Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fourteen

B y midmorning of the following day the earl of Glenkirk's family was pouring into the castle to meet Jasmine. His paternal uncles, James the Master of Hay, and his wife, Ailis; Adam and his wife, Fiona; Michael of Leslie Brae with his Isabelle. The old earl of Sithean came with his women. And, of course, James Leslie's siblings. His sister, Bess, and her husband, Henry Gordon. His two brothers, Colin, the Master of Greyhaven with his wife, Euphemia Hay; and Robert of Briarmere Moor, who was married to Euphemia's sister, Flora. Jemmie's sister, Amanda, was married to the earl of Sithean's heir; and his sister, Morag, was the wife of young Malcom Gordon. They surrounded the earl of Glenkirk, hugging him, and covering him with happy kisses.

Finally, Fiona Leslie cried, "Enough! Enough! We all know our Jemmie. We hae come to see his bride. Come forward, Jasmine Leslie!" And when Jasmine stood before her, she looked her over with a critical eye, and then smiled broadly. "Welcome to Glenkirk, madame." Looking at her nephew, she said, "Yer mother would be pleased, and yer choice …"

"Fiona!" her husband warned.

Fiona Leslie glared at her husband. "I was only going to say Jemmie's choice appeared to be as fine a one as his mother made all those years ago." Then she smiled sweetly.

There was relieved laughter. Fiona Leslie had been her sister-in-law's best friend when they had grown up although their earlier relationship had been a rocky one. She was an outspoken woman, and they all knew she had thought Isabelle Gordon a sweet ninny; but since the unfortunate girl's brother was married to Jemmie's sister, no criticism of her would be tolerated publicly.

"I'm glad that I meet with your approval, madame," Jasmine replied, her eyes twinkling mischievously at Fiona, whom she immediately liked. Despite the difference in their ages, they were going to be friends.

"Ye'd meet with Cat's approval, and that's more important. Yer already breeding, I'm told," Fiona said. "Well, ye hae plenty of family about when the bairn is born. Is yer mother back from England yet?"

Jasmine shook her head. "Not yet. She stayed later this year because she thought Grandmama might be lonely now that my grandfather is gone, but I am sure Grandmama wants nothing more than to send Mama back to Dun Broc as quickly as possible so she may have some peace."

"Hah!" Fiona chuckled. "Yer grandmama sounds like a woman after my own heart. Yer mother's a good woman, however, and means well."

"Who is yer mother?" Bess Gordon asked.

"Why ‘tis the countess of BrocCairn," Fiona said impatiently to her niece. "Do ye know nothing, Bess?"

"Well, Jemmie hae been in England, and I didna know," Bess said spiritedly. She turned to Jasmine. "No one tells me anything!"

Adali and Will Todd were passing wine to the assembled guests. "I have not had time yet to staff the castle," Jasmine explained.

"Ohh, I hope ye'll bring it back to the way it was when Patrick and Cat and our parents held sway here, James Leslie," the Master of Hay said wistfully.

"Aye!" Fiona enthused. "‘Twas so grand then, Jasmine." She looked to her brothers-in-law, her nieces, and her nephews. "Ye'll hae to help Jasmine wi all of this. She canna be overtaxed as she now carries the next earl of Glenkirk wi'in her belly."

"I'm no weakling," Jasmine protested. "I have four children already, and they are quite strong and healthy."

"Aye, ye've four bairns, but not one of them is a Leslie of Glenkirk," Fiona said.

"Aunt, give over," Jemmie interposed. "My wife is not the family's broodmare. We're having a child, and lass or laddie, it will be welcome to Glenkirk, but that is not why I married my darling Jasmine. I wed her because I love her, and I have for many years now. I am grateful that she accepted me as her husband. Now let us all celebrate being together again," the earl of Glenkirk concluded.

"Aye! Aye!" their guests chorused.

Then suddenly there was an uproar toward the rear of the Great Hall. Turning to look, they saw two small boys engaged in a bout of fisticuffs, rolling about on the floor and howling wildly.

"‘Tis Connor!" Morag Gordon said, aghast.

"And Henry!" Jasmine cried, looking to her husband.

The earl of Glenkirk stepped forward and forcibly separated his stepson and his nephew, a hand holding tightly to the collar of each boy, who squirmed and struggled in his grip. "What is going on?" Jemmie Leslie demanded of the two miscreants.

