Darling Jasmine (38 page)
Authors: Bertrice Small
“Oh, witch!” he groaned, his hands fastening themselves strongly about her hips as he began to piston her fiercely. If she were not already with child, she soon would be, he thought randily.
Her body was bent in a posture of complete submission, and yet she did not feel as if she had surrendered, Jasmine thought. They had suddenly wanted each other, and it was she who had chosen the path that they would take. She who had knelt and offered herself to him. She was gaining every bit as much pleasure from this mad encounter as he was. His love rod was so strong. It pierced her to her heart. She could feel every one of his fingers, single and individual, as it pressed into the soft flesh of her hips. She would be marked for several days, for her creamy skin was very fine.
The heat of his body was burning her. He drove himself deeply into her, withdrew, and propelled his length hard once more. The walls of her passage clutched hungrily at him, seeking to capture him. “Don't stop,” she begged shamelessly. “Ohh, Jemmie, don't stop!”
He sought to please her, please himself,
please them.
Back and forth he slid his manhood, back and forth, until he could suddenly feel himself expanding, feel the tremors of excitement from Jasmine as she began to slide over the edge into the white hot pleasure, and, unable to restrain himself any longer, he let his love juices burst forth with a loud groan.
“Ahhhhh! Ahhhhhhhh! Ah! Ah! Ahhhhhhh!”
Falling away from her, he rolled onto his back as she collapsed facedown into the soft green grass.
please them.
Back and forth he slid his manhood, back and forth, until he could suddenly feel himself expanding, feel the tremors of excitement from Jasmine as she began to slide over the edge into the white hot pleasure, and, unable to restrain himself any longer, he let his love juices burst forth with a loud groan.
“Ahhhhh! Ahhhhhhhh! Ah! Ah! Ahhhhhhh!”
Falling away from her, he rolled onto his back as she collapsed facedown into the soft green grass.
They lay panting for a short time, and then Jasmine said weakly, “You will not control me with your passion, my lord.”
James Leslie burst out laughing. “And here I thought you sought to cajole me with yours,” he teased her.
“Oh beast!” she cried, and pretended to smack at him.
Defending himself, he pulled her into his arms and kissed her once again. “Madame! Madame! 'Tis not fit you beat your husband.”
She lay contentedly in his arms. “You are the most aggravating of men, Jemmie Leslie, and always were. You are only fortunate in that I love you to distraction, and above all others, else I think I should kill you.” Rubbing her face against his silken covered chest, she kissed it.
He stroked her dark head, entwining her thick plait about his hand and arm. “I have never needed a woman before, my precious, darling Jasmine, but I need you,” he admitted. “Until I set eyes upon you for the first time, I did not know what happiness could be. I am jealous of any man who gazes at you. I resent the years we have not spent together. My love is for you alone.”
“Oh, Jemmie! Sometimes I think I am not worthy of such a love from such a man. I am very spoilt and imperious, and I hurt without meaning to hurt; but I love you, my darling husband!” Jasmine declared passionately to him, and she kissed him hungrily.
“Ah, here ye two are,” they suddenly heard Adam Leslie's voice, and he entered their tent as the earl scrambled up, pulling his wife with him. Adam's eyes twinkled mischievously.
“Uncle,” Jasmine brushed the grass from her skirts, and attempted to smooth her hair, “I would apologize for my outburst earlier.”
“Och, lassie, 'tis naught,” he replied graciously. “Yer breeding again, I expect, and a breeding woman is apt to be testy and a wee bit skittish. Yer forgiven. Now come gie us a kiss to seal the peace between us, eh?” He held out his arms to her.
Laughing, Jasmine went into them and kissed his cheek. “Is nothing a secret in Scotland, Uncle?” she asked him.
“Verra little,” he said, and he chuckled.
In the evening the men danced to the wailing of the bagpipes beneath the August full moon, the light from the fires casting wild shadows over everything in their path. Jemmie pointed out to her the distinctive plaids worn by the different clans. The Bruce tartan was red with white lines separating the red into boxes, and in the center of each square was a smaller green box separated by red lines. The MacDuffs had worn their hunting colorsâa plaid of dark blue, green, medium blue, and red. The Erskines' tartan was red with black; the Lindsays' a similar design but in red and green. Jasmine's shawl was the Leslies' hunting colorsâboxes of medium blue and green with broad bands of dark blue, and narrow bands of red and yellow.
