“Then we shall have to keep separate stables, my lord,” Jasmine said with a little laugh. “I do not intend giving up my horse for you.”
“There is plenty of time to discuss such things, madame.”
Jasmine turned, looking him straight in the eye. “There is no need for a discussion, my lord,” she said firmly, and then she stepped out into the courtyard of the château, where the horses were waiting.
James Leslie had the urge to laugh aloud, but he wisely refrained from doing so. He was very uncertain of this beautiful woman who was to be his wife, but he was prudent to keep such thoughts to himself. Lady Lindley was strong-willed and would have to be handled carefully. He mounted his stallion and looked to her. “Lead on, madame,” he said, making certain as he spoke that the hamper was firmly settled.
She led him through the gardens of the château along neatly raked gravel paths. He could see it was an orderly place, the flower beds mulched over with straw and uncluttered. The rose trees were well trimmed. A fountain tinkled merrily. A lily pond lay smooth, and uniced, in the sunlight. He could but imagine how lovely it would become in the spring and the summertime. Open on three sides, the garden was walled from the forest on the fourth. He could see a wicket gate in the stone as they approached it. Leaning down, Jasmine opened it.
“Close it behind you, my lord,” she instructed him as she rode through.
Complying with her request, he followed her into the woods along a barely discernible, narrow path that wound and wound through the leafless trees of the forest. He glanced behind him and realized he could no longer see the château. He heard the sound of a stream tumbling over rocks, and then they were upon it, the horses picking their way across the unstable streambed. At one point he saw deer amid the trees. It seemed that they were in the deepest wood, then suddenly they exited onto a grassy hillside. Below them a vast vineyard spread itself out, and on a far hill was a magnificent château.
“That is Archambault,” Jasmine said. “My great-grandmère was once the comtesse de Cher. Her husband, however, was not my grandfather Adam’s father. That was her first husband, John de Marisco, the lord of Lundy Island. Did you know that my grandfather was once seriously considered a pirate?” She laughed mischievously. “The old queen even put my grandmother in the tower at one time, for she believed that she was in league with him. My aunt Deirdre was born there.”
“I wonder,” the earl said with equal humor, “if the king is aware of your entire lineage, madame. Poor Jamie would be shocked.”
“Perhaps he would not want you to wed me,” Jasmine replied slyly.
“Alas, madame, were you one-eyed, and snaggle-toothed, the king would require our union, for you are the mother of his first grandchild.”
“Then it is fortunate that I am not one-eyed and snaggle-toothed,” Jasmine said drolly. She chuckled wickedly. “Would you wed me, my lord, if I were a hag and ugly as sin?”
“Aye, madame, I would, for I am the king’s loyal man,” James Leslie said. “The Leslies of Glenkirk have always been loyal to the Stuarts. It is our way.”
“What if the king were wrong?” Jasmine teased him.
“Royal Stuarts are never wrong, madame,” he told her.
“Divine right?” she mocked him.
“Aye, divine right,” he answered. “Would your father have allowed any man or woman to question his decisions?”
“Not as emperor,” she answered him, “but as a man my father was insatiably curious and always open to question. It was how he united a country and kept it united. Even in the matter of religion there was no right or wrong with Akbar. I was fortunate to be raised by such a man, for unlike my siblings, my father had time for me. Being the youngest of his offspring, and the child of his old age, there was always time for me. I was privileged, my lord, as few daughters are.” She stopped her mare and looked down over the sleeping vineyards. “Shall we stop and eat here, sir? The sun is warm, and the view fair.”
Agreeing, he dismounted, then lifted her from her own horse. While Jasmine spread a cloth she removed from her saddle pouch upon winter-dried grass, the earl took the basket from the pommel of his saddle where it had been hanging. They sat, and she spread the contents of the basket upon the cloth. He used his own knife to slice the bread, the cheese and the chicken into edible portions. There were two small silver goblets in the bottom of the basket, and Jasmine removed them, gracefully pouring the golden wine from the goatskin into them.
