Bedazzled

Chapter 1

“Welcome to France, madame," the due de St. Laurent said V T to his mother-in-law as he handed her from her great traveling coach.

"Merci, monseigneur," Catriona Stewart-Hepburn said, curtseying stiffly, her famous leaf-green eyes making contact with the due's but a moment and then peering beyond him anxiously.

James Leslie, the duke of Glenkirk, stepped quickly forward, a smile on his handsome face, his arms open to enfold his mother into his warm embrace.

"Jemmie!" she cried out, her eyes filling with tears even as his arms closed about her, and he kissed her soft cheek. "My bairn!"

Glenkirk laughed, and then he hugged his mother. "Hardly a bairn, madame. Nae at my age." He stepped back, and gazed upon her. " 'Tis good to see you, madame. When we learned that you would be coming, we brought over our entire brood so you could finally meet your grandchildren, some of whom are already half grown."

"And your wife, Jemmie," his mother said. "You have been married more than a decade, and I have never met her."

"Jasmine has been so busy having our bairns that I couldna let her travel. She was nae a lass when I married her after all." He tucked her hand in his arm. "Come, and let us go into the chateau. They are all awaiting you, my wife and family, and my sister, and her children."

"Jean-Claude," Lady Stewart-Hepburn said, turning to her son-in-law, " 'tis really quite good of you to have us all."

"The château is large," the due de St. Laurent replied cordially, "and a few more children makes little difference."

His mother-in-law raised an eyebrow, and then she laughed. James Leslie had three sons of his own, plus two stepdaughters and two stepsons. Seven in all, and it was hardly a trifle especially when added to her daughter and son-in-law's six children. Her youngest child, her daughter, Francesca, had married her dashing French duke fourteen years ago when she was sixteen, and had lived happily with him ever since. Shortly afterward her beloved second husband, Francis Stewart-Hepburn, had grown suddenly ill, and died. But he had lived to see both of his daughters settled. Francesca with her Jean-Claude, and Jean, or Gianna as she was known, the wife of the marchese di San Ridolfi. Their son, Ian, was another matter, and had yet to settle down.

"How is Jeannie?" the duke of Glenkirk asked his mother as they entered the house.

"So Italian that you would never fathom that she was a Scot," his mother answered him.

"And Ian? What mischief is he up to these days?"

"We must speak on Ian," came the terse reply.

They entered a bright salon where the family awaited them.

"Grandmère! Grandmère!" Francesca's children rushed forth to surround her, demanding her attention as they welcomed her.

"Welcome, Mama," the duchesse de St. Laurent said as she kissed her parent. "I thank God that you have come safely to us."

"The trip is long, and it is tedious, Francesca," her mother replied, "but not dangerous." How beautiful she was, Cat thought. She has his wonderful auburn hair, and my eyes. When she smiles, I see him. She acknowledged Francesca's children, the four boys and two little girls, greeting each by name. Then, looking across the salon, Lady Stewart-Hepburn saw that her eldest son had joined a beautiful woman with night-dark hair and spectacular jewelry.

Seeing the direction of her gaze, the duke of Glenkirk led his wife forward. "Madame, my wife, Jasmine Leslie."

Jasmine curtsied gracefully. "Welcome to France, madame. I am pleased that we finally meet."

"As am I," the older woman said, kissing her daughter-in-law on both of her smooth cheeks. Then she stepped back a pace. "You are very beautiful, Jasmine Leslie, and quite different from the wife I chose for Jemmie when he was young."

"I hope I compare favorably, madame," Jasmine answered.

Lady Stewart-Hepburn laughed. "Isabelle was a sweet child, but a moon to your sun, my dear. Now, I want to meet my grandchildren! All of them! I consider your bairns mine, too, as my Jemmie has been father to them longer than their own sires, eh?"

For a brief moment, Jasmine was speechless, and her turquoise eyes grew misty. Then, recovering herself, she beckoned her offspring forward. She was truly touched that Jemmie's mother could be so generous.

"Madame, may I present my eldest child, Lady India Lindley."

The young girl curtsied prettily.