"He said I were a savage and talked funny," Connor Gordon declared, glowering at his rival.

"You said I was a sissy!" Henry Lindley defended himself. "I was escorting my sisters into the hall, Papa, when we were accosted by this boy. He insulted India and Fortune."

"What, exactly, did he say, Henry, that you felt it necessary to give battle? By the way, this is my nephew, Connor Cordon."

"He said," Henry declared in a clear voice, "‘Look at the wee sissy wi the skinny, yellow-eyed wench and the carrot-topped lassie.' So I hit the little snot-nosed savage. I'll not have my sisters maligned!" He glared furiously at his antagonist, his turquoise eyes blazing.

"Connor," the earl said, "do you know who I am?"

"Aye, m'lord," the boy answered.

"This is my stepson, Henry Lindley, the marquis of Westleigh; and his sisters, Lady India and Lady Fortune. You will apologize to your new cousins for your bad manners." He released his hold on the boy.

Connor Gordon brushed his clothing off and bowed quite nicely. "I hope ye will accept my apologies, Lady India and Lady Fortune. I hae ne'er seen a lass wi yellow eyes before."

"My eyes are golden like my father's," India said grandly.

"And my hair is red-gold, not carrot-colored," Fortune piped up.

Jemmie Leslie loosed his hold on Henry. "Now, gentlemen, shake hands," he commanded the boys. "We are a family, and I will have no squabbling amongst us. Do you both understand?"

The two nodded, Connor holding out a somewhat grimy paw to Henry Lindley, who took it and shook it.

"I hae a pony," Connor said. "Do ye?"

"Aye," Henry answered, suspiciously. "Why?"

"We could ride together," Connor replied. How old are ye?"

"Six and a half," was the reply.

"God's nightshirt!" Connor Gordon said. "I'm eight, and yer every bit as big as me, ye are! And ye weren't afraid! Yer nae a sissy at all, but a braw laddie despite yer English!"

Henry Lindley looked up at his stepfather. "What's braw?" he said, suspiciously.

"He's complimenting you, Henry. Braw means brave," the earl said.

"Gie us one like that, lassie," the old earl of Sithean said, thumping his cane on the floor. "English or nae, he's a fine laddie."

"Run along and play, you two," Jemmie instructed the two boys. Then, taking India and Fortune by the hand, he led them over to meet his aunts and his sisters, all of whom made a great fuss over the little girls, admiring their beauty, and their intelligence.

"Mama's going to have another baby," Fortune confided to Fiona.

"I know," Fiona replied, smiling at the child. Fiona was childless among all the Leslie women, except for a bastard son born many years earlier when she was wed to her first husband. The baby had been put out to fosterage immediately after his birth. He had lived to age three, then died of a fever one winter. It had been a hard birth, and Fiona could not bear children ever again. Knowing it, Adam Leslie had still married her, for he loved her. "Ye hae hair the color of my great-grandmam," she told Fortune. "She was a verra great lady." She playfully tweaked one of Fortune's curls.

"Mama says I'm a hoyden," Fortune replied.

"So am I," Fiona told the little girl with a wink, and made an immediate friend.

The meal was a simple one, for Jasmine had not yet had time to hire servants, and Will Todd, along with Adali, had done the cooking.

"Dinna fear," Adam Leslie said. "The word is already out that the earl is back, and ye'll hae servants aplenty by week's end. Those that were here before, and are nae too old to work will come, and those who are too old will send their kinfolk to obtain the positions."

His words were prophetic, and within a few days the castle was fully staffed once more. Will Todd remained to aid Adali for the present, helping him to choose the proper people.

"I'll stay the winter," Will Todd said. "The castle is a snug place in the winter, but come the spring I'll be off to my wee cottage wi its pretty stream, and the salmon just asking to be caught." He grinned at Adali. "They already respect ye, which is guid considering yer a foreigner. Ye'll hae nae trouble wi them."

