlie. They had all grown up here, chasing through the hallways, playing hide-and-seek in the largely unused tower rooms. She had been happy here. Glenkirk had been her refuge, but she would now forever associate it with the loss of her son, Rowan. For that she could thank her stepfather. In one brutal act he had wiped away all those happy years. No. She would never forgive James Leslie.
Without a backward glance India swept from the room, hurrying downstairs and out into the courtyard of the castle. She bid the servants she had known since childhood a gracious farewell, accepting their good wishes for her happiness. She kissed her youngest brothers, Adam and Duncan, but Patrick, the eldest of the Leslies, thrust out his hand at her. Brushing it aside, India hugged him hard. “Don’t be in such a hurry to grow up, Paddy,” she whispered. “It’s hard to be grown, as you’ll find out one day too soon, I fear.”
“Dinna saw at yer horse’s mouth,” he replied, squirming out of her grasp. “Yer too impatient with the beastie, India, and its puir mouth is sensitive. Will ye remember now?”
“Aye,” she said, ruffling his dark head. Her glance swung to her stepfather. She nodded curtly at the duke of Glenkirk. “Farewell, sir,” she said coldly, and then turned to her mother. “Remember your promises to me, madame. I shall send a message when I have arrived at Queen’s Malvern, and afterward at Oxton Court.”
Jasmine put her arms about her eldest child. “You were born from a deep and great love, India. I have tried, whatever you may think, to be a good mother to you. I do love you.” She kissed her daughter’s smooth cheek. “May the God of us all guard and guide you, India. May that God keep you safe, my child.”
“I love you too, Mama,” India replied, feeling the tears pricking behind her eyelids. While she was angry at James Leslie, the anger she had felt toward her mother had dried up over these past few weeks. She kissed her mother back, and then India turned, mounting the horse that Diarmid held for her. “Farewell,” she said, raising her hand to them, and then she moved off through the portcullis and over the drawbridge of the castle onto the road south.
She was surrounded by over a hundred Glenkirk men-at-arms who would accompany her to the border with England. There was a large and comfortable traveling coach, should she choose to ride in it with Meggie, who now sat alone within the vehicle, and a great train of fifteen baggage carts holding all her possessions, as well as a dozen fine horses that were part of her dowry. India sat straight in her saddle, her eyes forward, taking in the familiar landscape. In her heart, however, she could not help but wonder where amid those green hills her son was now hidden. She would find him. Whatever the cost she would find her son. Caynan Reis’s son. No stranger would raise or claim her blood. Rowan was out there amid the bens, or in some hidden glen, and she would find him. Her intentions resolute, the newly married countess of Oxton turned her horse south for England.
Chapter 19
Deverall Leigh, earl of Oxton, had spent the morning riding across his estates. After eleven years on the Barbary coast, he couldn’t get enough of the wonderful green of England. His lands, set in a verdant valley between the rivers Severn and Avon, were both beautiful and fertile. The meadows were filled with sheep. His vast orchards of apples and pears, for which the region was famed, were even now at peak bloom. There were lush green pastures awaiting the arrival of the horses his bride would bring him, and with which he intended to begin breeding race horses.
His bride. Lady India Anne Lindley, daughter of a duke, sister to a marquis and a duke. A conniving, deceitful little bitch who had swooned in his arms and sworn she loved him. But she hadn’t. She had taken the first opportunity presented to her to flee El Sinut with his child in her belly—if indeed there had been a child, and that was not just another lie to lull him into trusting her. God only knew he had learned early that women could not be trusted, and yet he had allowed the golden-eyed vixen the opportunity to dig her claws deep into his heart; and once she had him, she had wantonly flung him aside.
He well remembered his return from the mountains with Aruj Agha. The town was in an uproar for two nights before a group of English captives had taken back their round ship and sailed out of El Sinut. It had been cleverly executed, a well-thought-out workmanlike plan that had given the English many hours’ advantage. It wasn’t worth going after them. It was unlikely he would find them in the vast sea. He chalked the loss up to fate. Then he learned that India had disappeared on the same night. As it had been her relation, Captain Southwood, who had made good the escape, it was obvious where she was. He was both devastated and furious by turns.
“She was kidnapped, my lord,” Baba Hassan insisted, and Azura strongly agreed with him.
“She loves you, Caynan Reis,” the older woman said. “She was so happy about your coming child. She would not have left you of her own free will. She was taken. You must go after her, my dear lord!”
“A part of the garden wall was not secured,” Baba Hassan continued on. “We did not realize it, my lord. I hold myself completely responsible. They came over the wall using grapnels and stout ropes. Only when we discovered the lady India missing did we search the garden and find the evidence. One grapnel and rope remained, and so it is obvious that there were two of them. When the second man slid down into the street, it was impossible to release his grapnel from the top of the wall, and so it was left behind. The marks of the second grapnel were plainly visible in the top of the wall. Both your wife and her servant were stolen away. They could not leave the girl behind, and since she was one of their own, they would, of course, take her, too, rather than kill her.”
“Why did India not scream?” the dey demanded angrily. “Surely she could have cried out and alerted the guards.”
“She would not have wanted to endanger her blood kin, my lord. I am certain that was her reasoning. She is a woman, and soft of heart. And then, too, there was that terrible storm that night. It is doubtful if she had cried out that anyone would have heard her call,” the eunuch replied logically. “We must find her, my lord!”
“She had the advantage over her captors,” Caynan Reis persisted. “They could not have gotten her over that damned wall, nor the servant girl, either, if she had not gone willingly. She has betrayed me, the false bitch!”
“What if the two women were rendered unconscious?” Azura suggested.
“Both of them?” the dey scoffed. “It would be difficult enough climbing that wall alone, or with someone on your back, but with a dead weight, I think it improbable. Nay, my good Azura. India was always determined to escape El Sinut, though she learned to hide her true thoughts from us. She has betrayed me. She has betrayed you who were her friends. She is no better than other women, whatever we may have previously thought.”
“Improbable, but not impossible,” Baba Hassan persisted. “Those hooks on the grapnels were dug deep into the wall, my lord.”
“Proving what? That each rope held two people? That we already know, my good friend. I know you do not like to admit that we have all erred in our judgment, but we have. She bedazzled us with her beauty and charm, and then deceived us. I do no
t wish to hear her name ever again, Baba Hassan. Do you understand me?”
“But what of the child?” Azura cried out to him.
“I suspect she cozened us there, too,” the dey replied sadly.
“Nay, never!” Azura said boldly. “Not India!”
He sent them away. His heart was broken. He had loved her. Nay, he loved her yet, despite her behavior. If she walked into his chamber this moment he would forgive her. And as for the child, he might deny it to ease his own heart, but he could not believe that she would have lied to him about that. There was no way she could have been privy to her duplicitous cousin’s plans until the moment the captain appeared in her apartments to help her escape. If she had lied about the child, what excuses could she have made when there was no child?
The earl of Oxton turned his horse toward home as his thoughts moved on to the events that had brought him back to England. Knowing of his interest in the young English milord, Aruj Agha had, shortly after their return from the mountains, brought the dey word that the young man had a serious fever, and was in the slaves’ hospital by the harbor.
“The physician does not think he will live,” the janissary told the dey.
“Allah!” the dey swore. “I must go to him. I meant to ransom him long since, but in my happiness I completely forgot. Perhaps if he has the hope of going home, he will rally himself. Now my joy is ashes, and the same woman who brought me such misery can also be said to be responsible for Adrian’s demise.”
“Adrian?” Aruj Agha was both fascinated and mystified. “Is that his name? And how do you know it, my lord?”
Bedazzled Page 34