"And my eldest son, Henry Lindley, the marquis of Westleigh. My second daughter, Lady Fortune Lindley. My son, Charles Frederick Stuart, the duke of Lundy."

While the girls curtsied, the young boys bowed.

Lady Stewart-Hepburn acknowledged them graciously, saying to the eleven-and-a-half-year-old duke of Lundy, "We are distantly related, my lord, on your late father's side."

"My grandfather spoke of you once," the young duke replied. "He said you were the most beautiful woman in all of Scotland. I see he did not lie, madame."

His stepgrandmother burst out laughing. "God help us all, my lord, but you are surely a true Stuart!" She wondered what this boy would say if he knew that the now-deceased old man who had been his grandfather had once been an unstoppable satyr who had destroyed her first marriage.

"And these are Jemmie's bairns," Jasmine was continuing. "Our eldest, Patrick, then Adam, and Duncan. We had a little lass, but lost her almost two years ago. She caught measles and died a month after my dearest grandmother. She was named for that lady, and for Janet Leslie. Janet Skye."

"I remember my great-grandmother, Janet," Cat told Jasmine. "We called her Mam. She was a very formidable woman."

"As was my grandmother," Jasmine replied.

"Is it true you were once in a harem?" India Lindley suddenly burst out.

Cat turned to look at the girl. She was easily on the brink of womanhood, and every bit as beautiful as her mother with black hair and the most wonderful golden eyes. "Yes," she answered. "I was in the harem of the sultan's grande vizir."

"Which sultan?" India persisted.

"There is only one sultan," Cat said. "The Ottoman."

"Was it exciting or awful?" India's eyes were alight with unbridled curiosity.

"Both," Cat told her.

"India!" Jasmine was mortified by her daughter's outrageous behavior, but then, India was so damned headstrong, and always had been.

"My mother was raised in a harem," India volunteered.

"Was she?" Now it was Cat's turn to be intrigued.

"My father was the Grande Mughal of India," Jasmine explained. "My mother was English. She is married to the earl of BrocCairn."

"I remember your mother," Cat replied. "Velvet is her name. She stayed with us at Hermitage years ago. You don't really look like her, do you?"

"I have some of her features, but I am mostly a mixture of my maternal grandmother and my father," Jasmine answered.

That would indeed account for the slightly Oriental tilt of Jasmine's unusual turquoise eyes and the faint golden tint of her skin, Lady Stewart-Hepburn thought. She let her gaze wander to the pert India. The girl had skin like milky porcelain and a faint blue sheen to her midnight-colored hair, but where had she gotten those eyes? They were like a cat's. Gold, not amber, and with tiny flecks of black in them. The older woman settled herself into a chair by the fire. France in April was a chilly place. The fuss of her arrival had died about her. Her children and their mates had ensconced themselves about her on a settee, a chair, and a stool. Her grandchildren were amusing themselves.

"How old is India?" she asked.

"She will be seventeen at the end of June," Jasmine said, suspecting what her mother-in-law would next ask. She was not disappointed.

"And she is not married?"

Jasmine shook her head.

"Betrothed?"

"Nay, madame."

"You had best see to it soon then," came the pithy observation. "The wench is ripe for bedding. Close to overripe, and susceptible to trouble, I would wager."

James Leslie laughed at his mother's words. "India has nae yet met a man to attract her attention, Mother. I want my girls to wed for love. I did, and I hae never been happier."

"Mam had me betrothed to your father at four, and we married but moments before your birth when I was barely sixteen," Lady Stewart-Hepburn noted. "Love was not a consideration in making the match, although I came to care for your father."

“But you loved Lord Bothwell unconditionally,'' the duke of Glenkirk reminded his parent. "Besides, yer first marriage took place forty-seven years ago. Times have changed since then, Mother."

"And you would allow your stepdaughter to make an unsuitable match in the name of love?" Cat was surprised to find she was appalled. I am obviously growing old, she thought.

Jasmine interposed herself between her husband and his mother in the conversation. "India will never choose unwisely, madame, for she is most proud, and extremely aware of her heritage. She is the grandchild of a great monarch, and her father's family was an old and very noble one. It pleases her that my stepfather, and her stepfather, both have ties to the royal family. She adored my grandmother, Madame Skye, and was weened upon the tales of her adventures, and her relationship with Great Bess. When the time comes, India will pick the right man."

