Darling Jasmine

by Bertrice Small

  “Did I not tell you?” she said to her son. “Your father will have his way in this. He has forgotten that the Scots will argue him into the ground unlike the English, who respect his divine right. Observe and learn from this display, Charles.”

  After several weeks the king moved on to Falkland Palace, which had been built beneath the Lomond Hills. James had made Falklands over to the queen on their marriage, and they had frequently hunted there. It had been his own mother’s favorite palace. The forests around the palace were famous for hunting and filled with game and game birds. It was here that Charles Frederick Stuart celebrated his fifth birthday, in the presence of his royal grandparents. He had arrived dressed as the little Scot he was, in his Hunting Stuart tartan kilt, white silk shirt, and doeskin doublet, with its buttons of silver and stagshorn. Sweeping his feathered black velvet cap from his auburn curls, he bowed first to James, then to Anne, and lastly to his uncle, Prince Charles.

  “I am happy to see Yer Majesties looking so braw,” he said, and then, “Ha ye brought me a wee giftie, mayhap?”

  “Charlie!” Jasmine was mortified.

  The king, however, chuckled indulgently. “Gie over, madame, for he’s just a little laddie. What would ye like, Charlie?”

  The child thought a moment, and then he said, “Something belonging to him who sired me, so I may always remember him, my liege.”

  The king looked astounded, and the queen gave a little gasp. She looked to Jasmine, but Jasmine shook her head, her look equally surprised. The king could not speak, and his mind was benumbed for a long moment. Then Prince Charles stepped forward, and, as he did, he pulled a ring from his finger and handed it to the child. It was gold, and carved into the ruby set into it were the arms of Henry Stuart along with his motto, Virescit Vulnere Virtus.

  “This ring belonged to him who sired you, nephew,” the prince told Charles Frederick Stuart. “Do you know what the motto says, or have you not yet begun your studies.”

  “Courage grows strong at a wound,” the child translated. “I began my studies last year, Your Highness. Thank you.” He bowed.

  “Very good!” the prince approved. “Someday you will have to come and serve me, nephew.” He looked to Jasmine. “You have done well, madame, and you also, my cousin of Glenkirk. He is a studious, well-mannered child. I most highly approve.” The prince then stepped back next to his father.

  The king had now recovered, and he said, “Ye hae been wed two years now, and we nae ever gave ye a wedding gift, James Leslie.”

  “Sire, when ye gave me Jasmine, ye gave me the greatest gift any man could have,” the earl of Glenkirk said gallantly.

  “Verra pretty, verra pretty indeed,” the king replied, a small smile touching his lips, “but ye must hae a wee giftie of us. Since I canna allow that a man of lesser rank than the duke of Lundy raise my grandson, James Leslie, I am creating ye first duke of Glenkirk. ’Tis a fine gift for ye, and ’twill cost me naught as ye already hae the lands and the castle,” he finished with a chuckle.

  “Oh my!” Jasmine said, quite surprised by their elevation in rank.

  “Aye, madame, ye married beneath ye, but now I hae righted that too, eh? Yer the duchess of Glenkirk!” the king said, smiling at her.

  James Leslie was dumbstruck. He was the duke of Glenkirk! My God, how proud his mother would be, and his father, too! He fell to his knees before the king and, taking the royal hands up, kissed them. To his great surprise there were tears in his eyes. The duke of Glenkirk! He had never, ever considered such an honor. “Thank ye, Jamie,” he said low, so that only the king heard, and then, louder, “Thank ye, Yer Majesty.” He arose, bowing low as Jasmine, by his side, curtsied.

  And afterward his father-in-law of BrocCairn, and his uncles and brothers gathered about him, congratulating him, and clapping him upon the back. His mind was awhirl. His eldest son, Patrick, would one day be the second duke of Glenkirk, and God willing his line would continue on down through the centuries even as the line of Patrick, the first earl, had descended down from that day when King James IV had made a simple Highland laird an earl.

