Chapter 13

Chapter 13

The falling snow made the January mid-morning seem darker than it actually was. Skye and Adam de Marisco, forced by circumstance to relent their decision in the matter of Sybilla Gordon, had allowed the girl to return to Greenwood House temporarily.

"It is simply not proper that she remain at Lynmouth while Lord Leslie is there," Skye told her husband.

Sybilla Gordon now stood before her father in the library of Greenwood. Her grandparents and her mother were also present, as was her hated rival. If they had expected her to be chastened by all that had transpired earlier, they were mistaken.

"I want the truth, Sybilla," Alex Gordon said in a hard voice that Sybilla had never heard him use toward her before.

"What truth, Papa?" she answered sweetly.

"Why did ye go to Lord Leslie's room early this morning?" the Earl of BrocCairn demanded. "You certainly hae no business there."

Sybilla bit her lip in vexation. Her father was correct. No virgin of good family and breeding would go to a man's bedchamber, yet she had.

"Well, Sybilla? Hae ye no answer for me?" Alex pressed. "Am I to believe that ye went to play the wanton, the better to further yer cause wi Jemmie Leslie?"

Sybilla flushed. "I did not go to play the wanton," she lied. "I simply wanted to say good-night to Lord Leslie. You said you would speak with him, and I believed a match had been made between us." The truth was that she had indeed gone to compromise James Leslie in hopes that he would have no choice but to marry her. Sybilla was no fool, and she realized that all her maidenly wiles had neither impressed nor intrigued the Earl of Glenkirk. Then she noticed late in the evening that she had not seen either James Leslie nor Jasmine de Marisco for some time. She was desperate and she was afraid. But most of all, she had been enraged to think Jasmine might be with the man she loved.

Alex Gordon did not believe his daughter, but he loved her. Sibby was obviously hurt, and she was certainly angry. Whatever the truth of the matter was, it no longer mattered. He had come to a decision about Sybilla, and now he told her of it.

"I spoke wi the Earl of Kempe this morning. Ye will be married to him on St. Agnes Day, Sybilla," he said. "Tom Ashburne is a good and decent man. He loves ye and will make ye an excellent husband."

Sybilla grew pale. "No!" was the single word she uttered.

"This is nae your decision to make, Sybilla," her father said firmly. "Ye hae made a fool of yerself over James Leslie, but now 'tis over, lassie. Ye'll wed and settle down like a proper maid."

"I'd sooner enter a convent!" Sybilla declared dramatically, tears filling her blue eyes.

" 'Tis nae an option open to ye, Sibby," her father replied, amused, his tone softening a bit. "Think about it, lass. Ye'll be a countess, and an English countess to boot. Ye'll be welcome at court, and Ashburne will dote on ye, I fear. He'll gie ye the world."

"He is very handsome," Velvet volunteered. "You will make a most stunning couple, dear heart. Ohh, we have so much to do and such a short time in which to do it, but you will have a fine wedding!"

"Why should I be forced to the altar?" Sybilla Gordon wailed. "I have not shamed the family behaving like a strumpet. She has! And then, bold baggage that she is, she will not even marry the man with whom she has so wantonly sported the night away! Why do you not punish her?" She turned to her stepsister. "I will destroy you when I return to court tomorrow! I will tell all who will listen of your lewd behavior with Lord Leslie! No decent man will ever marry you after that!" Sybilla declared triumphantly, shaking a finger in Jasmine's face.

"You will say nothing of what transpired at your uncle's house last night," Skye told the girl sharply. "If you do, Sybilla, I will see that you suffer in ways you cannot even imagine. We are not simply talking of Jasmine's reputation, but yours and this family's as well. If, in your childish desire for revenge, you gossip freely, your father and mother, whom you claim to love, will suffer as well. Kempe will certainly withdraw his suit, and no one, Sybilla, no one will want you. A scandal such as the one you could cause would not die easily. Therefore, in an effort to protect our family, I should have to declare that you were mad and have you locked away where your behavior could harm no one ever again. Is that what you truly wish?" Skye looked implacably at Sybilla Gordon, who knew her grandmother was not a woman to make idle threats.

"Well," Sybilla grumbled, not quite willing to give in yet, "I do not see, Grandmam, why I should have to suffer for Jasmine's sins."

Jasmine laughed. "Making love with a man is no sin, as you will learn."

"Be silent, Jasmine!" Skye said sharply. "We will deal with you shortly." She returned her attention to Sybilla. "Marriage to a man who adores you and can afford to indulge your every silly whim is hardly a punishment, you foolish chit. What is it that you object to in the Earl of Kempe's character? Is there something about his personal habits that disturbs you? Speak up, girl!" Children today, she thought, were so contrary.

Sybilla thought a moment, but there was nothing about Tom Ashburne that she could actually dislike. He really did love her, and he was wonderfully wealthy, thanks to his skill at picking the most successful trading ventures to finance. He was handsome, and clever, and witty. If she couldn't have James Leslie, and she certainly did not want him now, Tom Ashburne was certainly an excellent candidate for a husband.

"Well?" Skye demanded an answer, and then gave it herself. "You can find nothing wrong with the man, can you?"

"Nay, I cannot," Sybilla agreed, shaking her head.

"Then you'll marry him without a fuss?"

