Page 18 of Darling Jasmine (Skye’s Legacy #1)

Chapter Seventeen

A dali had not given the marquis of Hartsfield a straight routing. While Sithean lay near to Glenkirk, his next destination of Greyhaven would take him to a distant point, and then back again, and then to another distant point. Not being familiar with the countryside, however, Piers St.Denis did not realize the deception. He missed his brother’s company and felt unsafe with these Edinburgh cutthroats. Now he had to deal with them. There was no Kipp to stand between them. Where had he gone? He should be here looking after me as he promised our father, dammit, the marquis thought angrily, not considering the possibility his brother was gone for good.

At Sithean he was again greeted with cordiality by the old earl and his wife. He was well fed and comfortably housed, and his men and horses were nicely cared for, but James Leslie and his wife were not at Sithean. Had they been?

“Oh, aye,” the old earl replied. “‘Twas several weeks ago now, it was, my lord. Was it nae, my dear?” He turned to his wife.

“Aye,” she replied, dourly.

“A loovely lass, the new countess. Are ye acquainted wi her?” Sithean smiled pleasantly at Piers St.Denis.

“I have a royal warrant for your nephew’s arrest, and his wife’s as well,” the marquis of Hartsfield said irritably. “Do you not understand that I am on the king’s business?”

“Oh, aye, aye,” the old earl said. “How is Jamie Stuart, my lord? He is always getting in some sort of fret and ordering arrests. He was such an unruly and nervous bairn. He doesna love his homeland.”

There is obviously nothing here, the marquis thought peevishly. “I will be leaving in the morning,” he told his hosts.

James and Jasmine Leslie watched their enemy as he departed Sithean. They had come up into the hills above Sithean to A-Cuil. They had traveled without the trappings of their station. Adali had remained to watch over Glenkirk and coordinate their stream of information. Rohana was at the abbey with Mary Todd, Charlie-boy, and wee Patrick. Toramalli had gone with Skye and the children to Dun Broc. Only Fergus More and Red Hugh remained with them, which was providential, as Jasmine did not cook. Fortunately Red Hugh did.

A-Cuil was not a large lodge. Set in the hills above Loch Sithean, it had been constructed of stone, with a slate roof. Its first floor consisted of a tiny parlor and a kitchen. There was a single bedroom beneath the eaves on the second floor. Surrounded by a pine forest and set upon a cliff, A-Cuil had a panoramic view of Glenkirk, Sithean, and the countryside surrounding them. The lodge itself, however, blended into the landscape, and was rarely seen by passersby below. Jasmine liked it here, and even with the presence of Red Hugh and Fergus More, she found it romantic. The valet and the man-at-arms slept in two small loft rooms in the little stable belonging to A-Cuil.

“I could live here forever,” Jasmine told Jemmie.

He laughed. “Where would we put the children, not to mention Adali and the twins, madame?”

“If we lived here we wouldn’t have children, or servants,” she replied with what she believed was perfect logic.

“You would learn to cook?” he teased her. “These dainty beringed fingers would knead bread and peel carrots?” He caught her hands in his and kissed them, nibbling playfully upon her fingertips.

“Beast!” She snatched her hands away. “I could learn to cook if I wanted to learn to cook,” she told him.

James Leslie laughed. “Jasmine, my darling Jasmine, you have absolutely no talent for the culinary arts, but where the amatory arts are concerned, now there you are most facile.” He pulled her down into his lap, kissing her mouth and enjoying the breathless flush he brought to her cheeks. Pulling open the ties on her shirt, he slid his hand beneath the silk and fondled a deliciously plump breast.

“I didn’t know you peeled carrots,” she murmured, nuzzling his neck, then licking it.

He slid his tongue into her mouth, his thumb and his forefinger twiddling with her nipple. “Ummmmm,” he replied, his mouth working feverishly against hers.

The door to the lodge sprang open, and the earl of Glenkirk almost dumped his wife most unceremoniously onto the floor as Red Hugh, grinning from ear to ear, stomped in with a brace of rabbits.

