Chapter Eight

Chapter Eight

R ichard Stokes, the earl of Bartram, was extremely worried. He had served the king ever since James had arrived in England, gaining his master's favor by his hard work and his sober habits. A protégé of Robert Cecil, the earl of Salisbury, son of Lord Burghley, who prior to his death had been the king's most trusted advisor, Lord Stokes was content to remain in the background doing his duty for the crown. Often it had meant long hours and very little time with his family, but his wife, Mary, had completely understood. Only on Sunday was Richard Stokes unavailable to his royal master. Sunday was the Lord's day, and he was a pious man. The earl of Bartram followed the commandment to remember the Sabbath and to keep it holy.

While openly espousing England's officially sanctioned church, Lord Stokes was secretly a Puritan. He did not hold with popery or the superstitious trumpery he believed tainted the Anglican Church. He firmly held that the church should be free of such tomfoolery. God's word was simple and direct, even as the church should be. The earl of Bartram did not approve of the dogma, the elegant ritual, and the businesslike organization of England's church. People should follow the Bible and its teachings as God had meant them to do, else he would not have had it all written down. Devout simplicity. That was what the true church should be about.

Richard Stokes, however, kept his faith to himself. Faith, he believed, was a very personal and a private thing. He did not like those men who publicly screeched and shouted their creed for all to hear in the market square, demanding that others follow them. Besides, Puritans who noisily trumpeted their beliefs too loudly for all the world to hear could find themselves the center of intense persecution. Even more than those misguided men and women who persisted in continuing to follow Roman Catholicism. A discreet faith, along with adherence to the official Church of England, was acceptable. King James too well remembered his own mother's difficulties in the matter of religion. It had cost him her company and caused him to live a basically cold, unemotional, and strict childhood devoid of either maternal warmth or any real loving affection.

Alas that Lady Mary Stokes, the earl's wife, was not as careful as her husband in the matter of religion. A devout woman, she had of late become an impassioned proselyte of their secret faith. In part Stokes blamed himself. His business kept him in London most of the year, and their children were all grown and married. The eldest of their daughters lived down in Cornwall, and the youngest had been wed up north into Yorkshire. Their only son and his wife lived on the family estates at Bartramhalt in Oxfordshire.

In service to the king from dawn until midnight most days, the earl understood how his wife, with nothing else to do, could become more deeply involved in their faith. Mary was a woman of high morals who did not believe in the frivolity exhibited by the royal lifestyle. She had no friends at court, and, without her family, she was lonely. Now she had suddenly devoted herself passionately to religion, certainly a worthwhile pursuit for a woman, but unfortunately his wife's enthusiastic zeal had come to the ears of the king. How this had happened the earl of Bartram could never learn, but James Stuart was not pleased by the knowledge.

"I dinna hold wi the Calvinists, Dickie," he said to the earl, having called him into his royal presence late one afternoon. "Were ye aware of yer wifie's nonconformism? The Calvinists dinna respect my divine rights, Dickie. Ye'll hae to beat Lady Mary and turn her from her heresy," James Stuart concluded. He turned to his two companions. "Is that not right, my sweet laddies." Then he smiled at them.

"With our children gone to their own homes, I fear my good lady is bored, Your Majesty," the earl said. "Mary means no harm."

"She doesna come to court," the king observed. "I canna remember the last time I saw her, Dickie. Does she hae all her wits about her?"

"She is a shy and retiring lady, Your Highness," the earl excused his wife, wishing that she were indeed addled so he might condone her behavior in that manner.

"Nae so timid, Dickie, that she could nae stand outside of Westminster handing out seditious tracts condemning our good church," the king said grimly.

The earl of Bartram paled. "What?" he managed to say. Mary had to have lost her wits to have done such a foolhardy thing.

"Are ye losing yer hearing then, Dickie?" The king did not look pleased at all.

"I shall certainly remonstrate with my wife …" he began, but he was cut short by the marquis of Hartsfield.

"Remonstrate, Stokes? Your wife stands on the edge of treason, and you, His Majesty's most trusted servant, and you want to remonstrate with her? You should beat the bitch until she comes to her senses, my lord," the marquis of Hartsfield told the astounded man.

"Sir," the earl snapped angrily, "my wife is a good and decent woman. I have never had to resort to violence in managing her. She is a lady of reason. Since you have no wife, you are hardly an expert on the matter of spouses."