"Aye, Grandmam, I will," Sybilla said, unable to find a reason to continue her protest.

"Good! Now that's settled, sit down. Jasmine, come here, my darling girl. We have your future to see to as well this day."

Jasmine arose and came to stand obediently before her grandmother and her stepfather. "I can see to my own future, Grandmama," she said.

"Nay, my girl, you cannot," Skye told her firmly. "This is England and not the Mughal's realm. You may have been born a princess, but here in England you are plain Mistress Jasmine de Marisco, wealthy widow. I have told you over and over since your arrival a year ago that your future lies in a good marriage. Your beauty and your extraordinary fortune make you prey to some very dangerous types. Last night's episode tells me that you are certainly ready to wed again, and so you shall, my darling girl. So you shall!"

"Jemmie Leslie is no fortune hunter," Jasmine defended the Earl of Glenkirk. "What is so terribly wrong about what we did, Grandmama? We were lonely. Did you never, during any of your widowhoods, comfort yourself with a kind and loving man?"

The remark struck very close to home, Skye thought, uncomfortable. Too close. She and Jasmine's grandfather had first become lovers when her third husband, Geoffrey Southwood, had died. They had been lovers on and off between two other husbands until finally she had married Adam. Skye straightened her back and glanced at him. His mouth had a faint twitch of amusement to it, but he said nothing.

"We are not speaking about my life, Jasmine," Skye said sternly. "Granted Lord Leslie is no fortune hunter, but what if you had decided to console yourself with a man who was? You have been protected your entire life, and have no real knowledge, despite your marriage and the contretemps with your brother, of how difficult the world really is. Marriage with Lord Leslie is apparently not a consideration. So, you will marry the Marquess of Westleigh at the end of April, and that is an end to it."

"Why does she get to have a spring wedding, and I must marry in January?" Sybilla demanded pettishly.

"Because, you silly chit," her grandmother said, "we must first make certain that your stepsister's foolishness will not lead to a child."

"Ohhhh," Sybilla murmured, her eyes wide, and she cast a quick glance at Jasmine as if seeking to ascertain if she were already enceinte.

"Besides, Sybilla, your betrothed is eager to marry you," Skye continued. "Winter is a beautiful time for a wedding. I am certain that at least one or two of my weddings were celebrated in winter."

"I will not marry the Marquess of Westleigh," Jasmine said.

"Why not?" demanded her grandmother.

"I do not love him. Ohhh, Grandmama, I want what you and Grandfather have! I want a deep and abiding love!" Jasmine cried.

The older woman gave a deep sigh. "I detested my first husband, Dom O'Flaherty, and yet two fine sons came of the marriage. I loved Willow's father and mourned him deeply, but it was not until I met Geoffrey Southwood, your uncle Robin's father, that I found my first deep and abiding love. My fourth husband was Niall Burke. I fell in love with him when I was fifteen and promised to another man. Niall was the son of my father's overlord and came to my wedding as his representative. He claimed droit de seigneur of me. Do you know what that is, my darling girl?"

Jasmine shook her head, fascinated. "No, Grandmama, I do not."

"The overlord may claim a bride's virginity of her bridegroom, and he must give it. There is no choice. Ahhh, Niall! He was handsome and reckless, and heedless of the consequences of his actions. I loved him well, but he would not have changed; he would have grown old being reckless and heedless. I do not think I could have borne it, but I did not have to, for he died young." A look of deep sadness passed over Skye's face as she remembered, but then she brought herself back to the present and said, "My fifth husband was Fabron de Beaumont, the Duc de Beaumont de Jaspre. It was a political alliance I made at Elizabeth Tudor's behest. Then at last I married your grandfather. He is my second deep and abiding love, and I thank God for the many good years we have had together. Alas, my darling girl, we cannot always have what we want. Not even a princess can have what she desires all the time.

"You learned to love your Jamal Khan. You have told me what a kind and good young man he was. Now you will learn to love Rowan Lindley. You have been so determined to maintain your status as a widow, you have not given the Marquess of Westleigh a fair chance, Jasmine. He offered for you months ago, but your grandfather and I would not even consider it because we knew you needed time to adjust to your new life here in England. After last night I believe you to be quite settled in, my darling girl," Skye said with a twinkle in her eye, "but there can be no more instances like that one. Rowan Lindley will call on us later today, Jasmine, and you will agree to marry him when he asks."

"If I promise never again to allow my emotions to get the better of me, will you reconsider, Grandmama?" Jasmine begged Skye.

Skye laughed. "Ahh, darling girl! The women in this family cannot promise to restrain their passions. It is beyond them. Now stop looking as if you have been condemned to Tower Green, my darling girl. Like Sybilla, you have a betrothed husband who adores you. Use such knowledge to your advantage and you will be very happy, I promise."

"You must fetter his soul before you bind your body to his in lovemaking," Jasmine said softly, but Skye heard her.

"Who said that?" she asked.

"They are lines from the Kama Sutra, a book of love," Jasmine answered.

"They are wise words, my darling girl. You would not be foolish if you lived by them. Now run along and get some rest. You look simply exhausted, and you must be at your best this afternoon. You, too, Sybilla."

When the two young women had left the library, Adam de Marisco poured four goblets of red wine and, handing them about to his wife, his daughter, and his son-in-law, said, "To Jasmine and Sybilla!"

