Chapter Twelve

Chapter Twelve

" D id I not warn you to silence, little brother?" Kipp St.Denis scolded the marquis of Hartsfield. "You have lost Queen Anne's favor, and now will probably lose the king's as well. You have gained nothing from this sojourn at court, which has cost us so dearly. The world was within your grasp, Piers, and you flung it away for the mere chance to torment Lady Lindley because she preferred another husband to you. Father always said you were a childish fool."

"It was our father who squandered almost all our resources, leaving our mother to die in virtual penury," Piers St.Denis snarled. "Besides, not all is lost. I can still beg the king's forgiveness. I have become quite the expert at begging, Kipp. And remember, we have not yet put the rest of our plan into action."

"You have lost the game," Kipp replied. "The duke of Lundy will remain with the earl and countess of Glenkirk."

"Not if it is believed they have murdered Lord Stokes," the marquis said softly. "And Jasmine has played right into our hands, Kipp, by publicly declaring she would kill anyone who tried to take her children from her care. If Stokes is found dead, she will be the first one who is considered the murderer, and Lord Leslie, too, will be named her accomplice. The child will be removed from their care, and they will certainly end up with Somerset and his shrewish wife in the Tower."

"Even if you can attain this goal, there is no guarantee that you will be given the duke of Lundy, particularly now that the queen has made clear her dislike of you, Piers. Attempt to mend your fences with the king so you may gain something out of this before we must leave court. Snatch a small victory from this defeat."

"I will have the child! You should have seen the smug look on that upstart Villiers's face, Kipp. I could have easily killed him had the queen not been there! I must have the child, Kipp. His income will save us. You know how little money there is left. I don't want to leave court and return to Hartsfield Hall. I hate the damned country! I want to be here, in the center of the universe, where there is so much excitement happening. To be at court is to be alive, Kipp!"

"We haven't the money to remain indefinitely, Piers," his brother reminded him. "If you don't get an heiress bride out of this, we are ruined! This was why we originally came to court. That you caught the king's eye was a gift from God. You need a rich wife to restore Hartsfield Hall and to remain at court. Without one we are lost; and the king is your only hope to obtain that wealthy wife. You are angry, and you want revenge upon the earl of Glenkirk and Jasmine Lindley. I understand, and perhaps one day you will gain your revenge, but now is not the time. "

"You have been watching the earl of Bartram, Kipp," the marquis said as if his elder brother had not spoken at all. "Is he out at night? That would, of course, be the best time to waylay him. We shall do it ourselves, so there be no witnesses."

"There is no time to plan such a crime, Piers," Kipp said in a final attempt to dissuade his sibling. "Certainly now that the earl of Glenkirk has returned from Scotland, he will be taking Lady Lindley to her grandmother's home in Worcestershire for their wedding."

"We will kill the earl of Bartram tonight," the Marquis of Hartsfield said calmly. "Glenkirk and his bitch will still be here tonight."

There would be no convincing his brother otherwise, Kipp St.Denis knew. The plan was surely flawed, but Piers would follow the course set, and Kipp could not refuse to help him. It would be up to him to make certain that the marquis of Hartsfield was never tied to the crime about to be committed, so that the king would award his previous favorite a rich maiden to marry, and they could be saved. Kipp did not believe for a moment that they would obtain custody of the little duke of Lundy. The queen had more influence with her husband than the young men surrounding James Stuart thought. That had been his brother's error. He had refused to see it, and had made an enemy of Queen Anne in the process. George Villiers, however, had seen how the land lay and used his knowledge wisely. Kipp well knew how arrogant and thoughtless Piers could be. Eventually the marquis would see there was no future for him at court. Then they could go home, taking the wealthy bride with them.

The king had just arisen the following morning and, having peed in the silver vessel held out by one of his gentlemen of the bedchamber for that purpose, was greeted with the news that the earl of Bartram had been found murdered outside his own gates that morning. James Stuart was deeply shocked and demanded an immediate explanation. He was told that no one knew.

"How was he killed?" the king asked.

"A knife, my liege, expertly placed between his ribs to pierce his heart," was the answer. "The gatekeeper swears he heard no cry."