"Do you hold with her treason then?" the marquis said slyly.

"What treason?" the earl demanded, angered further, and drawn into indiscretion. "Where is there any treason in preferring a simpler form of worship, my lord St.Denis? Did not the old queen herself say that there is but one lord Jesus Christ, and the rest is all trifles?"

"You are familiar then with this Puritanism, " St.Denis goaded the earl of Bartram further.

"I am a member of England's church," the earl said tersely, suddenly aware of the danger into which he was being so cleverly drawn.

"But yer wifie would appear not to be," the king noted. "Were ye aware of her heresy, Dickie?" James Stuart's amber eyes peered sharply at the earl.

The marquis of Hartsfield smiled toothily at the earl from just beyond the king's shoulder. Young Villiers, the king's other companion, however, looked just a trifle sympathetic toward the embattled Lord Stokes.

"Women are apt to be fickle, my lord," George Villiers murmured softly. "Has not our good queen gone round about you on occasion to obtain her own way?" He chuckled good-naturedly. "This matter has obviously caught Lord Stokes unawares. Allow him the latitude to straighten it out privately within his own house. As our good Piers has observed, the earl is and has always been your most loyal servant, sire."

The king turned and bestowed a loving smile upon the young man. "Ahhh, Steenie, ye hae such a good heart, does he nae, Piers."

"Aye, Yer Majesty," the marquis of Hartsfield answered sourly, forcing a smile. He didn't like Richard Stokes with his pious and hardworking ways. Stokes kept a tight rein on the king's expenditures and had recently convinced James not to bestow a small crown property near the marquis's estates upon Piers St.Denis, who had long coveted it. For that he would repay the earl of Bartram in kind when he got the chance, and he had almost succeeded this day had it not been for clever George Villiers and his faux sweetness. Villiers was as sweet as a rabid rat, had the truth been known, but he was a canny and resourceful fellow, damn him!

"Verra well, Dickie, go home and tell yer lady I will hae no more of her wickedness and revolutionary ways," the king said, dismissing the earl of Bartram, but not giving him the royal hand to kiss.

Richard Stokes bowed, throwing young George Villiers a grateful look and backing from the king's privy chamber. He now owed Villiers a favor, he knew, and he wondered what would be asked of him. Still, he was relieved to have escaped so easily. Obviously he had made an enemy of the marquis when the royal property he desired was denied him. Still, Lord Stokes thought, it was in the king's best interests he was working, and it had not been in James Stuart's best interests to lose the income from that property. Old Queen Bess had left the royal treasury full, but James, with his overgenerous ways, was fast emptying it, not to mention the queen's outrageous extravagances. Since Robert Cecil's death no one had really been able to keep the court's greed in check.

The earl of Bartram hurried from Whitehall Palace, calling for his coach as he entered the open courtyard. It was quickly brought, and the earl instructed his driver, "Home, Simmons, and take the fastest route!" Then he climbed into the vehicle, slamming the door shut behind him. His mind was awhirl. Mary had gone too far this time, and while he did not believe his life was in any danger, Richard Stokes knew he had no true friends among the king's courtiers. Ordinarily he would not have cared. His sole loyalty was to James Stuart. His value to his master was his strict honesty and his discretion. But these traits would mean next to nothing if someone like Piers St.Denis undermined the king's trust in him. He had just been saved today by the charming young George Villiers, and only because that young man desired a favor of Richard Stokes.

Villiers was an ambitious young man, the earl thought, who had already set his sights upon the earl of Rutland's heiress. The girl, according to the gossips, was besotted with George Villiers, silly chit. All she saw was his extraordinarily handsome face and form. She knew little of his character, or whether he was a godly man. Richard Stokes suspected not. The new co-favorite was charming, amusing, and polite to a fault—traits unusual in one his age. Perhaps he was every bit as good as he seemed, but Richard Stokes doubted it. Still, he would recommend to the king that Villiers be given a small peerage. The king would like that, especially as the suggestion would come from the earl of Bartram without royal prodding. He would claim to see promise in George Villiers, and perhaps there was promise in him. That should certainly repay the debt he owed Villiers for rescuing him today.

