Chapter 19

Chapter 19

The Earl of Glenkirk had returned to court after an absence of some months. He had been in Scotland overseeing his vast holdings. It was becoming increasingly difficult, he found, to serve both James Stuart and his own interests. Glenkirk was his home, and he loved it, but without Isabelle and the children, it was a place overrun with lonely memories—not just of his late wife and children, but of his mother, his father, his grandparents, and that magnificent matriarch he had never known but who was still spoken of by the Leslies of Glenkirk, his great-great-grandmother, Janet Leslie. But they were all gone, and he was alone. He did not like being alone.

He knew that he should remarry. His brothers and sisters constantly importuned him to remarry. His mother wrote him long, serious letters from Italy, where she now lived with her second husband, begging him to remarry. His father wrote him once yearly from the Americas, where he lived with his new wife and family. He, too, preached remarriage and duty to Glenkirk.

James Leslie found his father's letters particularly irritating. Patrick Leslie had gone off, leaving his family in order that he might explore the new world. When his ship was reported sunk, they had believed him dead. He had survived, however, but neglected to inform them. A charming but spoiled man, Patrick Leslie had continued on with his explorations, returning home in secret almost ten years ago to confront his eldest son and heir with the fact of his existence.

He had not been at all interested in picking up his old life. He was, in fact, openly relieved not to have to do so. His son had agreed to keep the secret of his survival between themselves, and the former Earl of Glenkirk never lost touch with his son again, writing him yearly.

His father had been very sympathetic over the death of Isabelle and the children, but then he began to nag his son regarding remarriage and his obligations to the family. But it was the pleas of his brothers, Colin and Robert, that concerned James Leslie most. They did not wish the responsibility of Glenkirk thrust upon them.

"There must be some woman you would be content to marry, and father children upon," Colin Leslie had said to his brother the night before James began his return trip to England. "It is not as if Isabelle was the great love of your life, Jemmie. And how long have she and the bairns been gone now?"

"Aye," Robert Leslie had chimed in seriously. " 'Tis past time you remarried, and had new heirs. If there is no one in Scotland who takes your fancy, then look about the English court, man. We will settle for any strong, healthy lass, Jemmie. Even a Sassenach!"

James Leslie sighed to himself at his brother's words. There had been a woman he might have married, but he had not been quick enough. She had wed another. Jasmine de Marisco. He had never known a woman like her. His brothers could not know that it was not the memory of his dear Isabelle that prevented him from remarriage now. It was the memory of Jasmine de Marisco, and one incredible night that sometimes he was not even certain had really happened. Isabelle had been his wife by an arranged marriage, but this time he would follow his mother's lead. He would marry only for love. Without love there was nothing.

And now, newly returned to court, who should he happen upon first but Lady Frances Howard Devereaux, the Countess of Essex. Frances Howard was considered one of the most beautiful women at James's court. A voluptuous woman with large, dark eyes and rich chestnut-brown hair, she was one of the Earl of Suffolk's daughters. At thirteen she had been forced into marriage with young Robert Devereaux, the Earl of Essex, and her dislike for him was no secret. But despite her arrogant and willful personality, she had great charm when she chose to exhibit it. Even one of her great enemies described her as "a beauty of the greatest magnitude in the horizon of the court … every tongue grew an orator at that shrine."

"Glenkirk, you rogue! I did not know you were returned to court," Frances Howard effusively greeted James Leslie. "Little has changed, I fear. The same old faces; the same old scandals. Oh, yes! Prince Henry has taken a mistress, and not on the sly. It is quite in the open, my dear." Frances kissed his cheek familiarly, and for a moment he was enveloped in the fragrance of violets. "How is your Scotland?" she asked him, tucking her hand through his arm to walk with him.

"Same old faces, but alas, the scandals have moved south with the king," he told her mischievously. "The weather, I might add, was abysmal, as it frequently is in Scotland. Tell me of the prince. Who is the lady who has found favor with him? I thought that you were his favorite, Frances, but I hear, even in Scotland, that you have turned your sights upon Viscount Rochester. Oh, yes, how is your husband?"

Frances Howard, dressed in a gown of tawny orange and gold brocade with a wickedly low neckline that revealed her plump breasts, chuckled, and rapped the Earl of Glenkirk upon the arm with her gold and lace fan. "I but toyed with Henry Stuart, my dear. A lovely boy, but a boy nonetheless. My husband is as always. Boring. As for the prince, he has taken the dowager Marchioness of Westleigh to his bed. I must say that she is every bit as beautiful as I am," Frances concluded generously. "She is half foreign, I am told. Born a princess in her native land. Her mother is the Countess of BrocCairn. She and the prince are mad for one another, my dear. One cannot help but wonder how long it will last, but still it is encouraging to know that Henry Stuart does not have his father's proclivities."

"The dowager Marchioness of Westleigh, Frances? I did not know that there was one. Surely she must be a bit old for the prince. I have met the young Marchioness of Westleigh, but not her mother-in-law," the Earl of Glenkirk replied. "It is young Lady Lindley who is foreign-born."

"My goodness, you have been gone a long time," Frances Howard told him. "The Marquess of Westleigh was killed in Ireland, Glenkirk. It is his young widow who is Prince Henry's mistress. Lady Jasmine Lindley is her name. Is that the same lady of your acquaintance?"

He nodded, stunned. "Aye, it is. I did not know she had been widowed. How long?"

"Well over a year, I understand. She has three children, but they are in the country," Frances Howard said.