Within days the castle was clean again; the floors swept; the rugs and the tapestries brought from storage to be laid upon the floor and hung upon the walls. The chimneys were cleaned and drew flawlessly. The windows were washed, and sparkled in the beautiful autumn weather. The furniture lost its lackluster look and glowed with polishing. Silver appeared upon the sideboards; scented potpourri filled beautiful porcelain bowls that Adali had found in a storage area in the west tower of the castle. Firewood was stacked by the fireplaces. Crystal decanters of wine sat upon the sideboards in all the rooms. Flowers, a mixture of domesticated and wild, were everywhere throughout the living areas of the castle. Even a schedule had been set for meals, which were now served on time each day.

One of the last remaining monks from Glenkirk Abbey came to tutor the children. Once a well-known house of learning, the abbey had fallen upon hard times. The old faith was practiced secretly or discreetly throughout Scotland. The Presbyterians and the Anglicans now held sway. Religious houses were barely tolerated if at all. At Glenkirk, however, the Leslies, while members of the new religions, practiced tolerance where the abbey and its inhabitants were concerned. The last abbot had been one of their cousins. Now but a scant dozen monks remained, the majority elderly, and three in their middle years. Once there had been a school at the abbey. It no longer existed for lack of students. The monks were pleased to send one of their own to teach the earl's stepchildren.

Jasmine, who had been educated by a priest, told Adali, "See that the abbey is sent a deer to hang in their larder; and since Will Todd enjoys his fishing, have him do some for the monks. And send bread when we bake at least once a week, and a wheel of cheese, and a basket each of apples and pears."

He nodded. "Brother Duncan will be pleased."

The autumn deepened, and the trees began to turn on the bens, which Jasmine learned was the Scots for mountains. The red oaks mingled with the golden aspen and birch and the deep green of the pines. Red whortleberry, hazel, bog myrtle, and holly with their rose, yellow, shiny green leaves and bright red berries brightened the woodlands. There was heather in bloom on the hillsides. The nights had become cool and crisp, and never had Jasmine seen such stars in the sky as she saw from the battlements of Glenkirk Castle. Her husband had not lied when he said that autumn was the most beautiful time of year in Scotland.

Jasmine's mother and stepfather and half brothers returned in mid-October from England. The countess of BrocCairn brought rather disturbing news. The king, it seemed, had sent to the earl and countess of Glenkirk to invite them to his Christmas court. "I wasn't there when the messenger came," Velvet Gordon told her daughter. "We were over at Blackthorne Hall, saying good-bye to Deirdre and John."

"How strange," the earl of Glenkirk remarked. "Jamie knew we intended returning north in late summer."

"Grandmama will have taken care of it," Jasmine said confidently.

And indeed Skye O'Malley de Marisco, who had hoped for a little peace and quiet now that she had seen Jasmine safely remarried and her youngest daughter and her family returned to Scotland, found herself in the midst of a situation worthy of her younger days. She had sent the king's messenger back to Winchester, the royal autumn residence, with a note to the king saying that her granddaughter and her husband had already returned to Scotland for the autumn and winter months. Her surprise was great, therefore, when several weeks later the most beautiful young man she had seen since her third husband, Geoffrey Southwood, appeared upon her doorstep and was ushered into her library where she sat reading by her fire. She arose as he came forward.

The young man bowed with great elegance, and once again she was reminded of Geoffrey. "Viscount Villiers at your service, madame."

"So you are George Villiers," Skye said. "My granddaughter has nothing but kind things to say about you. Sit down. Will you have wine?" She was already pouring him a goblet of her best as she spoke. Handing it to him, she asked, "To what do I owe the honor of your visit, my lord? Surely you know that Jasmine and Jemmie are at Glenkirk."

"But why did they go when the king expressly forbade it until the matter of Lord Stokes's murder was cleared up?" George Villiers said. "The king is furious with them, and that wretched Piers St.Denis is egging His Majesty into issuing a warrant for the earl and countess of Glenkirk. The queen has, so far, been able to prevent her husband from doing so. She sent me to you to learn if you know of any reason for the Leslie's disobedience so she may defend them against the marquis of Hartsfield's accusations. He says they have fled because they know that their guilt in Lord Stokes's murder will soon be discovered."

"When did the king order Jasmine and Jemmie to remain in England, my lord? They said nothing of it to me. James Leslie has always been a loyal adherent of the Stuarts. He would not flout the king's authority under any circumstances. It is not in his nature. Besides, I thought the king was convinced that neither Jasmine nor Jemmie had anything to do with that poor man's murder," Skye said.