The earl's house was located in the village of Kew just outside the city. It was not on the river like the residences of so many of the rich and powerful. It was a simple brick structure standing three stories high, set in the center of a small park. The coach drove through the gates and down the drive, drawing up before the mansion's door. Richard Stokes exited his carriage and entered the house. "Fetch her ladyship to me at once," he told a footman, then went into his library, where a fire burned, taking the chill off the damp late-spring day. Pouring himself a small crystal goblet of wine to calm himself, he waited for his errant wife to make her appearance. When she finally entered the room he was reminded that she was still a pretty woman, despite the fact she was well past her prime.

"You are home early today, my dear," Lady Mary Stokes greeted her husband, and then her eye went to the goblet in his hand. "Spirits, Dickon?" she said with a slightly raised eyebrow. "Pastor Simon Goodfellowe says spirits are not godly."

"Our lord Jesus turned water into wine at the wedding in Cana of Galilee, Mary," the earl said sharply. "If wine was approved by our Lord, then how can Simon Goodfellowe disapprove?"

Lady Mary made a motion of smoothing down the dark blue silk of her gown. It was a simple garment adorned only by a white ruff of a collar. She wore no jewelry but her wedding ring. "You do not like Pastor Goodfellowe, Dickon, do you?" she replied.

"No, Mary, I do not. I find him narrow-minded, and mean-spirited, and I especially dislike him if it is he who has convinced you to stand outside of Westminster handing out religious tracts," the earl told his very startled wife. "What in God's name ever possessed you to do such a thing, wife? Have you lost your wits, madame?"

"The word must be spread, Dickon," she began, but he interrupted her harshly, his look dark and angry.

"You will cease your activities at once, madame! I absolutely forbid you to ever do such a thing again, and I forbid you to see this Simon Goodfellowe. He is a dangerous man, and will come to a bad end."

"But, Dickon …"

"The king is aware of your activities, madame. He considers them treasonous heresy. I have been in the royal service twenty years, and I came close to losing my place today because of you, madame. Only the intervention of that fawning puppy, George Villiers, saved me. Now I will owe him a service in return. If I owe a boon to people like Villiers, madame, I lose my authority and my usefulness to the king. How did you dare to involve yourself in such seditious activity?" the earl demanded of his wife.

"Ohh, Dickon," she replied, genuinely distressed. "I did not mean to cause you any trouble. I just want to spread our faith to others, for I love our Lord, and would have His church free of all popery. Do you not desire that, too?"

"Mary," he said, his tone softening a bit, and leading her to a settle where they now sat side by side, "you know I prefer a simpler faith, but I am no martyr. I can practice that faith quietly, thus satisfying my own conscience while appearing to follow the letter of the king's law. There is currently but one sanctioned church in England, and as loyal subjects of James Stuart we must give the outward appearance of being devout members of that church. How can I influence the king to moderate his stand in small ways toward the Puritans if I do not have his ear? I have forever been a loyal servant of England's monarch as you well know, beginning my service in the reign of Queen Bess. Your foolishness has today almost cost me the trust and respect I have built up over those years. The marquis of Hartsfield is my enemy because I convinced the king not to give him Summerfield. Today he attempted to pull me down merely to gain his vengeance on me. He cares not for England or even for the king. He but seeks to advance himself in any manner he can, even pandering to a lonely and sad old man if he must. I have said more to you than I should have, but you will be discreet, I know, as you always are regarding our private conversations. Now, promise me, my dear, no more proselytizing."

"Oh, Dickon, I am so sorry. I did not realize what I was doing. I so wanted to help our dear Lord," Lady Mary told her husband.

"My dear," he said soothingly, "you are only a woman. You could not understand the seriousness of your actions. I am not content that we must hide our true faith, but if we are to triumph in the end for our God, then we must behave with sober modesty now. You will please our Lord best by being an obedient wife."

"I will have nothing further to do with Pastor Goodfellowe, husband," Lady Mary promised her husband.

"I will personally see the pastor is informed that you will no longer participate in his activities," the earl of Bartram replied.

"Dickon? I have the most wonderful idea of how you can be certain you regain the king's full trust and triumph over the marquis of Hartsfield. Did you not tell me he is to wed the dowager marchioness of Westleigh, who bore Prince Henry's bastard? What if you could convince the king to give you custody of that little boy? If he gave you his grandson to raise, then certainly you would be sure of his favor."

