“I need no advice from you on how to behave,” Piers snarled. “I have the means by which to win this game in my hands even now. Pack our things. We are leaving for Scotland.”
“What have you got?” Kipp asked him, curious.
Piers St.Denis smiled cruelly and, reaching into his doublet, offered his half brother a rolled parchment. “This,” he said.
Kipp unrolled the parchment, and read it. He was astounded. “How did you get the king to do this?” he asked.
“The arrest warrant was already made out but for the names, but the king had signed it. I stole it off his secretary’s desk. I shall decide when we get to Scotland whether it shall be both Jasmine, and her husband, or just James Leslie. I somehow fancy the lady becoming my possession and my toy while she bargains for her husband’s life,” he said cruelly. “Then I shall see James Leslie hanged in the king’s name, after which I shall marry his widow immediately, thereby gaining both her wealth and her children. It is a foolproof plan, Kipp. The king’s warrant will be accepted by the Scots, who have no real knowledge of what is happening here in England. Old king fool may weep and protest after the fact, but there will be no denying his signature at the bottom of that warrant.” He laughed coldly. “I said she wasmine, and she is, even if I must wait a bit longer to attain the prize. And that old woman who is her grandmother will not stop me either!”
“Piers, Piers,” his brother cautioned. “This is a very dangerous game you are attempting to play. The Leslies are not without influence in Scotland. You have already committed one murder. Do not, I beg you, attempt another. You will surely be caught!”
“I had to kill Stokes,” St.Denis said. “You would not, you weakling! It was the first time in your life that you ever disobeyed me, but I have forgiven you, Kipp. Because of your mother’s peasant blood, you are not as strong as I am, and that you cannot help. I will not be caught, big brother. Remember?I never get caught!How many beatings did you take for my sins when we were growing up?” he laughed.
“You cannot always be fortunate, Piers,” Kipp warned him.
“Why not?” the marquis of Hartsfield demanded. “Perhaps I shall not marry her. Perhaps I shall have her hanged also, butafteryou and I have taken our pleasure of her and taught her the delights of pain. I can still control her wealth and her children. Mayhap I shall take her eldest daughter for a wife.Yes!We can raise the little bitch to suit ourselves, and she will complain at me that I killed her husband. ‘Tis a much better plan, Kipp! Eh?”
“I think it too dangerous,” Kipp replied bluntly; and he did. It wasallbecoming too dangerous, and Piers had the look of a fanatic about him these days. Seducing highborn ladies, and raping peasant girls was a lark, but when Piers had suggested murder, he had thought him simply struggling with the frustration of losing for the first time in his life. His brother enjoyed holding power over people, and hence his passion for whipping his conquests with a variety of implements until they begged and pleaded with him for mercy. That seemed to arousePiers far more than just a beautiful, exciting woman eager to share his passion.
But murder?When it had first been brought up he didn’t believe Piers would ever follow through with such a plan, and so as he had always done, Kipp followed along. Then Piers had instructed him to kill Stokes, and he couldn’t do it, but Piers had, making him come along to witness the deed. He would never forget the surprised look in Richard Stokes’s eyes when he realized he had been killed. Piers had obviously enjoyed driving the slender dagger deep into his victim, twisting it slowly to inflict pain as well as death. Kipp had turned away, vomiting into the underbrush with both shock and guilt. But Piers had felt no guilt. He had removed a rival, and he was elated.
Now his brother was contemplating another murder, nay, two murders. How could he betray him, although he knew he should go to the king and beg mercy for Piers. He was obviously as mad as his mother had become after several years of marriage to their father. Piers might mock Kipp’s mother, but it was she who had the major burden of raising her lover’s two sons, and caring for his delicate wife as she slipped in and out of reality until her death at the age of thirty.
Kipp sighed. He would have to go to Scotland with Piers. He knew what he was going to do. He would steal the royal warrant from his brother so he could not use it to commit additional murders.I should be the marquis,Kipp considered, as he had often secretly and guiltily thought.I am far mare responsible than my brother.Then he sighed again. He must be loyal to Piers. It had been their father’s dying wish of him,and he had promised.
Chapter Fifteen
The de Marisco’s traveling coach had rumbled into the courtyard of Glenkirk Castle in midafternoon on St.Andrew’s Day, which was the last day of November. The sun was already setting in a blaze of glory over the western mountains. It had taken over three weeks from Queen’s Malvern, and the weather had been foul most of the trip. Thistlewood, sitting up on his box, had never been happier in his life to see the end of a journey, especially knowing he wouldn’t have to make the return trip until the late springtime or early summer. As Daisy so pithily remarked constantly on their journey, they wasn’t getting any younger, any of them. Then she would look pointedly at Skye, who just ignored her, and determinedly encouraged them all onward. But they could all see that she was tired, nay exhausted, Thistlewood the coachman amended.
“Get the earl,” he called down to a footman as he drew the horse to a halt, and in short order James Leslie exited his house.
Recognizing the coach, he hurried to its door and, pulling it open, was surprised to find Jasmine’s grandmother dozing in a corner of the carriage. “Madame Skye?” He was astounded to see her.
She opened her blue eyes, smiled, and said, “Thank goodness we’re finally here, Jemmie!”
“She’s fair wore out,” came Daisy’s voice from the dim interior of the vehicle. “Wouldn’t travel at a reasonable pace. Nay! Not her!”
The earl of Glenkirk reached into the coach and, wrapping his strong arms about Skye, lifted her out, calling to Daisy to follow along. Then he tenderly carried Jasmine’s grandmother into the castle, directly up the staircase, and into the Great Hall, where he set her down in a chair by one of the roaring fireplaces. She made absolutely no protest, which indicated to him her weakened condition. Going over to the sideboard, he poured her a full goblet of rich red wine, and then pressed it into her hand. “It’s from Archambault,” he said. “Drink it down,” he gently commanded her. Then seeing Adali, he said, “Fetch your mistress immediately. Tell her that her grandmother has arrived.” He turned back to Skye, who was gratefully drinking down the wine.
When she had finished it she looked at him, and said, “Whiskey would have been better. Don’t tell me you don’t have your own still about, for I am certain you do, dear boy.”
He laughed. “You’ll live,” he said, but he was concerned by the faint purple shadows beneath her eyes. She had come with a purpose, and she had come quickly, for she had not sent ahead any warning of her arrival. It did not portend anything good, but he would wait for her to tell him, for when she regained her strength she would. He took her hand in his, and kissed it. “Jasmine will be so happy to see you.” Then he simply sat by her side, holding that elegant hand in his, willing the warmth back into her slender body, realizing that if he loved Jasmine, he loved this old woman as well, and her indominable spirit which he hoped would be passed on to his children.
“Grandmama!”She flew into the hall, hurrying to Skye’s side.
“My darling girl,” Skye said, holding out her arms to Jasmine who, kneeling next to her grandmother, was wrapped in her embrace.
“Why on earth have you made such a long journey in such chancy weather?” Jasmine asked her, now sitting upon the floor by her grandmother’s knee and looking up at her. “Why didn’t you tell us you were coming?”
“There was no time,” Skye said. “I had to reach you before that scoundrel St.Denis makes more mischief, darling girl.”
“The marquis of Hartsfield?” Jasmine said. “What on earth has he to do with anything?”
“More wine?” the earl asked her.
Skye looked at him quizzically.
“Whiskey?” he said, smothering a laugh.