  The Leslies of Glenkirk took their leave of the king at Falklands and returned home several days later. Jasmine could hardly wait to write to her grandmother to tell her of the honor given Jemmie. She had wanted Skye to come to Scotland that summer, but her grandmother had refused, saying that she had enough of travel. Jasmine had missed seeing Skye. Her grandmother was in truth her best friend, and she had so much to share with her.

  “I will not miss my English summer again,” she told her husband.

  The king and the court returned to England in late autumn. Winter set in. One year ended, and another began. At last the spring came, the snows melting off the bens, and Jasmine traveled south to England and Queen’s Malvern with her family. She was very relieved to see that her grandmother, at age seventy-eight, looked hale and hearty as they approached her home. Jasmine jumped from her horse and flew into Skye’s open arms.

  “Well, well, my darling girl,” Skye said happily, “I am as glad to see you as you are to see me.” She hugged her granddaughter hard and, releasing her, turned to James Leslie. “Come, my lord duke, and give me a kiss. The last duke to kiss me, as I recall, was my most unfortunate fifth husband, God assoil his poor soul.”

  “You had five husbands, Mam?” Lady India Lindley, age ten, said incredulously.

  “I had six, child, and several charming lovers as well,” Skye told the girl. “I know that you will remember me, India, as naught but an old lady, but once I was as ripe and lovely as your mother.”

  “I think that you are still beautiful, Mam,” India said.

  “Why, bless you, child, I thank you.” Skye laughed. “You surely have your great-grandfather’s charm. But come into the house, my dears,” she invited them. “It is starting to rain, and I want a good look at these babies of yours, Jasmine. Gracious! Is that Patrick? He is going to be a big boy.” She peered at the two-year-old in his nursemaid’s arms. “How do you do, Patrick Leslie,” Skye said. “I am your great-grandmother, and I helped to birth you. Where is the other laddie? The one named after my Adam. Ahhh,” she said with a satisfied smile when he was presented to her in the front hallway of her house. “He has his eyes, doesn’t he?”

  “From the moment of his birth, Grandmama,” Jasmine said.

  “Tomorrow, when the rain is over, you will come and see the monument we have set over his grave,” Skye said.

  They settled into Queen’s Malvern for the summer. In a few weeks Henry Lindley and his two sisters would be departing for his seat at Cadby. Adali would accompany the children and remain with them until the summer’s end, when they would return to Queen’s Malvern, and thence to Glenkirk. Their Gordon grandparents would also remain with them. James Leslie, however, insisted upon personally taking his stepchildren across the countryside to Cadby.

  “At last we have time together,” Skye said to Jasmine when they had gone. It was evening, and they sat together in the family hall before a fire that took the chill off the early June evening. The young Leslies were safe asleep in their cots. Charlie-boy, who did not like being separated from his elder siblings, had been allowed to ride over with the duke’s party. He felt very grown-up. “You are happy, of course,” Skye said, “and that makes me happy, darling girl. Will there be more babies?” She sipped at her wine cup, then nibbled on a sweetmeat.

  “I did promise Jemmie three sons,” Jasmine said with a smile “and I should like another daughter, God willing.”

  “You take the potion I gave you?”

  Jasmine nodded. “Two sons in two years was enough for the present. I wanted a rest else I be worn out like so many women.”

  “Good, good,” the old woman nodded. “I did the same after I birthed Ewan and Murrough. His son rescued you last year, I was told.”

  “I went to the docks in Leith, hoping to find one of your ships in port, and I did. Fortunately, it was Geoffrey O’Flaherty captaining.
Heaven knows if a stranger to me would have believed such an outlandish tale; his little son certainly thought I was mad, or a whore sneaking aboard to find business. I was dressed like a simple Scotswoman, as we had just come from the games hosted by Clan Bruce.”

  “They have never found Piers St. Denis?” Skye asked.

  Jasmine shook her head. “I still fear he may come back some day to try and take me away from my family. He is quite mad, Grandmama.”

  “You need have no fears, darling girl. Put them behind you, for he has undoubtedly fled the country,” Skye said.

  “But fear, madame, is an excellent goad when dealing with recalcitrant women,” a familiar voice said, and Piers St. Denis stepped from the shadows of the room. He was badly dressed in the simple garb of a citizen of the merchant class, a small white ruff about his neck relieving the severity of his black clothing.