"Lady Lindley has been given her choice between the earl of Glenkirk and the marquis. She prefers the earl, for they have a past history, Mary. It is he who has custody of the little duke of Lundy. Piers St.Denis may woo Jasmine Lindley until the cows come home, but he will not win her hand, although he believes himself to be quite irresistible."

"But if the king were to believe that the marquis will be offended by Lady Lindley's choosing the earl, he might want to give him a consolation of sorts, and custody of this little duke would surely be a fine prize. However, you might convince His Majesty that by giving the lad to a third, and neutral, party, he would be less likely to offend anyone; and of course, the marquis would have to have something, perhaps Summerfield, which he has sought all along?"

The earl of Bartram thought for several long moments. His wife's idea was a very clever one indeed. The boy, of course, would have an income of his own, which by rights would come to his guardian. Other than ordinary expenses, Richard Stokes thought, I could return the balance of his income into the king's treasury, thereby offsetting the loss of Summerfield. In fact, the sum coming from the duke of Lundy would probably be far greater than that which came from Summerfield. And if the boy were raised in my house, the earl considered, I might influence the child toward the truer faith, and away from the Anglican Church. But that would come later, and he would have to be cautious in that endeavor.

"My dear," he told his wife, "certainly God has spoken through you this day, and while Lady Lindley may object to the loss of her child, I shall point out to the king her unsuitability as a guardian for his grandson. Her previously unchaste life as Prince Henry's mistress, and her mixed blood, not to mention her own bastard birth, are more than enough to render her unfit despite her wealth and her powerful connections. The king can be made to see reason, I am sure. First, however, I must reassure him that I have put a stop to your ignorance and beg forgiveness for your misbehavior. Then, when Lady Lindley has made her choice known publicly, I shall make my move to gain custody of the duke. It will be good to have a child in the house again, will it not, my dear? He will keep you very busy, I have not a doubt." The earl chuckled. "I well remember Edward as a lad."

"Then I am forgiven?" she asked him.

"Aye, you are forgiven, Mary," he reassured her, his mind already moving ahead to consider the advantages guardianship of the royal bastard would bring him. He must continue, however, to remain in the background as he always had, for that was where his strength lay. In his discretion. He chuckled to himself, considering the obvious endeavor at revenge the marquis had attempted today. He hoped Summerfield would be enough to soothe the vain poppinjay when he lost the lady, her fortune, and the duke of Lundy. The earl of Bartram intended to see it was all he got, and, on Piers St.Denis's death, the property would revert to the crown. Richard Stokes would make certain of that.

As he chortled softly to himself, his antagonist was also considering his next move. He had already put the earl of Bartram from his mind, for he had more important matters to attend to, and little time in which to pursue his interests. Jasmine was proving to be a recalcitrant conquest. While he had succeeded in removing James Leslie from her house, that was all he had managed to do. She took great delight in appearing with the earl of Glenkirk each day at court; and while she allowed him to court her publicly, privately she avoided him. He could make no headway with her at all, and it was beginning to drive him to rashness.

At first he had sought her for her wealth, her royal bastard, her influential relations. The more he was with her, however, the more he realized that he desired her. He had never known such lust as he felt for Jasmine Lindley. She intoxicated him with her lush form, the direct look she always gave him with those startling turquoise eyes, her creamy skin with its hint of palest gold. He dreamed of possessing her; and he would have her as no man ever had. His mind went to the hidden chamber he had in both his town house and his country home. He imagined her chained between the whipping posts, whimpering for mercy, as he thrashed her into submission. Would she respond best to the wide leather tawse, the thin bunch of birches, a whippy hazel switch, or his firm riding crop? Kipp, of course, would be there to help him, but he would not share Jasmine with his half brother. At least not until he tired of her if he ever did.

He considered that Jasmine, being a strong-minded woman, might also enjoy giving punishment as well as receiving it. If she did, he would teach her how to use the tawse and the rod. There was a definite art to it. One did not simply hack away at one's victim. The art of domination should be done with a mixture of sternness and tenderness. There was, the marquis of Hartsfield had discovered, pleasure in pain, although he knew that not everyone saw it his way. There were those who considered such things taboo and wicked. He licked his lips in anticipation of his conquest, and of hers.