"Who is responsible?" was the next royal query.

"It is not known, sire."

"What was he doing outside of his own gates, then?" the king wondered. "It was night, I assume."

"Lady Mary says he received a message, handwritten, just before they were to retire. The earl said he had some quick business to attend and should be back shortly. He told his wife to go to bed, which, being a dutiful woman, she did. When she awoke this morning she saw that her husband had not returned and sent to the gatekeeper to ask if he had seen his lordship. The gatekeeper remembered letting Lord Stokes out and watching him walk down the roadway around a bend. He saw nothing and heard nothing. He had fallen asleep awaiting his master's return. After being questioned by his mistress, the gatekeeper went back outside and, passing through the gate, walked down the road. He found Lord Stokes dead just around the bend in the pathway," was the explanation.

"And where is the note that drew the earl of Bartram from the safety of his house?" the king said. "Where is it?"

"It cannot be found, Your Majesty. Lady Mary does recall that he did not toss the missive in the fire. She thinks he tucked it in his pocket, but she is not certain. It was not, however, in his pocket."

"It would appear," the king said, "that Dickie hae an enemy, eh, gentlemen? Now, who should want the puir man dead?"

"Lady Lindley said she would kill any man who took her children from her, my lord," the king's page piped up. "I heard her say it!"

There was a general murmuring about the king's bedchamber as his gentlemen helped their lord to dress. "Aye!" "I heard it, too!"

"Everyone at court heard it," the king said with a chuckle. "She hae a fierce temper, Jasmine Lindley, but I dinna believe she was the person who lured puir Dickie to his death. She hae no reason, laddies."

"The rumor was you were giving the duke of Lundy to the earl of Bartram to raise, my liege," a gentleman said.

"The rumor was a false one," the king told them. "When she left the hall she stormed into my privy chamber and demanded to know if it were so. I reassured her that it was nae so, and she need hae nae fear. Her bairns were hers to raise as long as they respected my royal authority. I hae finished my business wi Glenkirk by then, and so I instructed him to take her home, marry her, and gie her a few sons to keep her busy," the king concluded with a small chuckle.

"Besides," George Villiers said, "Lady Lindley is a slender woman, and does not, I suspect, have much strength. How could she divert poor Stokes long enough to murder him with a knife? She might have wounded him, but the report is that the knife was skillfully placed to cause instant death. What woman would know such a trick, gentlemen?"

"She is a foreigner," one gentleman said. "And what about that turbaned servant of hers? He looks to me to be a dangerous fellow."

"Lady Lindley is an Englishwoman no matter where she was born," the king said. "I am England's king, and yet, sirs, I am Scots-born. As for her servant, Adali, while he is devoted to her, he is nae a murderer. He is a eunuch, gentlemen, and we know a gelded man is nae a savage, but rather sweet, like a lass. Nah, nah, laddies, ‘twas nae Adali."

"Then who was it?"

"Perhaps we should look for whoever had something to gain from Lord Stokes's death," Villiers suggested. "Or someone who thought he might gain if the earl of Bartram were no longer here."

"Steenie," the king said, "ye must go and speak wi poor Dickie's widow and see if she can shed any light on this matter."

But George Villiers could learn nothing from Mary Stokes that would aid them in their investigation of the murder. The poor woman had convinced herself, aided by the clergyman who was with her, that it was Jasmine Lindley who was responsible for Richard Stokes's death. The king's favorite carefully explained to the half-hysterical widow that the king was convinced it was not Jasmine, and told her the reasons why.

"Lady Lindley had no reason to harm your husband, madame," he concluded. "She had no quarrel with him."

"S-she threatened my Dickon because the king was to give us the duke of Lundy to raise decently," Lady Mary wept.

"The king told Lady Lindley before she left court yesterday that rumor was not true, madame; and I, myself, was there when he told your husband that the boy was to remain with his mother and his stepfather. I tell you again that Lady Lindley had no reason to murder anyone. The king believes her and all connected with her innocent in this matter."

"We must accept the king's word, my good lady," the clergyman said to Mary Stokes. "James Stuart, though misguided, is a good man."