On the last night of the games Jasmine stood with Fiona Leslie watching the men as they danced. Gracefully they stepped between the crossed swords, never once moving the blades with their feet. The pipes played with fierce intensity. A soft wind brought the fragrance of heather from the hillsides. The flames from the fires leapt as madly as did the dancers. There was something wonderfully wild and primitive about it, and that part of Jasmine that was Celtic was moved and touched.
When the dawn came, however, the skies, bright for several days, had lowered, and rain threatened. The encampment began to break up, and Bruce's meadow began to look like one again as they packed their belongings and prepared to return to Edinburgh.
“Ye can save yerselves a day if ye leave directly from here,” Adam Leslie suggested to his nephew. “We'll follow in a few days' time and bring yer steward, Adali. He can close up Glenkirk House. Ye'll be home all the quicker wi'out the baggage carts.”
The earl turned to his wife. “Jasmine?”
“It would be easier, but I have to go back to town, my lord. I have business with my bankers, the Kiras, that I must conduct in person.”
They crossed the Firth of Forth once more and rode back into the town. James Leslie went directly to his home, but his wife went to her bankers, in Goldsmith Alley, off the High Street, so that they might leave the city all the sooner, and return home to Glenkirk. Stepping back out into the street, her business complete, Jasmine suddenly found herself surrounded by a party of rather nasty-looking men. A familiar voice greeted her sneeringly.
“So, madame, we meet again,” Piers St. Denis, the marquis of Hartsfield, said. “I have a warrant for your arrest. Take her and put her on the horse,” he commanded his men.
Maggie, behind her mistress, and unseen, pressed herself back into the shadows of the doorway. To her surprise, a hand caught at her arm and slowly eased her back into the building. Startled, she turned about to see David Kira, a finger to his lips, warning her to silence as he quietly closed the door behind them. He drew her back down the hallway of the building, and into a side room.
“Why did ye nae help my mistress,” Maggie demanded.
“One man, and a Jew? It would have been worth my life, mistress. You, however, I have saved. I will let you out the back door, and you must run to your master and tell him what happened. Your horse will be returned to Glenkirk House by nightfall,” he said. Then, opening a small door in the room's outer wall, he beckoned her through. “Go down the alley, lassie, and you'll find yourself back on the High Street. You know your way from there, do you not?”
Maggie nodded. “Thank ye, sir,” she said, finally, remembering her manners, and giving him a smile.
“Hurry!” he told her. “I expect there is a need for urgency.”
The door closed behind her, and Maggie did just as the banker had advised her. She ran. Down the alley and out onto the High Street, but she did not go directly to Glenkirk House, which was located off the Cannongate. Instead she ran to Leslie House, which was set on a small street that bisected the High Street. It was nearer, and Master Adam would have a horse to get her to Glenkirk House all the quicker. Maggie ran on, praying that she would remember the right street. Then she recognized it, and, turning, she dashed down it, swiftly reaching the door of Leslie House, and pounding upon it with all her strength.
The servant answered looking askance at the disheveled Maggie. “Yes?” he said loftily.
Maggie pushed past him. “Master Adam! Master Adam!” she called urgently, and Adam and Fiona Leslie came forth from the library. “ 'Tis my mistress,” Maggie gasped, her breath coming in desperate gasps. “She's been taken!” and Maggie began to cry.
Fiona took the girl by the arm, and drew her into the library. Adam poured a small whiskey and shoved it at the servant.
“Drink it, lassie. Ye canna hae a fit of hysterics now. Drink it down and tell us what hae happened,” he said.
Maggie coughed and sputtered, but she managed to get the potent amber liquid down. She stood silent for a moment as if gathering her strength, then, taking a deep breath, said, “We went to Master Kira's, and when we were coming out this man with a strange accent, he was nae a Scot, even a Sassenach like these southerners are, said my mistress was under arrest, and his men put her on her horse and rode away. They dinna see me, for I was behind her, and then Master Kira pulled me back into the building and let me out the back to come and tell my master, but 'tis a long walk to Glenkirk House from here, and ye were nearer, and I need a horse for mine was left behind, and Master Kira said he would hae it back to us by nightfall, but I need one now!” She stopped as if to catch her breath.