  “Oh, God!” Jasmine whispered, and her heart began to beat very quickly at the thought of having to contend once more with the madman.

  “How did you get into my house?” Skye demanded, not in the least afraid. He was mad, of that she had not a doubt, but he also reminded her of her first husband, Dom O’Flaherty, and she had never been really afraid of Dom, who had been nothing more than a bully.

  “The front door was open, madame, and there were no servants about to stop me. Tsk. Tsk. Such carelessness,” came the mocking reply.

  “Get out!” Skye told him firmly.

  Piers St. Denis laughed, genuinely amused. Too bad she was so old and dried up. If rumor had it correct, she had been a marvelous fuck in her youth. Her granddaughter, however, promised equal delights.

  “How did you know I was here?” Jasmine had finally found her voice, and now that the shock of his arrival was over, she found her fear had gone also. She was very angry.

  “It is well-known that you and your mother like to return here to Queen’s Malvern in the summer. You did not come last year, of course, because the king went to Scotland; but I knew you would be here this summer. I had but to wait until your parents and husband took the young Lindleys off to Cadby. I am a most patient man, my pet, and you are a very clever woman. I shall not underestimate you again. I was very surprised to return to our little love nest to find you gone. And how quick-witted of you to go to Leith, knowing I would believe you were trying to escape back to Edinburgh. It was adroitly done, my pet.”

  “What do you want here?” Skye demanded of him.

  “Why, madame, I would have thought that was obvious. I am going to kill you both, and then I shall slay your two Leslie children, who are within this house. My only regret is that I cannot destroy your little Stuart bastard, and break old king fool’s heart as he has broken mine. You see, madame, I have given up all hope of your ever being mine; but it is due to you that I have lost everything. If you had not led me on only to reject me, I should yet today be marquis of Hartsfield, with a rich wife chosen by the queen and the king still my friend. You, and you alone, are responsible for my misfortunes, and you will pay for your treachery.”

  “No!” Jasmine almost shouted at him. “You are responsible for your own bad fortune, sir. I told you from the beginning that I was in love with James Leslie, and pledged to him, and him alone. You would not listen! You kept insisting despite everything I said that I would be yours. You even followed me to Scotland after my marriage, and after the birth of my first Leslie son, and had the temerity to kidnap me. It is your stubborn nature that has caused you to lose everything, not I. Now go away while you yet have the opportunity, or I shall call the servants, and they shall hold you for the local sheriff. There is a price on your head, and many who would gladly have it.”

  He moved across the room until he stood directly before the two women. “I will not be deterred in my purpose this time, madame,” he said. “Know this, and be afraid of my power. My traitorous half-brother is this day a widower. Had he not been up in London when I arrived at Hartsfield Hall, I would have killed him, too. His wife was quite a lovely woman. I whipped her until her back was raw, and she was begging for mercy. Then I forced her as I did you, but her mouth and tongue were not nearly as skillful as yours, my pet. And when she had finished, I had my way with her. How she screamed, but more so when I plundered her temple of Sodom, for it would seem my brother had never been that way. And when I had my fill of her ripe charms, I slit her throat and left her dying in a pool of her own bright red blood. My final act before leaving my home was to strangle her infant son. I will not allow my half-brother’s bastard line to defile the house of St. Denis.”

  “And where were the servants when you were doing all of this, sir?” Skye demanded, not certain that she believed him.

  “At a fair in the village,” he said. “She had allowed all of them to go, the silly, softhearted creature. But I have wasted far too much time here tonight. I must complete my revenge, then disappear for good this time. The jewelry that you are wearing, Madame Skye, will keep me comfortable for quite some time.” He smiled and, moving closer, reached out to take the heavy gold necklace with is sapphire pendant from her.

  Jasmine was in a half daze from listening to the story Piers St. Denis had just told them. She heard her grandmother speak.