"But if that terrible woman did not kill my Dickon, Pastor Goodfellowe, then who did?" the widow wailed.

"I cannot answer you, madame, but God knows the miscreant, and will punish him with eternal hellfire! You must leave these matters to those more capable of handling them than you, yourself, madame. Now, you should concentrate on your own salvation, for death comes when we least expect it, as poor Lord Stokes found. You must be ready to meet your maker, Lady Mary," the pastor thundered in stern tones.

A Puritan, George Villiers thought, and a dangerous one. I wonder if he might be responsible. I was there when Richard Stokes told His Majesty that he had sent his impressionable wife's clergyman packing. Lord Stokes was not a liar. Now he is dead, however, and here is this trouble-making Puritan in his house as quick as a wink, and the body not even cold. Stokes had surely put aside a little something for his old age. Some of it will go to his widow, and wouldn't this Puritan like to get his hands on the widow's mite to further his own purposes. I think I must inform the king, and the new earl of Bartram must come with all haste up from the country to protect his mother.

Before the day was over Pastor Simon Goodfellowe was arrested and taken to the Tower to be questioned in the matter of the demise of the earl of Bartram. He denied any involvement in Richard Stokes's death, was lightly racked, but continued to proclaim his innocence. His alibi was checked, and indeed he had spent the evening praying with a family whose only son was gravely ill. The child had died at dawn and the clergyman had departed, having been called to the countess of Bartram's side by his servant. It was now obvious that he could not have had any part in the earl's murder.

"Shall we release him?" the captain of the guard asked George Villiers, who was at the Tower at His Majesty's request.

"Not yet," the young man replied. "He's a Puritan for certain. Whip him, keep him on bread and water for a week, whip him again, then let him go. By then the new earl will be in London, and his grieving but susceptible mother will be safe from the likes of Pastor Goodfellowe."

"Yes, m'lord," the captain of the guard replied.

With a nod George Villiers turned away, thinking even as he did that he very much liked the sound of m'lord. He must be patient, he knew. The queen said by Christmas, and he knew that she knew. Everything might have been perfect in his life but that Piers St.Denis was trying to weasel his way back into His Majesty's good graces. Villiers knew that the marquis needed a rich wife, and only the king could provide one. The queen, however, was adamant that no decent girl be put in Piers St.Denis's care.

"He is said to have unnatural desires," she told the king. "I am told he even shares his women with that villainous half brother of his, Jamie. You cannot entrust him with some poor young girl."

"But I canna get rid of him unless I gie him a bride," the king complained to his outraged wife.

"Of course you can!" the queen responded. "After all, my lord, you are the king. Is not your word law?"

"I hae favored the laddie, Annie, for months now. If I send him away empty-handed, I will seem mean-spirited, and I will nae be! We must find him a wife."

"A well dowered widow, perhaps?" George Villiers suggested. "One yet young enough to give him an heir, of course; but old enough not to be intimidated by him, or his brother."

"Aye!" the king said enthusiastically. He turned to his wife. "I will leave the choice in yer hands, Annie, but the bride must hae gold and be able to gie him bairns."

"Very well, my lord, I will do as you ask me, but I still think if it were up to me, I should send him away empty-handed," the queen replied. "I do not trust your marquis at all. He is too eager to place the blame for Richard Stokes's death on Jasmine and James Leslie." The queen arose from her chair. "He is too anxious for revenge, and I do believe that he thinks he can still get his hands on our grandson."

"Nah, nah, Annie," the king said. "He's a sensitive lad, is our Piers, but I am certain his heart is good. He is just disappointed over losing Jasmine Lindley."

"He is and has always been too good-hearted," the queen told George Villiers later that evening. "I had thought that St.Denis would be dismissed and sent home by now. How was he able to worm his way back into the king's favor again, Steenie?"

