Just Beyond Tomorrow

by Bertrice Small

  Charlie reached out and caught at an errant tendril of Flanna’s red-gold hair. “As comfortable as you had my brother settled but a few moments back, madame?” he teased her, simply unable to resist.

  Flanna was at first shocked, then astounded by his words. She felt her cheeks burning, but looking at her mischievous brother-in-law directly in his dancing amber eyes, she said calmly, “Well, perhaps nae quite as comfortably, my lord, but ye will be verra cozy. We hae wonderful featherbeds and down comforters.”

  Charles Frederick Stuart burst out laughing, and turning, he winked broadly at his brother. “If she wasn’t yours, Patrick, I could easily love this Duchess of Glenkirk,” he said. “Remember what I told you earlier, and don’t play the fool for too long. You could lose all if you do.” Then he turned back to Flanna. “Lead on, madame. I long for this promised cozy bedding, although I will wager my bed will not be nearly as comfortable as my brother’s tonight.” Then, laughing, he followed her out of the hall.

  Chapter 7

  The Duke of Lundy remained with his brother until after

  Christmas. It was during that time that he told Flanna stories of their mother’s family. How the mother-in-law Flanna had yet to meet, might never meet, was born an imperial Mughal princess in a land halfway around the world from Glenkirk in a place called India.

  “Her name was Yasamin Kama Begum,” Charlie told his wide-eyed sister-in-law. “Yasamin means Jasmine flower. Kama was her land’s word for love, and Begum was a princess. Our grandmother, Velvet Gordon, the Countess of BrocCairn, believing her husband dead in a duel, had gone out to India to meet her parents, who were there in the interests of their trading company. She was kidnapped and given to India’s ruler to be one of his wives.” Charlie was deliberately keeping his story, which was a great deal more complicated, simple; because he knew that Flanna, unsophisticated and naïve to the world beyond her Highlands, would not otherwise understand.

  “One of his wives?” Flanna was more curious than shocked. “How many did he hae?”

  Charlie laughed. “Forty! Our imperial grandfather lived in a world where a man might have many wives. Most of them had been wed to him for political reasons. To end a conflict or to seal a treaty,” he explained. Then he continued on with his tale. “Then our grandmother learned her husband had not been killed in his duel. But by then our princess mother had been born. Grandmama wanted to remain in India, but our grandfather would not do anything to bring dishonor upon his name. She was returned to England and to the Earl of BrocCairn. Our mother, however, remained with her father in India. No one but our great-grandparents even knew of mother’s existence until she arrived in London in the winter of sixteen hundred and six. Her father was dead. Her first husband had been murdered. She was forced to flee her homeland. She came to our great-grandmother, Madame Skye, for safety.”

  “I hae heard mention of this Madame Skye since I came to Glenkirk,” Flanna said. “Was she as fabulous as they say? Even now they speak of her. Yet she was an old woman when she visited, I am told.”

  “She was born in Ireland,” Charlie began anew. “She lived through the reigns of two monarchs. She knew both the Great Elizabeth and our own King James. She sparred with Queen Bess and, I am told, got the best of her, although in the end the Queen’s will prevailed, of course. She had six husbands, and she outlived them all. She bore eight children, seven of whom lived. She built a great trading empire that enriched us all and continues to do so today. She made it her duty to see to her family’s happiness and safety until the day she died. In her old age she killed a man to protect our mother. Put a dagger right into his heart.”

  Flanna gasped. “She was an old fierce lady, was she nae? ’Tis good to know my bairns will hae such strong blood in their veins.”

  “Your husband’s family had a matriarch every bit Madame Skye’s equal,” Charlie replied. “The portrait of the young girl above the fireplace here in the hall. She was the daughter of the first earl, and she went with her father to a little kingdom called San Lorenzo. The first Patrick Leslie was King James IV’s ambassador to that city-state. Janet Leslie was wed to the heir of San Lorenzo, but she was kidnapped by Turkish pirates and somehow ended up in the Turkish sultan’s harem.”

  “She was a kadin,” Patrick took up the story his brother had begun. “That was the word they used for a favorite. When she gave this sultan his first son, she was elevated to the status of a bas-kadin, or favorite first wife. Her descendants rule in that place to this day. Her youngest son she sent back to Scotland to be raised, and then when her husband had died, she returned herself. It was she who obtained the Earldom of Sithean for that branch of the family, her direct descendants. We here at Glenkirk descend from Janet’s brother, Adam.”