“God's foot!” Adam Leslie swore. “ 'Tis that damned Englishman, and why the hell dinna we know he was back in Edinburgh?”
Maggie began to cry in earnest now, tears streaming down her face, her sobs loud and most pitiful to hear.
“Cease yer caterwauling, lassie!” Adam Leslie roared. “I need to think, damnit.”
“Ye need to get Jemmie,” Fiona said, and she put her arms about the weeping Maggie. “There, there, lassie. Ye did absolutely the right thing coming here first.” She turned back to her husband. “Adam, dammit! Get on yer horse, and find the earl!”
James Leslie thought his head would explode so great was his anger when he learned that his wife had been taken by Piers St. Denis. Still, he forced himself to remain calm, mainly with the help of Adali, who laced the earl's tea with whiskey and made him quiet himself as he drank it.
“Breathe slowly, my lord, as I have taught you,” Adali said. “Anger will but create a confusion inside your mind. You must not allow your wrath to produce chaos within your thoughts. We are dealing with a madman who is both clever and, to my great surprise, resourceful.”
James Leslie nodded and drank the hot tea.
“What blather is this?” Adam Leslie demanded impatiently. “We need to gather up our men and find the bastard, so we may slaughter him for his incredible presumption in laying hands on a countess of Glenkirk!”
“Nay,” the earl said quietly. “We need to outfox this madman, Uncle, before he can harm Jasmine. I have lost one wife to insanity, and I will not lose another.”
“Where could the marquis have taken my lady?” Adali asked.
“If he still hae that damned warrant, he may hae gone to the castle. We're in luck if he hae, for I know the governor. He's a sensible man and will nae act hastily unless he is entirely certain of himself,” Adam Leslie said. “I'll go up the hill, but ye are to remain here. That warrant has both yer names, laddie. Why the hell hasn't our messenger returned from England? He should be here by now!”
Adam Leslie went “up the hill,” as he had so colorfully put it to his nephew, to Edinburgh Castle. There he sought out his friend, Robert Chrighton, who was currently the castle governor, but the governor had not seen Piers St. Denis since the spring. He was shocked by Adam's tale.
“He did hae a warrant as I recall,” the governor said.
“A forgery,” Adam Leslie said bluntly. “His half brother admitted it to the steward at Glenkirk before he deserted the marquis. Ye know the king's signature, Robbie.”
“Time hae past since Jamie was here,” the governor said. “He hae grown older, and his hand may nae be as steady.”
“So,” Adam Leslie said triumphantly, “ye were suspicious!”
“The seal was genuine,” the governor hastily told his guest.
“But the signature was nae! Dinna fret, Robbie. We sent a messenger down into England to tell the king what was happening. He'll be back soon wi the truth. If St. Denis brings the countess of Glenkirk to the castle, ye'll send word, will ye nae?”
“Aye, and I'll keep her ladyship comfortable, and safe.”
“Ye'll gie her back!” Adam said sharply.
“I canna until this matter of the warrant is straightened out, Adam,” his friend said.
Before Adam Leslie might protest, however, there was a knock upon the governor's door, and a servant entered to announce, “The earl of BrocCairn and Viscount Villiers, my lord.”
“God's boot!” Adam Leslie chortled. “Here is yer answer in the nick of time, Robbie. BrocCairn, 'tis good to see ye. Do ye hae some paper wi ye saying this Englishman is a liar and a traitor? He hae just this day snatched Jasmine from the streets of the town.”
“Jesu, I am glad Velvet isn't here to learn that,” Alexander Gordon said. “My lord governor, Adam Leslie, may I present Viscount George Villiers, who carries a warrant from the king himself for the arrest of the marquis of Hartsfield. The forgery that Hartsfield carries attempting to cause harm to the Leslies of Glenkirk is not valid, and never has been, my lord governor.”
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