The goblets were raised and their healths drunk.

Velvet set her wine down. "I know Sybilla will be quite happy with Tom Ashburne no matter her irritation over James Leslie. Tom will get 'round her quickly enough, and she will immediately decide herself in love with him. She is like that, and once she gives him her loyalty, he will have it always, provided he does not play her false. I think it a good thing he is so many years her senior."

"He is more than twice her age," Alex fretted.

"Sybilla will be seventeen next month," Velvet said. "It is late for a first marriage. Besides, Tom Ashburne is only ten years older than Lord Leslie."

"She needs the stability of an older husband," Skye agreed. "Some girls are like that. An older husband will be more indulgent and more patient. Sybilla is not easy, Alex."

" 'Tis Jasmine I worry over," Velvet continued. "I know that Rowan Lindley is Tom Ashburne's cousin, but what do we really know about him, Mama? What kind of a match will this be, and what if she is unhappy?"

Skye smiled. "She will not be unhappy. I know all I need to know about Rowan Lindley. His family is good. He is no fortune hunter. Although he will receive a generous dowry, that dowry comes from us. Jasmine's wealth remains hers to oversee as she chooses, and he has agreed to that. He's made for her, Velvet, and what is more, he is man enough to manage a Mughal princess without breaking her spirit."

"Then we are fortunate, Mama, are we not?" Velvet sipped at her wine. "Will he be kind to her? I wonder. She can be so imperious."

"He will be kind," Skye assured her daughter, and then she told them of how Rowan Lindley had cared so devotedly for his first wife for all the long, tedious years of their tragic marriage.

"There, ye see," Alex Gordon told his wife. "Do ye really think yer mother would allow Jasmine to marry the man if he were nae a gentleman? Yer mother dotes upon the wench far more than upon any of her other grandchildren. Now, in the matter of Sybilla's wedding, I'll nae be beggared by the two of ye wi a lot of shopping. I trust ye understand, madame, and will at least try to obey me in this matter."

"Are we back to horses and dogs after all these years, my lord?" Velvet said. "They may be taught to obey, but a de Marisco cannot. Sibby is your only daughter, and I will not allow her to go to the Earl of Kempe like some cowherd's offspring! Your purse had best be opened wide to me, my lord, and it had better be full!"

That afternoon both swains came calling at Greenwood House. Sybilla, looking adorable in a rose-pink velvet gown, was at first coy and then haughty by turns. Tom Ashburne quickly had her giggling, and they disappeared into the library together, closing the door behind them.

"Take Lord Lindley and show him the picture gallery," Skye ordered Jasmine, who had chosen to garb herself in black velvet and was outrageously stunning despite her attempts to look otherwise.

The gallery was a small one with long windows upon one side which faced the river. The walls were hung with the portraits of all of Skye's husbands and her offspring in various stages of childhood, as well as a painting that had been done of Skye herself when she was the Countess of Lynmouth.

"You certainly do favor your grandmother," Rowan Lindley remarked when he saw the portrait.

Jasmine smiled, flattered. Next to her father and Rugaiya Begum, she had come to love and admire her grandmother more than any other person she knew. Her mother was sweet, of course, but she seemed much too young to be her mother, Jasmine thought. They had become friends, and they would undoubtedly remain friends, but no more than that. Too many years had been lost. But in Skye, Jasmine had come to sense a kindred soul, even if they occasionally disagreed. There was no doubt to anyone in the family that she was her grandmother's child first and foremost.

Jasmine led the Marquess of Westleigh down the short length of the picture gallery, identifying her relations as her grandmother had identified them to her well over a year ago. When she had finished, she began the return journey along the window wall, stopping suddenly to gaze out upon the snowy lawns and the dark gray river. It was almost dark now, and the wind had begun to whip the trees about.

"It has stopped snowing," she noted.

"Aye," he said, and then, "Do you remember I said I would wed you, Jasmine de Marisco?" He stood directly behind her, hemming her in.

"I slept with Lord Leslie last night," Jasmine told him bluntly.

"I suspected something of the sort when you disappeared from Lord Southwood's fete," he replied calmly. "You will not, of course, do anything as naughty again, will you, Jasmine? You will remember that you are to be my wife?" He kissed the top of her head softly.

Jasmine turned about. She was both angry at him and shocked by his attitude, which bordered upon amusement. "Do you not care that I lay with the Earl of Glenkirk?" she demanded furiously, looking up into his handsome face. Did she mean nothing to him that he cared so little about her behavior? And why was that thought so irritating? She did not love him. It was unlikely she would ever love him!

Rowan Lindley looked down at her. His golden eyes grew hard and his voice was harsh when he spoke. "Care? Aye, madame, I care! It infuriates me to know that James Leslie has had you naked and weeping with pleasure beneath him. The picture I can so well imagine burns into my soul like a blazing brand." His hand reached up, catching her throat, encircling it gently, yet she could feel the power in it. "How many times before did you lie with him, madame?"

"Only last night," she half whispered, suddenly afraid, but struggling not to show it, "and never again if I am to be your wife. I am the Mughal's daughter, and I have my honor as well as yours to protect. Last night I was a free woman. Free to do as I chose. Today that is no longer so. I will not dishonor you, my lord. Or will you cry off because of what I have just told you?"