“Dinner,” he said, swallowing his chortles. “Maybe I should skin ‘em out back, my lord.” He moved through into the kitchen.

Jasmine, however, couldn’t control her fit of giggles as she laced up her shirt again. “Maybe living here forever isn’t such a good idea, Jemmie,” she said. “We don’t have much privacy, do we?”

“Nay, we don’t,” he grumbled. Dammit, he was hot for her! A-Cuil would be nice for a few days’ respite if they were alone, but he really wanted to be home at Glenkirk. His in-laws would have already departed for England and Queen’s Malvern; but they would be forced to run from here to there all summer long just because of that damned fool, Piers St.Denis.

“Why don’t we go home?” Jasmine said suddenly, as if reading his thoughts.

“To Glenkirk? We can’t,” he said.

“Why not?” Jasmine responded. “St. Denis has already been there, and is now off on a fool’s chase about the countryside. We are having him watched, and will know when he comes our way again, Jemmie. But I don’t want to bring the children home. Not until this matter has been settled. It is easy enough, however, for you and me to flee again if the marquis of Hartsfield comes in our direction once more.”

He considered it and thought that she was right. “We’ll spend one more night here, madame,” he told her, “but I shall send Fergus More and Red Hugh back to Glenkirk to advise Adali of our change of plans.”

“Not until after supper,” she chuckled, and he laughed, agreeing.

And when they had had their supper of broiled rabbit, oatcakes, cheese, and cider, they sent Fergus and Red Hugh back to Glenkirk with a message for Adali. Then they sat together on the edge of the hillside, watching the sun set in the west.

Jasmine sighed happily within her husband’s embrace. “The sunsets are so different here than in India,” she said. “In India the colors are lush and exotic, but not so vibrant and rich as here in Scotland. I love our Scots sunsets, Jemmie. I love Scotland. I have seen it at its best, and at its worst, and I love it! It is home! It is home as no place has been since I left India.”

“And yet so different,” he replied.

“Aye,” she said, but did not elaborate further. There was no need for her to do so.

They remained lying in the grass, listening to the small night creatures chirping and singing as the light from the sunset faded, and the skies above them were filled with a plethora of stars. They watched the moon rise.

“‘Tis a border moon,” Jemmie said softly.

“A border moon?” Jasmine was puzzled. “What does that mean?”

“It’s large and full, and ‘tis what the border Scots call it. They always went raiding with a border moon to light their way. My stepfather was a borderer. He took my mother raiding with him once.”

“Did she enjoy it?” Jasmine asked.

“Aye,” he admitted.

“I think I would, too,” Jasmine told her husband.

A wildcat, hunting its dinner, shrieked in the forest behind them, and the earl of Glenkirk rose, drawing his wife up with him. “Come,” he said, “let us go to bed, darling Jasmine.”

Together they made certain that the stable door was secure so that the horses would be safe from the marauding beast. They laid the heavy oaken bar across the front door of the lodge and, banking the fires in the parlor and the kitchen, climbed the narrow staircase to their bedchamber. The room was flooded with moonlight. James Leslie threw another log on the fire in the small fireplace near the doorway.

To the left of the doorway was a bank of casement windows. Jasmine opened them a crack. To the right of the door was a small single round window, beneath which was a little table. On the bit of wall space by the fireplace was a mirror, and a chair was set next the hearth. The curtained bed and the clothes chest were the only serious pieces of furniture within the bedchamber. They pulled off their clothing and slipped beneath the coverlet, their bodies immediately intertwined.

He cradled her, his big hand stroking her face. “Have you any idea how much I love you?” he asked her softly.

“At least as much as I love you,” she replied, slipping her arms about him.

He began to kiss her face. Slowly, tenderly. His lips grazed lightly across her cheekbones, brushed her eyelids, skimmed over her forehead, and finally found her lips. The sweet pleasure between their two mouths increased as their passions rose and soared. Her breasts flattened as he pulled her hard against his furred chest.

She was dizzy with his kisses. She ran the tip of her tongue across his sensuous lips teasingly. They parted, and she pushed within the cavity of his warm mouth to play, moaning into his throat, for her breasts felt swollen, and were aching with her desire and becoming irritated rubbing against his chest.