They ate, enjoying the food, but there was a paucity of sententious conversation between them. Jasmine gazed out over the vineyards below them and at the château on the hill beyond. James Leslie was equally quiet. His eyes wandered over the landscape, then to the woman who was his companion. She was, he thought, even more beautiful than she had been two years ago. But was there anything upon which they might build a meaningful relationship? He knew that they were capable of infuriating each other, but he did not want to spend the rest of his life with an angry woman. He had lusted after Jasmine once, and while he thought her capable of arousing his passions again, it was not enough. He wanted something more, and he would stake his life that she would want more too. But what? And how were they to find it?
“What is it you want?” he suddenly burst out.
Her face registered her surprise. “Want? What do you mean, my lord? I do not understand you. I believe I have everything anyone could want, and certainly a great deal more of it than most. I do not believe that I lack for anything, sir.”
James Leslie shook his head. “Nay, Jasmine, ’tis not material possessions I question you about. I know you are a wealthy woman in your own right, but there are other things than one’s tangible assets. Do you seek power, or amusement, additional wealth, or love? What do you really want that perhaps you do not have?”
“Ahhhhhh!” The light of understanding dawned in her beautiful and unusual turquoise-colored eyes. “Love? I had not thought if I should love again. The men I love die sudden deaths. Jamal and Rowan were murdered in their prime, and in both cases I was the direct cause of their deaths. Jamal’s because my half brother coveted me; and Rowan’s because my crown-appointed estate agent meant to kill me, and Rowan was in his way when the gun discharged. As for my poor Hal . . .” She sighed. “Henry Stuart should not have died before his time.”
“But you were not responsible in any way for his death,” the earl reminded Jasmine.
“Nonetheless he loved me, and he died,” she responded.
“If you loved me, I should not fear death,” James Leslie said.
Suddenly Jasmine smiled, and his heart jumped in his chest. “You seek some common ground upon which we may build a marital relationship, my lord, do you not?” And when he nodded in the affirmative, she continued. “Tell me, sir, did you love Isabelle Gordon, your deceased wife? Was she a pretty girl? Did you laugh together or cry together? How did she make you happy, my lord?”
He thought a moment, then said, “Bella was a pretty lass. She had long dark hair. Not the blue-black of yours, but rather a deep warm brown. I had been betrothed to her since my childhood, and we knew each other well. I believe I thought of her as I did my sisters. Then my father went off on an exploration of the New World and did not return. The king declared him dead, and I became the earl of Glenkirk. James Stuart insisted I marry immediately, ostensibly to get heirs on Bella so my line would not die out. In truth the king wanted my mother for his mistress. Declaring my father legally dead and forcing me into the position of head of my family was his way of making her presence at Glenkirk unnecessary. He ordered her to court.”
“God’s boots!” Jasmine burst out. “The king actually lusted after a woman? Why I thought him completely faithful to Queen Anne.”
“Other than his passion for my mother he was. It began before he married the queen, but ’tis a long story, and I will not bore you with it, Jasmine. Suffice it to say my mother fled Scotland and has not been back since. She lives in the kingdom of Naples with my half b
rother, and two half sisters. My stepfather died two and a half years ago.”
“And she did not choose to return?” How curious Jasmine thought.
“Nay she did not. She still fears James Stuart although I have assured her that he is a changed man from their youth. She says that cats do not change their stripes and that the climate of Naples agrees with her far more than that of Scotland. I think her memories of Scotland, however, are too sad for her to bear, whereas she and Lord Bothwell were happy all their years together in Naples.”
“Were you happy with your Bella?” Jasmine queried him.
“Aye, I was. She was a good lass, a good mother, and a wife a man could be proud of, madame.”
“You have not said if you loved her,” Jasmine pressed.
“Aye, I did love her, but in a youthful and inexperienced way, I believe as I look back. We were comfortable together, and had she not died so tragic a death, I believe we would have been happy for the rest of our lives.”