  “Imperial emperors and sultans!” Flanna exclaimed. “I hae never heard of such men before now. I am surprised ye would wed so humble a lass as a Brodie of Killiecairn, my lord.”

  “But ye hae Brae, lassie, and I wanted it,” he replied bluntly.

  It was a cruel remark. While Patrick didn’t, Charlie did see the quick look of hurt that passed over Flanna’s face. It was gone, however, as swiftly as it had appeared.

  “Not all of our relations are royal or lordly,” the Duke of Lundy said in an effort to smooth over the moment. “Madame Skye’s two eldest sons were certainly not. One inherited the small bit of land his father had possessed in Ireland. The other was a sea captain out of Devon. Madame Skye’s eldest daughter was the child of a Spanish merchant in Algiers. Her second daughter and youngest son were the children of the Irish Lord Burke, who was landless and certainly without any influence.”

  “But how did Madame Skye become a lady?” Flanna wondered.

  “It was her third husband, the Earl of Lynmouth, who was responsible for elevating her into the ranks of lords and ladies. It was then she was introduced into the queen’s glittering court. Her husband gave a masquerade each Twelfth Night that was the talk of London in its day. The queen always attended it, and not just for a few ceremonial moments, but for the entire night. To obtain an invitation to the Earl of Lynmouth’s masque was considered quite a coup. You had arrived socially if you went.”

  “And their son continued the tradition,” Patrick said. “Mother caused a scandal wi’ Father at one of those masques.”

  “How?”

  Patrick chuckled. “She was caught abed wi’ him after the guests hae gone home. It was our Aunt Sybilla who found them and raised a merry hue and cry over it. Our aunt, ye see, hae been brought up at BrocCairn. She was my grandfather’s bastard, whom he legitimized. Our grandmother hae raised Aunt Sybilla as her own. She was fiercely jealous of Mother when they first met and hae planned to ensnare our father for herself. She was furious to discover him wi’ our mother and caused a great havoc.”

  “So it was then yer parents were wed,” Flanna said.

  Patrick chuckled again. “Nay. Mother would nae hae Father under such circumstances. Despite the fact the situation was compromising, she refused to be forced into marriage wi’ him, or hae him forced to the altar. So, Madame Skye hae her wed to Rowan Lindley, the Marquis of Westleigh, who was already in love wi’ Mother. When several years later he was killed in Ireland, Mother would allow nae one to make a match for her. Charlie’s father became enamored of her, and she wi’ him; but Prince Henry died shortly after Charlie’s birth. It was then old King James and his queen, meaning well, ordered Mother to marry Father. Instead, she ran away to France wi’ her bairns. And it was almost two years before Father caught up wi her, and they reconciled. It was then they were wed and came home to Glenkirk.”

  “But,” added Charlie, “the old king had made a muddle of the whole situation and half promised Mother to another man as well. When Mother married Father that fellow was furious. He sought to destroy them. He did not, of course, but instead was sought for a murder he had committed and attempted to blame on the Leslies of Glenkirk. He disappeared, only to show up again and threaten Mother’s li
fe.”

  “And that was when yer Madame Skye killed him?” Flanna asked.

  “Aye,” the two brothers said in unison.

  Flanna was amazed. What kind of a family had she married into? Great rulers and lordlings. Incredible wealth. Women who were beautiful, adored, clever, sought after, and fought over by powerful men. And then there was Flanna Brodie. A Highland lass of absolutely no import; her value only in a small piece of land called Brae. She had seen the portrait of Janet Leslie over the fireplace; and in the portrait gallery of the castle the portrait of Patrick’s mother, the fabled Jasmine; and his beautiful grandmother, Cat Leslie, who had defied a king to be with the man she loved. Who was Flanna Brodie when compared to these wise and wonderful women? She wanted to make her own mark at Glenkirk so that one day her portrait would hang in the family gallery, and her successors would say, “Ah, yes, and this is Flanna Leslie, wife to the second duke, who . . . Who what?” Flanna sighed deeply. What could she possibly do to make her mark?

  Over the next few days Flanna mothered her two little nephews and young niece. True to her word, she began to teach the elder children how to use a longbow. Sabrina Stuart was fascinated by the flame-haired woman who, she was discovering, was quite wonderful.

  “I hit it! I hit it!” the little girl cried excitedly the first time her arrow found its mark in the straw butt set up in the castle’s courtyard. Notching and letting fly another arrow, she once again found her target. “You have really taught me to do it,” she said, raising shining eyes to Flanna.