"They cannot be very old," the Earl of Glenkirk said. "She ought to be with her children, and not at court whoring for the prince!"

Frances Howard laughed. "Oh, Glenkirk," she replied, "do not be so old-fashioned! One has servants to look after one's children. Lady Lindley does her children a better service here at court pleasing England's next king than she would remaining at home with them. Why, I think her a most excellent mother, for she is ambitious, and her position in Prince Henry's life cannot fail but help her children."

James Leslie was outraged, but he could not understand why. Jasmine Lindley was not his responsibility, and yet the thought of her as Prince Henry's mistress was galling. He voiced his concern to Lady Lindley's stepfather, and was further outraged by Alex Gordon's attitude.

The Earl of BrocCairn looked at the Earl of Glenkirk as if he were a half-wit. "God's nightshirt, Jemmie, what business is it of yers? My own father was a royal bastard. Yer own mother was this king's mistress in his youth. Where is the harm in it? Jasmine was no virgin, but twice widowed. She was willing."

"Willing?" he ground out. "Willing to whore for a prince?"

"Aye, willing," BrocCairn replied. "She likes Henry Stuart. She has told her mother so. Besides, it canna hurt the future of her bairns that she is the prince's mistress. Little Henry Lindley will benefit by the association, as will our two granddaughters."

James Leslie felt himself overcome with rage at the Earl of BrocCairn's reasoning. Excusing himself, he hurried off before he hit the man. What was it about the Stuarts that drew women to them? And what was it about the royal Stuarts that led them to believe that they had a perfect right to appropriate any woman that took their fancy? But he knew the answer. James Stuart and his family believed most seriously in the divine right of kings to do what they pleased, when they pleased. Henry Stuart, if he had learned nothing else, had absorbed this lesson at his father's knobby knee.

The Earl of Glenkirk stopped in his flight and looked about. He was in a stone corridor, and completely lost. A sound caught his ear, and instinctively he stepped back into the shadows. A door at the end of the corridor opened, and in the shaft of light that spilled forth momentarily, he saw two people hurry through, one a man, the other a woman. He could not yet make out their features for they were too far away from him. The woman ran ahead of the man, who chased after her and finally caught up almost directly in front of the Earl of Glenkirk's hiding place. Shocked, he recognized the two. He was unable, however, to reveal himself.

Jasmine Lindley laughed low, seductively. "You really are very naughty, my lord," she told Henry Stuart.

"I won!" he said.

"You cheated!" she responded. "I have been playing chess since earliest childhood, and I could even beat my father, who was one of the finest players in India. You, sir, are not his equal. I saw you palm that bishop! You did not win, my lord!"

"Nonetheless you will pay the forfeit, madame, else I expire right here in this darkened corridor," he told her. "Surely you would not want to be responsible for my death? Then brother Charles would become king one day, and the poor little fellow is much too serious to be a King of England, madame. I shall make him Archbishop of Canterbury instead," Henry Stuart finished with a laugh, and he reached out for her.

In the dim torchlight that lighted the interior hallway, the Earl of Glenkirk saw Jasmine Lindley step quickly aside to evade the prince. Now, he thought, now I must make my presence known to them, but somehow he could not bring himself to step forward, to speak up. Instead he watched as the two lovers played a game of dodge and catch which the prince eventually won, drawing Jasmine into his arms to kiss her.

Pressing her against a stone pillar, he murmured against her mouth, and Glenkirk, in the shadows, not even daring to draw a deep breath, heard and saw everything.

"Witch! You have surely bewitched me, Jasmine, my love," Henry Stuart said. The tone in his voice was that of a young man in love but trying to keep control of the situation.

Lowering his head, the prince kissed the exposed flesh of her bosom. Then, with skillful fingers, he managed to undo her laces just enough that her breasts spilled from the gown. Bending, he suckled on each of her breasts while Jasmine sighed softly.

"Someone could see us," she protested faintly.

"We are quite alone, my love," he assured her.

I should turn away since I dare not reveal my presence, the Earl of Glenkirk thought, but he did not.

"I want you, my love," the prince told her. "Now!" He pushed the skirts of her gown up, eagerly seeking her.

"Oh, Hal! Not here!" she begged him, but it seemed to Glenkirk that she was not truly distressed by her situation. "What if someone comes, my darling? 'Twould be a terrible scandal."

"Who would dare admit to seeing such a thing?" He laughed, pressing against her sensuously, his tongue licking at her ear. "Why, Jasmine, my love, there could be someone hidden in the corridor at this very moment, and they would not dare reveal what they saw to a living soul. Does it excite you to think of fucking me before an audience? God's boots! I would not care if the entire court were present now, I desire you so very much!" He fumbled with his own clothing, releasing his greatly swollen manhood. "I want you, my darling! I want you now!" Henry Stuart said, his hands cupping her bottom and lifting her up to impale her upon his fleshy rod.

"Ahhhhhh," she cried softly, and wrapped both her arms and her legs about him, her naked breasts pressing hard against him.

James Leslie almost groaned aloud at the sight. As the prince thrust rhythmically into his most willing partner, her beautiful face became an erotic mask of pure pleasure. The earl closed his eyes for a moment, listening to the sensual sounds of their lovemaking, imagining himself in Henry Stuart's place. It had been almost five years since he had lain within her embrace, and he had been half in love with her then, a fact brought home to him when he learned of her impending marriage to Rowan Lindley. Now she was widowed, and he might have been free to court her had she not been Prince Henry's mistress. He struggled to prevent the overwhelming jealousy he felt from boiling over.