"St. Denis convinced the king to send a messenger here to Queen's Malvern before your granddaughter's marriage, instructing Glenkirk and his bride to remain in England. St.Denis still believes he can still somehow revenge himself on them and obtain the custody of the little duke of Lundy. The king cannot rid himself of St.Denis until a wife is found for him, and the queen cannot bring herself to give St.Denis some innocent young heiress because of his reputation for deviant passion. The queen, I believe, hopes St.Denis will just go away, but of course he will not. And the king is too kindhearted to send him away because he fears he would hurt his friend, and he, himself, would look like an ingrate. So Piers St.Denis remains at court, making difficulties for all," young Viscount Villiers concluded.

"No messenger came to Queen's Malvern from the king either before or after my granddaughter's marriage. In fact it has been a most uneventful summer with one exception. Jasmine is to have a child in late winter," Skye told George Villiers. "If a messenger had come, the Leslies would have remained here, but none did, and they followed their plans to return to Scotland."

George Villiers sipped at his wine thoughtfully, pulling himself back to the day that the marquis of Hartsfield had convinced the king to keep the earl and countess of Glenkirk in England. He had offered to carry the king's missive to one of the royal messengers for dispatch himself, and had hurried off clutching the packet. "But he didn't deliver it!" the viscount said aloud. He looked to Skye. "St. Denis offered to take the message to one of the royal messengers, madame. Obviously he did not do so, knowing that Jasmine and Jemmie would return north as they had planned. It was his idea to bring them back to court for the Christmas festivities in December, too! He has planned it all, the clever devil, and I underestimated him! I thought we had him beaten! What a fool I am, and Jasmine warned me, too," Villiers cried despairingly.

"Not so much a fool, my lord," Skye soothed the young man. "You are not experienced enough in court intrigue to know that a desperate man will resort to rash measures to ensure his survival." She looked past him to the darkening sky beyond her windows. "It is too late for you to begin your return journey today, George Villiers. You will stay the night, and then tomorrow we will return to court to explain to the king that his messenger never arrived. We will make no accusations, however, for we have no proof; but you will immediately upon your return seek out the head royal messenger and learn if any of them have left the royal service since last June. If not, you will ask each messenger if he was entrusted with the royal missive. If you are right, then none will admit to it," Skye told him, "and then you have your proof of St.Denis's dishonesty, and the vitriol he harbors toward my granddaughter."

"But what if a messenger has left the royal service since last June?" Villiers asked her.

"Then," said Skye, "we have no proof against St.Denis. We can plan no further until we know everything we need to know, dear boy, or St.Denis makes a foolish move."

"Mad as hatter, you are!" Daisy Kelly told her mistress when informed that Skye would be leaving for Winchester in the morning. "Since the master has died, you've been your troublesome old self again, and we just ain't young enough anymore for your wicked ruses!"

"Speak for yourself, you old fool!" Skye snapped at her. "Do you think I can allow this St.Denis fellow to ruin my darling girl's life? Besides, you aren't coming to Winchester with me."

"What?" Daisy squawked indignantly.

"I'm taking Bramwell's daughter, Nora, with me. I need you to stay here and pack up what we'll need to spend the winter in Scotland," Skye said calmly. "Now I won't need much for tomorrow. Just some traveling clothes and one decent gown for my audience with the king."

For once in the over sixty years of their association, Daisy was rendered speechless. Muttering beneath her breath, she set about to do her mistress's bidding, thoroughly disapproving of it all.

In the morning as she bid Skye farewell, she asked, "When do we leave for the north?" Her tone was sharp, and her lips twitched with acute annoyance.

"I'll want a full day's rest when I return," Skye told her, "but the day after that we'll go. We've never been to Scotland, Daisy," she cajoled her faithful servant. "You'll get to see Pansy and her family. Don't you want to see them?"

"Saw me daughter all summer long," Daisy replied sourly.

"I'll be back as quickly as possible," Skye told her, climbing into her big, comfortable traveling coach.

"I don't doubt it," Daisy said.

