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.
“But not how you loved the second?” he replied.
Jasmine smiled softly and munched silently on a piece of cheese for a long moment. “Nay,” she finally admitted. “I loved Rowan Lindley in an entirely different way. It was as if we were one at times. You knew him, my lord. You knew the kind of man he was. Kind and generous. Loyal. A man who could laugh. That fate could snatch him from me, and from his children, is something I shall never understand.”
“And yet you were able to love again,” the earl said.
Jasmine smiled again. “Aye. But who could not love Henry Stuart? Everyone adored him. I did not seek his favor, you know. In fact I resisted him quite strongly, but he would not have it.” She laughed with the memory. “Hal would have his way in the matter, and I have his son to remember him by. ’Tis a precious gift, and more than most royal mistresses gain.”
“But that gift has forced you into the king’s arena, madame,” the earl noted. “Perhaps you should have been satisfied to take just jewelry and titles from Prince Henry.”
Jasmine chuckled. “There is no man in England who could gift me with jewelry, sir, for the jewelry I possess far surpasses anything you have ever seen. Rowan knew it, which is why he gave me MacGuire’s Ford. And Hal knew it, too. As for titles . . .” she shrugged. “I was born a royal Mughal princess. Only a queen’s crown would impress me, and it could not be.”
“So, madame, you possess lands, titles, gold, and jewelry in your own right, but still you must wed me. What can I give you that will make you happy, Jasmine?”
“Why do you care if I am happy or not, James Leslie?” she demanded of him. “The king has ordered us to wed, and wed we must whether I am happy or not happy. You have said you will obey James Stuart because the Leslies of Glenkirk have always been obedient to the royal Stuarts. What difference does it make if I am happy?”
The muscle in his jaw tightened. Jasmine Lindley could be the most irritating woman when she chose to be. Here he was holding out a rather large olive branch, and she was apparently refusing it. “Madame, I am not some monster who has been foisted upon you,” he began, “nor are you being martyred to any cause by being wed to me. There are several ladies in England who would be but too glad to be my countess. Once even your own stepsister sought that honor.”
“Do you wed me just because James Stuart orders you to, sir?” Jasmine asked him. “I do not like the idea that we must wed each other because of a royal command. When I was a young girl I accepted such a marriage, but it was my father’s dictate, and not that of a stranger.”
He swallowed the wine remaining in his cup, wishing that there was more, and sighed. “I cannot change what is, Jasmine,” he said quietly. “When I arrived at Belle Fleurs several weeks ago I was very angry with you. I believe I was close to hating you, and I did, I will admit, seek revenge upon you for embarrassing me so publicly. Being with you, however, has caused my anger to drain away. I admire you. You are a woman of courage and determination. There are some men who might not appreciate such characteristics in a wife, but I do. I am not certain I can offer you love now or ever, nor can you promise me love; but I will respect you, and I can offer you companionship. You will not suffer as my wife, and I will be a good father to your children, I swear it on the souls of my own dead bairns.”
“Will you force me to wed you before the court?” she asked.
He shook his head. “I am past vengeance, Jasmine. We can wed here at Belle Fleurs, or at Queen’s Malvern. The choice is yours, I promise you, but please, madame, let it be soon. We cannot afford to incur the king’s displeasure much longer.”
“Is he angry at you, too?” She was surprised.
“Aye,” he said with a little grin. “He said when the ram corners the ewe he should nae gie her freedom to choose her own pasture in her own time. Fortunately the Carr mess has kept him occupied, and he has not had too much time for me, but it would please him if we wed soon. He longs to see the little laddie, for he has not seen him since Charles Frederick was a wee bairn, and the boy is his grandson.”
“Promise me you will not let them take him from me,” Jasmine said. “That, I will admit to you, is my greatest fear. Once the queen told me how they took Hal from her, and she rarely ever saw him, and must beg permission from his governors when she wanted to be with him. I could not bear it if they took Charlie from me!” And her eyes filled with thick tears at the very thought.
He reached out and brushed the tears from her soft cheek. “They will not take him from us,” he promised her. “Henry Stuart was the heir, and the custom of farming the heir out an old one. ’Tis no longer done, thanks to the queen. Besides, darling Jasmine, your Charlie is but a royal bastard. He can never be heir to the throne. His importance is in his relationship to the king and the queen, not in his future.”
“But what if they want him?” she persisted.
“What they want is to see the laddie and know him. I am his guardian because they know I am an honest man and will not use the boy to my advantage or to build my power base. Charlie will remain with his family. I promise you this, madame.”
“I am afraid,” she said softly.
He took her gloved hand in his big hand. “You must trust me, Jasmine. ’Tis a great leap of faith for you, I will admit, but I beg you to trust me.” He could feel that her hand was cold beneath the leather. He attempted to warm it between his two hands.
A wind had sprung up, and the sun had now disappeared behind a hand of clouds. The promise of spring, earlier in the air, had entirely disappeared, and winter, it seemed, was returning.
“We had best go,” she said, disengaging her hand from his, and standing up. She brushed the crumbs from her breeches and began packing up the basket and cloth.
“You will consider what we have spoken on this day?” he asked her.
“We will marry in the spring at Queen’s Malvern,” Jasmine told him with a small smile, “but not upon the first of April, my lord. ’Tis an infamous date for us, and I would begin our relationship on a more cheerful note. Would you not agree? I think perhaps the fifteenth of the month would be suitable. I do not like May. Marry in May, rue the day, ’tis said.”
“You do not favor June?”
“Do