  “Now ye must teach me to be a real lady in return,” Flanna replied, smiling down at the little girl. “Someday I might go to court, and I wouldna want to embarrass yer uncle wi’ my rough manners.”

  “Your manners are quite good,” Sabrina answered. “You speak with a funny accent, of course, but then you are not English. You are a Scot. The Lowlanders with cousin Charles have a little accent, but I understand them better. I do not like them, though. They are sourfaced and mean to the king. Still, King Charles is a gentleman, and he pretends not to notice.” Sabrina was quite mature for a girl of nine. “Cousin Charles has beautiful manners,” she continued. “I hae never seen him be unkind or rude to any, no matter their attitude to him. He does miss the ladies, though. There are few women with the court right now. Those that are there are dour and not at all to his taste. Cousin Charles likes me,” she confided to Flanna. “Papa says it is a good thing I am just a little girl or the king might take it into his head to seduce me. Papa says I will be very beautiful one day.”

  “Pretty is only as pretty does,” Flanna heard herself quoting her sister-in-law, Una, “but aye, I think ye’ll be verra pretty when ye’re a grown lady, Brie.”

  “How long are we to remain with you, Aunt Flanna?” the little girl asked. “Will we be here until the spring?”

  “I dinna know, lassie,” Flanna answered honestly, stamping her booted feet to get a bit of warmth back into them. “Glenkirk will be yer home as long as ye need it to be.”

  “I miss Mother, and I miss Queen’s Malvern,” Sabrina said pensively. “I know Mother is dead, and gone from me, but I want to go home!” Tears sprang into her amber eyes. She was really, for all her sophisticated chatter, a little girl.

  Flanna knelt and put comforting arms about the girl. “The way I understand it, Brie, there is a civil war in England. Ye canna go home until it is settled. Then, too, yer home was damaged and must be repaired. It will take time, lassie.” She stood again and, taking Sabrina’s hand, led her back into the house, leaving Angus to watch over her nephew. “When the king goes home to England again, then ye can go home to England again, too.” A servant took their cloaks as they entered the hall. “Hot mulled cider for my lady Stuart,” the Duchess of Glenkirk ordered, “and wine for me.”

  “If only Uncle Patrick would send his men to help the king, it would all be all right,” Brie said with perfect youthful logic. “Why won’t he help the king, aunt?”

  “Because the royal Stuarts seem to bring bad luck upon the Leslies of Glenkirk whenever they become involved wi’ one another, or so ye uncle says,” Flanna explained. “Besides, it would take more men than Glenkirk could supply to help the king regain his throne in England,” she explained.

  “I wish I were older,” Lady Sabrina Stuart said passionately. “Then I should go and raise up men for my cousin Charles!”

  It was as if Flanna had been struck with a lightning bolt. Brie might not be old enough to help the king, but Flanna Leslie certainly was! This nonsense that Patrick kept nattering about bad fortune was just silly! There was no curse between the royal Stuarts and the Leslies of Glenkirk. This would be how she could make her mark among the Leslie women. She would be the Glenkirk duchess who helped King Charles II regain his throne, by traveling among the Highland clans and encouraging them to join their king in his righteous quest. First, however, she must meet the king. She had to be certain that he was worthy of her efforts, and she needed his permission. But how?

  Patrick would certainly not approve of her plans, Flanna knew, but this was something she knew she had to do. She was not some milk-and-water lass unable to act without her man’s permission. Then the thought struck her. She could follow her brother-in-law, Charles Frederick Stuart, when he departed Glenkirk. That would be the easy part. Finding a way to cover her absence would be harder, but the trusting Aggie would unwittingly help her. Angus, she knew, would greatly disapprove. He might even attempt to stop her, but she would not be stopped.

  She would trail the Duke of Lundy until he had reached Perth. Then she would reveal herself to him. Charlie would insist on sending her home, but she would refuse to go until she had met the king. After all, the Duke of Lundy could scarce bind his sister-in-law up hand and foot in order to control her. He wouldn’t want to draw attention to her behavior. Yes! That was just what she would do. And if the king gave his permission, she would solicit men for him herself no matter her husband!