"While I was on His Majesty's business in the matter of the Puritan pastor," George Villiers told the queen. "I think the king feels guilty over the matter of Lady Lindley. He knows it was a mistake to even to have suggested St.Denis court her, and now he is eager to make it up to him that the marquis not think badly of him. St.Denis was so adamant about Glenkirk's possible involvement in Lord Stokes's death, that the king dictated a message to James Leslie and his bride asking them to remain in England until the matter was resolved. Then the marquis took the king's message, and personally had it dispatched to Queen's Malvern. I'm certain it was just the wedding gift the bride and groom were expecting," Villiers concluded.

"Wretched creature!" the queen said, irritated. "I can only imagine what Jemmie and Jasmine must have thought when they received such a message. Well, I hope the matter will be settled before the autumn, when they intend to leave for Scotland."

"When is their wedding?" Villiers asked.

Queen Anne thought a moment, and then she said, "Why, I do believe it is tomorrow, Steenie. Tomorrow is the fifteenth day of June, isn't it, my dear boy?"

"It is," he agreed.

"Then it is tomorrow. Ohh, I hope they will be happy, Steenie! Jasmine has had enough sorrow in her life for any woman. I just want her to be happy. Our Hal would want it too, may God assoil his sweet soul."

"Amen," said George Villiers, who had not known Prince Henry, except by reputation. "And may Lady Lindley and Lord Leslie have a long and happy life together!"

"Amen to that, Steenie," the queen replied.

"A long and happy life, my dears," said Robin Southwood, the earl of Lynmouth, as he raised his goblet to his niece and James Leslie.

She was a wife once again, Jasmine thought, smiling happily as she accepted the toast and good wishes from her family. Standing before the Anglican priest saying her wedding vows for the third time, with a third husband, Jasmine prayed that this marriage would not end in disaster as her previous two had. She was struggling very hard with herself to believe what Jemmie and her grandmother said. That the deaths of Jamal Khan and Rowan Lindley had been mischance, and nothing more. Were they right? She had certainly been happy with both of her previous husbands. Now she was being given a third opportunity. Was three the charm for her? Jasmine Leslie prayed it would be so.

"You are the most beautiful bride I have ever seen," the earl of Glenkirk whispered in her ear.

"I have certainly had enough practice," she teased him with a radiant smile.

They exited the small chapel at Queen's Malvern. Once again, as at her wedding to Rowan Lindley, the four carved oak benches had not been enough to hold all the family, and they had stood about the room and spilled out into the hall. Her wedding to Rowan had been at dawn, and the rising sun had come through the stained-glass windows, casting shadows of color on the marble altar with its Irish lace cloth; reflecting off the gold crucifix and the tall candlesticks. Today, however, the wedding had been celebrated at noon, and outside of the house a soft rain was falling. Some remarked on it, hoping it did not portend any misfortune, but Jasmine laughed away their concerns. Her first two marriages had been held on perfectly beautiful days, and each had ended in violent death. A gray day was the least of her concerns.

The wedding feast, originally scheduled for the lawns, had now been set up in the hall, and the busy servants were dashing back and forth with food and drink. Skye had spared no expense with this celebration. Because it was summer, all her children had come to see their niece married to the earl of Glenkirk. Even Ewan O'Flaherty and his wife, Gwynneth Southwood, had arrived from Ireland. The Master of Ballyhennessey was fifty-nine, a large, ruddy-featured man with iron gray hair. He was a plain Irish country squire and happy to be so. His brother, Murrough, age fifty-eight, was virtually retired from the sea now; and content to remain in Devon, supervising the comings and goings of the O'Malley-Small trading fleet. His wife, Joan Southwood, was glad to have her husband home after all his years at sea; yet despite his comings and goings, Murrough had managed to sire three sons and three daughters on his adoring wife.

Willow, the countess of Alcester, and her husband, James Edwards, had arrived several days earlier with four of their eight children, three in-laws, and several grandchildren. Only their youngest son, William, was yet unmarried, but then he was only twenty. Of all Willow's children, it was William whose looks betrayed his Spanish ancestry. He bore an uncanny resemblance to Willow's father. Just looking at him took Skye back decades in time to when she had been the adored wife of the man known as Khalid el Bey, the Great Whoremaster of Algiers, who was in actuality a renegade Spaniard. Willow, of course, had never been told her father's more colorful history, and believed him to be nothing more than a merchant, who was estranged from his family. Watching her prim and oh-so-proper English daughter attempting to manage everything and fussing at everyone, Skye wickedly considered that one day before she died she must tell Willow of Khalid el Bey. That would certainly take her down a peg or two.

