More! Has my father sent you to escort me home?” Autumn asked excitedly. “How is my mother? ’Tis good to see one of our own.”
Wordlessly—and, the duke noted, with tears in his eyes—the messenger handed the letter to Autumn. “ ’Tis from yer mam, m’lady.”
Eagerly Autumn broke the seal of the missive and opened it. Her eyes scanned the parchment, her face growing paler as her eyes flew over the written words, a cry of terrible anguish finally escaping her as she slumped against her brother, obviously terribly distraught, the letter slipping from her hand to fall to the carpet. She was shaking with emotion.
The clansman picked up the parchment, handing it to the duke, who now had an arm about his sister. Charlie quickly read his mother’s words to her daughter, his handsome face contorting in a mixture of sorrow and anger. Finally laying aside the letter, he said to the clansman, “You will remain until you are rested, Ian More, or does my mother wish you to stay in England?”
“I’ll go back as soon as the beast and I have had a few days’ rest, m’lord. Forgive me for being the bearer of such woeful tidings.”
“Stable your horse, and then go to the kitchens for your supper. Smythe will find you a place to sleep,” the duke told the messenger. Then he turned to comfort his sister, who had begun to weep piteously.
“What is it?” Bess asked her husband, realizing that the news the Glenkirk man had brought was very serious.
“My f-father i-is d-d-dead!” Autumn sobbed. “Ohh, damn Master Cromwell and his parliamentary forces to hell!” She pulled from her brother’s gentle embrace and ran from the family hall where they had been seated.
“Oh, Charlie, I am so sorry!” Bess said. She looked after her young sister-in-law. “Shall I go after her?”
The duke shook his head. “Nay. Autumn considers such a public show of emotion on her part a weakness. She has been that way since her childhood. She will want to be alone.”
“What happened?” Bess queried her husband.
“Jemmie Leslie died at Dunbar in defense of my cousin, King Charles. He should not have gone, not at his age, not with the history of misfortune the Stuarts always seem to visit on the Leslies of Glenkirk, but you know what an honorable man he was. He has paid for his loyalty with his life. Mama writes that she will come to England before winter to live in the dower house at Cadby, which is hers. She asks that Autumn remain with us, or go to Henry until she comes. My half-brother, Patrick Leslie, is devastated by his papa’s death, and chary of the responsibilites he must now take on as Glenkirk’s new master. Mama feels he will better assume those obligations if she is not there for him to fall back upon. She is right, of course.”
“But how will she be able to travel under the circumstances?” Bess fretted.
He chuckled. “She will find a way, I guarantee you, Bess. When Mama wants something, little dares to stand in her way. It is Autumn we must worry about. She is not above going to find Cromwell and attempting to kill him herself. We will have to dissuade her from any and all thoughts of instant revenge.”
“And just how will you do that?” his wife asked him.
“Autumn is loyal first to the family. I shall tell her that any foolishness on her part will reflect on all of us. On the Leslies of Glenkirk, and on me and mine in particular, on India and Oxton, on the Southwoods, and the cousins at Clearfield and Blackthorne, on poor, plump old Great-Aunt Willow and her brood; on us all. She will swallow her anger, even if it kills her, for their sakes. That much I can guarantee. And when Mama arrives she will know just what to do to distract Autumn from any thought of revenge. Mama has always been clever that way,” the duke said. “She is the only one who can control my little sister. Papa, heaven help him, adored and spoiled her terribly.”
Autumn kept to her bedchamber for the next several days, her maidservant, Lily, bringing her meals which, for the first two days, were sent back uneaten. On the third day Autumn nibbled a bit from her tray, and by the end of the week she was once again eating. She came from her room to speak with Ian More before he began his long ride back to Scotland, and Glenkirk.
“Were you at Dunbar?” she asked him as they sat before the fire in the family hall.
“I was, m’lady,” he answered her somberly.
“How many went, and how many came home?” she asked.
“Hundred and fifty rode out. Thirty-six rode home, m’lady,” was his reply. “ ’Twere only luck any of us came back.”
“My father had no luck that day,” Autumn noted aloud.
“Stuarts ain’t nae been fortunate for our people, m’lady. Worse, this new king dinna even look like a Stuart. He be a dark laddie, m’lady, but he hae his family’s charm. Yer da was nae happy to follow the Stuarts, but he were a man of honor, Jemmie Leslie, God bless him!”
Autumn nodded. “Aye,” she said. Then she handed Ian More a sealed packet. “Give my mother this when you return. I will await her coming here at Queen’s Malvern.”
“Will we ever see ye at Glenkirk again, m’lady?” he asked her, his plain face concerned.
Autumn shook her head wearily. “I do not know, Ian More. I honestly do not know. It certainly did not occur to me when I left Glenkirk last April that I should never again see it. I know not what will happen to me now that my father is dead.”
“The new duke will look after ye, m’lady,” Ian said firmly.
“Patrick?” Autumn laughed for the first time since she had learned of her father’s death. “Patrick will have all he can do to look after himself and Glenkirk, Ian More. Papa’s death will have shocked my brother by its suddenness, but even more horrific for him will be his precipitous ascent to all the responsibility Glenkirk entails. Patrick will have no time for me. I am better off, though not greatly so, remaining in England with Charlie and Henry.”
A small smile touched the clansman’s lips. Lady Autumn Leslie was far more astute than he would have previously given her credit for; but then, lassie or nae, she was a Leslie. Leslie women were ever noted for being resourceful, and intelligent. Obviously the lass was finally growing up, and about time, he considered. He arose from his seat opposite her and bowed neatly. “I’ll deliver yer message to yer mam as quickly as I can, m’lady. Hae ye any word for yer brother?”
“Tell him I wish him good fortune, and God bless,” Autumn replied. “Tell him I hope we will meet again one day.”
Ian More felt tears pricking his eyelids. Damn Covenanters! he thought irritably. Why could they not all be content to leave everything as it was instead of fighting, and costing Scotland more sons and future generations? Why did their beloved duchess and her daughter have to flee from their home? Damn the Covenanters! Damn the Puritans, and damn the royal Stuarts as well! He swallowed hard. “I’ll deliver yer kind words to Duke Patrick,” he told the girl. “Take care of yerself, m’lady.”
“And you also, Ian More,” Autumn replied. “God be with you on your return journey. Take no chances.”
“I won’t, m’lady,” but they both knew he lied. Ian More would do whatever he had to, to return to Glenkirk and deliver his messages as quickly as he could.
It