“ ’Tis how I loved my first husband,” Jasmine said.
“But not how you loved the second?” he replied.
Jasmine smiled softly and munched silently on a piece of cheese for a long moment. “Nay,” she finally admitted. “I loved Rowan Lindley in an entirely different way. It was as if we were one at times. You knew him, my lord. You knew the kind of man he was. Kind and generous. Loyal. A man who could laugh. That fate could snatch him from me, and from his children, is something I shall never understand.”
“And yet you were able to love again,” the earl said.
Jasmine smiled again. “Aye. But who could not love Henry Stuart? Everyone adored him. I did not seek his favor, you know. In fact I resisted him quite strongly, but he would not have it.” She laughed with the memory. “Hal would have his way in the matter, and I have his son to remember him by. ’Tis a precious gift, and more than most royal mistresses gain.”
“But that gift has forced you into the king’s arena, madame,” the earl noted. “Perhaps you should have been satisfied to take just jewelry and titles from Prince Henry.”
Jasmine chuckled. “There is no man in England who could gift me with jewelry, sir, for the jewelry I possess far surpasses anything you have ever seen. Rowan knew it, which is why he gave me MacGuire’s Ford. And Hal knew it, too. As for titles . . .” she shrugged. “I was born a royal Mughal princess. Only a queen’s crown would impress me, and it could not be.”
“So, madame, you possess lands, titles, gold, and jewelry in your own right, but still you must wed me. What can I give you that will make you happy, Jasmine?”
“Why do you care if I am happy or not, James Leslie?” she demanded of him. “The king has ordered us to wed, and wed we must whether I am happy or not happy. You have said you will obey James Stuart because the Leslies of Glenkirk have always been obedient to the royal Stuarts. What difference does it make if I am happy?”
The muscle in his jaw tightened. Jasmine Lindley could be the most irritating woman when she chose to be. Here he was holding out a rather large olive branch, and she was apparently refusing it. “Madame, I am not some monster who has been foisted upon you,” he began, “nor are you being martyred to any cause by being wed to me. There are several ladies in England who would be but too glad to be my countess. Once even your own stepsister sought that honor.”
“Do you wed me just because James Stuart orders you to, sir?” Jasmine asked him. “I do not like the idea that we must wed each other because of a royal command. When I was a young girl I accepted such a marriage, but it was my father’s dictate, and not that of a stranger.”
He swallowed the wine remaining in his cup, wishing that there was more, and sighed. “I cannot change what is, Jasmine,” he said quietly. “When I arrived at Belle Fleurs several weeks ago I was very angry with you. I believe I was close to hating you, and I did, I will admit, seek revenge upon you for embarrassing me so publicly. Being with you, however, has caused my anger to drain away. I admire you. You are a woman of courage and determination. There are some men who might not appreciate such characteristics in a wife, but I do. I am not certain I can offer you love now or ever, nor can you promise me love; but I will respect you, and I can offer you companionship. You will not suffer as my wife, and I will be a good father to your children, I swear it on the souls of my own dead bairns.”
“Will you force me to wed you before the court?” she asked.
He shook his head. “I am past vengeance, Jasmine. We can wed here at Belle Fleurs, or at Queen’s Malvern. The choice is yours, I promise you, but please, madame, let it be soon. We cannot afford to incur the king’s displeasure much longer.”
“Is he angry at you, too?” She was surprised.
“Aye,” he said with a little grin. “He said when the ram corners the ewe he should nae gie her freedom to choose her own pasture in her own time. Fortunately the Carr mess has kept him occupied, and he has not had too much time for me, but it would please him if we wed soon. He longs to see the little laddie, for he has not seen him since Charles Frederick was a wee bairn, and the boy is his grandson.”
“Promise me you will not let them take him from me,” Jasmine said. “That, I will admit to you, is my greatest fear. Once the queen told me how they took Hal from her, and she rarely ever saw him, and must beg permission from his governors when she wanted to be with him. I could not bear it if they took Charlie from me!” And her eyes filled with thick tears at the very thought.