And following the fifty-five-year-old Willow was Robin Southwood, the earl of Lynmouth, now fifty-two, and his still beautiful wife, Angel. Then came Deirdre Burke, age forty-seven, and her husband, Lord Blackthorne; and her brother, Padraic, Lord Burke, forty-six; and his wife, Valentina; and of course, lastly, Velvet de Marisco, the countess of BrocCairn, at forty-two, the youngest of Skye's children, with her husband, Alexander Gordon, the earl of BrocCairn. They had brought with them Jasmine's five half brothers, who ranged in age from twenty-two to fifteen. Sybilla, Jasmine's stepsister, the countess of Kempe, and her husband, Tom Ashburne, had also come to the wedding, along with Jasmine's great-uncle Conn, Lord Bliss, and his wife Aidan. And, of course, Jasmine's devoted servants, Adali, Toramalli, and Rohana, were in attendance.

Willow had fretted privately to her siblings that holding the marriage feast in the hall would bring back unhappy memories for Skye. It would be the first time the family had gathered together since Adam de Marisco's unexpected death five and a half months ago. "She is old, and this could hurt her," Willow said, genuinely concerned for their mother.

"She has planned everything herself, sister," Deirdre ventured, gently. "She wants it this way. She cannot avoid the hall forever because Papa died there, can she, Willow?"

Willow opened her mouth to issue a scathing retort, but her brother, Robert Southwood, spoke first.

"Willow," he said mischievously, yet seriously, "you have never been as young as our mother is, even today."

"As usual, Robin, you speak in riddles," replied Willow.

"You were born an old woman, Willow," he told her bluntly. "Mama will never be old but in years. Her heart is young. It always has been, and it always will be. She will not live in the past as so many of her generation do. Adam, God assoil his generous soul, is dead, and gone from us. But Mama is alive, and will continue to live until the day God calls her home to him. I know you mean well, but do not bleat at her about the wedding feast in the hall. Where else can it be held in such weather?"

"Well, I don't know why such an ado is being made anyway," Willow grumbled. "After all, it is Jasmine's third marriage, and we are a house in mourning for our father."

"The fuss is being made," said James Edwards, Willow's husband, in a rare show of irritation, "because Adam would have wanted it that way, and my lady Skye knows it. Now, cease your carping, my dear. You grow tiresome to the ear. I shall walk in the gardens now, madame, and you shall accompany me."

"But it is raining!" Willow protested.

"Misting is more like it," the earl of Alcester corrected his wife. "It will do your complexion good, madame. Come along," and he took her firmly by the arm, almost shoving her from the room where they had all congregated just prior to the wedding service. "We'll be back before the service begins, my dear." And, of course, they were, Willow chastened.

Now the family came together in the hall of Queen's Malvern to celebrate the marriage that had just taken place. The tables groaned with the bounty of Skye's hospitality. There was a whole side of beef that had been roasted over an open spit; platters of lamb chops; capons in plum sauce, and ducks in orange sauce; a huge country ham; crusty pies of game birds and others of rabbit; whole river trouts on beds of cress; two barrels of oysters in seawater; jellied eel; bowls of new peas; and bowls of tiny carrots in cream sauce; along with dishes of braised lettuces from the kitchen gardens; a wheel of hard cheddar and one of Normandy Brie; stone crocks of sweet butter; and round cottage loaves of freshly baked bread. There was wine, and ale, and cider to drink. And lastly strawberries, clotted cream, and small sugar wafers, which were served with a very sweet marsala wine, an old tradition to wish the bride and groom good fortune.

A number of toasts were drunk to James and Jasmine Leslie, some of them warm and loving; some of them wickedly ribald. Jasmine grew more sentimental with each goblet of wine she consumed. She remembered her wedding to Jamal Khan. She had been decked out in scarlet and gold, in garments covered in diamonds and rubies, as befitted a royal Mughal princess. She had just been thirteen. When she had married Rowan Lindley, the marquis of Westleigh, she had worn the wedding gown both her mother and her grandmother had worn. It had been apple green silk with gold embroidery. She had been sixteen and a half.