His hand dropped from her neck and he laughed weakly. "Would it please you if I say yes? Well, I will not, Jasmine de Marisco. Can you not see that you drive me to madness? Never before have I put my hands upon a woman in violence or anger. This is what you do to me, and I suspect even when you are mine, I shall still feel this way if another man should dare to look at you with anything less than respect in his eye, may God help him!"

Then he pulled her roughly to him, and his mouth crushed down upon hers, bruising it, yet sending a thrill of anticipation through her slender frame. "You are a fever in my blood, Jasmine de Marisco," he murmured against her lips. "A burning, hot fever." He nibbled at her mouth, his golden eyes suddenly soft and tender. "I want more than just a night with you. I want eternity. I want sons and daughters of our making, my beautiful Jasmine."

"Aye," she told him, swept up in the moment, "I would have children too! When Jamal was murdered, I lost our child. I love children!"

"Then marry me and I will give you those children. I will give you whatever you want, Jasmine. Anything!"

What if she said no? What could they do to her? she wondered. Then she realized that if her grandmother had chosen the Marquess of Westleigh for her husband, he could be naught but a good man. Again, there was no real choice, but she did trust her grandmother.

"Aye," she told Rowan Lindley. "I'll marry you, my lord."

He took her face in his two hands and gently kissed her. "I will make you happy," he promised her gravely.

Jasmine felt tears welling behind her eyelids, but she opened them, gazing up at him through the veil of moisture, and said, "I think I must make you happy also, my lord."

This man makes me feel safe. I have not had this feeling since I was a child, she thought. I have not had this feeling since Salim robbed me of it. Now, the notion slipped into her consciousness, now my brother can never find me. Even if his agents eventually trace me to England, he does not know my mother's real name, or my grandmother's, or my husband's.

"One thing I must know," Rowan Lindley was saying, and Jasmine forced herself to pay attention to him.

"What is it, my lord?" she asked.

"What does the Earl of Glenkirk really mean to you, madame?"

"Jemmie Leslie?" Jasmine smiled. "Why, he is my friend, sir."

"But last night …?"

"There is much in common that we share," Jasmine began. "We have both lost mates in a violent manner. We have lost children. We were lonely and sought only to comfort each other. I do not love him, nor he, me. My stepfather thought that he should wed with me, but I said no. I should not like to think I forced a man to the altar," she finished with a smile.

"I needed to know, Jasmine," he told her.

She put her hand upon his cheek in a comforting gesture. "I know that you did. I will never betray your honor, my lord, nor my own. Are you certain, however, that you still really wish to marry me? Certainly you realize my grandmother has decided I must be wed lest my baser instincts publicly embarrass the family. There will be no scandal about last night, for the discovery that Jemmie and I were together was not made until after my uncle's guests had gone. Still, should you decide that a marriage between us was not wise, I would understand."

"You are mine," Rowan Lindley said simply. "You have been since I first set eyes on you last May Day." Then, taking her hand in his, he led her from the picture gallery. He said nothing about the wedding date nor the reason behind the delay. He was touched by her honesty and knew that she would be a good wife to him. I can trust her, he thought, satisfied, and he squeezed the slim hand in his lovingly.

It is settled then, Jasmine realized as she signed the contract of marriage between herself and James Rowan Lindley, Marquess of Westleigh, that evening. The contracts for Sybilla's marriage were also signed. A small dinner party was held in the betrothed couples' honor.

"Thomas is taking me to France in May," Sybilla announced grandly. " 'Twill be a belated honeymoon as there is nowhere we may go in January. We shall visit Paris and Grandfather de Marisco's relations at Archambault. Mama says there is a special chateau there, Belles Fleurs it is called, where she spent her early childhood." Sybilla turned eagerly to Skye. "May we stay at Belles Fleurs, Grandmam? Mama says that you and Grandfather spent a part of your honeymoon there and 'tis a very romantic place. Oh, please, Grandmam!"

"The place has not been lived in for years," Skye said, "but oh, very well, you silly chit. I will send word that the chateau be made ready for another generation of honeymooners." Though she grumbled, Skye smiled with her words. Belles Fleurs! It has been so long ago. She had been so much younger, she thought ruefully, and her back had not ached so much in the mornings. "No place to go in January indeed. You can go to court and lord it over all those other silly chits who serve Danish Annie with you," she told Sybilla.

"I am offended, beauty," the Earl of Kempe said mournfully. "No place to go? Why, I shall take you to heaven and back, my adorable Sybilla. You may trust my word on it." He kissed her little hand, his gray eyes twinkling mischievously.

Sybilla was not so dense that she did not comprehend his meaning. She blushed to the roots of her golden-blond head.

The first of the family weddings being less than three weeks away, Bonnie, the seamstress, and her assistant found themselves immersed in work eighteen hours a day. The London seamstress who had sewn Jasmine's new wardrobe the previous winter was called from her shop to lend a hand. Remembering the generosity of the old Countess of Lundy, she came gladly. Lady Sybilla Alexandra Mary Gordon would not go to her new husband with less than a full trousseau. The Earl of BrocCairn had begged the queen's indulgence, and Sybilla had been relieved-of her duties as maid of honor. Her place in the queen's household was quickly filled.

"So she is indeed to be married to the Earl of Glenkirk," Queen Anne said, smiling, when Sybilla's father requested her release. " 'Tis time Jemmie wed again."