He eased her back slightly, his free hand caressing her bosom. Jasmine’s body arched up to meet his touch, and she sighed as her head fell away from his. “Beautiful! Beautiful!” he murmured, and she sighed. His dark head dropped to feast upon her round, silken flesh.

“Ahhh, Jemmie, my love!” she cried softly.

When he finally lifted his head from her breasts, his green-gold eyes passion-glazed, she squirmed away from him, rolling, and then pushing him onto his back. A slow smile lit his handsome face.

“‘Tis my turn, my lord,” she said softly to him. Then, seated upon her heels, she began to unplait the single braid into which her hair was fashioned. She moved deliberately and meticulously, unwinding the three thick strands until they were completely free of one another, and with her fingers she combed her hair. When it hung again in a single curtain of ebony, Jasmine lowered her head and began to stroke his body with sensuous movements of her long hair. Sometimes she would bend so low that she could kiss and lick at his torso with a hot, little tongue that darted here and there across his body, teasing at him, taunting his navel with its wicked point. Lower and lower she moved until she had grasped his manhood in her hand. Drawing the foreskin back she said, “Is this how I peel a carrot, my lord husband?” Then the tip of her tongue encircled beneath the ruby head of it before she took him into her mouth to suckle upon him.

His body arched beneath her wicked ministrations. His big hand fastened into her dark head, at first encouraging her in her actions, then finally forcing her to break off before he exploded in a frenzy of wild desire. Their eyes met, and her look was so lustfully primitive, her mouth wet with her unsatisfied hunger for him, that he lifted her up and lowered her slowly upon his raging rod, their eyes never breaking off contact. Only when she sheathed him completely did Jasmine’s eyes close, and, leaning back, she sighed deeply, contracting her inner love muscles about him, causing him to groan with utter pleasure.

She moved slowly on him and with great deliberation, stoking their fires carefully so they might have greater satisfaction of each other. Finally, however, he rolled her beneath him, never breaking off the contact between them, pushing her legs back so he might drive deeper into her. Her teeth sank into his shoulder as he began to piston her faster and faster. Her rounded nails raked at his back.

“Jemmie! Jemmie!” she gasped. “You’re killing me!” Yet he forced her higher up the mountain, and she could already feel the coming wave. Her nails dug deeper into him.

“Bitch!” He slapped her lightly, forcing her arms back so she do him no further damage. His buttocks contracted fiercely as he drove hard into her. His lust for her was uncontrollable. He groaned with frustration, not quite able yet to satisfy them, and desperate to do so. Jasmine was the most exciting woman he had ever known, and he wanted her delight in their conjunction to be every bit as wonderful as his was.

“Ohhhh! Ahhhh!” The wave was almost there. Stars began to explode behind her eyelids. “Jemmmmmie!” The wave had reached her. It burst over her, and she spiraled upward, then down into a swirling eddy of warmth and fulfillment. “Ahhhhhhhhh!”

“Ah, God! Ahhhhh! Oh! Oh! Oh!” he sobbed, his own desire cresting just behind hers. He collapsed atop her, panting. “Jesu, woman, you have nigh killed me!” Then, kissing her, he rolled off of her, clutching her hand in his. “I love you, my darling Jasmine,” he told her, kissing her fingertips passionately.

“I love you, Jemmie Leslie,” she responded. “Don’t you dare get murdered like poor Jamal and Rowan! And no dying suddenly either like my sweet Hal! I absolutely forbid it!”

He laughed low. “You have made your bed with me, madame, and you will have to lie in it for always. I will never leave you, my darling wife. It will take more than that fool, St.Denis, to part us. He has seriously begun to annoy me, disrupting our lives in this manner. I shall probably have to kill him eventually.”

“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 Scodand?” 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.”

“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!”

“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.”

“Ohh, the wicked devil!” the queen cried.