Now she was almost twenty-five, and had taken a third husband. Her bridal gown was heavy cream silk brocade. The low square bodice was embroidered with swirls of tiny seed pearls over which was draped a creamy delicate lace collar. The V of underskirt showing was striped with narrow bands of cloth of silver. The skirt was bell-shaped and had a narrow waist. The gown's sleeves were divided by narrow silver ribbons and slashed to show cloth of silver. The cuffs were bands of soft lace. Beneath the ankle-length gown Jasmine wore a beribboned chemise, several layers of silk and lawn petticoats, and silk stockings embroidered with tiny gold bumblebees. Her shoes of creamy brocade were decorated with pearls; and her dark hair, in its chignon, was adorned with pearl-encrusted silk roses, and narrow silver ribbons.

"Are you dreaming?" her husband murmured in her ear. "If you are, I hope it is of me, darling Jasmine." James Leslie took Jasmine's hand in his, turning it over and kissing the palm with passionate lips. It was the happiest day of his life. He well remembered the first time he had met her. He had come to Queen's Malvern with the king, and it was thought that the widowed earl of Glenkirk might make a suitable husband for Sybilla Gordon, Jasmine's stepsister, who fancied herself in love with him. He had been introduced to Jasmine, however, and had fallen in love with her immediately. That had been ten years ago. Now he brought her hand to his lips, nibbling at her fingers. "How much longer must we be polite?" he whispered to her.

"There is to be dancing," she replied softly.

"Oh?"

"And some sort of entertainment, I believe," she told him.

"Could we not provide our own entertainment?" he suggested.

"Jemmie!" she half scolded him. "This wedding means so much to Grandmama. You must learn patience, my lord. It is not as if we have not tasted of sensual delights before." She made an attempt to regain possession of her hand, but he would not release it.

Instead he sucked wickedly on each of her fingers, and, when he had finished, he drew her hand beneath the table with its linen cloth, and pressed it against his groin. "As you can see, madame, I am very hungry. I will wager your grandmother would understand my sentiments."

He was hard as a rock, and Jasmine struggled to keep the blush from her cheeks, yet she could not move her hand away. For a moment she stroked him, squirming slightly in her chair as thoughts of their previous encounters rose up in her head, and then she shuddered with a small release of passion. "My lord!" she pleaded softly.

He laughed low. "You are as hot for me as I am for you, my darling Jasmine. Very well then. We shall dance and watch the little entertainments your grandmama has provided for us; but when they are all over, madame, I shall take you to bed and drive from your head all thoughts of anyone, or anything but me!" He then relinquished the slender hand he had held captive.

"You will pay dearly for your wickedness, my lord," she promised him, reluctantly removing her hand from his manhood.

"As shall you, darling Jasmine, for keeping me waiting," he responded threateningly, his green-gold eyes laughing into her turquoise ones. "No matter how many years we are wed, I shall never tire of you."

"A bold promise, but then you are a bold man, Jemmie Leslie," Jasmine told him.

Suddenly the room was filled with a shrill and eerie noise. James Leslie looked quickly up. Into the hall came a man in a green kilt with a narrow red and a narrow white stripe identical to the one which James Leslie wore that day. He was playing the bagpipes as he came, each step measured, and dignified. He stopped before the highboard where the bridal party were seated, playing on, a sweetly melancholy tune. When he had finished, he bowed low to the earl of Glenkirk.

"Alpin More!" James Leslie said, a smile upon his face. "How came you here this day? You are a very long way from Glenkirk."

"Yer brothers and sisters thought I should be here this day, my lord, and Lady de Marisco agreed. She arranged for me to be brought south. I hae traveled a long way indeed, but we could nae hae ye wed again wi'out yer piper, my lord. I played for ye when ye wed Lady Isabelle, may God grant her soul peace. Now I hae played for ye and yer new lady, may God bless ye both!" He bowed again.

