Just Beyond Tomorrow

by Bertrice Small

  “So can I,” Charlie agreed, “but I also know that the Grande Mughal would have never allowed a rebellion like this one, or let its rebels go unpunished. Queen Henriette lives in poverty and exile in her native France with her baby daughter, the Princess Henrietta-Anne. Prince James is with her now, although he moves back and forth between France, England, and Scotland. Prince Henry is held by Cromwell’s people. The young Princess Elizabeth suffered greatly over her father’s death. He brought her his prayer book before they executed him. It was the last time she saw him. She died several months ago in her prison, not yet fifteen. They said she would not be parted from that prayer book, Patrick. She was buried with it. The king holds his power not from the people, but from God. I believe that. I always will believe it. By murdering my Uncle Charles, Cromwell and his parliament rogues have attempted to thwart God’s will. We must right this wrong and restore my uncle’s son to his proper place upon the throne of Great Britain!”

  “Cromwell believes God is on his side, too,” Patrick Leslie said in reply to his brother’s impassioned speech. “He and his adherents quote the Bible extensively wi’ passages that would appear to prove their point. Those who use God as an excuse for their behavior are the most dangerous creatures on God’s earth, Charlie. Belief in such a God allows them to murder, torture, and steal wi’out any qualms, because the deity is on their side alone. I dinna see how there can be a compromise in any of this, and particularly as long as the English hold Edinburgh and most of the Lowland south.”

  “Which is why the king is coming to Aberdeen from Scone to recruit his army from the men of the north,” Charlie explained. “Patrick, you must raise a troop of Glenkirk men and ride with us. It is your duty as a loyal Scotsman, brother!”

  “Nay,” the Duke of Glenkirk told his sibling firmly. “My first loyalty is to my clansmen and to my immediate family. I will shelter and guard yer bairns, Charlie, but I will nae join wi’ ye. The royal Stuarts are verra bad for the Leslies of Glenkirk. Our history hae proven that.”

  “Enough politics, my lords,” Flanna said as she reentered the hall. “ ’Tis time for dinner. The bairns are in the kitchens having their supper. When, Charles Frederick Stuart, did ye last feed those poor mites? I hae never seen such prodigious appetites!”

  “Food was scarce in England these past months,” the Duke of Lundy said apologetically, “and what has been fed them here in Scotland has not been greatly to their liking, I fear. It has been peasants’ fare for the most part. Brown bread, oat stirabout, boiled cabbage, salted fish. They have seen little meat, or vegetables, or sweets.”

  “Or a decent hot meal,” the Duchess of Glenkirk said. “Cook put down barley and carrot soup made from the lamb bone of yesterday’s roast, along wi’ some fresh-baked slices of cottage loaf, well-buttered, and wi’ a slice of good cheese each. Yer poor bairns fell on their food like young wolves. And their Biddy nae far behind them, although she tried to show more manners, poor woman. I’ve told Cook to gie them stewed pears, but I fear to gie them much more lest they sicken. Those poor bairns were starving!” she finished indignantly.

  Charles Frederick Stuart rose up, and taking his sister-in-law’s two hands in his, he raised them to his lips and kissed them. “Madame, whatever happens, I know my children will be well mothered by you. I can never repay you for such kindness.”

  Flanna pulled her hands away from his grasp, flushing at the compliment. “Come, sir, and sit again,” she said, settling herself into her husband’s lap. “Tell me about this king of yers,” she said.

  “He is your king, too, Flanna Leslie,” came the reply. Then the Duke of Lundy said, “Well, his mother always said he was the ugliest child ever born, but the truth is he favors his Italian grandmother, Maria d’Medici, with his darkish skin, hair, and eyes. Those eyes sparkle wonderfully, though. Some call him the black boy for his coloring. His features are a mixture of both sides of the family. He had, after all, a French grandfather, an Italian grandmother, a Scots grandfather, and a Danish grandmother. He is tall, with a long face and a very sensuous mouth, or so the ladies say. He is learned, but not bookish as his grandfather and father were. He is a good soldier, if sometimes a bit reckless; but above all he has charm. Great, great charm.” The Duke of Lundy turned to his half brother. “You worry he cannot win over his Scots subjects, but he already has, Patrick. He already has!”