"Ohhh, Hal, my darling!" Jasmine cried.

"My love!" the prince replied, his voice harsh, and he shuddered with his release even as she half fainted within his arms.

All was silent for a few moments, except for the sounds of their rough breathing, gnawing at the quiet of the corridor. Then Jasmine laughed softly and said, "You really are naughty, my darling, but do not, I beg you, ever change your most wicked ways, Hal. I fear I enjoy them much too much."

Listening to her, James Leslie's jealousy grew even stronger. He watched from his hiding place as they carefully straightened their clothing so that no one they met might know of their dalliance. The earl studied his rival with a close eye. Henry Stuart was barely out of his boyhood, but then, Jasmine was not much older than her lover. The young man had an oval face that narrowed toward his chin, which had a small cleft in it. His eyebrows were bushy over fine gray-blue eyes. His cheekbones were high, his forehead broad. His nose was probably his weakest feature, being long and like his father's, but broader toward the tip. His upper lip was narrow, but his lower lip was full and sensuous.

"Would you be angry, Jasmine, if I said that I loved you?" Henry Stuart asked her, his eyes lowered, his fingers redoing her laces.

"You must not love me, Hal," she told him quietly. "We are friends, and that is more than enough for me. I would take nothing from the girl you will one day marry. I want you to love your wife. Without love, life is very lonely, my sweet lord. The wife chosen for you will be a princess from some foreign land. She will leave her family and all she has known to come to you, Hal. You must not just welcome her publicly. You must learn to love her so she will be content with you. Then you also will be happy. It is not easy to leave one's native land, one's family, and everything familiar that one has known. Had I not had my most wonderful grandparents awaiting me when I came here from India, I do not know what I should have done."

Her gentle, wise words surprised the earl in light of her most licentious and very abandoned behavior of the past few minutes. "You are a princess," Henry Stuart said. "I would marry you!"

"Oh, Hal! I do not know when I have been so flattered," Jasmine told him, and she kissed his cheek. "In India neither my father, God rest him, nor my brother would consider a royal Stuart worthy of an Imperial Mughal princess. Here in England the reverse would be true. The situation surrounding my birth has been delicately explained away because of my family connections, and my wealth. If you ever seriously contemplated a match with me, you would be horrified by the ensuing uproar. In England an Imperial Mughal princess is fit to be the Prince of Wales's mistress, but certainly not his wife. Besides, my darling, I have no wish to ever remarry," Jasmine concluded.

"Why?" he asked her, looking into her face tenderly.

"I believe I may be cursed, as I told you, Hal," Jasmine replied with utmost seriousness. "Both of my husbands have died violently, and both their deaths have been because of me. My brother Salim had Jamal Khan murdered because he sought an incestuous relationship with me. Rowan Lindley was killed by an assassin who meant for me to die. Only fate, unpredictable creature that she is, saved me both times. Because my grandmother had insisted on remaining in contact with my father, I was able to escape my brother. Had I not bent down from my mare to pick up India, the bullet meant for me would have buried itself in my heart and not Rowan's. To lose a husband to death is not unusual, but to lose two husbands to murder is most unusual. I have my children, Hal, and I would not send another man to an untimely end; particularly the man who is to be England's next king."

"I would not have believed you capable of such superstitious nonsense," Henry Stuart said, half angrily. "You sound like my father, with all his fears and crotchets over the supernatural, or the occult."

"I will not argue with you, my lord," Jasmine answered him quietly. "Whatever I may or may not believe, a marriage between us would never be countenanced. Why should we quarrel over it, my darling?" She kissed the tip of one finger and touched it to the cleft in his chin, smiling. "Come, my lord. We shall be late for vespers, and you know what people will think if we are. I do not wish to displease the king, else he think me a bad influence upon you."

"You are the best thing that has ever happened to me," Henry Stuart declared vehemently, but nonetheless he took her arm, and the young couple hurried off down the torch-lit corridor.

James Leslie stood silently in the dim light, listening to their footsteps as they faded. So Henry Stuart would marry Jasmine, but she would not have him. She was right, of course, in one sense. He did not believe for a moment that she was, as she stated, "cursed." But she was correct when she said that she would not be considered an eligible wife for England's next king. The tragedy was that she would probably make Henry Stuart a good wife. She was loving, and sensible, and knew what was expected of a queen. She obviously cared for the prince, although she had not admitted that she loved him when he had declared his passion.

Did she love him?James Leslie wondered about it. It was unlikely that she would admit to it if she did. Being sensitive to the prince's situation, and no adventuress, she would not want to encourage Henry Stuart in his folly. And when the prince one day was suitably matched and married, what would become of Jasmine? the Earl of Glenkirk thought curiously. Whoever became England's future queen would be unable to hold a candle to Jasmine for beauty. How would she feel about her husband's beauteous mistress? Would Jasmine even be welcomed at court then? And if she was not welcome, where would she go? Would she consider remarriage then? To him?

Christmas was celebrated at Whitehall that year. With the arrival of the holidays, Jasmine realized, as she had realized many times in the last months, how very much she missed her children. Court, her grandmother wrote her, was no place for children. They were happier and safer at Queen's Malvern. The dowager Marchioness of Westleigh was reluctantly forced to agree with Skye.

Although Jasmine had a home at Greenwood House, she had also been given rooms at St. James's Palace, Henry Stuart's London residence. It was an unspoken acknowledgment of her position at court. Everyone, even James Leslie, had to admit that Jasmine had great style. Whatever happened between the dowager Marchioness of Westleigh and the Prince of Wales, she did not allow any member of the court to forget she was a princess born.