"Jasmine, this is Alpin More, my piper," James Leslie said to his bride. "Alpin, my wife, Lady Jasmine Leslie."

"I have never heard the pipes played so beautifully, Alpin More," Jasmine said. "I hope you will play for us again soon."

The piper bowed once more to his new mistress. She was far more beautiful than the earl's first wife had been. He hoped she could have children, for his master needed an heir. The bride was not very young, but then neither was she very old, and she had already had children, or so he had been told. "I wish ye long life, and many bairns," he told Jasmine gallantly with a smile.

"What a fine wish, Alpin More!" Jasmine told him. "I would have many sons for my lord, and may you play for them one day as well."

The piper grinned broadly, well pleased by her words, which he would repeat to all when he returned to Glenkirk. Perhaps by the time the earl brought his bride home to Scotland she would already be ripening with the Leslie's heir. That would certainly please everyone.

"Now that you have heard the piper," Skye said softly to the bridal couple, "would you not like to depart the hall?"

"But Grandmama, have you not planned for dancing, and for other entertainments?" Jasmine said, surprised at their dismissal.

"Darling girl, do you really wish to remain here when your new husband is in such a state of lust for you?" her grandmother asked, laughing. "Granted I have more years than anyone else in this room tonight, but my memory is still quite intact. A wedding night, be it the first, or the third—no matter you have been lovers before—is still a wonderful night. I remember all of mine in exquisite detail, even the unhappy ones. While it is true that being June it is still quite light out of doors; and the night when it comes will last but a short time, would you not prefer to spend that time alone with James Leslie? I know that if I were you, I should!"

The earl of Glenkirk arose from the highboard, drawing his countess up with him. He bowed to the countess of Lundy and, taking her hand in his, he said, "Madame, you are a woman of the utmost sensitivity. I salute you!" Then he kissed Skye's hand. "I am content to withdraw with my bride from this magnificent celebration that you have given us." He then released her hand and, bowing again, departed the hall with his blushing bride in tow, the cheers of his new relations ringing in his ears.

Skye watched them go, her Kerry blue eyes misty, a smile of remembrance upon her lips. Well, old man, are you satisfied now? she said silently. I have gotten her safely wed to Lord Leslie, and by this time next year we shall probably have another descendant for me to dote upon. God's boots, I wish you were still here with me, Adam! They say that time softens the pain of death, but I probably miss you more tonight than the night you left me so suddenly. And there is time for me yet before I can join you, Adam. I sense it. I don't know whether to be happy or sad about it.

She felt an arm go about her shoulders, and smiled up into her son Robin's handsome face. He bent his head and kissed her cheek.

"He would be pleased, Mama. This is what he wanted for Jasmine," the earl of Lynmouth said. "He wanted her safe, and now she is."

"I know," Skye answered her son.

"But?" he queried her.

"I do not know," she said softly. "There is something. I sense it, Robin. Yet I do not know what, and I cannot imagine what."

"Perhaps it is just your fancy, Mama. It has, after all, been a difficult year for you, beginning with Adam's death, and then your travels to France. You are not, after all, as young as you once were."

"You sound like Willow," she accused him.

"God forbid!" the earl of Lynmouth exclaimed.

"Nay, Robin, there is yet some shadow lurking about Jasmine," Skye told him. "It is not the imaginings of an old lady."

"Then when it comes, Mama, we shall, as this family has always done, rally about our own and solve the problem," Robin Southwood said.

Skye smiled up at her third son. "Aye, my dear, I suppose we shall. Until then I intend enjoying the summer with both my daughter and my granddaughter about me. And come the autumn I shall be just as glad to see them return to Scotland, as I was to see them come to Queen's Malvern," she chuckled. "Then Daisy and I shall settle down to a quiet winter, which I know will please my old friend. I was always too much for her, Robin, and I fear she has grown too old to cope with me." Skye chuckled. "She is nearer to eighty than I am."

"Boredom has never pleased you, Mama," he said. "You will find some mischief to get into, I have not a doubt."

Skye O'Malley de Marisco laughed at this observation. "Aye," she agreed with him, "I probably shall, Robin."