Darling Jasmine (31 page)
Authors: Bertrice Small
“Aye, Your Majesty,” Skye said quietly. This was too damned easy. Bess Tudor would have never been gulled so easily, she thought, and yet James Stuart was a sweet man. Seated, she was better able to study Piers St. Denis. He was slowly recovering from the drubbing she had just given him, and even now she could see him considering his next move. “If Your Majesty wishes, I will send to Glenkirk, and the Leslies will return; but Your Majesty should know that my granddaughter is with child. James Leslie will at last have an heir again after
all
these years.”
There!
That would prevent St. Denis from demanding their return. The king was softhearted, and would not endanger the Leslie infant.
all
these years.”
There!
That would prevent St. Denis from demanding their return. The king was softhearted, and would not endanger the Leslie infant.
“Nah! Nah!” James Stuart said, even as she had silently predicted. “We canna allow any harm to come to Jemmie's bairn, madame. I accept yer word in the matter, and it is now closed.”
“Thank you, Your Majesty,” Skye said sweetly, pleased to see that the marquis of Hartsfield had been neatly checked. She arose from her seat, handing her goblet to a page, curtsying once again to the king. “Your Majesty will excuse me, I hope. I have traveled far and am quite tired. I must start back in the morning.”
“Aye, Madame Skye, ye hae our permission to retire. Go wi our blessing, and when ye write to yer granddaughter, tell her we are verra pleased to learn of her coming bairn. Steenie! Escort the lady!”
Viscount Villiers stepped forward and offered his arm to Skye. Accepting it, she moved with stately grace across the room to the door. There, however, the marquis of Hartsfield stood blocking their way. He glared at Skye, openly angry, and she laughed.
“You have not the skill to play my game, my lord,” she told him mockingly. “I learned from Bess Tudor herself.”
“She is dead now,” he said menacingly.
“I am not,”
replied Skye boldly, and she passed from the room with George Villiers. When they were in the hallway beyond, Skye said to him, “I would not be surprised if Lord Stokes met his end at the hands of Piers St. Denis. He is dangerous and desperate enough.”
replied Skye boldly, and she passed from the room with George Villiers. When they were in the hallway beyond, Skye said to him, “I would not be surprised if Lord Stokes met his end at the hands of Piers St. Denis. He is dangerous and desperate enough.”
“Do you truly think so, madame?” Of course! Why hadn't he thought of it himself. St. Denis was the logical culprit, having the most to gain, or so he believed.
“I do. See if you can link him to the crime, and the king's troubles will be over, my ambitious young lord,” Skye told him. “The poor queen will not have to find him a bride, and the king can imprison him and thereby be free of his irritating company.”
“But how?” Villiers was thinking aloud. “He has no friends.”
“There must be someone,” Skye told him.
“Only his half brother,” came the reply.
“Can he be suborned, my little viscount?” They were now standing in an alcove.
George Villiers shook his head. “I do not believe so.”
“There must be
something
this man wants that he does not have,” Skye said. “Every one of us has a weakness, my young friend.”
something
this man wants that he does not have,” Skye said. “Every one of us has a weakness, my young friend.”
“What is yours?” he asked her, smiling.
She chuckled. “I am past temptation now, George Villiers. I have wealth, health, children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren. I look far better for my years than I ought to, or so my eldest daughter tells meâand she does not lie. The only thing I lack no one can give me. I want my Adam back! I have never missed anyone as I miss him. It seems as if he was always there in my life. But we are not conspiring here over me. It is St. Denis we must bring down. Younger brothers always envy the elder, and this one, I expect, is no exception.”
“He is not the younger, but the elder by a few hours,” said the viscount. “He is the bastard, and Piers St. Denis the legitimate heir. But he is loyal to a fault and would not betray his brother.”
“What if he could be legitimized, and made the marquis in place of his brother?” she suggested. “He is human, this bastard, and while he may appear to have accepted his fate gracefully, I believe he would leap at the opportunity to change it. Particularly if a lovely and wealthy young wife went along with it, eh? Consider it, sir. Only an accident of birth has prevented this man from being the marquis of Hartsfield. You think, in the dark of the night, he does not consider it?”
“You are diabolical, madame,” George Villiers said admiringly.
“I am a practical woman, dear boy,” she told him. “When I want something that is perhaps thought unattainable, I seek a way to get it. Get the marquis's brother to tell the truth of the matter regarding Lord Stokes, and you will have what you want. A clear field with the king, and a path strewn with riches and titlesâ
which is what you want.”
which is what you want.”