When Henry Stuart insisted that Jasmine be installed in her own rooms in the palace, Jasmine sent for her other servants. Now the turbaned, white-coated Adali oversaw his mistress's apartments. Rohana and Toramalli, used to English clothing, reverted to their colorful and exotic silks. The younger members of the court vied for invitations to Lady Lindley's suite, for her intimate entertainments were considered a mark of having arrived within the inner circle, which Jasmine found quite amusing. She only invited clever, intelligent people who could amuse the prince with their wit and their conversation.

Robert Cecil, the Earl of Salisbury, became disturbed by Jasmine's position in the prince's life, and spoke to the king. "Is it wise for the prince to flaunt his mistress, sire, when we are actively seeking a wife for him? A young and gently reared princess would surely be distressed."

"Dinna fret, my little beagle," the king replied. "Lady Lindley is the perfect light o' love for Henry. She is charming and modest."

"She is intelligent," Robert Cecil condemned Jasmine dourly.

"I dinna hold wi intelligence in a woman either," James Stuart answered. "Still, if she is, she dinna flaunt it, and she makes my laddie laugh. 'Tis a rare quality in a woman, Cecil."

"But what if she becomes enceinte, sire?" Robert Cecil persisted.

"We'll pray for a grandson," the king said with a smile. "If Lady Lindley proves fertile, so much the better for my son's reputation. The Stuarts are known throughout Europe as good breeding stock."

The Earl of Salisbury sighed deeply. In his father's day there was no such worry. Elizabeth was a maiden queen. There were no royal offspring to cause scandal. He knew the amorous reputation attributed to the royal Stuarts, but he had somehow hoped that Prince Henry, being more sensible than his parents, could overcome it. Obviously he could not. If only Lady Lindley were not the granddaughter of the Countess of Lundy. Lady de Marisco had given Elizabeth Tudor great difficulties, and now here was her incredibly beautiful granddaughter futtering the Prince of Wales, and enchanting him totally. What if a match for Henry Stuart was agreed upon and she caused difficulties? His father's son, Robert Cecil could not allow such a thing to happen. He requested that Lady Lindley meet with him. To his deep annoyance, she sent back a message that she would be delighted to speak with him … in her apartments.

"In other words," Robert Cecil muttered irritably to himself, "on her terms! Just like her grandmother, I vow!" Still, he went.

Jasmine greeted him politely, inviting him to be seated. Her servants brought them wine, and then when they had been dismissed, Lady Lindley, taking hold of the situation, said, "What is it you want of me, my lord Cecil? I cannot imagine there is some way in which I may aid you."

"Your relationship with the prince disturbs me, madame," Robert Cecil said, equally direct and open.

"My relationship with the prince is not your concern, my lord," Jasmine told him bluntly, "but I understand your fears. I do not expect to wed Prince Henry. When he is finally married, I will leave the court, although I have promised the prince that I will always be there for him should he need me. It is a promise I will keep. Nonetheless, I believe it important that he learn to love his wife, and she him. I will cause no scandal."

"What if you should have his child, madame?"

"I should consider myself blessed, my lord. I like children. I have three now. A son, and two daughters," Jasmine said.

"Madame! You are as exasperating as your grandmother has always been. On one hand you soothe my fears with your sensible words, but then you terrify me with the possibility of a royal bastard. There has not been an acknowledged royal bastard since the days of the late queen's father. Royal bastards make for unnecessary difficulties," the Earl of Salisbury grumbled, glowering at her.

Jasmine smothered a giggle. "Please, my lord, you must not fret yourself," she counseled him. "I cannot stop the course of nature should she get it into her capricious head to give me a baby."

With a despairing shake of his head, Robert Cecil departed Lady Lindley's apartments. What would be would be, unless, of course, he could convince the king to marry Lady Lindley off to some worthy gentleman who would remove her from court. Aye! That was the answer. The prince might play in peace with his mistress until they had found him a suitable bride, but once the papers were signed, Lady Lindley must be married off to a strong man who would not take kindly to being a cuckold. It was such a simple solution that Robert Cecil was ashamed that he hadn't thought of it before. The lady herself had promised him that she would leave court when Prince Henry married.

Relieved, the Earl of Salisbury did not distress himself further even when the prince and his mistress were the center of the holiday revels. Ben Jonson had written a new masque, Oberon, Prince of Faery, and Inigo Jones would be designing the costumes and the sets. Prince Henry would, of course, play the title role in the masque. Jasmine Lindley would be Titania, Oberon's queen.

"Bare feet again, Master Jones?" Jasmine teased, as she stood patiently at her costume fitting.

Inigo Jones looked up at her with a grin. He was kneeling before her, measuring the distance from the floor to Jasmine's ankle. "And a costume so diaphanous that no other lady at court could dare to wear it, madame," he told her, and chuckled. "You must appear to be clothed in cobwebs and moonbeams."

"And who shall play the other roles in this masque?" Jasmine asked him, wondering if her lover would approve of the costume.

"Lady Essex has been chosen to be Aurora, the Goddess of Dawn, madame," Inigo Jones said. "Now that poor Lady Arabella is confined to the tower because her secret marriage to William Seymour has been revealed, we may expect Lady Essex's star to shine more brightly, especially given her close friend, Viscount Rochester."