"Nay, madame," Alex Gordon corrected the queen. "Sybilla is to be married to Thomas Ashburne, the Earl of Kempe. Glenkirk was but a childish fantasy she hae carried wi her for years. Kempe offered for her last summer, but we hae promised her she could come to court to serve ye. Nay, madame, Glenkirk never entered the picture except in Sibby's girlish dreams. She is quite besotted by Tom Ashburne now, and he in love wi her."

"Then," the queen said, " 'twill be a good match, my lord. You and your wife are to be congratulated on your daughter's good fortune."

"We hae been twice blessed, madame," the earl told her. "My widowed stepdaughter, Jasmine de Marisco, will remarry in the spring. Her betrothed husband is the Marquess of Westleigh, Kempe's cousin. Both gentlemen came to visit my father-in-law, Lord de Marisco, last May at Queen's Malvern and fell in love wi the lasses then." Alex Gordon felt safe in telling the queen this additional bit of news. Jasmine's monthly flow had come upon her two days after her liaison with Lord Leslie. There would, thank God, be no scandal!

* * *

The day before Sybilla's wedding to Tom Ashburne, Jasmine sought out her stepsister. She found Sybilla in her bedchamber alone.

"What do you want?" Sybilla demanded. She had not been quite as obnoxious to Jasmine of late as she had previously been.

"I want you to have this," Jasmine said, proffering a large, flat, red leather case to Sybilla. "It is my wedding gift to you."

Sybilla looked at Jasmine with surprise. "Why are you giving me a wedding present? You hate me. You must."

"I do not hate you," Jasmine said. "Remember, Sibby, that we share something very special. Our mother. I cannot hate my mother's daughter, and I do not believe that you really hate me."

"Perhaps if Mama had had a daughter and not four boys," Sybilla began, and she sighed, "but she did not. I was her little girl, and then you came. I realized then that all the love she had lavished on me was really the love she had wanted to lavish on you. Her love did not belong to me. It belonged to you. I was hurt and angry, Jasmine. Would you not have been if you were me? I love Mama more than anyone in my life!" Here Sybilla's voice broke and large tears slipped down her pink cheeks.

Jasmine put a comforting arm about her stepsister and, strangely, Sybilla did not pull away. "Oh Sibby," Jasmine told her, "had it not been for you, I do not believe our mother would have survived leaving India, nor would her marriage have been a very happy one. When my husband Jamal was murdered, I lost the child I was carrying. I did not know that child except in my imagination. Yet its loss hurt me dreadfully.

"Try to imagine what it must have been like for Mama, knowing her child and then being forcefully separated from that child. Then she came to Dun Broc and you were there! We are only six months apart in age, Sibby, but that would not have mattered. You were there. A little girl who needed mothering, and a mother who desperately needed her little girl. Mama must have thought it a miracle.

"The love and care she gave you was always yours, never mine, Sibby. Did she think of me? I do not know. Perhaps sometimes, but perhaps not, for I would have thought it far too painful for her. All she could remember was a baby. She never expected to see me again, and she had you. You became her darling little girl. Not me. Her joy at our reunion was no more than that. She gave me life, and yet, try as I may, I cannot really think of her as my mother."

"You cannot?" Sibby was astounded. She looked up at her beautiful stepsister in surprise. "She is your mother, Jasmine!"

Jasmine laughed. "I know she is, but because I never really knew her, it is Rugaiya Begum, the woman who raised me, that I think of as my mother. Do you ever think of Alanna Wythe as your mother?"

"Never!" Sybilla said. "I loathe and detest her, if the truth be known. Mama always grew upset with me when I said things like that, but it is true. Alanna Wythe but used me to blackmail my father. She was no mother to me.

"When I was small she would come to Dun Broc to see me, but every time 'twas really to wheedle something out of my father. Cattle, or horses, or grain to get her and that outlaw she wed through the winter. When I was six she came, big-bellied with a runny-nosed brat hanging upon her skirts. She coyly introduced him as my baby brother. The little horror was every bit as tall as I was, yet he was but two. His father, whom I've seen but once, is a huge giant of a man.

"I told my father after she left to simply send the creature her tribute, for I never wanted to see her again. I haven't, either, since that day."

"Yet she is your mother. She gave you life," Jasmine said.

Understanding dawned in Sybilla's blue eyes. Then she replied, "At least the mother who gave birth to you truly loves you."

"But the love she has for me takes nothing away from the love she has for you, Sibby," Jasmine responded. "We are two totally different girls, are we not? Cannot our mother love all her children without taking love away from one to give love to another of them? I never had a sister close to me in age, Sibby. I was the youngest, the last of the Mughal's children. My father's daughters were nearly all grown when I was born. I lived mostly apart from the court with my mother. I had no friends my own age. When I learned of your existence, I was so happy. It never occurred to me that we would not be friends. We should be. We are sisters."

Not stepsisters. She had said sisters, Sybilla thought. "Do you like me?" she asked Jasmine.

"Not always," came the honest answer. "You are very spoiled."

"And you can be imperious," Sibby retorted quickly.

"I am the Mughal's daughter," Jasmine replied regally.

Then the two girls' eyes met and they burst out laughing.