George Villiers was amazed that the coach was able to keep up with him on their journey south, and old Lady de Marisco was an intrepid traveler it appeared. They traveled until dark. She ate a hearty meal, then returned to her bed; up and ready to go first light. They traveled directly from Queen's Malvern, which was located near Worcester, through Glouster, Swindon, and Andover, directly into Winchester. There had been no need to come near London at all. The king and queen liked to hunt in the autumn in the nearby New Forest.

"They'll not be in the town itself," Villiers told Skye, "but in their hunting lodge outside of it. They enjoy the informality of it much better, but it's a bit hard on the courtiers who don't have houses here, or aren't able to rent houses. Many end up sleeping in barns and in haystacks," he chuckled, "and washing in icy streams."

"The price of following the court," Skye said dryly. "Can you find this old lady a place to lay her head, my handsome lad?"

"Madame, you may have my cubicle in the royal lodge," he said gallantly. "It's terribly tiny, but you will be able to change your garments and get a decent night's sleep."

"If I were twenty years younger, my lad, you wouldn't have to give up your bed at all, just share it," she teased him.

"It is the first time I have ever regretted my youth," he told her, and Skye laughed aloud, delighted by his quick tongue and the charming compliment he had just paid her.

"You are more dangerous than St.Denis, I think," she said.

His dark eyes flashed a moment, then he said, "I think that you praise me too highly, madame."

"Nay, Villiers, I think you are greatly underestimated, but they will learn it in time," Skye told him quietly with a small smile. What a charming rogue he was, she thought, and very ambitious, but there was no harm in ambition. She had had it herself in her youth, when life was so wonderfully intense, and she could scarcely wait for one day to end so another could begin.

She wore black for her audience with the king. She was, after all, in mourning for her beloved Adam. Her dark hair with its two silver side wings was affixed in its familiar chignon. "Give me a bit of color for my cheeks," she asked Nora, the maidservant who had traveled with her.

"Let me do it," Nora said. "You have beautiful skin for any woman, let alone an old woman, my lady. We want the merest touch of color. Too much, and you lose the proper effect." She dabbed the color on ever so slightly, smoothing it until Skye's cheeks showed just the faintest touch of rose. "Perfect," she announced, and held up the small traveling glass for her mistress to see.

Skye looked into the mirror. She was astounded. She did look frail. An elegant, fragile old woman stared back at her Who is she? Skye wondered. I don't feel old in my head. Just my joints. No wonder Bess never allowed mirrors about her in her later years. Still, she had lived longer than Elizabeth Tudor, and dammit, she did look better!

The king stared at the woman before him. She was garbed in the height of fashion, and her jewelry was incredible to behold, especially the diamonds and pearls she wore. Blue eyes met his for just a fraction of a second before she curtsied, back straight as a poker, head lowered just the proper amount. Then she rose and awaited permission to speak.

"Steenie tells me ye treated him verra well, madame," the king began. "He hae pleaded wi me to listen to ye, and so I will. What excuse can the Leslies of Glenkirk possibly hae for disobeying me, madame?" The king glared at the elegant old woman before him. Despite her age, she was still a great beauty, and he somehow thought it indecent that she should be. "Well, madame?" he barked.

"Viscount Villiers tells me that Your Majesty sent a message to my granddaughter and her husband at Queen's Malvern, but no messenger at all arrived at my home during the summer. They departed for Glenkirk as they had planned in late August. Your Majesty knows that if James Leslie had received your instructions, I should not be here today to speak for him, or for my granddaugher," Skye said firmly.

"Dinna receive my message? Are ye saying, madame, that no royal messenger arrived? Am I to understand that is the reason for this disobedience?" The king looked confused.

"No messenger arrived," Skye repeated.

"This is verra strange," the king puzzled.

"Perhaps Lady de Marisco was not aware of a messenger's arrival," Piers St.Denis said, confusing the king further.

Skye's head swiveled just slightly, and she pierced the marquis of Hartsfield with a strong look. "I do not know you, sir," she said icily, "but rest assured that nothing happens with regard to my household of which I am not fully aware. If I say no royal messenger arrived at Queen's Malvern, then no royal messenger arrived. To question me further on the matter would be to imply that I am lying. Is that what you are implying, sir?" Her beautiful face was stony.

"Madame, at your age," he began, only to be cut off.

"My age? Sir, you do indeed presume!" Skye told him. "My age has nothing to do with the matter at hand. Who are you?"