"Poor Lord Essex," Jasmine said sympathetically. "He seems a very pleasant young man. The prince says he is quite loyal as well."

"That may be, my lady," Inigo Jones replied, "but young Carr is quite his majesty's pet. As long as he keeps on the king's good side, he'll go far. Wait and see. There will be a bigger peerage in it for him before it's all over." Inigo Jones lowered his voice now. "Lady Frances has charm, my lady, but she is spoiled, and determined to be the brightest star in the firmament of the court. How better to attain her goal than to become wife to his majesty's favorite?"

"But she already has a husband," Jasmine said low.

"With her connections, my lady, he's easily divorced when she so chooses to rid herself of him. I hear things. Her majesty would be delighted, I can tell you, to have young Carr removed from the king's sphere. That young man is most greedy, and never satisfied with all he gets. King James is a good man, but too generous with those he loves."

Inigo Jones, who had also served the queen's brother, King Christian of Denmark, was intimately acquainted with the royal family. Jasmine listened to him, fascinated. Anyone else might have dismissed him as a simple gossip, but she did not. She was also careful of what she said before him lest it be repeated. She only told Master Jones what she desired the king and queen to know. It was no secret that she was the Prince of Wales's mistress, but discretion was a very important part of her position in the court.

"You can wear nothing beneath this costume," Inigo Jones said as he stood up, satisfied with the length now. "You must remember that you are a faery queen clothed in gossamer garments."

"I am not certain that the prince will approve," Jasmine replied.

"I have shown him the costume, my lady. He has given his permission that you may wear it. Speak with him yourself," Inigo Jones said. "I will admit it is daring, but authenticity is so important."

That evening as she lay abed naked with her lover, Jasmine asked him, "Are you aware of how diaphanous my costume is, Hal? Master Jones says I am not to wear anything beneath it. My nudity shall be quite visible to all. He says he has your permission."

"Aye," Henry Stuart answered her. He was seated, equally naked, in her bed. Jasmine, her back to him, was settled between his legs. With one hand he cupped and fondled a breast, while with the other he pushed aside her long black hair that he might kiss her neck. His lips brushed the smooth, soft column. "I want every man at court to be jealous of me, my love. I want them to see your perfection, and ache with the knowledge that you are mine, and mine alone." His tongue swept up her neck wetly.

"I am yours because it pleases me to be so," she said softly, and her fingers trailed up and down his thigh thoughtfully. The light golden down on his legs bristled slightly, and she smiled to herself.

He sharply pinched the nipple with which he was toying, causing her to gasp. "I will never let you go, Jasmine," he said fiercely. Then bending his head again, he bit her shoulder. "You belong to me!"

Pulling away from him, Jasmine scrambled about and knelt before him. "I am not a possession, Hal. Yours, or any man's. I left India because I would not allow myself to be owned. I belong to no one but myself. I am not some simple little English milady honored and overwhelmed by your attentions. I am an Imperial Mughal princess, though I be far from my homeland." Behind her the flames in the fireplace crackled noisily, as if adding emphasis to her words. "You are in my bed because I wish it, my lord, not just because you wish it."

For a moment his face darkened with his own anger, but then he laughed. "What a proud creature you are, Jasmine, my love," he told her blandly, but then he pushed her upon her back and flung himself atop her, pinioning her beneath him. "You are mine, princess or no, madame!"

Furiously, Jasmine squirmed beneath him, but he was heavier than she, and used his weight to his advantage. He had forced her arms behind her so that she could not use them against him. Now, straddling her, he laughed down into her face. "The gentlemen of the court shall admire you through a sensuously taunting curtain of fluttering silks, my love. They shall observe the exquisite high cones of your creamy breasts. When you dance before them, you shall think of me, of us, of how we are now. The nipples of your breasts will pucker with your remembrance." His free hand brushed possessively over her bosom, his fingers teasing at the nipples which had indeed grown taut and tight.

Jasmine said nothing, but her turquoise-blue eyes glowed angrily.

"Any gentleman with whom you make eye contact will believe you aroused by him, and will ache with his own desire to possess you," Henry Stuart continued wickedly. Then sliding himself down her body a ways, he leaned forward to take a nipple within his mouth.

The tug of his lips upon her flesh was delicious, but Jasmine remained silent. Their dispute was one of perspective, not passion. His behavior no doubt stemmed from his growing frustration over her place in his life. He wanted her for a wife, but being intelligent, he knew that Jasmine was correct when she said a marriage between them would not be allowed. The thought that he might lose her one day drove him to recklessness. His mother had only recently mentioned that they were considering the possibility of a match between him and the Spanish Infanta, Maria Anna, daughter of King Philip III and his queen, Margaret of Austria.

"You must do what is best for England," Jasmine had told him sternly when he mentioned it. He knew that she was right.

His anger had come to the boiling point. Wife or no wife, he would not lose her to another man! He suckled hard upon her breast, and Jasmine was no longer able to keep from crying out. "You are mine!" he repeated, and he pulled himself up level with her face that he might cover it with his hot kisses.

Her eyes closed now, Jasmine didn't know whether to be angry with him or not. He was so wise for a man of his tender years, and yet he was so young. She would wager she knew more about being a king than did Henry Stuart, for all his proud boasting. He had only recently said to his father, annoyed with the king's reprimand for some minor fault, "I know what becomes a prince. It is not necessary for me to be a professor, but a soldier, and a man of the world."

But the man within him yet warred with the boy. Jasmine struggled to free a hand, and successful, caressed the back of his neck tenderly.