“Jasmine did tell you about me,” he chuckled. “Your advice is sound, Madame Skye, and I shall follow it to the letter.”
“I have no doubt that you will triumph,” she told him.
“Tell Jasmine I shall write to her,” he said. “I did promise.”
It was the last she was to see of George Villiers for the time being. The following morning Skye set off back to Queen's Malvern, where Daisy awaited her, still fuming ten days after the fact about their trip.
“If the king accepts yer excuse, then why are we going?” she demanded of her mistress, having heard the tale of Skye's latest adventure.
“The king is not the problem,” came the reply. “It is the marquis of Hartsfield that I fear. He is not ready to give up, and probably won't be until he is in hell. He appears to have given up any attempt to win Jasmine, but he wants the power that having the wardship of Charlie-boy would give him. He has already managed to remove one rival and escape justice. Now he will come after Jasmine and Jemmie, and I must warn them,” Skye concluded as she climbed into bed.
“Why not just send a messenger?” Daisy suggested.
“Just remember, my girl, that the king's messenger never arrived here,” Skye told her. “It is far easier to remove a messenger than it will be to remove me. No! Tomorrow I rest, and the day after we go! If you want to remain behind, dearest Daisy, you may. I'll not force you to make a journey you do not want to make.”
Daisy sighed deeply. “You'll not leave me behind,” she said, resigned. “Haven't I always been with you, my lady? But the truth of the matter is that I feel my age more than you do. We'll take Nora along also to give me a bit of a hand.”
“What a fine idea!” Skye said enthusiastically, not daring to tell her old servant that she had already told Nora that she would be traveling with them to help Daisy.
“Good!” Daisy replied. “Then it's settled. Now you get some rest, my lady. We'll be traveling hard, I suspect, for you'll not want to let that marquis of Hartsfield get ahead of us, eh?”
Nothing felt better than one's own bed, Skye thought, as she snuggled down into her featherbed. “Aye,” she agreed with Daisy. “I don't know what he plans next, but he is not beaten yet,” she said. “He's up to some mischief. I can sense it in my bones.”
And, as always, Skye's instincts were sharp. Piers St. Denis knew that he was unwelcome at court now, yet he remained, for the king was not able to bring himself to dismiss him and send him home. The queen, supposedly in charge of finding him a suitable wife, dallied interminably over a possible selection of eligible women and girls. And Villiers, now elevated to the rank of viscount, was unbearably obnoxious to him.
“You'd think he was a royal duke, and not just a pimple on the king's arse,” he groused to his half brother.
“Unless he makes a serious mistake, he will be a duke one day,” Kipp said thoughtfully. While Villiers was indeed scornful of Piers, he had been nothing but distantly polite to the Hartsfield bastard, as Kipp was known about the court. In a strange way Kipp admired George Villiers. He allowed nothing to stand in his path, and his unflagging charm had won him many supporters among the powerful, unlike Piers, whose arrogance far overrode his charm of late. Piers hated to lose, and he played only to the king. Villiers was more clever, and played to the whole court, and it was certainly paying off for him. Kipp wished his brother would be more like him. Of late Piers's hunger for revenge and for power was overwhelming his charm and his common sense. Kipp had attempted to warn him.
“I need no advice from you on how to behave,” Piers snarled. “I have the means by which to win this game in my hands even now. Pack our things. We are leaving for Scotland.”
“What have you got?” Kipp asked him, curious.
Piers St. Denis smiled cruelly and, reaching into his doublet, offered his half brother a rolled parchment. “This,” he said.
Kipp unrolled the parchment, and read it. He was astounded. “How did you get the king to do this?” he asked.
“The arrest warrant was already made out but for the names, but the king had signed it. I stole it off his secretary's desk. I shall decide when we get to Scotland whether it shall be both Jasmine, and her husband, or just James Leslie. I somehow fancy the lady becoming my possession and my toy while she bargains for her husband's life,” he said cruelly. “Then I shall see James Leslie hanged in the king's name, after which I shall marry his widow immediately, thereby gaining both her wealth and her children. It is a foolproof plan, Kipp. The king's warrant will be accepted by the Scots, who have no real knowledge of what is happening here in England. Old king fool may weep and protest after the fact, but there will be no denying his signature at the bottom of that warrant.” He laughed coldly. “I said she was mine, and she is, even if I must wait a bit longer to attain the prize. And that old woman who is her grandmother will not stop me either!”