"Ohh my," Sybilla gasped, finally catching her breath, "I think we can be friends, Jasmine. I know we can, dear sister!"

Then she began to sob again, and Jasmine wept too. It was thus that Velvet found them. "What is the matter?" she cried out.

"We are sisters," Sibby said, her tears making her little nose quite rosy.

"Isn't it wonderful?" Jasmine hiccuped.

"Have you two been imbibing the wedding wine?" Velvet demanded suspiciously. What on earth had happened to bring these two together?

"Jasmine brought me a wedding gift," Sybilla finally said, "and then we talked and we decided we don't want to be enemies any longer. We are sisters, Mama, and we are marrying cousins who are like brothers to one another."

Velvet shook her head. "I have been a mother all these years, and I still do not understand children," she said. Then, "Let us see what Jasmine has given you, Sibby. Open the box. Ohhhh, gracious! It is magnificent!" she exclaimed, as Sybilla revealed a necklace of diamonds and pearls nestled along with ear bobs upon a satin background.

"The diamonds come from my father's mines in Golconda, and the pearls are from the waters of the Persian Gulf. The finest pearls in all the world come from the gulf, my father used to say. I did not know if Sibby had any grown-up jewelry, but I thought she should have some to wear on her wedding day. It will go perfectly with your gown, Sibby."

"Ohh, do you really think so?"

Velvet was astounded. Quickly forgotten, she tiptoed from the room while her two daughters, their ebony and golden heads together, discussed the merits of Sybilla's wedding gown.

Skye laughed heartily as her daughter told her of how the two girls had made peace between themselves. " 'Twas only a matter of time," she said. "Sybilla was jealous of Jasmine because she unexpectedly had to share you. Now she has Tom Ashburne's love, and yours does not seem to matter as much to her anymore. As for Jasmine, she is feeling secure in her new life. Rowan Lindley will be good for her as well. Adam and I will have two more great-grandchildren before the year is out, and you, my sweet Velvet, will find yourself twice a grandmother!" Then Skye laughed.

* * *

Lady Sybilla Alexandra Mary Gordon was married to Lord Thomas Henry Kempe on the very sunny morning of January 26, 1607. The bride wore a gown of white velvet with a cloth-of-silver underskirt and a bodice sewn all over with pearls and crystals that sparkled in the morning sunlight. The groom was garbed in black velvet. The sun, which had not shone in almost two weeks, was considered a very good omen for a happy marriage; and all the guests admired the bride's necklace.

The marriage was celebrated in the chapel at Lynmouth House, and the feast held afterward was attended by the king and the queen, as well as all the more important members of the court. The king's own Anglican chaplain presided over the nuptials, a great honor. The Earl of Lynmouth had, at the first news of his niece's betrothal and wedding plans, sent word to his brother, Lord Burke. Padraic and Valentina had been on the road within two days and struggled through the winter weather to reach London in time.

Now, as he and Sybilla stood receiving the congratulations of the guests, the Earl of Kempe's smile widened at the sight of the Burkes. "How did you know?" he exclaimed.

"Robin sent a message," Padraic said. "I wouldn't have missed seeing you wed for the world! Now you can no longer flirt with my wife, you rogue! My dear niece, Sybilla, will certainly destroy you if you do, I have not a doubt. Mama says you're besotted by the wench."

"Stop teasing Tom," Valentina interjected, and she kissed the earl's cheek. "I always told you that you would one day find the perfect woman for you, my dear friend. How glad I am I might be here today to see you married." Then she lowered her voice. "But Sybilla?"

Tom Ashburne laughed merrily. "She is the perfect mate for me, divinity. I swear it! I should be lost without her." He caught his bride's hand in his and, raising it to his lips, kissed it as Sybilla beamed with pleasure, love shining from her blue eyes.

"I wonder how long until you're a grandmother, Velvet," Padraic asked the bride's mother mischievously, and then ducked the blow she aimed at him. "Do I see a wrinkle, madame?" he teased, and turned away with his wife before his youngest sister could do him serious harm.

The Marquess of Westleigh promenaded through the ballroom of Lynmouth House with his betrothed wife displayed upon his arm. Jasmine looked most magnificent in an orange velvet gown with a gold brocade underskirt. Tiny brocade bows, each with a miniature topaz center, decorated her sleeves. About her neck was a necklace of yellow diamonds. Her raven-dark hair was parted in the center and worn in a chignon that hugged the nape of her neck. The chignon was decorated with cloth-of-gold roses.

"Look at how proudly she holds herself," Skye said to Adam. "She should be a queen!"

"She is you all over again, but for the turquoise eyes and that damnably fetching mole," Adam de Marisco said.

"She is far more beautiful than I ever was," Skye replied.

"Nay," he told her. "You are the most beautiful woman who ever lived. Do not argue with me, little girl. You are!"

"I never argue with you," Skye told him, and Adam laughed.

Jasmine saw little of court after her betrothal to the Marquess of Westleigh. It was not proper for an unmarried woman of good family to be seen there without an express purpose, unless in the company of her relations or her husband-to-be. Rowan Lindley did not like the court.

" 'Tis full of hangers-on and low types," he said. "I will show you London instead. As soon as the danger of severe storms is over, we must all return home. You will need time to prepare for our marriage."