George Villiers, however, listened, not without some admiration for the marquis of Hartsfield’s machinations. No one, except the clever old Madame Skye, had considered him the culprit in Stokes’s murder. He would have gotten away with it, too, had not his brother confessed. He might have gotten away with it all had he not been so impatient for his revenge. It was a lesson to be learned. Sometimes revenge must wait, even if it meant a very long time.

“Cousin,” the earl of BrocCairn said, “ye must do something else Jasmine and Jemmie be killed at St.Denis’s hand!”

“Ye must write to your governor in Edinburgh that the Leslies are innocent of any crime and that it is the marquis of Hartsfield who is the traitor,” the queen insisted.

“And I will carry the message myself for Your Majesty,” George Villiers said. “This matter requires a bit more authority than a plain royal messenger, my dearest lord.”

“I will accompany him,” Alexander Gordon added. “They dinna know yer pretty favorite in Edinburgh, Jamie, but they know me.”

“Barclay!” the king snapped. “Where are ye, mon?”

“Here, my lord!” the secretary said, stepping quickly forward.

“Ye hae heard,” the king told him. “Write it down, but keep it simple, for my Scots are simple people. Do it now, and then bring it back to me wi my seal to sign.” He slumped against his cousin. “I am weary, Alex. I canna take this excitement any longer. My years tell upon me, I fear.” He looked at the still kneeling Kipp St.Denis. “Ye may rise, mon. I know how hard it was for ye to come to me, but giving yer loyalty to yer king first was the proper thing to do. Ye will nae suffer for it, laddie.”

“I only ask mercy for Piers, my liege,” Kipp said. “Let me take him home and look after him. His mother was frail of mind, and I fear he has inherited her tendencies.” He brushed his knees off.

“We will see,” the king responded. “We will see. For now I would hae ye remain here at court, Master St.Denis, where I can speak wi ye when I need to again. Answer me one question before ye go. Why did ye nae kill Lord Stokes for yer brother?”

Kipp St.Denis almost recoiled at the query. “I could not harm an innocent being, my liege,” he said. “I vomited afterward, for Piers insisted that I accompany him. I shall never forget the look in the earl of Bartram’s eyes when he realized what had happened.” He hung his head in shame. “God forgive me that I could not prevent my brother from his wickedness.”

The king nodded his head. “Ye may go now,” he dismissed the man. “Does he tell the truth, I wonder?” he said after Kipp had gone.

“I have heard it said,” Viscount Villiers noted, “that it was Kipp to whom the ladies were often drawn, and not Piers. I have heard it said that he is a decent man, but for his brother. What a pity he was not the legitimate son, my dearest lord. How sad that the house of St.Denis will die out now. It is, I have been told, an old name.” Then, pouring a goblet of wine from a sideboard tray, he gave it to the king. “Drink, my dear lord, and be strengthened,” he said sweetly. Then he turned his attention to the queen, while the king and his cousin of BrocCairn talked together.

“What plot do you have in your head, Steenie?” the queen inquired.

The viscount’s fine dark eyes glittered, and he brushed the errant lock of chestnut hair from his forehead. “St. Denis may or may not be mad, madame, but I will wager he will never forget his position. Yet it is unlikely that he will ever have a wife, and the name will die with him and his brother.”

“Unless?” The queen smiled, light blue eyes twinkling. “What scheme are you contemplating, my fine young coxcomb?”

“Kipp St.Denis was born first, madame, and someone only recently suggested to me that there might be something he desired above all things, but he did not think he would ever have.”

“He is a bastard sprig,” the queen said softly.

“So is your grandson, Charles Frederick Stuart,” Villiers said daringly, “and yet Prince Henry saw that he was ennobled, and had him created a duke. Do you not think Kipp St.Denis has contemplated his accident of birth many times? He would have to be a saint not to have thought about it, and I do not think he is a saint, madame.”

“You are suggesting that the king take away Piers St.Denis’s title and inheritance, and give it to his half brother?”

“The marquis is mad, and a danger to himself and everyone else about one who offends the king. He must be confined or executed, madame. The king will have no choice but those two.”

“Aye,” Queen Anne agreed. “There is no other choice but death or imprisonment for Piers St.Denis.”