“Piers, Piers,” his brother cautioned. “This is a very dangerous game you are attempting to play. The Leslies are not without influence in Scotland. You have already committed one murder. Do not, I beg you, attempt another. You will surely be caught!”
“I had to kill Stokes,” St. Denis said. “You would not, you weakling! It was the first time in your life that you ever disobeyed me, but I have forgiven you, Kipp. Because of your mother's peasant blood, you are not as strong as I am, and that you cannot help. I will not be caught, big brother. Remember?
I never get caught!
How many beatings did you take for my sins when we were growing up?” he laughed.
I never get caught!
How many beatings did you take for my sins when we were growing up?” he laughed.
“You cannot always be fortunate, Piers,” Kipp warned him.
“Why not?” the marquis of Hartsfield demanded. “Perhaps I shall not marry her. Perhaps I shall have her hanged also, but
after
you and I have taken our pleasure of her and taught her the delights of pain. I can still control her wealth and her children. Mayhap I shall take her eldest daughter for a wife.
Yes!
We can raise the little bitch to suit ourselves, and she will complain at me that I killed her husband. 'Tis a much better plan, Kipp! Eh?”
after
you and I have taken our pleasure of her and taught her the delights of pain. I can still control her wealth and her children. Mayhap I shall take her eldest daughter for a wife.
Yes!
We can raise the little bitch to suit ourselves, and she will complain at me that I killed her husband. 'Tis a much better plan, Kipp! Eh?”
“I think it too dangerous,” Kipp replied bluntly; and he did. It was
all
becoming too dangerous, and Piers had the look of a fanatic about him these days. Seducing highborn ladies, and raping peasant girls was a lark, but when Piers had suggested murder, he had thought him simply struggling with the frustration of losing for the first time in his life. His brother enjoyed holding power over people, and hence his passion for whipping his conquests with a variety of implements until they begged and pleaded with him for mercy. That seemed to arouse Piers far more than just a beautiful, exciting woman eager to share his passion.
all
becoming too dangerous, and Piers had the look of a fanatic about him these days. Seducing highborn ladies, and raping peasant girls was a lark, but when Piers had suggested murder, he had thought him simply struggling with the frustration of losing for the first time in his life. His brother enjoyed holding power over people, and hence his passion for whipping his conquests with a variety of implements until they begged and pleaded with him for mercy. That seemed to arouse Piers far more than just a beautiful, exciting woman eager to share his passion.
But murder?
When it had first been brought up he didn't believe Piers would ever follow through with such a plan, and so as he had always done, Kipp followed along. Then Piers had instructed him to kill Stokes, and he couldn't do it, but Piers had, making him come along to witness the deed. He would never forget the surprised look in Richard Stokes's eyes when he realized he had been killed. Piers had obviously enjoyed driving the slender dagger deep into his victim, twisting it slowly to inflict pain as well as death. Kipp had turned away, vomiting into the underbrush with both shock and guilt. But Piers had felt no guilt. He had removed a rival, and he was elated.
When it had first been brought up he didn't believe Piers would ever follow through with such a plan, and so as he had always done, Kipp followed along. Then Piers had instructed him to kill Stokes, and he couldn't do it, but Piers had, making him come along to witness the deed. He would never forget the surprised look in Richard Stokes's eyes when he realized he had been killed. Piers had obviously enjoyed driving the slender dagger deep into his victim, twisting it slowly to inflict pain as well as death. Kipp had turned away, vomiting into the underbrush with both shock and guilt. But Piers had felt no guilt. He had removed a rival, and he was elated.
Now his brother was contemplating another murder, nay, two murders. How could he betray him, although he knew he should go to the king and beg mercy for Piers. He was obviously as mad as his mother had become after several years of marriage to their father. Piers might mock Kipp's mother, but it was she who had the major burden of raising her lover's two sons, and caring for his delicate wife as she slipped in and out of reality until her death at the age of thirty.
Kipp sighed. He would have to go to Scotland with Piers. He knew what he was going to do. He would steal the royal warrant from his brother so he could not use it to commit additional murders.
I should be the marquis,
Kipp considered, as he had often secretly and guiltily thought.
I am far more responsible than my brother.
Then he sighed again. He must be loyal to Piers. It had been their father's dying wish of him,
and he had promised.