But now that she had gotten over the shock of being told she had another suitor, Jasmine found the situation extremely amusing, especially as Jemmie had been forced to move in with her Uncle Robin. She would not even allow him to sneak back through the adjoining gardens at night to share her bed. "Only if I may entertain Piers St.Denis in the same manner," she teased the earl of Glenkirk.

But Glenkirk was not to be baited. "If you would like," he told her mischievously. "It will be the last opportunity you have to take a lover, madame, for once we are married, I shall serve all your needs quite well, I promise you. You will have no need for another man in your life, except for our sons." He took her hand in his, and turning the palm over raised it to his lips to kiss.

"Do not tempt me, Jemmie," she murmured, withdrawing her hand.

"Are you tempted?" he demanded, feeling a slight sting of jealousy. Surely she wouldn't! They had pledged themselves!

"Wellll," Jasmine considered, "he is outrageously handsome. I cannot help being curious as to what lies behind the charm."

"I have heard some rather unsavory rumors," the earl of Glenkirk replied stiffly. "From former lovers of St.Denis."

"Ohhhh? What kind of rumors?" Jasmine was fascinated.

"They are not the kind of things I want to repeat to you," he told her. "Let us just say he is deviant in his passion, Jasmine."

"Glenkirk," she said laughing, "I am twice married, not some swooning virgin. Does he enjoy entering a woman's portal of Sodom, or is he one of those pitiful creatures who must give pain in order to feel passion? Tell me this instant, or I shall ask him myself."

"You would!" he accused, and he laughed all the more. "Oh, very well, you vixen, it is the latter. He likes to whip his lovers, and he shares them with that villainous half brother of his."

"I thought him more self-assured than that," Jasmine replied thoughtfully, her laughter stilled for the moment. "How sad that he cannot obtain pleasure except by giving pain."

"Then you will continue to keep him at bay, madame," the earl said. "Perhaps we should end this charade pretense and tell the king we intend to keep our wedding day as we planned in France."

"Nay, not yet, Jemmie. The king must believe that I have given his marquis the benefit of the doubt, and that having done so, I prefer the choice he so wisely made for me two years ago. The queen is on our side and will manage the king nicely if I ask her, and so, I believe, is Villiers, although I think his attempt at friendship stems from the fact he considers my family connections useful to himself."

"You are brutally honest in your assessment of Villiers," the earl noted. "Have you no illusions left, darling Jasmine?"

She laughed again. "Few," she told him, "but understand that I hold no grudge against George Villiers for his behavior. He but seeks to advance himself, and there is nothing wrong that really, is there, Jemmie? We all seek something from the people with whom we come in contact in our lives. Youth is filled with enthusiasm, and Villiers is just a trifle obvious. He is not, however, as ingenuous as he would like everyone to believe. There is a calculating intelligence in those soulful dark eyes of his that he is not always able to conceal."

Now it was Glenkirk's turn to laugh. "You speak as if you were an ancient crone, yet Villiers is little younger than you," he teased her. "He would, I think, be most distressed to learn you have seen through the carefully constructed facade he has erected and that even the king has not pierced."

"We shall not tell him then," Jasmine said.

"And the marquis of Hartsfield?" he persisted.

"What about him?" Her look was deceptively docile.

"You have not promised me you will keep him at bay," James Leslie reminded her.

"Nay, I have not," Jasmine told him, "and I will not. I am not your wife yet, Jemmie, and even when I am, I am quite competent to guide my own behavior, my lord, without your aid."

"No wonder your grandmother drove men to distraction," he grumbled at her. "You are obviously just like her.

"Am I?" she drawled at him. "Well, if I am, you had best beware, my Lord of Glenkirk. Madame Skye has outlived all of her husbands, and her lovers, and is still going strong!"

He wanted to laugh at her, but instead her words gave him pause. His mother had been such a woman as Jasmine and Madame Skye. He was used to independent women, but James Leslie did not know if he approved of them. Still, his Isabella had been a meek wife, and while he had been fond of her, she had never excited him or intrigued him as Jasmine did. While his intended bride might be determined to chart her own path through life, the earl of Glenkirk knew that she would never embarrass him or set herself against him to bring dishonor upon his family's name. She would never take the marquis as a lover although she might toy with him out of curiosity, and for her own amusement. And he would have to let her lest he risk losing her forever. "Be careful, darling Jasmine," he said softly to her.