“But what of Kipp, madame? If the king creates him marquis of Hartsfield, the family need not die out. I even have a possible bride for him. Margaret Grey, the widowed countess of Holme. She is just nineteen, has a modest inheritance from her late husband which would serve as a dowry, as well as a two-year-old daughter, proving that she is capable of childbearing.”

“Such generosity of heart, my dear Steenie,” the queen murmured. “Why do you care what happens to Kipp St.Denis or their family name?”

“Because, madame,” Viscount Villiers said, “I can think of no greater revenge upon Piers St.Denis for all his arrogance and unkindness to my dear lord than to have him aware that his titles, his inheritance, his estate, and indeed even the bride he thought you would choose for him, have been ripped away and given to his bastard half brother.”

“If he is mad, will he understand?” the queen wondered.

“Mad, he may be, madame, but he is not insensible to what will go on about him,” George Villiers said. “It will eat into him each day as the years go by, and he will be incapable of doing anything to relieve his suffering or to regain his former status. It is the worst thing that could happen to him, madame. Execute him, and it is over for Piers St.Denis. Take and give what was his to Kipp St.Denis, and you will inflict upon him a punishment of the subtlest kind, one that will burn into his very soul.”

“You are cruel,” the queen said.

“Aye,” he agreed, not denying it.

“I will think on it,” the queen told him.

“Convince our dear lord, and the new marquis will be his devoted servant forever,” Viscount Villiers cleverly pointed out.

At that point in their conversation Barclay returned and presented the king with a document to sign. George Villiers was at once on the alert. The king read the parchment slowly, carefully, and then, taking the quill from his secretary, signed it. Barclay then spread it firmly, and the king dripped the dark red wax upon it, and then pressed first the royal seal, and secondly his own signet ring into the cooling wax. Waiting a moment for the wax to harden, Barclay then rolled the parchment up upon the table and sealed it a second time with wax. The royal seal was again imprinted upon it, and the secretary, looking up, handed the document to Viscount Villiers.

“There’s time to ride out yet today,” the earl of BrocCairn said to the young Englishman, “if yer up to it, laddie.”

Villiers nodded. “Just give me a half of an hour to get ready,” he said. Then he knelt and kissed the king’s hand.

James Stuart reached out and stroked the young man’s silky hair. “Ahh, Steenie,” he said, “must ye go? Can my cousin of BrocCairn nae take it alone? What will I do wi’out my bonnie laddie?”

“I promised the Leslies my friendship,” George Villiers said. “It would be a poor promise if I did not help them now when I could, my dearest lord. I will not linger in your Scotland, and I will return to you as soon as I can.” He kissed the royal hand again and, rising, departed the king’s privy chamber.

“He’s a wee bit too pretty for my taste,” BrocCairn said bluntly, “but Jasmine and Jemmie say he’s a good man. Now tell me, cousin, how is young Charles? Is there a chance I might pay my respects before I leave ye today?”

“Are ye thinking of the future, Alex?” the king teased him.

Alex Gordon looked startled at the king’s comment, then he laughed. “I suppose I am,” he said. “Sandy’s married, ye know, but my own Charlie is going to need some kind of living eventually. A place wi yer son might be just the thing for him. Besides, now that ye Stuarts are in England, I fear our great and extended family will begin to separate. We share a grandfather, Jamie, though my name be Gordon. For my family’s sake I dinna want to lose our wee prestige wi the royal Stuarts. I need a son in England, and God knows there is little for Charlie in Scotland. His brother’s wife hae already birthed an heir for us.”

“Honest as ever,” the king replied with a smile. “There’s time for ye to renew yer acquaintance wi royal Charles before ye must set out for Edinburgh. Annie, will ye take our cousin to the prince? And dinna worry, Alex. We’ll find something for yer laddie before the summer’s end. Farewell now, and God bless ye.” The king extended his hand.

The earl of BrocCairn took it and kissed it fervently. “Farewell, cousin,” he told the king, “and God bless ye! Hae it not been for yer timely intervention, a great injustice would hae been done in yer name.”