I should be the marquis,
Kipp considered, as he had often secretly and guiltily thought.
I am far more responsible than my brother.
Then he sighed again. He must be loyal to Piers. It had been their father's dying wish of him,
and he had promised.
Chapter
15
15
T
he de Marisco's traveling coach had rumbled into the courtyard of Glenkirk Castle in midafternoon on St. Andrew's Day, which was the last day of November. The sun was already setting in a blaze of glory over the western mountains. It had taken over three weeks from Queen's Malvern, and the weather had been foul most of the trip. Thistlewood, sitting up on his box, had never been happier in his life to see the end of a journey, especially knowing he wouldn't have to make the return trip until the late springtime or early summer. As Daisy so pithily remarked constantly on their journey, they wasn't getting any younger, any of them. Then she would look pointedly at Skye, who just ignored her, and determinedly encouraged them all onward. But they could all see that she was tired, nay exhausted, Thistlewood the coachman amended.
he de Marisco's traveling coach had rumbled into the courtyard of Glenkirk Castle in midafternoon on St. Andrew's Day, which was the last day of November. The sun was already setting in a blaze of glory over the western mountains. It had taken over three weeks from Queen's Malvern, and the weather had been foul most of the trip. Thistlewood, sitting up on his box, had never been happier in his life to see the end of a journey, especially knowing he wouldn't have to make the return trip until the late springtime or early summer. As Daisy so pithily remarked constantly on their journey, they wasn't getting any younger, any of them. Then she would look pointedly at Skye, who just ignored her, and determinedly encouraged them all onward. But they could all see that she was tired, nay exhausted, Thistlewood the coachman amended.
“Get the earl,” he called down to a footman as he drew the horse to a halt, and in short order James Leslie exited his house.
Recognizing the coach, he hurried to its door and, pulling it open, was surprised to find Jasmine's grandmother dozing in a corner of the carriage. “Madame Skye?” He was astounded to see her.
She opened her blue eyes, smiled, and said, “Thank goodness we're finally here, Jemmie!”
“She's fair wore out,” came Daisy's voice from the dim interior of the vehicle. “Wouldn't travel at a reasonable pace. Nay! Not her!”
The earl of Glenkirk reached into the coach and, wrapping his strong arms about Skye, lifted her out, calling to Daisy to follow along. Then he tenderly carried Jasmine's grandmother into the castle, directly up the staircase, and into the Great Hall, where he set her down in a chair by one of the roaring fireplaces. She made absolutely no protest, which indicated to him her weakened condition. Going over to the sideboard, he poured her a full goblet of rich red wine, and then pressed it into her hand. “It's from Archambault,” he said. “Drink it down,” he gently commanded her. Then seeing Adali, he said, “Fetch your mistress immediately. Tell her that her grandmother has arrived.” He turned back to Skye, who was gratefully drinking down the wine.
When she had finished it she looked at him, and said, “Whiskey would have been better. Don't tell me you don't have your own still about, for I am certain you do, dear boy.”
He laughed. “You'll live,” he said, but he was concerned by the faint purple shadows beneath her eyes. She had come with a purpose, and she had come quickly, for she had not sent ahead any warning of her arrival. It did not portend anything good, but he would wait for her to tell him, for when she regained her strength she would. He took her hand in his, and kissed it. “Jasmine will be so happy to see you.” Then he simply sat by her side, holding that elegant hand in his, willing the warmth back into her slender body, realizing that if he loved Jasmine, he loved this old woman as well, and her indominable spirit which he hoped would be passed on to his children.
“Grandmama!”
She flew into the hall, hurrying to Skye's side.
She flew into the hall, hurrying to Skye's side.
“My darling girl,” Skye said, holding out her arms to Jasmine who, kneeling next to her grandmother, was wrapped in her embrace.
“Why on earth have you made such a long journey in such chancy weather?” Jasmine asked her, now sitting upon the floor by her grandmother's knee and looking up at her. “Why didn't you tell us you were coming?”
“There was no time,” Skye said. “I had to reach you before that scoundrel St. Denis makes more mischief, darling girl.”
“The marquis of Hartsfield?” Jasmine said. “What on earth has he to do with anything?”
“More wine?” the earl asked her.
Skye looked at him quizzically.
“Whiskey?” he said, smothering a laugh.