  But the time of Christ’s Mass was approaching. While the new church in Scotland did not favor undue celebration, if indeed one celebrated at all, Flanna knew here at Glenkirk the old traditions would be kept. And no complaint would be made to the distant authorities who were, after all, strangers. Each clansman, and his family, able to make the journey would be welcome at the castle. There would be gifts for everyone. Knives, honingstones, and arrows for the men. Ribbons, thread, and lace for the women. Sweets for all the children. Each family who came would receive a silver coin. Rents were forgiven the most ancient of the pensioners. There would be feasting in the Great Hall for everyone over the twelve days of festivities.

  It would be an odd celebration, Angus knew, as he began the preparations. James Leslie was dead, and his wife, beloved by the clansmen and women, was gone from them to foreign places. Still, it would be his niece’s first Christmas as mistress of Glenkirk. He wanted it to be a memorable one for her and a happy one for their guests. Angus had made a friend of Mary More-Leslie. It had not been easy for Mary had been devoted to the Duchess Jasmine and practically worshiped her servant, the legendary Adali. If the duke had been embittered by the events of the last few months, so, too, had Glenkirk’s housekeeper. But Angus Gordon had charm, and he had manners. Mary realized immediately that he was a bit more than a mere servant.

  Adali, Angus quickly learned, had overseen all the domestic arrangements at Glenkirk, ruling the servants with a firm, but kindly hand. Angus now did the same. Relieved to have a strong hand in charge again, the castle folk responded to his authoritative rule. Mary, pleased, was suddenly Angus’s good right hand. The new duchess might be a bit rough and wild, Mary considered, but hopefully that would change as the lass felt secure. Glenkirk was alive again. There were children laughing and causing mischief. It was just like old times, Mary More-Leslie decided, content for the first time in months.

  “There’s the Yule log to find,” she told Angus. “Perhaps her ladyship would like to take the children out into the fore
st to seek it. The duke and his brothers always went for the log.”

  “An excellent suggestion, Mistress Mary,” Angus agreed.

  “And the duke and his men must find a boar. I dinna care what these dour Presbyterians think. We celebrate the Lord’s birth here at Glenkirk. Come Christmas Day the good Mr. Edie will be sitting next to Father Kenneth eating and drinking wi’ the best of them, and ye’ll hear nae complaint from him, I can assure ye.”

  “Ye know the castle folk verra well,” Angus remarked with a chuckle, and he smiled at Mary.

  “Oh, go on wi’ ye, Angus Gordon,” she said, laughing. “I’m already charmed by ye. Ye’re a good man, and between us we’ll manage verra well, I’m thinking.”

  He gave her an elegant bow. “Wi’out ye, Mary, I couldna do it, and ye know that’s the truth of it.”

  “I wonder if we can get turkeys,” Mary mused. “It’s too far to the town. I suppose we can make do wi’ capon, beef, and fish. Better we hae too much than nae enough,” she decided. “I’ve baskets of apples in the cellars, so we’ll hae tarts for the sweet. The bairns from the cottages dinna see sweets often. Wait till ye see how big their eyes get when we bring them in, Angus. It just does a body good.” Then she wiped her eyes with her apron.

  “Ye’ve a soft heart, Mistress Mary,” he said softly.

  “I suspect ye’re nae better than I am, Angus Gordon,” she replied sharply. “I’ve seen ye patiently working wi’ her ladyship over her letters. Why on earth did the lass wait until now to learn? She hae to know that one day she would wed and hae to manage a home. She should hae been educated long since. Did her mam nae care?”

  “I am my Gordon sire’s bastard, and dinna look so innocent, Mary, for ye hae guessed it already even if the others dinna see it. My half sister died when Flanna was ten. Our father and Meg’s mam, God assoil them, raised us together. My sister, being true born, was the heiress to Brae, but I was never treated as anything less than my father’s son. When Meg wed Brodie, I went wi’ her to Killiecairn. Flanna resisted her mother’s efforts to teach her to read and to write. After Meg died, Flanna’s sister-in-law tried to take charge of the child, but it was almost impossible, for all my niece wanted to do was run wild out-of-doors. I taught her to ride, to hunt, to fish, and to shoot. The women in her family, wi’ difficulty, taught her how to sew, weave, and cook, but they are nae pursuits that she relishes. When she came to Glenkirk, she realized her error in refusing to be educated. She looks at the portraits of the previous ladies of Glenkirk, and she is intimidated. She longs to make her own mark, but knows she canna as she now is. Aye, I am patient wi’ her, Mary. Meg would want me to be, although I will admit to ye there are times when I should like to turn the lass over my knee and smack her bottom.”