"I am the marquis of Hartsfield," he told her, but she had already known it.

"And I, my lord, am the dowager countess of Lynmouth and Lundy, and the dowager duchess of Beaumont de Jaspre. How dare you impugn my honor! Were we not in the royal presence, I should call you out myself. I am quite an excellent swordswoman, and I do believe it would give me great pleasure to slit your gullet, you arrogant puppy! I am not surprised my granddaughter chose Glenkirk over you. It is the difference between water and rich wine." She turned to the king. "My lord, you know that I have the utmost respect for Your Majesty, but must I remain here to be insulted by this person?"

It was a magnificent performance. The queen caught Viscount Villier's eye and saw that he was close to losing his vaunted composure. The marquis of Hartsfield looked stunned by the attack he had just encountered at the skilled hands of Skye O'Malley de Marisco. The king, mindful of Lady de Marisco's age, was distressed that she should feel under attack in his presence, and when she swayed just slightly before him, or at least he thought she did, he cried out, "A chair for Madame Skye!" using the appellation he had heard her family use for her. A footman ran forward with a small chair, which he slipped behind her.

Skye sank with apparent gratitude into the seat. "Thank you, Your Majesty," she murmured weakly, her hand upon her chest.

"Wine!" shouted the king, and it was brought.

She sipped slowly, smiling weakly at the monarch, and nodding her thanks.

"My dear Madame Skye," the king began, "I dinna want ye to feel that yer family is threatened, for it is nae so. If ye tell me that my messenger dinna arrive, then I accept yer guid word, for in all that I hae heard about ye, I hae nae heard it said that ye were a liar. Indeed, ‘tis said about ye that if gie yer word, it is yer bond."

"Aye, Your Majesty," Skye said quietly. This was too damned easy. Bess Tudor would have never been gulled so easily, she thought, and yet James Stuart was a sweet man. Seated, she was better able to study Piers St.Denis. He was slowly recovering from the drubbing she had just given him, and even now she could see him considering his next move. "If Your Majesty wishes, I will send to Glenkirk, and the Leslies will return; but Your Majesty should know that my granddaughter is with child. James Leslie will at last have an heir again after all these years." There! That would prevent St.Denis from demanding their return. The king was softhearted, and would not endanger the Leslie infant.

"Nah! Nah!" James Stuart said, even as she had silently predicted. "We canna allow any harm to come to Jemmie's bairn, madame. I accept yer word in the matter, and it is now closed."

"Thank you, Your Majesty," Skye said sweetly, pleased to see that the marquis of Hartsfield had been neatly checked. She arose from her seat, handing her goblet to a page, curtsying once again to the king. "Your Majesty will excuse me, I hope. I have traveled far and am quite tired. I must start back in the morning."

"Aye, Madame Skye, ye hae our permission to retire. Go wi our blessing, and when ye write to yer granddaughter, tell her we are verra pleased to learn of her coming bairn. Steenie! Escort the lady!"

Viscount Villiers stepped forward and offered his arm to Skye. Accepting it, she moved with stately grace across the room to the door. There, however, the marquis of Hartsfield stood blocking their way. He glared at Skye, openly angry, and she laughed.

"You have not the skill to play my game, my lord," she told him mockingly. "I learned from Bess Tudor herself."

"She is dead now," he said menacingly.

"I am not," replied Skye boldly, and she passed from the room with George Villiers. When they were in the hallway beyond, Skye said to him, "I would not be surprised if Lord Stokes met his end at the hands of Piers St.Denis. He is dangerous and desperate enough."

"Do you truly think so, madame?" Of course! Why hadn't he thought of it himself. St.Denis was the logical culprit, having the most to gain, or so he believed.

"I do. See if you can link him to the crime, and the king's troubles will be over, my ambitious young lord," Skye told him. "The poor queen will not have to find him a bride, and the king can imprison him and thereby be free of his irritating company.

"But how?" Villiers was thinking aloud. "He has no friends."

"There must be someone," Skye told him.

"Only his half brother," came the reply.

"Can he be suborned, my little viscount?" They were now standing in an alcove.

George Villiers shook his head. "I do not believe so."

"There must be something this man wants that he does not have," Skye said. "Every one of us has a weakness, my young friend."

"What is yours?" he asked her, smiling.