She nodded, and, when she had drunk a bit of the amber liquid, she began her tale even as Daisy and Nora were telling it to Adali. Adali listened to the two women. He was pleased to see that Madame Skye had added Nora to her personal staff to be of help to Daisy. The girl was the daughter of the Queen's Malvern housekeeper and majordomo, the Bramwells. She was no slattern, and could be trusted. They were going to need all the cool heads they could muster, Adali thought, until this business with the marquis of Hartsfield was settled once and for all.
Skye settled into Glenkirk Castle. Adali housed her in the west tower apartments, which had once been used by the fabled Janet Leslie. It consisted of three floors. On the first was an anteroom, and two small bedrooms which would house Daisy and Nora. On the second floor was a dining room with a pantry, and a lovely dayroom that had once been used for preparing food for m'lady Janet. On the top floor was a lovely airy bedchamber and a garderobe. All the rooms but the garderobe had fireplaces. It took several days to make these rooms habitable again. The draperies and the bed hangings had to be found, brushed, and hung. The dust sheets were removed from the lovely old oak furniture, which was then polished up. Wonderful oriental carpets were brought from the castle storerooms and laid upon the floors. They had belonged to the lady Janet, and when she had moved to her own newly built castle of Sithean, they had somehow been left behind. Skye's clothing was stored in the garderobe. Her featherbed, pillows, and personal linens were used to make the bed, and the remainder of the linens put in a cedar-lined oak trunk. Silver candlesticks and shining brass lamps were brought to illuminate the rooms; wood was stacked by the fireplaces, to be replenished each morning and afternoon. A crystal decanter of wine and one of whiskey along, with four silver goblets, appeared upon the sideboard in the dayroom, along with a bowl of spicy potpourri.
“I am amazed that she would leave Queen's Malvern,” the earl of Glenkirk said to his wife as they lay contentedly in their bed. Outside the northwest winds howled, and an icy rain pelted against the windows.
“I am not,” Jasmine said quietly, and snuggled against her husband's shoulder. “She doesn't want to be at Queen's Malvern for the holidays this year, Jemmie. Can you understand that? And she would not go to any of my aunts, or uncles, for they will make a long face of it and her heart will break all over again. I am the only one who wasn't there, and so she has come to me. I am glad! I have never had a baby without Grandmama nearby to watch over me.”
He put his hand upon her belly, feeling the child stir beneath his touch. “He's a strong bairn, Jasmine.”
“You're certain that it's a lad,” she teased him.
“Aye,” he answered her with great certainty.
“So am I,” she said softly, and she put her hand over his. “Patrick, sixth earl of Glenkirk. He will follow a proud tradition of Leslies, Jemmie, won't he? And he'll be a grand man.”
“Like our other lads,” her husband answered her. “With you for a mother, he cannot help it, Jasmine, my darling Jasmine!” and he kissed her tenderly. He would not make love to her now, for her condition prevented it, but he enjoyed stroking her and kissing her, as did she. Her breasts were large and decorated with slender blue veins now. He found it very exciting to think that those beautiful breasts would shortly nourish his bairn. A wetnurse had also been found for the coming child.
The children had all settled well into Glenkirk, making friends easily with the castle and village children. India, who would be eight in March, and Henry who would be seven in April, were, along with little Fortune, receiving lessons daily from Brother Duncan. Little Charles Frederick Stuart, at age three and a half, was considered too young, but he was intelligent, and Brother Duncan said that perhaps next autumn, after the bairn's fourth birthday, they might begin to teach him his letters. The little not-so-royal Stuart did not seem to mind waiting.
“He's all Stuart,” the earl said of his stepson and ward. “Charm just like his father, and a smile that would break an angel's heart.”
On the twelfth of December the Leslies celebrated Skye's seventy-sixth birthday with a family gathering, now that Jasmine's grandmother was well rested, and recovered from her long journey. This was the Leslies' first opportunity to meet Skye, and she was warmly welcomed amongst them and quickly liked. The pipes, which Skye had known in Ireland as a child, were the entertainment, along with the men of the clan, who danced for her, much to her delight.
“I do like a man with good legs,” she remarked, “and you Leslies seem to be all well endowed with handsome limbs.”
“And other parts,”
a female voice said pithily, to ensuing laughter from the women members of the clan.
a female voice said pithily, to ensuing laughter from the women members of the clan.
India Lindley, her dark ringlets shining, cast her golden eyes up at her great-grandmother, and asked, “Are you
very
old, Grandmam?”
very
old, Grandmam?”
Skye nodded. “I am very old, India.”
