“But where will he hunt?” Jasmine asked her husband.
“He’ll keep to the pack at Holyrood. ‘Tis safer for him.” Jemmie chuckled. He took her hand and kissed it. “You are lovely when you are full wi my bairns,” he told her.
“Only at Holyrood?” Jasmine persisted.
“Probably at Falklands and in Perth,” he replied. “Is it another son, darling Jasmine? It seems I recall you did promise me at least three sons.” He put his hand upon her belly, which was only now beginning to swell with the new life she sheltered within her.
“It will be as God wills,” she teased him, “but I will admit it is already behaving like a boy, and he will come before the king comes, which will give me time to regain my figure for the new gowns you’re going to buy me so I won’t embarrass you before the court.”
“I thought you didn’t want to go to court,” he said.
“I don’t want to live at court in England,” she told him, “but the king has asked us to join him in Edinburgh, and I do not see any reason why we cannot go for a short time.”
“It will mean you lose your English summer,” he told her.
“So will Mama and BrocCairn,” she replied. “We will invite Grandmama to Glenkirk. She likes it here, and you like her.”
“I do,” he admitted. Then he teased, “You have it all figured out, madame, don’t you? Tell me, will these gowns be expensive?”
“Verra expensive,” she teased back, and when he pulled her into his arms, kissing her soundly, Jasmine thought she had never been happier. She had had nightmares for several weeks after her escape from St.Denis. At first she had been unable to tell Jemmie what had happened to her other than to reassure him that she had not been raped. She knew she was not to blame for St.Denis’s wicked behavior, but she was frankly embarrassed by the dreadful humiliations she had suffered at his hands. The welts and weals upon her body had healed quickly, but the injury to her pride was greater than the blows he had inflicted upon her.
Finally, she told him, leaving out but a single detail. Jasmine would not tell her husband of how St.Denis had made her kneel before him and take his member into her mouth. James Leslie need never know it had happened; and if they ever again found themselves face-to-face with the villain, and he taunted Jemmie with the knowledge, she would deny it. James Leslie would, she knew, believe her before he would believe St.Denis. She had done what she had to do to save her life, but would Jemmie fully understand that? She dared not take the chance and spoil the greatest happiness she had ever known.
Adam John Leslie was born on the fourteenth day of May in the year 1617. He had his parents’ dark hair and eyes that promised to remain a smoky blue. Named for both sides of his family, he was a fat, cheerful infant who happily moved from his mother’s breast at the age of one month to the breast of the plump farm wife who was his wet nurse. His sisters, now nine and seven; and his brothers, who were eight, five, and a year, seemed content with their new sibling. As for James Leslie, he was ecstatic at the birth of another son.
Jasmine had born her sixth child with the same ease as she had most of her children.
“You have grown content and lost your restlessness,” Adali remarked. “You are like your mother, I think.”
“Which one?” Jasmine asked him, a small smile teasing at the corners of her mouth. “Rugaiya Begum or Lady Gordon?”
“Both,” he told her. “How happy the begum would be to see you now, my princess.”
“She sees us, Adali,” Jasmine responded. “She and my father both.” They had learned late in the previous year of the death of Jasmine’s Indian foster mother, the princess wife of Akbar, Jasmine’s father.
Adali nodded, his brown eyes just slightly teary. Then, catching himself, he said, “We must concentrate on your newwardrobe, my princess. The king is even now on the move north.”
And he was, although his English advisors had pleaded with James Stuart to avoid this additional extravagance to his overspent budget. While their advice was good, the truth was they dreaded this long trip to Scotland, and then back to England again. Even Villiers, now Buckingham, had suggested that perhaps such an indulgent trip was not particularly wise.
“What then, Steenie?” the king snarled at his favorite. “Do ye fear such an expense to my treasury will mean less wee gifties to ye? Dinna be selfish! I am like a salmon who must spawn back to its breeding grounds one more time. Dinna fret me again about it, and tell the others I will nae hear any more about it. We leave on June 1!” Then the king did something he had never done. He flung a vase at his favorite in a temper, and the Earl of Buckingham beat a hasty retreat.
A royal visit to Scotland was a huge undertaking. A route had to be decided upon, and it depended on the great houses in its path where the king might stay a night or two. The court would have to fend for itself, which meant finding inns, or barns, or packing tents which, on occasion, even the king would billet himself in for lack of better accommodation. The king’s bed was brought complete with its mattress, featherbed, down coverlet, pillows, and linens. It had to be set up each night with its heavy draperies for His Majesty to sleep in unless there was a suitable bed offered by the royal host. Tapestries, beeswax candles, fine porcelain, linens, and silver were packed for Their Majesties’ comfort. As the king had a great love of soft fruit, cherries, peaches, apricots, grapes, and melons were also sent north posthaste as they became available.
The king, who had gladly and swiftly vacated Scotland upon his ascension in order to escape his contentious Scots nobles, now waxed very sentimental with each mile theytraveled. The queen rolled her mild blue eyes in exasperation. The courtiers grumbled excessively at the inconvenience and the expense involved in this great landward voyage northward. Finally, they crossed the border. A host of the great border families came to greet them. Armstrongs, Douglases, Eliots, Hamiltons, Hays, Johnsons, Lindsays, Homeses, and Hepburns came forth, banners flying, pipes playing wildly and joyfully as they welcomed their king home again. The English courtiers in their satins and laces looked askance at the bare-legged Scots in their kilts and caps.
William Drummond of Hawthornden stepped forward, bowing to the king. There had been two Drummond queens of Scotland. David II’s wife, Margaret; and Annabella Drummond, wife of Robert III, and the mother of James I. The Drummonds were ever loyal to the Stuarts. The Drummond of Hawthornden offered James Stuart a special greeting.
And why should Isis only see thee shine?
Is not the Forth as well as Isis thine?
Though Isis vaunt she hath more wealth in store
Let it suffice thy Forth doth love thee more.
“What does it mean?” Prince Charles asked softly.
“Isis is England, the Forth, Scotland,” Villiers, who was now the prince’s good friend, replied. “And he’s saying that Scotland loves your father more than England. It is quite clever, Your Highness.”