"Will we ever visit London after we are wed?" Jasmine asked him. "Greenwood is to be mine one day and we are always welcome to stay here."

"If you wish to visit London, of course we can come," he told her, "but are you not more of a country girl? I seem to remember the first time I saw you, you were barefooted and had an armful of fresh flowers with the dew still on them. That is the woman I fell in love with, Jasmine de Marisco."

"I cannot always promise to remain the same," she told him honestly.

"Good, then I shall not promise that either," he replied, and they laughed.

He took her across the London Bridge to Southwark, where the Globe Theatre was located. One of the owners of the Globe was Master William Shakespeare, the famous playwright. There they saw several of his plays. Macbeth. Henry V. King Lear. Although these plays gave her a stronger sense of English and Scots history, Jasmine preferred Master Shakespeare's comedies, of which she saw two: Much Ado About Nothing and A Midsummer Night's Dream.

The Globe itself was a bawdy, noisy place located directly next to the Bear Gardens. Rowan always bought them seats upon the stage itself. The pit below was a roiling mass of humanity. Of the playgoers, some were respectable, some not. Orange girls were selling their fruits from Spain, and ofttimes themselves for a greater coin. In the boxes about the theatre, where no respectable woman would dare to be seen, there were expensive whores openly plying their trade, calling boldly to the gallants below; and gentlemen with their mistresses, some well-known ladies of the court who hid behind the boxes' curtains.

"Would you like to see the bear-baiting?" Rowan asked her one day.

"What is a bear-baiting?" Jasmine wondered aloud.

He told her and was rather relieved by the look of revulsion upon her face. Rowan Lindley did not enjoy bear-baiting himself.

"That is dreadful!" Jasmine exclaimed. "It is cruel! To hunt an animal is one thing, but to set beasts against each other for mere amusement is horrible! No thank you, my lord!"

"You have hunted, then?" he inquired, turning the subject.

"Aye, with my father and brothers. Tiger, antelope, and gazelle mostly. Sometimes we rode horseback and other times we pursued our quarry from the backs of our elephants. I am a reasonably good shot with both gun and bow, and I can use a spear accurately if I must. Do you hunt, my lord? And what?"

"Deer, rabbit, game birds for the table mostly," he said. "I do not believe in killing for sport alone. It is wasteful."

They were sitting together in the library of Greenwood House, trying to decide what to do.

"I learn more about you each day," Jasmine told him. "I am beginning to think perhaps my grandmother is right about you."

"And what does that magnificent woman say about me?" he asked her with a smile.

"That you are a good man and the perfect husband for me," she said frankly.

"Aye, I am," he agreed, "but, madame, there is more I need to know about you, yet you give me no opportunity to learn it. Come here to me, Jasmine."

Curious, she arose and stood before him, crying out in surprise when he pulled her down into his lap, her skirts ballooning about her. "My lord!"

"Rowan," he said to her. "I am called Rowan. I want to hear my name from your lips, Jasmine."

"Rowan! What are you about?" She struggled to arise, but he would not let her, pinioning her firmly within his embrace, half laughing at her spirited outrage.

"The night we agreed to wed, I kissed you," he said. "Since then you have given me no chance at all to kiss you or to caress you. Should we not be lovers as well as husband and wife, Jasmine?"

"We are not married yet," she said primly, but her cheeks were pink with her blushes. She felt suddenly shy.

"We are certainly not lovers, either, madame. Why are you so coy with me? You were not so coy with Glenkirk," he said suddenly.

She gasped as if stung, struggling once again to escape him, and then, unsuccessful, she replied furiously, "Is that all you want of me, Rowan? What Jemmie Leslie had? I am no wanton, my lord, whatever you may think!"

"I will have more of you than he ever had, Jasmine," Rowan Lindley answered jealously, and he kissed her.

It was an angry kiss, and she met it with equal anger. He bruised her mouth, forcing her lips apart, plunging his tongue into her mouth to do battle with her tongue. But their anger gave rise to passion, and suddenly he groaned. The kiss grew soft as he felt her rage draining away as well. Nibbling his way across her lips, his hot mouth found her cheekbones, her eyes, and finally the edge of her jawbone just beneath her left ear.

Jasmine quivered. He made her head spin, and she was very surprised to find the stirrings of desire beginning to infuse her body. He bit down gently upon the lobe of her ear. His tongue slowly explored the shell of it, his soft breath sending shivers down her spine. He passed a hand lightly over her breasts, then plunged it into her bodice. Jasmine was amazed the gown did not burst asunder with his invasion, for her breasts felt tight and swollen. Taking a nipple between his thumb and forefinger, he worried it back and forth until she whimpered.

His mouth found hers again. They kissed until she believed they could kiss no more, their lips mashing against one another warmly, wetly. She pulled away, gasping for air, only to feel a hand slipping beneath her voluminous skirts. The hand slid smoothly up her slim thigh, finding her most sensitive spot with unerring aim.

"Rowan!" she softly cried his name.

"I need to touch you there," he murmured desperately against her cheek, and a single finger began to move sensuously against her tiny jewel.

She could feel herself getting moist with her desire. He was wicked! Wicked! She struggled feebly to sit up, but could not. "Rowan!" she gasped, unable now even to breathe quite properly.

He said nothing. The finger rubbed, and rubbed and rubbed, until finally he felt her stiffen, shudder, and then collapse, sobbing as she turned her face against his chest.