"I cannot lose you, my lamb love," he groaned within the fragrant cloud of her dark hair. "I will not let them separate us! Whomever they shackle me to, I shall love only you, Jasmine. Only you."

She felt the tears pricking at the back of her eyelids. Damn! Why was life so terribly complicated? I love you, Henry Stuart, she thought silently, but I will never tell you. It would not be fair to the lady who will one day be your wife. I have been a wife, and I know how much a woman needs to know that her husband loves her. But I will stay with you, my dear lord, as long as you desire me.

She felt him slide within her, and she arched herself to meet him. Fiercely he rode her, and freeing her other hand, she put her arms about him, holding him close to her, returning his kisses with fiery kisses of her own. He thrust into her over and over and over again until Jasmine was aflame and shuddering with her own passion. Still, he could not seem to satisfy himself.

"It is not enough!" he half sobbed. "It is not enough! I cannot have enough of you, my lamb love!" He ground deeply into her.

"Ahhhhh, my Hal! Ahhhhhh, my dearest!" Jasmine cried out to him as her voluptuous body reached its crisis for a third time. "No more, I beg you! It is too much!"

"No! 'Tis not enough!" Henry Stuart insisted, and he pressed his aching loins harder against her, forcing her legs up and back that he might propel himself deeper into her hot passage. His manhood was a weapon that thrust, parried, and withdrew as he plunged himself into her again and again.

Never, Jasmine thought dreamily through the haze of sensation enveloping her—nay, overwhelming her!—never had a man plowed her furrow so deeply. His rod was like iron, driving into her with a painful sweetness, until she thought that she could surely bear no more, that he could give no more; yet he pushed onward. Thrice she had gained pleasure from him in this one encounter, but now she could feel a wildness building up within the very core of her deepest being. He lay atop her, his loins pistoning against her, his hands clutching at her breasts for balance. She had long since ceased to hold him. Her arms lay helplessly over her head as he drove her onward into madness.

Their bodies were wet with their striving. Henry Stuart suddenly tensed. At last, he thought. At last he would gain victory over her sweetly yielding body. The walls of her passage tightened like a nutcracker about his throbbing member in a manner he had never before experienced. He groaned. It was as if she were struggling to extract every drop of his life force from him. He felt as if he would explode as she gripped and released, gripped and released him. It was almost enough, he realized with relief.

Sobbing with her passion, Jasmine gasped, but half aware, beneath her lover. He had never loved her like this before. It was wild, and it was wonderful. She was going to die, and she did not care. She could hear someone crying out with a sound of intense pleasure even as the waves of joy washed over her, drowning her in such happiness that it didn't matter if she ever saw the light of day again. Then she was swept down into a whirlpool of dark warmth, and with a cry, she yielded herself to it, unafraid.

When she finally came to herself again, it was to find Henry Stuart sprawled across her body, shuddering with his own pleasure, still buried deep within her. "Ohh, Hal! You are still so hard!" she whispered.

"You fainted, my love," he whispered back. "I flooded your sweet womb but did not withdraw. You must give a little more, Jasmine, before I am content this night." Raising himself slightly, he kissed the corners of her mouth.

"You almost killed me, and you want more?" She ran her little pointed tongue swiftly over his sensuous lower lip.

"Aye, I do," he murmured against her mouth.

"Then love me sweetly and gently this time, my lord," she told him, and he did, finally withdrawing from her utterly satisfied.

As they lay quietly now, Henry Stuart said, "I want you to have my bairn, Jasmine. I have never before had a bairn."

"That must be as God wills it, my lord," she returned, "but I should not be unhappy if I could please you in this matter." The thought of Robert Cecil arose in her mind, and she giggled.

"What is it?" he asked her, and she told him. "Damn Cecil for an impertinent dog!" Henry Stuart grumbled.

"He tries to think of what would be best for you, my darling," Jasmine told him, surprised to find herself defending the king's chancellor.

"What they want is for me to marry some pious, ugly virgin of impeccable royal lineage. Have you seen the miniature of the Infanta Maria Anna? She has an overbite, and looks like a rodent, I vow!" he groused. "This is what they would have me get my sons on."

"I have indeed seen the Infanta's miniature, and you do her a great injustice, my lord," Jasmine scolded him. "She is a lovely young girl with fine large eyes, a most dainty nose, and a luscious-looking mouth. Her hair is fairer than yours too."

"And short! I do not like short hair, but her aunt, the French queen, has made it fashionable. A woman should have hair that is at least shoulder length," the prince announced. "Besides, there is the matter of religion. The Spanish are as obdurate about it as are the English. At least a French princess, though holding to her faith, would not interfere with the bairns. I think a French lass would be more acceptable to the English."

"You are so old-fashioned, my lord," she teased him. "Why, you are beginning to sound just like your royal father."

"God's boots," he groaned, "not that!"

The Christmas season arrived. Viscount Rochester was appointed the Lord of Misrule over the entire court. Jasmine, in concert with Sybilla and their mother, oversaw the decorations at St. James. The palace was decorated with a variety of greens. There was yew, reputed to be a good defense against sorcerers and witches, of which King James was sore afraid. Since the king would certainly visit his son at some point during the season, the yew was hung in deference to him. Bay was an ancient sign of power, and as Henry Stuart would one day be England's king, Jasmine thought it appropriate. The bright red berries on the deep green holly leaves stood for the drops of blood that fell from Christ's crown of thorns. The ivy garlands—ivy being sacred to the ancient god Bacchus—were believed to protect against drunkenness, of which there seemed to be much at court. Mistletoe was held to protect against evil spirits and to promote peace among men.