  “He may hae won over the people,” the Duke of Glenkirk said wisely, “but the people dinna control those men who now control the king, Charlie. He is nae an absolute ruler, and unless he can become one, there is nae hope of him regaining his English throne.”

  Flanna ignored the brothers’ quarrel, and asked, “What is the court like?”

  Charles Frederick Stuart laughed, almost bitterly. “There has been no true court in years, madame,” he said. “Not that I was one for court, for I wasn’t; but sometimes my uncle, the king, would invite me to join them. ’Twas usually on family occasions such as the time just before Christmas until just after Twelfth Night, for hunting in the late summer and autumn, at Eastertide, or my cousin Charles’s birthday. In those days, as in the days of my grandfather, there were masques, and dancing, hunts and banquets. The women dressed in beautiful clothing and jewels, and the men were equally resplendent; not like today, with everyone in somber black, relieved only by starched white collars. It was a grand time, Flanna Leslie. Not like today.” He grew silent for several long moments, and his handsome Stuart face was sad. Then the Duke of Lundy sighed deeply. “We must restore our rightful king,” he said. “Great Britain and our people were not meant to live this joyless existence where even the celebration of Christmas is banned. Simple folk can no longer dance about their Maypoles on a warm spring night or bowl a game upon their village greens on an autumn day. Mother met Henry, India and Fortune’s father, on May Day, you know. They say he fell in love at first sight. Do you remember how extraordinarily beautiful Mother was in her youth, Patrick?”

  His younger brother nodded. “No one was ever as beautiful as our Mother, except perhaps Madame Skye,” Patrick replied.

  “Who was she?” Flanna asked.

  “Our great-grandmother,” Charlie answered. “There has never been anyone quite like her, nor, I expect, will there ever be again.”

  There was a deep silence again, and Flanna could see the two men were becoming maudlin with their memories, encouraged by the castle’s good wine. She arose from her husband’s lap. “My lords, the servants are bringing in the supper, and cook will be greatly offended if you dinna do justice to his fine meal.” She led them to the high board and sat between them. “I will serve the gentlemen,” she told the attending servant, and then she filled the pewter plates from the platters and dishes offered, handing the first to their guest, the second to her husband, and keeping a third plate for herself.

  It was a simple meal with only a few dishes. There was broiled trout, a venison stew with a rich, winey gravy, slices of leek and carrots, a platter of roasted quails stuffed with dried fruits, a half ham, creamed onions, boiled beets, a bowl of tiny lettuces lightly braised in white wine, a large round loaf, still warm from the ovens, a crock of sweet butter, and a small wheel of hard cheese. The men ate heartily, and their goblets were kept well filled by Angus, who oversaw all. A fresh-baked apple tartlet with heavy cream completed the meal.

  Charles Frederick Stuart pushed back his plate with a sigh of contentment. “Madame,” he said to Flanna, “you are every bit as good a chatelaine as all the ladies who have come before you here at Glenkirk. ’Twas a very fine meal, indeed. The best I have eaten in many a month, I vow.”

  “I would imagine it stands well in comparison to boiled cabbage and salted fish,” Flanna replied dryly. Then she arose. “I must go and see that the bairns are settled comfortably, my lords.” Then she left them.

  “She’s not at all what I expected the next Duchess of Glenkirk to be,” the Duke of Lundy told his brother. “Still, she is a good lass, I can tell, if a bit
outspoken.”

  “Ye were too comfortable wi’ yer sweet Bess,” Patrick Leslie answered his brother. “Outspoken women are nae an oddity in this family, big brother. I think Flanna fits in quite well.”

  “Why did you wed her?” Charlie queried. “You could have done a helluva lot better than the Brodie of Killiecairn’s red-haired daughter. You’re a duke as well as an earl, Patrick. You could have had a great heiress for Glenkirk. You surely don’t love her.”

  “When Mother left she said to take a wife to get heirs on for Glenkirk,” Patrick Leslie explained to his elder sibling. “I dinna know any suitable women. Christ, Charlie, ye know I hae hardly ever left Glenkirk. When our parents were yet here it always seemed as if there was time. Endless time, and we would all go on forever wi’out changing. Then I was alone. I decided I wanted Brae lands for Glenkirk. The only way I could obtain them was to marry Flanna. Her old father would nae take gold, and believe me, I offered him an outrageous amount. I needed a wife, and Flanna was a virgin wi’ a property I desired and could obtain only one way. Our marriage served a purpose, Charlie. It gave the old Brodie of Killiecairn what he wanted, and it gave me what I wanted. Brae.”