She chuckled. "I am past temptation now, George Villiers. I have wealth, health, children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren. I look far better for my years than I ought to, or so my eldest daughter tells me—and she does not lie. The only thing I lack no one can give me. I want my Adam back! I have never missed anyone as I miss him. It seems as if he was always there in my life. But we are not conspiring here over me. It is St.Denis we must bring down. Younger brothers always envy the elder, and this one, I expect, is no exception."

"He is not the younger, but the elder by a few hours," said the viscount. "He is the bastard, and Piers St.Denis the legitimate heir. But he is loyal to a fault and would not betray his brother."

"What if he could be legitimized, and made the marquis in place of his brother?" she suggested. "He is human, this bastard, and while he may appear to have accepted his fate gracefully, I believe he would leap at the opportunity to change it. Particularly if a lovely and wealthy young wife went along with it, eh? Consider it, sir. Only an accident of birth has prevented this man from being the marquis of Hartsfield. You think, in the dark of the night, he does not consider it?"

"You are diabolical, madame," George Villiers said admiringly.

"I am a practical woman, dear boy," she told him. "When I want something that is perhaps thought unattainable, I seek a way to get it. Get the marquis's brother to tell the truth of the matter regarding Lord Stokes, and you will have what you want. A clear field with the king, and a path strewn with riches and titles —which is what you want."

"Jasmine did tell you about me," he chuckled. "Your advice is sound, Madame Skye, and I shall follow it to the letter."

"I have no doubt that you will triumph," she told him.

"Tell Jasmine I shall write to her," he said. "I did promise."

It was the last she was to see of George Villiers for the time being. The following morning Skye set off back to Queen's Malvern, where Daisy awaited her, still fuming ten days after the fact about their trip.

"If the king accepts yer excuse, then why are we going?" she demanded of her mistress, having heard the tale of Skye's latest adventure.

"The king is not the problem," came the reply. "It is the marquis of Hartsfield that I fear. He is not ready to give up, and probably won't be until he is in hell. He appears to have given up any attempt to win Jasmine, but he wants the power that having the wardship of Charlie-boy would give him. He has already managed to remove one rival and escape justice. Now he will come after Jasmine and Jemmie, and I must warn them," Skye concluded as she climbed into bed.

"Why not just send a messenger?" Daisy suggested.

"Just remember, my girl, that the king's messenger never arrived here," Skye told her. "It is far easier to remove a messenger than it will be to remove me. No! Tomorrow I rest, and the day after we go! If you want to remain behind, dearest Daisy, you may. I'll not force you to make a journey you do not want to make."

Daisy sighed deeply. "You'll not leave me behind," she said, resigned. "Haven't I always been with you, my lady? But the truth of the matter is that I feel my age more than you do. We'll take Nora along also to give me a bit of a hand."

"What a fine idea!" Skye said enthusiastically, not daring to tell her old servant that she had already told Nora that she would be traveling with them to help Daisy.

"Good!" Daisy replied. "Then it's settled. Now you get some rest, my lady. We'll be traveling hard, I suspect, for you'll not want to let that marquis of Hartsfield get ahead of us, eh?"

Nothing felt better than one's own bed, Skye thought, as she snuggled down into her featherbed. "Aye," she agreed with Daisy. "I don't know what he plans next, but he is not beaten yet," she said. "He's up to some mischief. I can sense it in my bones."

And, as always, Skye's instincts were sharp. Piers St.Denis knew that he was unwelcome at court now, yet he remained, for the king was not able to bring himself to dismiss him and send him home. The queen, supposedly in charge of finding him a suitable wife, dallied interminably over a possible selection of eligible women and girls. And Villiers, now elevated to the rank of viscount, was unbearably obnoxious to him.

"You'd think he was a royal duke, and not just a pimple on the king's arse," he groused to his half brother.

"Unless he makes a serious mistake, he will be a duke one day," Kipp said thoughtfully. While Villiers was indeed scornful of Piers, he had been nothing but distantly polite to the Hartsfield bastard, as Kipp was known about the court. In a strange way Kipp admired George Villiers. He allowed nothing to stand in his path, and his unflagging charm had won him many supporters among the powerful, unlike Piers, whose arrogance far overrode his charm of late. Piers hated to lose, and he played only to the king. Villiers was more clever, and played to the whole court, and it was certainly paying off for him. Kipp wished his brother would be more like him. Of late Piers's hunger for revenge and for power was overwhelming his charm and his common sense. Kipp had attempted to warn him.