Her own apartments Jasmine decorated with laurel garlands. Laurel was thought to be a protector, and symbolized honor. Woven in with the laurel was bay, and rosemary for remembrance and friendship.

Although Jasmine knew many people at court now, she had no real friends except among her family. Her position as Prince Henry's mistress made her an easy target for gossip, but her family and her servants would not gossip about her and the prince. They could not be bought, nor even importuned to intercede for some petitioner eager for royal favor. Most amazing of all to those who peopled the court was that neither Lady Lindley nor her family sought any gain for themselves from her most advantageous position.

"They must be very stupid, provincial people," a courtier said in the hearing of Lady Essex and the Earl of Glenkirk.

"Nay," Frances Howard replied, a small, amused smile upon her face. "They are simply very rich."

"But they could be richer!" the courtier said in disbelief.

"There are some people in this world who put honor above personal gain," the Earl of Glenkirk explained to the surprised courtier. "Lady Lindley and her family are such people."

"I still think them foolish not to benefit when they could benefit most handsomely, my lord," the courtier said.

"Are you going to Robin Southwood's Twelfth Night fete?" Frances Howard asked the earl, dismissing the courtier, who was not particularly important. "Ben Jonson and Inigo Jones have devised a most magnificent masque for the occasion. The prince will play the role of Oberon, the faery king, and Lady Lindley, Titania, his queen. I am told that her costume is most scandalous. One of my maids knows one of the women who sews for Master Jones. They say you can see right through it, and that she will wear it with nothing beneath! Do you think she would dare?"

"I have absolutely no idea," the Earl of Glenkirk replied, sounding bored. "Tell me, madame, what costume will you wear?" he asked, diverting her attention to herself.

Frances Howard looked about her, and then said in a half whisper, "Will you swear to me, my lord, that you will tell no one if I tell you? There is so little imagination among the court, and a good idea is pounced upon to be duplicated a dozen times over. I do not wish to see myself coming and going at the Earl of Lynmouth's gala."

"I swear, madame," he whispered back, and then said, "I shall even share my own secret with you first. I intend to come as myself."

"Yourself?" Frances Howard made a little moue with her mouth. "That is really not particularly interesting, Glenkirk. Have you, like the king, no fondness for a fete? Is this a Scottish trait perhaps?"

He laughed. "Actually I do enjoy a fete, madame, and when I tell you that I am coming as myself, I mean that I shall be garbed in my full Highland dress. Have you ever seen a Scot in a kilt?"

Her eyes grew round. "Nay, I have not," she admitted. "Is it true that your knees will be bare, my lord?"

"Very bare," he teased her with a smile. "Does it excite you, madame, the thought of my bare knees?"

"Are your knees attractive, my lord, or are they knobby?" she teased him back. "I like a man with shapely knees."

"You shall judge for yourself, madame," he told her with a laugh. "Now you must tell me what your costume will be, for I have confided mine."

Frances Howard stood on tiptoes, but even so the Earl of Glenkirk had to bend down so she might whisper in his ear. "I shall be coming as Venus, the ancient Roman goddess of love. My lord Rochester is to be Adonis. What think you of that?"

"Will your husband come as Vulcan, then?" Glenkirk asked her, deadpan. "And perhaps the king will be Jupiter himself."

Lady Essex burst out laughing. "Lord bless me, my lord, you are most droll. I have no idea what Essex intends to wear, but I will wager that I could get him to come as Vulcan. I know I can! What a deliciously amusing idea! Shall I do it?"

"Would it be kind?" James Leslie asked her, now regretting that he had even suggested such a thing. This was a cruel court, and he found he sometimes fell into its unkind spirit without meaning to do so. Young Lord Essex had enough of a cross to bear with Frances Howard for his wife. She was neither dedicated to her task nor even particularly domesticated. She made a poor spouse, Glenkirk thought, though she was amusing. The rumor was that poor Essex had not even consummated the union, for his wife resisted all efforts on his part, disliking him so.

"I do not care if it is kind or not, Glenkirk, it is most clever, and I shall be admired greatly if I can pull it off. Essex will certainly look the fool, and so much the better," Frances concluded.

"Why do you hate your husband so?" he asked her, curious.

"I did not want to marry him, but my father thought the match an advantageous one for the Howards. I told Robert Devereaux quite plainly how I felt, but he agreed with my father because he thought the marriage a good one for his family too. They said that I was a silly chit of a girl and must do as I was bid. I was literally forced to the altar. Why, my father beat me twice before the wedding day for my refusals, but I've had my way despite them both."

"You are a formidable opponent, Frances Howard," Lord Leslie said.

"I am," she agreed calmly. "Now tell me, what think you of my costume? Is it original? Will I be admired?"

"Aye, it is, and you will be, madame," the Earl of Glenkirk told her.

Jasmine returned to Greenwood the day before her uncle Robin's annual fete. "I cannot, my lord, keep my costume secret," she told Henry Stuart, "unless I am in my own house."

Reluctantly, he allowed her to go.

Secretly, Jasmine was delighted to be back at Greenwood again. St. James Palace and Whitehall were overrun with courtiers and petitioners, and rife with intrigue, deception, and all other ills afflicting a royal court. Her every move was watched. Her every word was analyzed for deeper meaning. It was a constant strain that she did not enjoy, but bore for the sake of the young prince who loved her so passionately.

