The Scots followed, trapping them.
On the second of September the Scots departed their position of strength on the hills surrounding Dunbar, camping boldly before the English that same night on Dunbar Plain. Their plan was to attack their enemy on the morrow, but instead the English attacked earlier, and first. The Scots Covenanter army of Charles II was ensnared on impossible terrain and badly defeated. Fourteen thousand men were killed that day, among them James Leslie, the first Duke and fifth Earl of Glenkirk.
Jasmine Leslie was stony-faced on their return. She buried her beloved husband dry-eyed, though she personally saw his body was lovingly washed and dressed in his finest clothing. It was placed in its coffin, candles burning about it. The Reverend Mr. Edie came from the village kirk to preach the long and extemporaneous service. When he had gone away, Jasmine brought forth the Anglican priest who had once had a comfortable living at Glenkirk. Upon imposition of the National Covenant, he had been forcibly retired for his own safety and theirs. Father Kenneth now interred James Leslie in the family tomb with the beautiful words from the King James prayer book and the elegance of the Anglican sacrament.
Jasmine closed herself off from her family for the next few days. “I wish to mourn in private,” she told her son, but she went one day to BrocCairn to see her seventy-seven-year-old mother.
“Now we are both widowed,” said Velvet Gordon.
“I came to say farewell,” Jasmine told her quietly. “I can no longer bear to remain at Glenkirk. Perhaps I will return one day, but I do not want to be there now.”
“Will you desert your son?” her mother demanded. “Patrick needs you now. He must find a wife, marry her, and settle down. The line must be secured, Jasmine. It is your duty to remain by his side.”
“Patrick is thirty-four, Mama, and quite capable of finding his own wife. He does not need me, or heed me, but I must escape Glenkirk lest I die of sorrow. In every room, and every corner, there are memories of my Jemmie, and I cannot bear it! I have to go! You have had your five sons and your many grandchildren about you. They helped you to overcome your sorrow when Alex died five years ago. I have only Patrick here. My other children are scattered to the four winds. Patrick does not need me. He needs a wife and heir, but he will not find them if I remain to keep him in comfort. I intend to take Adali, Rohana, and Toramalli with me.”
“Patrick should have been married long since,” the Dowager Countess of BrocCairn said irritably. “You and Jemmie spoilt him and allowed him to run wild. What will happen when you are gone, I do not know, but I do not think you should run off, Jasmine.”
Jasmine bid her mother, her half-brothers, and their families farewell. Then she returned to Glenkirk, having firmly made her decision. She called the servants who had been with her her entire life and told them of her resolve to depart Glenkirk. “I want you with me.”
“Where else would we go if not with you, my princess,” her steward, Adali, said. He was very old now, but still very active and in complete charge of the household as he had been since coming to Glenkirk. “We have been yours since your birth. We will remain with you until the great God separates us from one another.”
Jasmine blinked back the mist she felt rising in her eyes. It was the first true emotion she had shown since her husband had died. “Thank you, Adali,” she said softly. Then she turned to her two maidservants, who were equally ancient. “What of you, my dearest Rohana and Toramalli?”
The twin sisters chorused as one, “We will go with you, lady. Like Adali, we are yours till death.”
Rohana had remained a maiden all her long life, but her twin had married a Leslie man-at-arms. They had no children, but had raised a niece.
“Toramalli,” her mistress asked, “are you certain? Fergus may not want to come with me. He has scarcely left Glenkirk lands all of his life. You must consult with him before you give me your answer.”
“Fergus will come,” Toramalli said firmly. “We have no bairns or grandchildren to leave behind, and Lily is already in England with Lady Autumn. We have just our little family made up of my sister and our good Adali. We have been together too long to be separated now.”
“I am grateful to you all,” the Dowager Duchess of Glenkirk said to her faithful retainers. “Tomorrow we will begin to pack.”
She ascended to the top of the castle that afternoon, clambering up a ladder that led to the parapets of the west tower. Breathless, she reached the roof and climbed out onto it. Behind her the skies were darkening. In the east was the evening star, large, and bright, and cold. Before her the sun was setting in a glorious spectacle of blazing colors. Fiery red-orange was streaked with deep slashes of purple. Above it the sky was still a rich cerulean blue and filled with gold-edged pink clouds that floated all the way to the horizon.
Jasmine sighed as she looked out over the forested hills that surrounded Glenkirk. She had been truly happy these many, many years at Glenkirk. She had lived here longer than anyplace else in her whole life, but she had lived here with Jemmie. Suddenly, with his death, Glenkirk seemed foreign to her. She knew she had to get away. She didn’t know if she would ever come back, whatever she might say to others. Glenkirk would never be the same for her without James Leslie. She sighed deeply again and turned back to the trapdoor leading into the castle. If she stayed here too long, poor Adali would attempt to climb up to find her. With a final glance at the majestic scene surrounding her, Jasmine began her descent. She wanted to talk to Patrick now.
She found her son in the Great Hall, seated by one of the two fireplaces. “I have come to a decision,” she told him. “I am leaving Glenkirk as soon as my belongings can be packed.” She sat herself in the high-backed chair opposite him.
Patrick Leslie looked up at his mother. He was a handsome man with his father’s dark hair and green eyes. “Where will ye go?” he asked her. “I dinna want ye to go, Mother. I know I am a man long grown, but we hae just lost Father. I dinna want to lose ye, too.” Reaching out, he took her hand in his and kissed it tenderly.
The Duchess of Glenkirk swallowed back the tears that threatened to break forth. She had to be strong now for her son, as well as herself. “The dower house at Cadby is mine,” she said. “I intend making it my home. You must remember I am the Dowager Marchioness of Westleigh as well as the Dowager Duchess of Glenkirk. I like England, and God only knows the climate at Cadby is far more suitable for my old bones than here at Glenkirk.”
“What of the civil war, Mother? I dinna want ye rushing headlong into danger just because of yer grief,” he said.
“Your brother, the Marquis of Westleigh, has been wise enough to avoid all factions in this dispute. He is loyal to the government in power. Besides, like the rest of us, he has kept from court for many years now. As Glenkirk and Queen’s Malvern are isolated to a degree, so is Cadby. Besides, who would disturb a widowed and grieving old woman?”
“Ye are nae old!” he exclaimed. Then he smiled. “Ye begin to sound like my great-grandmother, the formidable Madame Skye, Mother.”
She laughed and gave his hand a little squeeze. “I am sixty,” she said, “and certainly past my first bloom. Patrick, you are the only one of my children left in Scotland. Two of your brothers are Englishmen. The other two are lost to me in Ireland. India and Autumn are in England, but Fortune is in the Colonies. It is past time that you were settled. The responsibilities of Glenkirk have fallen, suddenly, but hardly unexpectedly, upon your broad shoulders. You should have married long ago. You need a wife, and you need an heir.”
“I need my mother,” he told her.
Frowning, she withdrew her hand from his. “No, you do not, Patrick. You are Glenkirk and must take your responsibilities seriously. Try to understand. I have to go to England for several reasons. Firstly, Scotland is too sad a place for me now. Secondly, I must be absolutely certain that Henry, and India’s Deverall, and my grandsons do not become involved in this religious and political folly. Charlie, my not-so-royal Stuart, I know, debates the wisdom of taking up the banner for his kingly cousin. I must dissuade him if I can, which brings me