“Was Grandsire Adam very old, too?”
“He was eighty-four, India,” Skye said softly. Damn! She missed him, she thought sadly.
“Will you live to be as old as Grandsire Adam, Grandmam?” India persisted. “I do not like it that he has gone away from us.”
“I do not like it either, India,” Skye told the child. “And as for how long I shall live? That, child, is in God's hands.”
“I hope God will let you live forever, Grandmam!” India told her.
“Thank you, child, but I do not. One is born to die, India. It is our fate, and no one lives forever, nor would they want to. When I die I shall be reunited with all those whom I have loved and who have gone through that door we call death into the next life. I shall not be sad about it.
“I will,” India said forlornly.
Skye laughed. “You will have your memories of me, child, and you will know, because I have told you so this night, that I am happy because I will be with my Adam again. But enough, India! This is a celebration of my birth, and I am here with you to enjoy it! Fetch me another piece of that apple tart with cream!”
“She's a grand old lassie,” the elderly earl of Sithean remarked to his nephew of Glenkirk. “Is she here to stay?”
“I don't know,” James Leslie said. “For the winter and the spring, at least. And I'm certain since she is here, BrocCairn will want her to visit them. She has never been to Scotland in all the years Velvet has been wed to Alex. They are coming for Christmas if it does not snow too heavily. And Uncle Adam and Aunt Fiona are coming up from their house in Edinburgh. We will have a full house indeed.”
And on the twentieth of December the Gordons of BrocCairn arrived with four of their five sons. Sandy, the eldest, had remained at Dun Broc with his pregnant wife and her family. Jasmine's favorite half brother, Charlie, now twenty, lifted her up, and gently swung her around, while the twins, Rob and Henry, age eighteen, and Neddie, now fifteen, cheered his efforts.
“Put me down this instant, you loon!” she scolded him, but Jasmine was laughing even as she upbraided Charlie Gordon.
He set her gently upon her feet. “Yer as big as a year-old heifer,” he teased her. “How's my namesake?”
“He's named for Prince Charles, too,” Jasmine reminded her sibling. Then she drew forth the little duke of Lundy, who was peeping from behind her skirts at these four big fellows his mama said were his uncles. “Say hallo to your Uncle Charlie, Charlie-boy,” she encouraged him.
“Charlie is
my
name,” the duke of Lundy said truculently, looking up at the laughing man.
my
name,” the duke of Lundy said truculently, looking up at the laughing man.
“It was my name first,”
Charlie Gordon replied, swooping the youngster up in his arms and tickling him. “Shall we share it?”
Charlie Gordon replied, swooping the youngster up in his arms and tickling him. “Shall we share it?”
“I gots an Uncle Charles,” the little boy persisted, giggling.
“Aye, laddie, ye do. Royal Charles, who will someday be our king, God bless him! But I'm nae
Charles.
Like you I'm just plain Charlie, and I'm happy to share my name wi ye, laddie,” Charlie Gordon concluded, his eyes twinkling at his little nephew.
Charles.
Like you I'm just plain Charlie, and I'm happy to share my name wi ye, laddie,” Charlie Gordon concluded, his eyes twinkling at his little nephew.
“I'm nae plain,” Charlie-boy responded. “I'm a duke.”
“What's that?” his uncle asked mischievously.
The child shook his head. “I dinna know,” he said to the laughter of his family.
“Ah, well then,” his uncle told him, “there is plenty of time for ye to learn all about being a duke, laddie. For now I think ye would far enjoy just being a wee lad, eh. Hae ye a puppy?”
Charlie-boy shook his head again. “Nay,” he said. “We all share Mama's Feathers, but she's a silly old thing.”
Charlie turned to his youngest brother. “Neddie, where's the gift we brought for our wee nephew.”
Reaching into his doublet, Neddie Gordon drew forth a small black-and-gold puppy, handing it to his elder sibling.
“ 'Tis for you, Charlie-boy,” Charlie Gordon said, handing the puppy over to the wide-eyed child. “ 'Tis a Gordon setter, and will be a good hunting dog when it is grown.” And when his nephew had taken the puppy gently into his arms, his uncle set him down on the floor again with his prize. Turning to his brother, he said, “Neddie?” and a second puppy was drawn forth from the younger Gordon's doublet and handed to Henry Lindley, who had been looking slightly crestfallen at his little brother's good fortune. “We'd nae forget ye, Henry,” Charlie said to his now delighted older nephew.
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