She turned a dazzling smile upon him. "I will," she responded. Then she took pity upon him. "St. Denis is like a beautiful snake," she explained. "I am fascinated, but I am not foolish, Jemmie."

"He is quite determined to have you," the earl said.

"Then he is the fool," she replied. "The king has plainly said the decision is mine, and I made that decision in France." She leaned forward and brushed his lips with hers. "Go home, my lord. It is late, and I would seek my bed. Besides, poor Kipp St.Denis has been watching the house for hours now, and I am certain is quite exhausted. He will not leave until he is certain you are ensconced at Uncle Robin's for the night. He is a loyal dog to his brother."

"St. Denis is having you watched?" Glenkirk was astounded.

"He is very jealous," she chuckled, escorting him to the garden door. "Now kiss me, and let us give him something to report to his brother this night, Jemmie, my love." She slid her arms about him.

"Where is he?" the earl demanded.

"In the shadow of the wall that separates Greenwood from Lynmouth House," she told him. "No! Do not look! As long as he believes himself concealed, I know just where to find him. If you look, he will know we know where he is and will seek another hiding place I may not so easily discover." She gazed up at him seductively. "Don't you want to kiss me, Glenkirk? St.Denis would kill to kiss me," she taunted him.

Teasingly he nibbled at her lips. "You are ripe for bedding, madame," he murmured against her mouth. Then he kissed her a hard, swift kiss before turning on his heel without another word and leaving her.

Her hand went to her mouth. It felt bruised with his fierce kiss. She watched him depart, moving quickly down the lawn, and across the garden, and through the almost concealed door in the ivy. She remained for a moment after he was gone, her legs jelly, a growing ache in her nether regions. Since he had moved to her uncle's they had not made love even once. She realized now that she missed their shared passion just as much as he missed it. Damn the king! Damn Piers St.Denis! Damn everyone who stood in their way! It was over a month until their wedding day. Unless they could find a stolen moment before then, they would have to wait to be together once again. She didn't know if she could bear it. She had grown used to James Leslie in her bed.

Piers St.Denis, however, had grown quite annoyed with Jasmine's refusal to give serious consideration to his suit. He could never get her alone. Glenkirk was always with her but when she slept. Shortly she would announce her preference, and he knew it would be James Leslie, unless, of course, he could change her mind, but how could he when he was never alone with her? He complained to the king.

"I have not a chance with her with Glenkirk skulking about all the time," the marquis of Hartsfield said, his tone petulant. They were in the royal apartments.

"Gracious, St.Denis," taunted George Villiers, "do not say you are a laggard in love. I should not have thought it of you." His dark eyes danced mischievously. "The rumors are certainly otherwise," he finished with a grin.

Piers St.Denis threw the younger man a venomous look. "Your Majesty, I cannot court Lady Lindley if I must share her every waking minute with the earl of Glenkirk."

"My husband has said the choice is Jasmine's," the queen said, not even bothering to look up from her embroidery frame.

"But how, madame, can she make her choice if she does not know me?" the marquis of Hartsfield almost shouted, frustrated.

"Perhaps," the queen said giving him a mild stare, "she already has made her choice, my lord."

"Sire! You promised me a chance with Lady Lindley," Piers St.Denis almost whined. "You must do something!"

"I'll send Jemmie to Edinburgh," the king answered.

"James!" The queen's tone was pure irritation. She had only earlier spoken most severely to him about his foolishness in attempting to meddle in Jasmine's life again. Would he never learn?

"Now, Annie," the king said, "our Piers is justified in his complaints. Jemmie will nae let him near the lass. Let him go up to Edinburgh to begin the arrangements for our visit there sometime in the future, perhaps next year or the year after. When he returns Lady Lindley will be allowed to make her choice. ‘Tis only fair."

"She will not change her mind, Jamie," the queen said, annoyed with her husband's overindulgence of the marquis. "All you will do is outrage Glenkirk and possibly provoke Jasmine to some new rashness."

"I will speak wi them myself," the king said. "Our Piers must hae his fair chance wi the lady, Annie."

"Thank you, Your Highness!" the marquis said, kissing the king's hand with gratitude.

