Darling Jasmine (7 page)

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Authors: Bertrice Small

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“And your brother never knew where you had gone?” he wondered.
“I do not believe so,” Jasmine said. “It was a very clever plot my father devised. Salim thought I had gone to Kashmir to bury Jamal's heart in his homeland. My father did not die for two months following my departure from India. By the time Salim would have sent to my palace in the mountains it would have been late autumn, and the snows would be threatening. He could not possibly have learned that I was not in Kashmir until the following springtime, at which point I was safe in England. Salim knew little of my English mother. Even if he had unraveled the mystery of my whereabouts, what could he do?”
“Have you ever wished to return?” James Leslie said.
Jasmine thought a moment, then replied, “No. My early life in India was bound up with my father and brother, Salim, in a time when I was too innocent to understand his desires, and Jamal Khan, my first husband. My father and Jamal are gone. My brother has, hopefully, forgotten me at long last. My only regret is Rugaiya Begum, the mother who raised me. I was her only child. Now she has neither me nor the joy of my children, her grandchildren. For that alone I feel remorse. And for that reason I shall never forgive my brother Salim.”
He could see the genuine pain in her eyes as she spoke the words, and James Leslie wanted to ease her sorrow. “Let us ask your cook to pack us a basket, and we shall go for a ride, madame. 'Tis a fine day, and I am certain that you know many a pretty trail hereabouts.”
She was almost startled by his request, but January and most of February had been so wet and dreary. They had all been cooped up inside the château. Now with the children gone she was free to indulge herself in pleasure. She felt almost guilty, but then, shaking the feeling off, she replied, “Aye, 'tis a good day, my lord, for a ride!”
The cook, who thought Lord Leslie a very fine gentleman, packed the basket with a small chicken she had just roasted, a loaf of bread that had only been baked that morning, and was still warm; an earthenware dish of cold asparagus that had been marinated in white wine; a wedge of Brie cheese, two pears which she polished on her apron, and a goatskin of pale gold Archambault wine. The earl, watching her as she worked, took the finished basket from the cook and kissed her hand, bringing a flush to the good woman's cheeks. She watched them depart her kitchens, clutching at the honored hand, and looking upon it as if it would never be the same again.
Returning to the hall he found Jasmine waiting for him. To his surprise she had changed her clothes, and was garbed like a boy in breeches, cambric shirt, and a fur-lined, sleeveless deerskin doublet with carved silver-and-horn buttons. James Leslie raised an eyebrow and suffered a moment of déjà vu. His own mother had once dressed as Jasmine was now garbed. “You ride astride,” he finally said.
“I can ride sidesaddle when the occasion calls for it,” she replied, “but I prefer riding astride as would you if you had ever tried balancing yourself in skirts upon a dancing horse, one leg thrown over the pommel of your saddle. 'Tis both uncomfortable, and discomfiting, my lord, not to mention unnatural. Surely you will not object?”
“Nay, madame,” he quickly answered, seeing the light of battle dawning in her eyes. “In fact I agree with you.”
She nodded and turned swiftly before he could see the amusement in her own glance. “Let us go then. It is fortunate you have your own mount, for I did not bring any but the coach horses with me from England. The stables at Archambault sent over a nice docile little black mare for me. She is pleasant to ride, but presents no challenges, I fear. If I had known I was to stay so long in France, I should have brought my own stallion.”
“I am reassured that you did not,” the earl said. “My own beast does not like the competition of another male animal about him.”
“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 brother, 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.

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