  “And what did Flanna want, little brother?”

  Patrick Leslie laughed. “To be left alone at Brae wi’ her two servants, so she might run wild. Still, she is adapting well to life at Glenkirk, for all her rough upbringing. She is always eager to learn and desires nothing more now than to be a proper lady.”

  “And give you heirs,” his brother said with a chuckle. “She told me that herself. Does she enjoy bedsport?”

  Patrick Leslie actually blushed. “Aye,” he mumbled.

  “Enthusiastic, is she, then?” Charlie teased. “Ahh, you’re a lucky man. A woman can be taught many things. To be a lady. To appreciate fine art and jewels. To dance and to keep the household accounts. But she cannot be taught to be enthusiastic in her passion. That must come naturally as you well know. Perhaps your Flanna will be a suitable, if unconventional, duchess, dear brother. She is certainly quite a beauty with that hair and skin. What color are her eyes?”

  “Gray,” Patrick Leslie said. “Sometimes like a storm cloud, and other times like silver. It depends on her mood.”

  Charlie chortled. “If you’ve noticed that, Patrick, then perhaps ’tis more than her lands that are of interest to you now.”

  “She is a pleasing lassie,” came the reply. Patrick could feel his cheeks flushing again with his brother’s remark.

  Charlie laughed all the harder. “Could it be, Patrick Leslie, that you are falling in love? And for the first time, too! God’s blood, how Henry will himself laugh when I see him again and tell him!”

  “I’m nae in love wi’ her,” the Duke of Glenkirk denied. “I will nae ever love a woman. Loving but leads to pain, Charlie. Mother loved Father, but he would nae heed her warning and got himself killed needlessly. Ye loved yer Bess so much that her death hae made ye reckless, and yer foolish actions will probably end in yer death, too. India and Fortune loved, too; but India almost lost her firstborn because of her love; and Fortune’s love hae cost her Maguire’s Ford, and she is exiled from our family forever. Nay, I shall nae love, brother.”

  “Mother had many happy years with our father,” Charlie retorted. “India did not lose her son and found her happiness with Deverall. Fortune loved Kieran Devers so much she was willing to leave Ireland and go to the New World with him. As for me, I am the son of a royal Stuart. That family welcomed me from my birth and always treated me with loving kindness. I could not sit on the fence forever in this matter between king and parliament, Patrick. Bess’s death but forced me to my decision. A decision I would have made sooner or later. To love is a gift from God. I hope someday you will realize that and allow yourself to love. Flanna appears to be a warmhearted girl. I did not notice you objecting when she sat herself in your lap earlier.”

  “I am fond of her as I am of my dogs and cats,” was the reply.

  “Then, you’re a fool, Patrick,” his brother told him.

  Flanna reentered the hall then, saying, “Yer bairns are settled, my lord, but they would verra much like it if ye would go and bid them good night. The lassie is fretting herself that ye will leave them wi’out saying farewell. Ye must reassure her that ye intend remaining at Glenkirk until ye must go down to Perth to meet the king. Surely ye and my husband hae argued yerselves out by now.”

  Charles Frederick Stuart arose from the high board with a lazy smile. “Aye, for tonight, we have, eh, Patrick? He’s a great fool, madame, but I expect you already know that.” Then, with a bow, the Duke of Lundy left the Great Hall of Glenkirk.

  “What did he mean, ye’re a great fool?” Flanna asked her husband.

  “He believes I will endanger the family more by nae declaring for the king than by asserting my loyalty to the royal Stuarts. I hold that my neutrality serves us better. That is all, lassie,” Patrick lied.

  “Come by the fire,” she invited. “I would sit wi’ ye again, my lord, and perhaps seduce ye a wee bit.” She smiled at him and held out her hand to him.

  For a moment he felt guilty, remembering his words to his brother that he would never love, but then he stood up and joined her. Flanna was his wife whether he loved her or not. Sitting down, he pulled her into his lap, kissing the ripe red mouth she offered him. She was so very tempting, and becoming more so as each day passed, it seemed to him. But he was not in love with her. She murmured and pressed against him, her lips softening beneath his, opening for him, her tongue, now outrageously skillful, wreaking merry havoc with his senses. He pulled his dark head away from her and ran his thumb along her mouth.