"Have you had no offers for her?" Gat was curious.

"Several, but they did nae please India. In most cases, she felt the families involved were simply looking to her fortune, and nae to her," the duke of Glenkirk told his mother. "She was correct. India can be very astute."

"A girl in love for the first time is not always careful or wise," Cat cautioned.

"Well, as no one has yet caught India's fancy, I do not believe we have cause for worry," Jasmine replied.

The Leslies of Glenkirk had come to France to represent their country at the proxy marriage of the new king, Charles I, to the French princess, Henrietta Marie. King James had sickened, and died unexpectedly on the twenty-seventh of March. The marriage negotiations had already been concluded, although there was some difficulty about the princess's religion. Charles Stuart had no time to argue with his government. He was suddenly king, and without an heir. While he did not feel he could depart his country to personally celebrate his marriage with his father newly deceased, he felt strongly that the marriage must go forward immediately, and his queen be brought to England.

The marriage, which originally was to have been celebrated in June, was now moved forward to the first of May so Charles's enemies in the parliament would not have time to marshall their forces, and delay or prevent the match. The duke of Buckingham was to have acted as the king's proxy at the June celebration, but now he had to remain in England to attend the old king's funeral, which was set for the end of April, for it was not unusual for a king to lie in state several weeks. Instead, the due de Chevreuse would act as the English king's proxy. Chevreuse was related to both the French royal house and the English, through their mutual ancestor, the due de Guise. He was therefore a suitable choice, and acceptable to both sides.

Most of the English court remained in England, but Charles had asked the duke of Glenkirk and his family to attend his wedding. It would be a far more pleasant occasion than poor old Jamie's funeral, the duke conceded to his wife, and if his sister, the duchesse de St. Laurent, would ask their mother to come from Naples for a visit, Jasmine and the children could at least meet Catriona Hay Leslie Stewart-Hepburn.

The young king's reason was more personal. James Leslie himself was distantly related to Charles, and his stepson, little Charles Frederick Stuart, was the new monarch's nephew, although he had been born on the wrong side of the blanket. Such accidents of birth did not matter to the Stuarts except where the succession was concerned. They had always welcomed, recognized, and considered their bastards legitimate members of their clan. The king wanted some of his family blood at his wedding ceremony, and the Leslies of Glenkirk would acquit themselves, and therefore the Stuarts, quite well. They were also not important enough to be missed at the official mourning ceremonies since they only rarely came to court.

The St. Laurent chateau was in the countryside two hours from Paris. The Leslies had been included on the guest list for the signing of the marriage contract and the betrothal ceremony on the twenty-eighth of April, as well as the wedding on May first. They would attend with the five oldest children. The St. Laurents, Lady Stewart-Hepburn, and the two youngest Leslie children would come for the wedding only. The Lindley children, and their Stuart half-brother had been too young to participate in King James's court when Queen Anne had been alive. She had died the year India was eleven. The queen had adored fetes and masques. She had loved art, music, and dancing. Her dour husband had tolerated her follies, as he called them, for love of his Annie. Once the queen had died, however, James's court became less entertaining. It was hoped that the new French queen would enliven Charles Stuart's court even as the late Anne of Denmark had enlivened the court of James Stuart.

Glenkirk and his family were astounded, even openly awed, by the elegant magnificence of the Louvre palace. There was absolutely nothing like it in England. They were met by the two royal English ambassadors, the earl of Carlisle and Viscount Kensington, who quickly escorted them to King Louis's chamber where the signing would take place. First, however, the proper protocol had to be followed. The two ambassadors handed the contract to the king and his lord chancellor to read. This done, the king signified his acceptance of the terms previously agreed upon, and only then was the princess summoned to her brother's presence.