The king caught the hand in his and smiled at the young man. Then he ruffled Piers St.Denis's honey-colored hair. "Yer a braw laddie, Piers. How can she nae fall in love wi ye?"

"Well, it had best be settled now," the queen said briskly. "Steenie, go and fetch Lady Lindley and Lord Leslie to us, will you?" She caught Villiers's eye, and total understanding passed between them in that single moment. The queen liked George Villiers, and far preferred him as her husband's favorite to the marquis of Hartsfield, whom she hoped eventually to remove from the picture entirely.

George Villiers leapt up. "At once, Your Majesty," he said with an elegant bow, and was out the door before the king or St.Denis might protest on one pretext or another.

"There now," the queen said with a sweet smile. "Now, my dear St.Denis, you will be able to begin your courting more quickly."

George Villiers dashed through the palace, seeking either Jasmine, or James Leslie, not doubting that when he found one, he would find the other. Finally a young page mentioned he had seen the earl and his lady playing cards at some tables that had been set up in one of Whitehall's interconnecting galleries, with their stone and gold ceilings and wainscots of carved wood representing beautiful figures. Windows lined either side of these galleries, giving the impression that one was out-of-doors.

"‘Tis the one overlooking the lawn and the river," the child called after George Villiers.

"What now?" Jasmine grumbled, slamming down what she was certain was a winning hand when Villiers found them.

"I'll tell you as we go along," Villiers answered them, ushering the pair from the gaming table and back along the corridors to the royal apartments, and he did.

"God's boots!" swore Glenkirk. "James did something similar years ago to my father. Sent him off when he wanted to create a bit of mischief." He went no farther than that, for he did not want George Villiers privy to his family's history. There were very few people left alive who knew that the earl's mother had once been James Stuart's secret passion.

"I will go home to Queen's Malvern," Jasmine said immediately.

"Nay, madame, you will not," the earl said. "You must remain and, even as you yourself have said, allow the king to believe you have seriously considered the marquis of Hartsfield as a suitor."

"If I can be of any help, Lady Lindley," Villiers said, "you have but to ask me. I have not just the king's favor, but the queen's as well," he told them proudly. "She gave him quite a scolding when he came up with this scheme to offer you a choice of husbands. I think she fears you will disappear again, taking young Charles Frederick Stuart with you, and that she will never see her grandson again."

Jasmine stopped dead in her tracks. "Sir," she said quietly, "I have twice run from my country—to save myself the first time and my children the second time. I will not be forced to flee ever again. England is my home, and it is my children's home. I will not allow anyone to take their birthright from them. You are quite free to repeat my words, if you so choose." Then she continued onward.

He ran to catch up with her. "Madame," he said in breathless tones, "I consider your words a confidence. I will not repeat them."

"We appreciate your friendship, Villiers," the earl told the young man, smoothing over Jasmine's rough edges. "You will understand Lady Lindley's irritation in this matter, I know."

"Aye, sir, I do," was the gracious reply.

They had reached the royal apartments and hurried through the doors that opened before them as they went. The queen looked up, smiling encouragingly as they entered. St.Denis, however, had a smirk upon his face that made Jasmine want to slap him. He was obviously quite pleased with himself. They made their obeisance to Their Majesties.

"I would hae ye go up to Edinburgh, Glenkirk," the king began. "I'll be wanting to make a visit next year, or the year after. I would know the climate of my welcome. Ye'll hae to speak wi the old bonnet lairds, the border lords, and of course, the leaders of the kirk. ‘Tis an unofficial exploration ye'll be making for me, of course. And perhaps ye'll even hae time to visit yer own holding."

James Leslie smiled. "I'll be happy to go investigate the climate in the north for you, my lord," he said pleasantly. "I do not believe, however, that there will be time to go to Glenkirk and return to England by the fifteenth of June."

"Yer absence will gie our Piers his chance wi Lady Lindley," the king continued ingenuously. "Ye hae been taking all of her time, a wee birdlet tells me."

"When would you have me leave?" the earl asked.

"On the morrow," was the royal reply. "This is a private visit, Glenkirk. Ye'll nae hae any trappings of authority."

"Very wise," the earl agreed. "My man and I will travel faster alone and create no curiosity that way, sire. I shall, of course, convey your greetings to all I speak with so Scotland may know that you are thinking of her yet, even here in England."

