Darling Jasmine

by Bertrice Small

  “Glenkirk is your home, Jasmine,” Skye told her. “Queen’s Malvern is mine. I will return to it in the spring, and I will not leave it once I am safely home again. I will die there as my Adam did, and you will bury me next to him on that hillside.”

  Velvet began to weep piteously. “Do not talk so, Mama.”

  Skye shook her head irritably, her eyes meeting those of her granddaughter. Jasmine understood her and would one day see that her wishes were carried out. Poor Velvet. There had been but one adventure in her life. How could she possibly understand? And yet from that adventure had come this magnificent granddaughter. Reaching out, she took Jasmine’s hand in hers and squeezed it. Jasmine smiled back.

  A few days after Twelfth Night there was a brief thaw, and the Gordons of BrocCairn took the opportunity to make their way the few miles separating Glenkirk from Dun Broc.

  “I doubt I’ll be able to come back until spring,” Velvet told her daughter. “You don’t need me to have babies, Jasmine. You seem to do quite well all by yourself, and besides, Mama is here with you.” She was snuggled down between several fox and wolf pelts within the heavy sledge that had brought them across the hills in time for Christmas. Three of Jasmine’s half brothers were settled about their mother, and Charlie was up on the bench seat with his father to help with the driving.

  “I will try and send word of some kind,” James Leslie told his in-laws. “I’ll light a fire on the beacon hill for you to see when Jasmine has delivered the bairn. If it burns two nights running, then you will know it’s a lad. One night for a lass.”

  “It’s a laddie,” Jasmine said stubbornly.

  Now only Adam and Fiona Leslie remained at Glenkirk with them, and Jasmine was glad for the company of Jemmie’s aunt, who was set in years between Jasmine and Skye. She was a clever, wickedly funny woman, and through her Jasmine learned all about her husband’s mother. She was sorry that she could not know Cat.

  “She would like you even if you are the exact opposite of the wife she picked for Jemmie. She did her best, though, aligning him to the more powerful branch of the Gordon Clan. Isabelle, however, hae all the common sense of a peahen,” Fiona declared bluntly. “Only a fool would hae gone to St. Margaret’s Convent that day. The Covenanters had been swaggering all about the area, rooting out the poor hapless priests of the old kirk and their adherents. It was a particularly vicious band that had already committed several atrocities in the name of God, crucifying priests upside down, looting and burning. Jemmie told her nae to go, but she insisted, saying that the nuns had finished some linens for her, and she must hae them. So she went, taking her laddies wi her, and ye know the rest.” Fiona crossed herself. “God hae mercy on their guid souls,” she said.

  “And they never found them?” Skye asked.

  Fiona shook her head. “By the time the mischief was done, they were long gone back to whatever hell hold they had climbed out from,” she said.

  “I do not understand this business of people believing one religion is superior to another, but then I was raised in my father’s court, and he was a very open-minded man,” Jasmine told Fiona.

  The winter deepened, and reached its midpoint. The snows were piled high, blocking all travel. Some nights they could hear the wolves howling high upon the bens. Only the gentle lengthening of the days indicated that the winter would eventually leave the land. January passed. Then February. The life they led was peaceful and ordinary. Jasmine oversaw the household with Adali’s help. The children took their lessons with Brother Duncan in the mornings and early afternoons, and played with their puppies, who were growing by leaps and bounds, in the later afternoon. They rode their ponies about the courtyard of the castle, which was kept shoveled, and Jasmine could not ever remember seeing her children so happy. At last they had a normal life, and James Leslie was responsible for it.

  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

  Adali 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.”