Henrietta-Marie arrived, escorted by the queen mother, Marie di Medici, and the ladies of the court. The princess was garbed in a gown of cloth-of-gold and silver, embroidered all over with golden fleurs-de-lys, and encrusted with diamonds, rubies, emeralds, and sapphires. Once the bride had taken her place, the bridegroom's proxy was called. The due de Chevreuse came into the king's chamber wearing a black-striped suit covered with diamonds. He bowed first to the king and then the princess. Then the due presented his letter of authority to the king, bowing once again. Accepting it, Louis XIII handed it to the chancellor, and then signed the marriage contract. Other signatories were Henrietta-Marie, Marie di Medici, the French queen, Anne of Austria, the due de Chevreuse, and the two English ambassadors.

The contract duly signed and witnessed, the formal religious betrothal was performed in the king's chambers by the princess's godfather, Cardinal de la Rochefoucauld, the due de Chevreuse answering for the king of England. The ceremony over, the princess retired to the Carmelite convent in Faubourg St. Jacques to rest and pray until her wedding on the first of May, and the guests departed, the duke of Glenkirk and his family returning to Chateau St. Laurent.

On Henry Lindley's sixteenth birthday, which happened to be the thirtieth of April, the Glenkirk party, the St. Laurents, and Lady Stewart-Hepburn traveled to Paris for the royal wedding. It was better, the due said, to go the day before rather than waiting until the first, but the roads were clogged anyway with all the traffic making its way into the city for the celebration. By chance, James's brother-in-law had a small house on the same tiny street as did Jasmine's French relations, who would not be coming for the wedding. The de Savilles lived in the Loire region, many miles from Paris, and while of noble stock, they were not important. Besides, it was springtime, and their famous vineyards at Archambault needed tending more than they needed to be in the capital for the princess's wedding to the English king, so they gladly loaned their little house to their relations.

The wedding day dawned gray and cloudy. By ten o'clock in the morning it was raining. Nonetheless, crowds had begun gathering outside of the great square before Notre-Dame the previous evening. Now the square was overflowing with people eager to see the wedding. The archbishop of Paris had gotten into a terrible row with the Cardinal de la Rochefoucauld. It was the cardinal who had been chosen to perform the wedding ceremony, despite the fact that the cathedral was the archbishop's province. The royal family had brushed aside the archbishop's protests as if he had been no more than a bothersome insect. Furious, the archbishop had retired to his country estates, not to return until after the wedding. He could not, however aggravated he might be, deny the princess the use of his palace, which was close by the cathedral, and so at two o'clock that afternoon in the pouring rain, Henrietta-Marie departed her apartments in the Louvre for the archbishop's residence in order to dress.

Fortunately a special gallery had been constructed from the door of the archbishop's palace to the door of the cathedral. It was raised eight feet above the square and set upon pillars, the lower half of which were wrapped in waxed cloth, and the upper half in purple satin embroidered with gold fleurs-de-lys. At the west door of the cathedral was a raised platform which was sheltered by a canopy of cloth-of-gold that had been waxed to prevent the rain from penetrating it. At six o'clock in the evening, the bridal procession began streaming out of the archbishop's palace, moving down the open-sided gallery toward the cathedral.

The bridal party was led by one hundred of the king's Swiss Guards. The first two rows were a mixture of drummers and soldiers with blue and gold flags. Following the guards came a party of musicians. Twelve played upon oboes. There were eight drummers who were followed by the ten state trumpeters playing a fanfare. Following the royal musicians was the grand master of ceremonies behind whom strode knights of the Order of the Holy Ghost in jeweled capes. Next came seven royal heralds in crimson-and-gold-striped tabards.

The bridegroom's representative, the due de Chevreuse, was proceeded by three ranking noblemen. He was garbed in a black velvet suit, slashed to show its cloth-of-gold lining. On his head was a velvet cap sporting a magnificent diamond that glittered despite the dullness of the late afternoon. Behind him were the earl of Carlisle and Viscount Kensington in suits of cloth-of-silver.

The populace standing in the pouring rain on either side of the gallery struggled against each other, attempting to get the best glimpse of the wedding party and the court. Cries of "God bless the king" and "Good fortune to the princess" were heard by those moving along the gallery toward the platform and the cathedral. Most of the guests would pass through the raised, canopied flooring, and take their places within the cathedral. Only certain chosen ones would remain upon the dais to see the ceremony performed. Because the king of England was considered a Protestant, it was necessary to perform the wedding ceremony before the doors of the cathedral, but as all weddings had once been performed in this manner, little was thought of the arrangement. Afterward, a mass would be celebrated within Notre-Dame.

