this time of year. We were fortunate in our recent crossing from England.” His tone was almost conciliatory toward her.
“It might be better,” Jasmine considered. “It would give the children a chance to know you, my lord; and I do not like the way my grandmother looks. Grandfather’s death must have been a terrible shock to her. Then to leave Queen’s Malvern to come to me at such a dreadful time of year for traveling. Perhaps in May?” she suggested.
“I thought April the first,” he said softly.
“You cannot be serious,” Jasmine said, remembering how she had tricked him almost two years back into leaving her alone until April first when, she had promised him, she would then set their wedding date. Instead, he had arrived at Queen’s Malvern on that date to find she had departed with her children, and he had no idea to where.
“Be grateful, madame, that I do not fix our wedding date for that day,” he replied somberly.
She was suddenly cold. “Do you hate me that much, my lord?” The sudden realization of his black mood assailed her. What had she done in running away from James Leslie? She had only wanted a little more time to herself. To mourn her sweet prince, and yet the king was so adamant that she marry the earl of Glenkirk. Still, had not he said he would give her more time? But how was she to understand that then?
“I do not know what I feel for you, madame,” she heard him say to her. “Once I was overwhelmed by your beauty and your passion. I thought I loved you. Your arrogance, however, has made me see you in a new light. I am not certain if I can ever love you, but we must learn to get along for the sake of your children, and the children we will have together. Our home must be, I insist, a place of peace.”
The words were out of her mouth before she could contain them. “We will have no children, James Leslie, except that they come from a love between us. I am not some finely bred mare to whom you have been brought to stud. I will wed you, and I will never bring shame to your name. I will manage your household, and stand by your side in all things, but I will have no child of yours unless it comes of our love.”
“How very noble of you, madame,” he replied scornfully. “You bore Westleigh three children, and yet your family arranged the marriage to keep you from the consequences of your wanton behavior. Did you truly love Rowan Lindley?”
“Aye, I did!” Then Jasmine laughed bitterly. “My wanton behavior, as you call it, resulted from your lust to possess me, my lord. I remember that Twelfth Night quite well. ’Twas you who approached me, and aye, I agreed to allow you to seduce me, for bereft of our mates we were both in need of comforting. Had not my stepsister, Sybilla, discovered us, and raised such a fuss, none would have been the wiser. You and I might have forgotten the entire incident, and gone our separate ways, as we did anyhow.”
Reaching over, he grabbed her wrist in a hard grasp. “I would never have forgotten that chance encounter, madame!” he told her fiercely. “You were the most beautiful and the most exciting woman I had ever known; but I shall also not forget that you held me up to ridicule before the entire court by running off two years ago. Do you think, madame, that because you were born a royal Mughal princess that your pride is greater or more sensitive than mine? What do you really know of me, Jasmine?”
“Nothing,” she admitted, gently loosening his grip on her arm.
“Well, I shall tell you,” he said. “Long ago in the reign of King Malcolm and his saintly Queen Margaret, my ancestor, Angus Leslie, the laird of Glenkirk, wed with the queen’s sister, Christina. The sisters were the daughters of the heir to England’s king; but he died before King Edward, and it was their brother who was then to be king but that Harold Godwinson usurped his right, and then William the Norman conquered the land. The mother of these sisters was Agatha, a princess of Hungary. My great-grandfather, Charles Leslie, was born Karim, a prince of the Ottoman Empire. His father was Sultan Selim, his brother, Sultan Suleiman. My great-great-grandmother, Janet Leslie, was Sultan Selim’s favorite wife. I have as much, if not more, royal blood in my veins, Jasmine Lindley, as you do.”
She was astounded by his revelations, but she would not be moved. “Then we are indeed well matched even if none but us knows it, James Leslie,” said Jasmine, rising from her place at the highboard. “The hour grows late, my lord,” she said. “I will escort you to your chamber.”
He followed her from the hall, noting the stiff line of her backbone as they went, wondering what further mischief she was plotting. Could he trust the old countess of Lundy now? Or was she merely lulling him into a false sense of security in order that Jasmine might escape him once again. Devious the old woman might be, he considered, but he had never heard it said that she was anything other than honest. He had to trust her. There was no option other than remaining awake all night watching, and for how long could he do that? Had he been a fool to allow Jasmine more time before their marriage? Was his desire for revenge overwhelming his common sense? Should he call the priest in on the morrow and marry her immediately, thereby putting an end to her headstrong foolishness? Then he shook his head at his own thoughts. Marriage, or no, if Jasmine de Marisco Lindley wanted to leave him again, she most certainly would. He had but two choices. Locking her away or winning back her friendship.
“You will find your servant awaiting you,” Jasmine said as she stopped before an oak door. “Good night, my lord.”
He took her hand up and kissed it. “Good night, madame,” the earl of Glenkirk replied, then, turning, he entered the chamber.
Jasmine snatched her hand back and, whirling about, hurried off down the corridor. She could actually feel the imprint of his mouth upon her skin, and it was most discomfiting. This man she must wed, this man with whom she had spent an incredible night of passion almost ten years ago, was in reality a stranger to her. They had met again briefly at King James’s court, but it was not an association she had encouraged. He was a dark-spirited man whom she did not in the least understand. She was even a little afraid of him, but she would never reveal that to anyone, least of all James Leslie. He was, she realized, a man she could not cajole or manipulate. He was as hard as flint.
She had offended him. Embarrassed him. Defied him. Yet he would obey the king and marry her in spite of it all. Jasmine shivered. This was a dangerous man, and unless she could find a way to soften him, her life would not be pleasant. Jasmine entered her own bedchamber, where her servants were waiting for her. Her grandmother would know what to do. On the morrow she would speak with that dear old lady, and Skye would guide her actions so she might find James Leslie’s weakness, and touch his heart. If indeed he even had a heart.
Chapter 3
Jasmine awoke to hear the faint scratching of sleet upon the windows of her bedchamber. She could see the gray day beyond the slit in the half-drawn draperies. A cheerful fire burned in the fireplace, warming the room. She stretched herself beneath the fine lavender-scented linens and the down comforter that covered her. How lovely it was to lie here in the great oak bed her grandfather had long ago commissioned for this chamber. Jasmine loved this bed, with its eight-foot-high headboard of linenfold paneling and its four turned and carved posts. The hangings belonging to the bed were a natural-colored linen embroidered with a design of green silk. It was a wonderful refuge from the troubles of the world, but she had no troubles. Oh, yes she did.
Jasmine sat up suddenly. She most assuredly had troubles. They had arrived late yesterday in the person of James Leslie, the earl of Glenkirk. James Leslie, the man King James had made guardian of her four children. James Leslie, the man the king had ordered her to marry and from whom she had fled. Her temples began to throb, and she fell back against her pillows. She had to think. She had to speak with Skye. It was not going to be an easy day.
The