But even Jasmine's family could not help but discuss her status as they sat together at dinner that evening.

"Well, my dear, you have certainly surprised us all," her aunt Willow said sharply. "I would not have thought you capable of such a thing, and yet you have conducted yourself with dignity. I cannot, however, help but wonder what Mama must think of you now."

"My grandmother worries about my future," Jasmine replied.

"Do you mean she approves of your conduct, my child?" Willow demanded, looking slightly scandalized, yet at the same time thoughtful.

"Grandmother has known great love in her time. She well understands my position in this matter, Aunt," Jasmine responded softly.

"Hummmph," the Countess of Alcester snorted, retiring defeated. "Well, my child, I hope you will get something out of it. A manor, or a town house perhaps," she said. "Something. You've gems enough, I vow!"

"Jasmine is to play a major role in tomorrow evening's masque," Velvet said proudly. "Sybilla also has a part. She will be the nymph of the river Wye; and Robin's youngest daughter, along with my little Neddie, will join Prince Charles as mischievous wood sprites, Willow. 'Twill be a most beautiful and exciting masque, I believe."

"I miss the old days," Willow admitted. "We had such a fine time dancing at Queen Elizabeth's court. 'Twas better than these silly and most expensive masques. Why, the king is constantly in debt, with all the queen's expenditures. The treasury is not bottomless, you know, Velvet. Next they'll be taxing our trading houses even more than they do now to pay for all this nonsense."

"The king is generous," Jasmine said.

"With other people's money!" snapped her aunt. "Where will it end? I ask you. I must say I am grateful that all my daughters are married to country gentlemen. 'Tis better to stay clear of a court where rampant spending is the order of the day, and a woman's virtue may be so easily compromised," Willow concluded emphatically.

"My daughter's virtue was hardly easily compromised," Velvet told her sister testily. "To have refused Prince Henry would have caused a far greater scandal than to accept his suit. But then, dear Willow, as you have spent most of your life down in the country, you could hardly be expected to comprehend the etiquette of the Stuart court, could you?"

Sybilla kicked her stepsister beneath the table, her eyes twinkling with merriment as their mother and their aunt battled back and forth. Their aunt Willow very much disliked being considered ignorant on any subject.

"I would be mortified if any daughter of mine comported herself in the fashion that Jasmine has," Willow declared.

"And, indeed, Aunt, you would have every right to your distress," Jasmine agreed, "for your daughters are all married to living husbands. I have not that good fortune, however, and as the prince is unmarried as well, we harm no one with our love affair, do we?"

"What happens when Prince Henry marries?" demanded Willow, ever sensible. "What will become of you then?"

"Of course the prince will marry eventually. He must for the good of the realm. I will leave court when that time comes. I have told Hal that. His wife must not be embarrassed by my presence. 'Twill be no hardship, I assure you. I have no great love for court life. Indeed, I miss my children and the country."

"God's foot!" Willow swore. "You are Mama all over again. I can remember how maddening it was to try and deal with her when I was a girl. You think as she thought, God help us all!"

Those gathered about the high board laughed heartily, and Willow's brother, Robin, sympathized mockingly with her. "Aye, poor Willow! She has forever been unable to force Mama to behave like a dull goodwife. It has been your cross, big sister, has it not? And now to have a niece who is equally difficult. Ahhhh!"

"Laugh if you will, Robert Southwood," Willow said, "but no good will come of Jasmine's behavior with Prince Henry. She but draws attention to the family. Our security has always been in being unknown."

"I am the king's blood relation," the Earl of BrocCairn said. "It is impossible for us to be unknown in this court, Willow. I am sorry if it discommodes you, but there it is. I seem to spend at least half my year in England now, though I would have it otherwise."

The talk now moved on to costumes for the Earl of Lyn mouth's fete on the following evening.

"I hear the costume you are to wear in the masque is quite scandalous, Jasmine," her aunt said. "Is it so?"

"I fear you will be quite shocked, Aunt," Jasmine admitted. "But of course in India we wore fewer garments, and the body was not considered shameful. It should comfort you, however, to know that I shall change into another costume following my participation in the masque. The prince shall dress as the Sun itself, and I shall be the Moon."

"Ohh," Lady Southwood cried. "Our minds have been attuned, I think, dear Jasmine. Your uncle Robin is to come as the Evening Star, and I, the Morning Star. Our costumes will be mostly blue."

"The prince will be in cloth-of-gold," Jasmine said, "and I will be gowned in cloth-of-silver, Aunt Angel." She turned to Willow. "And you, Aunt, how will you be garbed for Uncle Robin's gala?"

"I will come as the ancient goddess of home and hearth," Willow replied tartly.

"How perfectly appropriate," murmured Lord Southwood, and he looked to his brother-in-law, James Edwardes. "And you, James? What clever idea has struck you, and does Willow approve?"

"I approve of everything James does," Willow snapped at Robin. "He is, and always has been, the most sensible of men." She beamed quite lovingly at her patient spouse, for Willow loved her husband dearly.

"I have found some old robes in our estate church," the Earl of Alcester replied. "How long they had been there, I have no idea. Probably since the time of old King Henry. Willow most kindly restored them, and I shall come as a monk."

The other gentlemen at the table, unable to help themselves, burst into fits of uncontrollable laughter. James Edwardes's mild blue eyes twinkled, and even the ladies tittered.

Willow, feeling sore-pressed by her relations tonight, glared at them all and said, "If any of you says one word!"

Her family, however, was too overcome by amusement to utter a single syllable.