  “I told you once, sir, that you were not skilled enough to play my game,” Skye said, and her hand moved so swiftly that Jasmine could not believe what she was witnessing. The dagger appeared from nowhere and plunged straight into Piers St. Denis’s heart muscle. Skye smiled into his face as she twisted her weapon in order to inflict the most damage and ensure his very swift death. “I will not allow you to ruin my darling girl’s life ever again,” Skye said firmly, then she stepped back a pace.

  He crumpled to the floor, a look of incredulous surprise upon his very dissolute face. Then the light fled from his bright blue eyes, and Piers St. Denis breathed his last. He was quite dead.

  Jasmine’s breath escaped her in an audible whoosh. “Grandmama!” was all that she could say.

  Red Hugh ran into the hall and, seeing the body, swore. “Jesu! Why is it, m’lady, that whenever yer in danger from that fellow, I am nae where to be found? Is he dead?” He knelt for a moment by the body.

  “He’s dead,” Skye said. “He got in because the door was open for the breeze, and there was no servant in the front hall. From now on there must always be someone there.” She sat down heavily. “Get me some wine, man. I’ve just killed the devil’s own son.”

  He arose. “Whiskey would be better, madame,” he said, pouring her out a dram. “Here! Drink it down, and I’ll gie ye another.”

  Skye followed his orders. She was weak with relief.

  He took the dram jigger and poured her a second libation. “One more,” he said. The old lady looked pale. “Ye did a fine job of it, madame,” he told her. “He dinna hae a chance once ye stuck him wi yer blade. I dinna know that ye carried any weapon.”

  “Old habits are hard to break,” Skye remarked. “I have always, since my girlhood in Ireland, carried a dagger.” She looked dispassionately at the body of Piers St. Denis. “Get rid of that, Red Hugh. Take it to the parson in the village and have it buried in unhallowed ground. He was an evil man, and while God may forgive him, none of us will.” She pulled herself up. “Come, my darling girl, and help me upstairs. I have had quite enough excitement for one day. Will there ever come a day when my life is completely at peace? Nay. I know the answer to that, and I can even hear your grandfather laughing at my foolishness. There will be no peace for Skye O’Malley until she is dead and buried.”

  “Are you certain you will find peace even then?” Jasmine teased her grandmother, as they made their way up the staircase.

  “Probably not, my dear duchess, probably not,” Skye said, and then she laughed along with her darling Jasmine.

  Queen’s Malvern

  MIDSUMMER’S EVE, 1623

  Epilogue

  The old woman was dying. They had not said it to her, of course, but why else had all her children gathered
here together at Queen’s Malvern with their spouses, offspring, and grandchildren? Even her eldest child, her son, Ewan, now in his sixty-seventh year, had made the trip from Ireland to bid her a proper farewell. God’s boots! Was it that long ago she had given birth to Ewan in that draughty tower house that the O’Flahertys called home? Her sister, Eibhlin, had been there to help her, and again ten months later when Murrough had been born.

  So many years gone by. So many wonderful adventures. She outlived them all. Her husbands. Her lovers. Bess Tudor. What a great friend to her the queen had been. And what a bitter enemy. She had, she decided, absolutely no regrets at all. She had lived her life to the fullest; raised her children well; founded a commercial enterprise that had made them all wealthy. And she had loved. From her innocent first love for Niall Burke, Deirdre and Padraic’s father, to her last love, Adam de Marisco. Aye! She had loved well, and been well loved by them all.

  The curtains about her bed had been drawn back at her request so she might gaze out the open windows. Willow, of course, had wanted the curtains drawn and the windows shut, but Skye would not have it; and Robin, her dearest Robin, had overruled his eldest sister, which gave their other siblings the courage to side with him. Willow was growing sallow as she aged. I have not told her the truth about her father, the old woman thought, but I think I shall spare her the knowledge that the “respectable Spanish merchant” in North Africa whom she believes sired her was, in truth, a renegade who took the name Khalid el Bey, and was known as the Great Whoremaster of Algiers. A bubble of laughter choked the old woman for a brief moment. Such a knowledge would destroy poor proper Willow, and she did not want that on her conscience as she went to meet her Maker. There is no harm in my daughter’s ignorance, and after all, I have kept this secret for sixty-three years. Even my dearest Daisy did not know.