He reached out and brushed the tears from her soft cheek. “They will not take him from us,” he promised her. “Henry Stuart was the heir, and the custom of farming the heir out an old one. ’Tis no longer done, thanks to the queen. Besides, darling Jasmine, your Charlie is but a royal bastard. He can never be heir to the throne. His importance is in his relationship to the king and the queen, not in his future.”
“But what if they want him?” she persisted.
“What they want is to see the laddie and know him. I am his guardian because they know I am an honest man and will not use the boy to my advantage or to build my power base. Charlie will remain with his family. I promise you this, madame.”
“I am afraid,” she said softly.
He took her gloved hand in his big hand. “You must trust me, Jasmine. ’Tis a great leap of faith for you, I will admit, but I beg you to trust me.” He could feel that her hand was cold beneath the leather. He attempted to warm it between his two hands.
A wind had sprung up, and the sun had now disappeared behind a hand of clouds. The promise of spring, earlier in the air, had entirely disappeared, and winter, it seemed, was returning.
“We had best go,” she said, disengaging her hand from his, and standing up. She brushed the crumbs from her breeches and began packing up the basket and cloth.
“You will consider what we have spoken on this day?” he asked her.
“We will marry in the spring at Queen’s Malvern,” Jasmine told him with a small smile, “but not upon the first of April, my lord. ’Tis an infamous date for us, and I would begin our relationship on a more cheerful note. Would you not agree? I think perhaps the fifteenth of the month would be suitable. I do not like May. Marry in May, rue the day, ’tis said.”
“You do not favor June?”
“Do you really wish us to try the king’s patience that far?” she gently teased, as he helped her to mount her mare. She smiled down at him, her eyes twinkling. “Of course June is a lovely month, my lord.”
“Did you not wed Westleigh in April?” he asked her, vaulting into his own saddle. Somehow the idea of marrying her in the month in which she had married another husband was irritating. Perhaps it was even the same day, thereby making it easier for her to remember. Even her monogram would remain the same. L for Lindley. L for Leslie.
“I married Rowan on April thirtieth, my lord,” she replied, her tone just slightly frosty, “but it is obvious that you prefer June. So let it be June fifteenth. It will do just as well, I think.”
She led him through the vineyards of Archambault and onto the carriage road from Paris that he had ridden over before. They cantered easily along the path until they came to the almost hidden way leading to Belle Fleurs. Now she spurred her mare into a gallop, and her hair, so neatly in its chignon, blew loose, flowing behind her. He urged his stallion onward, realizing they were to race home, and, as he drew even with the mare, she looked over at him and laughed. Pulling past her he reached the château’s bridge before her and drew his beast up to await her, but she did not stop, and the mare raced by him into the courtyard of the castle.
Jasmine leapt down. “I won!” she bragged triumphantly.
“I thought the race ended at the bridge,” he protested, dismounting.
“Why would you think that?” she demanded.
“Because it was the logical end of the course,” he replied.
“Nonsense!” she mocked him, hurrying into the château, handing off her gloves to a servant. “A race ends at the door of the house. I thought everyone knew that.”
“I didn’t,” he said, an edge to his voice.
“Why not?” she countered.
“Because you didn’t tell me, madame!” he shouted.
“Have some wine,” she offered. “It will calm your nerves, my lord. Gracious, it was only a little race.”
He took the large goblet of fruity red wine and gulped half of it down. “Not telling me the rules is the same as cheating,” he growled at her, his dark green eyes narrowing. “If you are to be the countess of Glenkirk, you must be honorable in all things.”
“You are really a dreadful loser, my lord,” Jasmine said. “It was a silent challenge, and to believe the race ended before it ended was just plain silly. You will have to be quicker than that if we are to have a satisfactory relationship, my lord.”
Darling Jasmine Page 7