"I hate you for that!" she wept.

" 'Twas not enough, was it?" he said low.

"No!"

"It was not meant to be, Jasmine."

"Then why? Why did you do that to me?" she demanded, pulling herself into a sitting position and looking into his golden eyes.

"Because I want you to want me as much as I desire you, my love. You are no virgin to be satisfied easily. You are a woman. I want you to be my woman; to hold back nothing from me—ever."

"You are cruel," she said weakly, aching with her need for him.

"I can give both pleasure and pain, even as you can, my love," he replied. Then he kissed her lips softly.

"Never bring Jemmie Leslie between us again," Jasmine told him. "There is naught for you to be jealous of, Rowan. I swear it! Is there no way in which I can convince you of this?"

"Perhaps when I have loved you as you were meant to be loved," he said. "Perhaps then I can wipe out the pictures my mind insists upon fabricating to torture me with, Jasmine. Perhaps I can replace the nightmares with dreams of my own, my love. Until then, jealousy burns a hole in my gut that aches unbearably."

"Then have me now, Rowan," she said softly, caressing his tawny hair. "I cannot bear that you suffer over something so trifling. Those few hours I spent with the Earl of Glenkirk were not important to me, nor to him either. We only sought a moment of comfort with each other. Make love to me now, my lord, and ease your pain."

"No," he told her. "I cannot take advantage of you. I would never want you to believe I did so, Jasmine. I must learn to control myself, but dear heaven, I want you!"

"Passion is the sweeter for the waiting," she teased him gently.

"Glenkirk is a fool," Rowan Lindley replied.

"Why do you say that?" she asked.

"Because he could have had you, Jasmine, and he was not wise enough to take you," her betrothed husband answered.

James Leslie, however, was even now bemoaning his lack of foresight. Several days after he and Jasmine had been found abed, he had called upon the Earl and Countess of Lundy, asking their permission to court their granddaughter. They had refused.

"Jasmine is now betrothed to the Marquess of Westleigh," Skye had told Lord Leslie.

"But what if she carries my child?" he demanded.

"She does not," was the stiff answer.

"Is she in love with Westleigh, or do you force her to this match because of me?" James Leslie queried.

"Listen to me, my lord," Skye said quietly. "Rowan Lindley met our granddaughter last May. He fell in love with her and sought our permission to marry her. We refused him because we felt Jasmine needed more time to acclimate herself to her new life in England. We were also thinking of ourselves, and of how much we enjoyed having this grandchild we never expected to know with us. There is, however, no other path in life for a respectable woman, as you yourself know, but marriage. Jasmine's petite adventure with you made us realize that it was time she be settled."

"And she agreed to the match?" the Earl of Glenkirk asked.

"Of course she did, my lord. We have never forced any of our children or grandchildren to the altar," Skye told him. "This disappointment is all your own doing. You had the opportunity to wed her, but when asked, you said nothing, which was every bit as good as saying no."

"But she said she did not want to marry me," he protested.

"And you believed her?" Skye felt genuinely sorry for James Leslie. He had realized too late his mistake.

"I thought she was being sporting, madame. We were caught, you will admit, in a most compromising situation. Jasmine is obviously not a woman to take advantage of a gentleman, and then, too, there were her stepsister's feelings to consider. I know her well enough to see she is a kind woman."

"You learned all of that in just a few short hours with her?" Skye teased him, trying to lighten the moment.

"Mistress de Marisco and I had spoken at length on several occasions in your park when I came calling upon her. For young Lady Sybilla's sake, she would not encourage me further," he said stiffly.

"Until the night of my son's Twelfth Night fete," Skye murmured. "She says you were both lonely and but comforting each other, my lord."

"Aye," he replied, and she could read pain upon his handsome face. James Leslie straightened his shoulders and said formally, "I thank you for seeing me, my lord. My lady. Under the circumstances, I will trouble you no further. Will you tell Jasmine that I was here?"

"No, my lord, I will not," Skye answered honestly. "There would be no point to it now, would there? She is formally betrothed to marry Rowan Lindley and the marriage will be celebrated April thirtieth."

"Should you not give her the choice?" Adam asked his wife when the Earl of Glenkirk had departed.

"Her future is in England, not Scotland," Skye said fiercely. "I have lost Velvet to that wild and wet land. I will not lose my darling Jasmine to it, Adam. Besides, if Glenkirk really loved her, he would have said it immediately. This is an afterthought. Perhaps he learned of her fortune. Wealthy men are never satisfied with their own fortunes. They are always desirous of adding to them."

And so the matter had been closed, and the servants had been warned not to tell Mistress de Marisco that the Earl of Glenkirk had called upon her grandparents that day. Rowan Lindley had won Jasmine. When the mid-February air was mild with the promise of spring, the Gordons, the de Mariscos, and the Ashburnes left London to travel home.

"You will come to Swan Court soon, won't you, Jasmine?" Sybilla begged her sister. "I will be so lonely without you!"

"As soon as Grandmother lets me," Jasmine promised. "She says I must be fitted for my trousseau first."

"Send word as soon as you can," Sybilla said, smiling. Then the coach carrying the bride, her parents—who were going with her to see her home—and her bridegroom turned off the main highway and onto the road that would take them to Swan Court.