“That is Archambault,” Jasmine said. “My great-grandmère was once the comtesse de Cher. Her husband, however, was not my grandfather Adam’s father. That was her first husband, John de Marisco, the lord of Lundy Island. Did you know that my grandfather was once seriously considered a pirate?” She laughed mischievously. “The old queen even put my grandmother in the tower at one time, for she believed that she was in league with him. My aunt Deirdre was born there.”
“I wonder,” the earl said with equal humor, “if the king is aware of your entire lineage, madame. Poor Jamie would be shocked.”
“Perhaps he would not want you to wed me,” Jasmine replied slyly.
“Alas, madame, were you one-eyed, and snaggle-toothed, the king would require our union, for you are the mother of his first grandchild.”
“Then it is fortunate that I am not one-eyed and snaggle-toothed,” Jasmine said drolly. She chuckled wickedly. “Would you wed me, my lord, if I were a hag and ugly as sin?”
“Aye, madame, I would, for I am the king’s loyal man,” James Leslie said. “The Leslies of Glenkirk have always been loyal to the Stuarts. It is our way.”
“What if the king were wrong?” Jasmine teased him.
“Royal Stuarts are never wrong, madame,” he told her.
“Divine right?” she mocked him.
“Aye, divine right,” he answered. “Would your father have allowed any man or woman to question his decisions?”
“Not as emperor,” she answered him, “but as a man my father was insatiably curious and always open to question. It was how he united a country and kept it united. Even in the matter of religion there was no right or wrong with Akbar. I was fortunate to be raised by such a man, for unlike my siblings, my father had time for me. Being the youngest of his offspring, and the child of his old age, there was always time for me. I was privileged, my lord, as few daughters are.” She stopped her mare and looked down over the sleeping vineyards. “Shall we stop and eat here, sir? The sun is warm, and the view fair.”
Agreeing, he dismounted, then lifted her from her own horse. While Jasmine spread a cloth she removed from her saddle pouch upon winter-dried grass, the earl took the basket from the pommel of his saddle where it had been hanging. They sat, and she spread the contents of the basket upon the cloth. He used his own knife to slice the bread, the cheese and the chicken into edible portions. There were two small silver goblets in the bottom of the basket, and Jasmine removed them, gracefully pouring the golden wine from the goatskin into them.
They ate, enjoying the food, but there was a paucity of sententious conversation between them. Jasmine gazed out over the vineyards below them and at the château on the hill beyond. James Leslie was equally quiet. His eyes wandered over the landscape, then to the woman who was his companion. She was, he thought, even more beautiful than she had been two years ago. But was there anything upon which they might build a meaningful relationship? He knew that they were capable of infuriating each other, but he did not want to spend the rest of his life with an angry woman. He had lusted after Jasmine once, and while he thought her capable of arousing his passions again, it was not enough. He wanted something more, and he would stake his life that she would want more too. But what? And how were they to find it?
“What is it you want?” he suddenly burst out.
Her face registered her surprise. “Want? What do you mean, my lord? I do not understand you. I believe I have everything anyone could want, and certainly a great deal more of it than most. I do not believe that I lack for anything, sir.”
James Leslie shook his head. “Nay, Jasmine, ’tis not material possessions I question you about. I know you are a wealthy woman in your own right, but there are other things than one’s tangible assets. Do you seek power, or amusement, additional wealth, or love? What do you really want that perhaps you do not have?”
“Ahhhhhh!” The light of understanding dawned in her beautiful and unusual turquoise-colored eyes. “Love? I had not thought if I should love again. The men I love die sudden deaths. Jamal and Rowan were murdered in their prime, and in both cases I was the direct cause of their deaths. Jamal’s because my half brother coveted me; and Rowan’s because my crown-appointed estate agent meant to kill me, and Rowan was in his way when the gun discharged. As for my poor Hal . . .” She sighed. “Henry Stuart should not have died before his time.”
“But you were not responsible in any way for his death,” the earl reminded Jasmine.
“Nonetheless he loved me, and he died,” she responded.
“If you loved me, I should not fear death,” James Leslie said.
Suddenly Jasmine smiled, and his heart jumped in his chest. “You seek some common ground upon which we may build a marital relationship, my lord, do you not?” And when he nodded in the affirmative, she continued. “Tell me, sir, did you love Isabelle Gordon, your deceased wife? Was she a pretty girl? Did you laugh together or cry together? How did she make you happy, my lord?”
He thought a moment, then said, “Bella was a pretty lass. She had long dark hair. Not the blue-black of yours, but rather a deep warm brown. I had been betrothed to her since my childhood, and we knew each other well. I believe I thought of her as I did my sisters. Then my father went off on an exploration of the New World and did not return. The king declared him dead, and I became the earl of Glenkirk. James Stuart insisted I marry immediately, ostensibly to get heirs on Bella so my line would not die out. In truth the king wanted my mother for his mistress. Declaring my father legally dead and forcing me into the position of head of my family was his way of making her presence at Glenkirk unnecessary. He ordered her to court.”
“God’s boots!” Jasmine burst out. “The king actually lusted after a woman? Why I thought him completely faithful to Queen Anne.”
“Other than his passion for my mother he was. It began before he married the queen, but ’tis a long story, and I will not bore you with it, Jasmine. Suffice it to say my mother fled Scotland and has not been back since. She lives in the kingdom of Naples with my half brother, and two half sisters. My stepfather died two and a half years ago.”
“And she did not choose to return?” How curious Jasmine thought.
“Nay she did not. She still fears James Stuart although I have assured her that he is a changed man from their youth. She says that cats do not change their stripes and that the climate of Naples agrees with her far more than that of Scotland. I think her memories of Scotland, however, are too sad for her to bear, whereas she and Lord Bothwell were happy all their years together in Naples.”
“Were you happy with your Bella?” Jasmine queried him.
“Aye, I was. She was a good lass, a good mother, and a wife a man could be proud of, madame.”
“You have not said if you loved her,” Jasmine pressed.
“Aye, I did love her, but in a youthful and inexperienced way, I believe as I look back. We were comfortable together, and had she not died so tragic a death, I believe we would have been happy for the rest of our lives.”
“ ’Tis how I loved my first husband,” Jasmine said.
“But not how you loved the second?” he replied.
Jasmine smiled softly and munched silently on a piece of cheese for a long moment. “Nay,” she finally admitted. “I loved Rowan Lindley in an entirely different way. It was as if we were one at times. You knew him, my lord. You knew the kind of man he was. Kind and generous. Loyal. A man who could laugh. That fate could snatch him from me, and from his children, is something I shall never understand.”
“And yet you were able to love again,” the earl said.
Jasmine smiled again. “Aye. But who could not love Henry Stuart? Everyone adored him. I did not seek his favor, you know. In fact I resisted him quite strongly, but he would not have it.” She laughed with the