“There are men-at-arms on the battlements!” young Henry Lindley said in an excited voice. “Oh, Papa, ‘tis a grand castle!” His horse danced nervously next to the earl’s stallion. “Can I ride ahead, sir?” he asked his stepfather.
“Nay, laddie,” Fergus More interposed. “‘Tis the first time in many, many years that the earl has been home. ‘Tis he who must be first of this party into Glenkirk.”
“But I could go ahead, and tell them that we’re coming,” the boy said hopefully.
“They already know we’re coming,” Fergus More said, and he pointed in the direction of the castle.
From Glenkirk’s courtyard and out over the drawbridge they came, up the road that wound down from the hills and toward the mounted party that rode onward to the castle. Clansmen. Leslie clansmen. Mounted and on foot; banners flying; a troupe of pipers led by Alpin More, who was Fergus’s kin, leading them as they came. The savage joy of the music rose on the wind, and instinctively the Scotsmen straightened in theirsaddles. The earl was dressed today as he had dressed every day since they had crossed over the border, in breeches and high boots, leather jerkin over his linen shirt, a cap with a chieftain’s badge on his head. Long gone, it seemed to Jasmine, was the elegant English courtier James Leslie had previously appeared to be.
“See that green-and-white banner, Jasmine,” he said, pointing. “Those are the Leslies of Sithean. We all descend from the first earl of Glenkirk, but the second earl’s sister managed to obtain Sithean for her son and his descendants. And I see my uncle Patrick riding at the head of his people. And I see my cousin, his heir, with his father. Behind the red, white, and green banner are the Leslies of Glenkirk. My uncles and my brothers will be there.” His voice had risen just slightly with his excitement.
“You should have come home long since, Jemmie,” Jasmine told him, reaching out to touch his hand.
“I almost did once, but then the king wept that he needed my acumen, with poor Cecil dead, and so I remained to serve James Stuart,” the earl told her. “But for our English summers, darling Jasmine, I do not think I shall ever leave Scotland again. My heart is full just looking about me, hearing the pipes welcoming me back.”
Now they drew to a halt, allowing the clansmen to come to them, and they did, surrounding the earl’s party with shouts of joy to see him back amongst them and for having brought a new countess. They reached out to touch the earl and his wife, and Jasmine, following her husband’s lead, reached back, her beautiful hand brushing the rough hands thrust toward her, a smile on her lips, her turquoise eyes dancing with an open delight that plainly told of her pleasure to be among them. When they had heard he had taken an English wife they had expected a haughty milady, a nervous creature who would recoilat their noisy earthiness, but this was no milksop. This was a real woman, and the clansmen were delighted.
The earl of Glenkirk and his party were escorted into the castle courtyard. Before either the earl or Adali could help Jasmine from her mount, she was whisked off it by a large, bushy-bearded clansman, who set her gently on her feet with a courtly bow and a grin.
“And who are you?” Jasmine demanded of him, eyes twinkling.
“Red Hugh More, madame, son and grandson of the same,” he said with another bow. “I’m the captain of yer guard.”
“The castle’s guard,” Jasmine said.
“Nay, madame,yer guard,” was the reply.
“I have my own guard?” Jasmine was surprised.
“As hae every countess of Glenkirk before ye,” he said. “This is Scotland, and Scotland is nae always a peaceful place.”
“So my husband has told me,” Jasmine said, laughing. “Well, Red Hugh More, this is Adali, who has been responsible for my life since I was born. You will cooperate in the matter of my safety, eh?”
Red Hugh More looked over the half-Indian, half-French Adali. It was a swift, but skilled assessment that was returned in kind. “He looks like he can handle himself,” was his vocal decision.
“I can garrote a man without his even hearing me enter the room behind him,” Adali said softly. “It is a quick, silent death.”
A slow smile slid over Red Hugh’s features. “We’ll get on well,” he said. “I like a man who can kill wi’out a lot of blood to clean up.” Then, bowing to Jasmine, and with a respectful nod to Adali, he withdrew, allowing them to enter the castle.
James Leslie surprised his wife by picking her up and carrying her into the building. “‘Tis an old custom, carrying the bride over the threshold, darling Jasmine,” he said, settingher on her feet, then taking her hand and leading her up the wide staircase to the second floor of the castle. The children, Adali, Rohana, and Toramalli, came closely behind them, eyes darting this way and that. The earl led them four steps up into an anteroom, and then four steps down into the Great Hall of Glenkirk Castle.
Jasmine’s eyes widened. It was an absolutely marvelous room. Huge fireplaces flanked by tall arched windows were set on each side of the room. Hanging from the hall’s rafters were multihued silken banners which had been carried into the many battles that the Leslie clan had fought over the centuries. At the end of the room was the highboard which was set in a T-shape. There were arched windows behind it on either side. Over each fireplace was hung a full-length portrait. The painting on the right was of a handsome male in the full flush of his manhood. The painting on the left was of an exquisitely beautiful young girl with an innocent, yet haunting look about her.
“Who are they?” Jasmine asked her husband, mesmerized.
“He is Patrick Leslie, the first earl of Glenkirk, King James IV’s ambassador to the duchy of San Lorenzo. He was my great-great-great-grandfather. She is Lady Janet Leslie, his daughter, my great-great-grandmother. She is dressed in her betrothal gown, for she was to marry the heir to San Lorenzo, but instead was the lady of whom I told you, who was kidnapped and became a sultan’s favorite and a sultan’s mother. It was her youngest son, Prince Karim, who was smuggled out of the Ottoman Empire as a little boy and became Charles Leslie, the first earl of Sithean.”
“She is wonderful!” Jasmine said.
“Aye, I am told she was. My father remembered her, for she did not die until after she had arranged his marriage to my mother, who was just a tiny bairn at the time. She was always arranging everything,” he chuckled.
“Something like my own grandmama,” Jasmine smiled.
“Aye, I expect Madame Skye and Janet Leslie would have gotten along very well together,” he agreed.
“My lord, welcome home!” An elderly man made his way forward.
“Thank you, Will. This is your new mistress, Lady Jasmine Leslie. Jasmine, this is Will Todd, the castle caretaker. He has faithfully looked after Glenkirk since I left it.”