"Verra good, Jemmie," the king said, relieved. He had feared an outburst from the earl, but as always James Leslie was behaving like the perfect royal servant; but then he always had, from the time he had replaced his father as earl of Glenkirk and taken responsibility for their clansmen and women. The king didn't know why he had been worried in the first place. The Leslies respected his divine right, and they had always done so. He didn't have to worry about their loyalty. His glance went to Jasmine, who was strangely silent. "Now ye'll hae time to get to know our Piers, madame," he said.

"As Your Majesty pleases," she replied, her look noncommittal. Jasmine made him very nervous. He had expected an outraged burst of anger form her that Glenkirk was to be sent off. His wife had made him see the error of his judgment in this matter, but a promise was a promise. He had promised Piers a chance with the beautiful and wealthy woman. "There is a masque tonight," he said weakly. "Ye'll come wi the marquis, madame."

"Alas, sire, I have a headache," she said sweetly, "and then, too, there would be no opportunity for me to create a costume. You know how famed my family are for their costumes."

"Could ye not wear the garb of yer native land, madame," the king persisted. "‘Twould be exotic to our eye."

"Regretfully those garments are packed away at Queen's Malvern," Jasmine said.

"Oh," the king answered. He was disappointed. He well remembered Jasmine's appearance in a diamond-encrusted garment some years earlier.

"I can send to my grandmother, however," Jasmine amended, stemming any annoyance on the king's part. "There will be other masques quite soon, will there not be, madame?" Her query was aimed at the queen, who smiled conspiratorially and nodded in the affirmative.

"Indeed, Jamie, a salute to springtime, in two weeks," she told her spouse. "I'm certain Lady Lindley can arrange for a suitable costume by then, can you not, my dear."

"Certainly, Your Majesty," Jasmine promised.

"Then it is all settled," the queen continued brightly. "Now, you must go home, my dear, and treat your aching head. Should she not go this minute, Jamie? Poor darling!"

"What will ye treat yerself wi, madame?" the king asked, suspicious.

"Hot tea, sire, and Adali will massage my shoulders," Jasmine responded. "For me it is the sovereign cure. That, and a good night's rest, and I shall be in fine condition by morning, I am certain."

"Verra well, madame, then you are excused," he told her reluctantly.

Jasmine curtsied. The earl of Glenkirk bowed.

"Ye'll ride out at dawn," the king commanded James Leslie.

"I shall, sire," he replied and, taking Jasmine's arm, departed the royal apartments.

"There now, Piers," the king said as the pair disappeared. "I hae cleared yer way for ye, but it is ye who must woo and win the lady. I hae promised that the choice be hers, and I will keep that promise, for I am a man of my word."

"I will win her, sire!" the marquis of Hartsfield said firmly.

"When cows fly," murmured George Villiers beneath his breath, but Queen Anne heard him and, unable to help herself, began to laugh, helpless to her mirth, which caused tears to roll down her somewhat plain face.

"Why, Annie," the king said, "I hae nae known ye to laugh so hard in many a year. What is it, my dearie? Will ye share yer jest wi us, eh?"

But the queen waved her hands helplessly at him, choking on her mirth as she did so. "‘Twas j-j-just a t-th-thought, Jamie, and ‘twould only be amusement to another female. "Or perhaps," she continued regaining control of herself, "‘twould not be."

The king turned away to speak with the marquis again, and his wife shook her finger at Villiers, who grinned mischievously at her, then winked.

"You're a wicked laddie," she scolded him softly.

"Aye," he agreed complacently, and then, taking her hand up, George Villiers kissed it. "Your servant, Majesty," he said.

The queen smiled softly, a knowing light coming into her pale blue eyes. "You're a shrewd laddie," she told him. "I am glad that we understand each other, Steenie."

"I'll never hurt him, Majesty," was the answer.

"Then you will always have my friendship," said the queen quietly, "and we are of the same mind in this matter?"

"Aye, madame, we are," he told her, "but Lady Lindley is too much in love with the earl of Glenkirk to be swayed, never fear."

"St. Denis is ruthless," the queen warned, "and he is clever."

"I am more clever," George Villiers assured her.

Queen Anne looked at the beautiful young man with the face of an angel. "Why, Steenie," she told him thoughtfully. "I do believe that you are."

He sent her a radiant smile.