"I need no advice from you on how to behave," Piers snarled. "I have the means by which to win this game in my hands even now. Pack our things. We are leaving for Scotland."

"What have you got?" Kipp asked him, curious.

Piers St.Denis smiled cruelly and, reaching into his doublet, offered his half brother a rolled parchment. "This," he said.

Kipp unrolled the parchment, and read it. He was astounded. "How did you get the king to do this?" he asked.

"The arrest warrant was already made out but for the names, but the king had signed it. I stole it off his secretary's desk. I shall decide when we get to Scotland whether it shall be both Jasmine, and her husband, or just James Leslie. I somehow fancy the lady becoming my possession and my toy while she bargains for her husband's life," he said cruelly. "Then I shall see James Leslie hanged in the king's name, after which I shall marry his widow immediately, thereby gaining both her wealth and her children. It is a foolproof plan, Kipp. The king's warrant will be accepted by the Scots, who have no real knowledge of what is happening here in England. Old king fool may weep and protest after the fact, but there will be no denying his signature at the bottom of that warrant." He laughed coldly. "I said she was mine, and she is, even if I must wait a bit longer to attain the prize. And that old woman who is her grandmother will not stop me either!"

"Piers, Piers," his brother cautioned. "This is a very dangerous game you are attempting to play. The Leslies are not without influence in Scotland. You have already committed one murder. Do not, I beg you, attempt another. You will surely be caught!"

"I had to kill Stokes," St.Denis said. "You would not, you weakling! It was the first time in your life that you ever disobeyed me, but I have forgiven you, Kipp. Because of your mother's peasant blood, you are not as strong as I am, and that you cannot help. I will not be caught, big brother. Remember? I never get caught! How many beatings did you take for my sins when we were growing up?" he laughed.

"You cannot always be fortunate, Piers," Kipp warned him.

"Why not?" the marquis of Hartsfield demanded. "Perhaps I shall not marry her. Perhaps I shall have her hanged also, but after you and I have taken our pleasure of her and taught her the delights of pain. I can still control her wealth and her children. Mayhap I shall take her eldest daughter for a wife. Yes! We can raise the little bitch to suit ourselves, and she will complain at me that I killed her husband. ‘Tis a much better plan, Kipp! Eh?"

"I think it too dangerous," Kipp replied bluntly; and he did. It was all becoming too dangerous, and Piers had the look of a fanatic about him these days. Seducing highborn ladies, and raping peasant girls was a lark, but when Piers had suggested murder, he had thought him simply struggling with the frustration of losing for the first time in his life. His brother enjoyed holding power over people, and hence his passion for whipping his conquests with a variety of implements until they begged and pleaded with him for mercy. That seemed to arouse Piers far more than just a beautiful, exciting woman eager to share his passion.

But murder? When it had first been brought up he didn't believe Piers would ever follow through with such a plan, and so as he had always done, Kipp followed along. Then Piers had instructed him to kill Stokes, and he couldn't do it, but Piers had, making him come along to witness the deed. He would never forget the surprised look in Richard Stokes's eyes when he realized he had been killed. Piers had obviously enjoyed driving the slender dagger deep into his victim, twisting it slowly to inflict pain as well as death. Kipp had turned away, vomiting into the underbrush with both shock and guilt. But Piers had felt no guilt. He had removed a rival, and he was elated.

Now his brother was contemplating another murder, nay, two murders. How could he betray him, although he knew he should go to the king and beg mercy for Piers. He was obviously as mad as his mother had become after several years of marriage to their father. Piers might mock Kipp's mother, but it was she who had the major burden of raising her lover's two sons, and caring for his delicate wife as she slipped in and out of reality until her death at the age of thirty.

Kipp sighed. He would have to go to Scotland with Piers. He knew what he was going to do. He would steal the royal warrant from his brother so he could not use it to commit additional murders. I should be the marquis, Kipp considered, as he had often secretly and guiltily thought. I am far mare responsible than my brother. Then he sighed again. He must be loyal to Piers. It had been their father's dying wish of him, and he had promised.