  Flanna’s eyes, glittering silver fire, but half opened. Gently she bit his thumb, then sucked it into her mouth with a purr.

  “Ye’re a shameless lass,” he murmured as his other hand slid beneath her petticoats and began to stroke her thigh. True to her Highland upbringing, she wore no drawers. A lady would hae worn drawers, he thought, but he didn’t want her to ever become that much of a lady. His fingers tangled themselves into the thatch of tight curls springing from her Venus mons. Her slit was moist with her rising ardor. “Shameless,” he repeated, and he pushed two fingers past her nether lips, stroking her little jewel until she squirmed her bottom against his tightening crotch, sucking all the harder on his thumb before he pulled it away from her. His fingers slid into her wet sheath, moving back and forth with intense rhythm until she was gasping with her passion. Leaning over, he nipped her earlobe, and whispered to her, “Tell me ye want me, Flanna! Tell me ye want my cock deep inside of ye, gieing us both the pleasure we crave. Tell me!”

  “Nay,” she taunted him. “Ye tell me! I am content as we are, but I think ye’re nae so content. Ahhhhh! I can feel yer naughty laddie struggling to escape the confines of yer trews, my lord. Do ye want me, Patrick Leslie? Do ye? Ohhhhhhhh! Dinna take them out!”

  “Oh, bitch,” he growled, struggling to undo the fastenings that kept his hot desire in check. Successful, he lifted Flanna a moment from his lap and then slowly lowered her onto his raging lover’s lance, groaning as he encased himself in her throbbing warmth. His fingers tore at the laces of her gown, pulling them open, ripping her chemise to reveal her delicious breasts. He groaned again.

  She laughed softly, slipping her arms about his neck and leaning back so he might avail himself of her bounty. “There, my lord. All for ye, and nae other. Ohh, aye! ’Tis lovely,” she exclaimed as he began to lick at her nipples with long, sweeping strokes of his tongue. “Ummmmm,” she sighed with delight as his touch sent waves of shivers down her spine. It was too delicious, and she was heedless that someone might come into the Great Hall so deep was her pleasure.

  Charles Frederick Stuart stood in the shadows of the entry to the hall waiting until his sibling and the passionate Flanna had completed their little bout of Eros. He would not have come back at all except he had absolutely no idea where he was to sleep this night. Char
lie smiled to himself, thinking that Patrick might not realize it, but he was already in love with his beautiful wife, and she with him. No two people could sustain lust like theirs for several months’ time without feeling some tender emotion toward one another. He wondered if either of these innocents knew or understood that. Eventually one of them was going to realize what had happened, and then . . . He chuckled softly to himself. What a discovery it was going to be.

  Flanna cried out softly with her crisis even as Patrick groaned as if he were in pain. She fell against him, and his arms closed about her. There they remained for several minutes until Flanna suddenly straightened up with a gasp.

  “Ohh, Patrick! Yer brother doesna know where he is to sleep this night. He will surely be coming back into the hall!” She struggled to draw the torn halves of her chemise together, crying, “Oh, lace up my gown, my lord, before we are caught in such a state. Surely yer brother would be shocked by our impetuous behavior.” She attempted to smooth her hair into a semblance of order.

  Her husband laughed low, his skillful fingers doing up her gown as he spoke. “Charlie is a Stuart, lassie, and the Stuarts are given to deep and quick passions. More likely he will tease us if he catches us this way. There, lassie, ye’re done. Would ye like to return the favor.” He leered at her as she slipped from his embrace.

  Flanna looked down at her husband’s manhood, now limp and shriveled with its recent exercise. Reaching out, she caressed him. Then she said, “Perhaps it would be best for ye to do it yerself, Patrick.”

  Charlie waited a few more moments until his brother’s garb was neatened, and then he came loudly into the hall. “Well, the bairns are well settled, and I thank you both. Now, however, you must tell me where I am supposed to sleep, dear sister-in-law.”

  “Of course, my lord,” Flanna answered him primly. “If ye will follow me, I will see ye settled comfortably.” Her tone was the very model of the proper wife, not at all that of the lustful woman he had just observed.