Among the chosen to view the wedding, India Lindley stood shivering as she drew her cloak about her. She should have worn her rabbit-lined cape, but it was not nearly as fashionable as the one she was wearing. She looked at the French courtiers in their magnificent clothing. She had never seen anything like it. It was utterly spectacular, and she felt like someone's poor country relation. Her mother, of course, had fabulous jewelry which covered a multitude of fashion sins, but she and Fortune looked positively dowdy even in comparison to the bosomless eleven-year-old Catherine-Marie St. Laurent, whose claret-colored silk and cloth-of-gold gown was delicious.

"Here comes the bride," Fortune singsonged next to her. Fortune was enjoying every moment of this colorful and marvelous show. It didn't matter to her that her mother and sister looked like a pair of burgher's daughters.

India focused her eyes upon Henrietta-Marie, who was escorted by both of her brothers, King Louis XIII, resplendent in cloth-of-gold and silver, and Prince Gaston, elegant in sky blue silk and cloth-of-gold. The petite sixteen-year-old bride was dressed in an incredible gown of heavy cream-colored silk embroidered all over with gold fleurs-de-lys, pearls, and diamonds. The dress was so encrusted with gold and diamonds that it glittered as she walked. On her dark hair was a delicate gold-filigreed crown, from whose center spire dripped a huge pearl pendant that caused the watching crowds to gasp.

"I have better," murmured the duchess of Glenkirk, and her mother-in-law restrained her laughter.

Behind the bride and her brothers came the queen mother, Marie di Medici, wearing, as always, her black widow's garb, but dripping with diamonds in recognition of the occasion. Finally came France's queen, Anne of Austria, in a gown of cloth-of-silver and gold tissue, sewn all over with sapphires and pearls, leading the French court. The few English guests had already been brought to the raised and canopied dais to await the arrival of the bridal party now come.

The cardinal performed the wedding ceremony, and then the bride, her family, and the French court were escorted into the cathedral for the celebration of the Mass. Inside, the cathedral was filled with other invited guests: members of the parliament, other politicians, and civic officials, garbed formally for this occasion in ermine-trimmed crimson velvet robes. The walls of the cathedral were hung with fine tapestries, and the bridal party was seated upon another canopied, raised dais. Having settled the bride upon a small throne, the due de Chevreuse departed her side to escort the two English ambassadors and the few English guests to the archbishop's palace for they would not attend the Mass.

"Ridiculous!" Jasmine muttered beneath her breath.

"Be silent!" James Leslie said softly, but sharply. While he agreed with his wife that this prejudice between Roman and Anglican, Anglican and Protestant, was absurd, it was a fact they had to live with, and to involve one's self in the sectarian fray was to make enemies. It was better to remain neutral. Lady Stewart-Hepburn nodded her approval of her son's wisdom.

"Did you see the gowns?" India said excitedly to her mother. "I have never seen such clothing!"

"A bridal gown should be beautiful," Jasmine replied.

"Nay, not the bridal gown," India responded. "It is lovely, of course, but it is the gowns worn by the women of the French court that I am envious of, Mama. Your jewels, naturally, always overshadow anything you may wear, but Fortune and I look like two little sparrows compared to the French ladies. Why, even flat-chested Catherine-Marie outshines us. It is most embarrassing! We are here to represent our king, and we look like two serving wenches!"

"What's wrong with our gowns?" Fortune asked her elder sister. "I think we look quite nice. I do like Queen Anne's short hair, though. Can I cut my hair like that, Mama?"

"No," Jasmine said. "Your hair is beautiful, child. Why would you cut it? If this Spanish queen of France would cut and frizz her own hair, it is because her hair is not as fine as yours, Fortune."

"Nor as red," Fortune grumbled.

"I am going to have an entire new wardrobe made when I get home to England," India said. "I shall dazzle King Charles's court, Mama, with my French fashions and their vibrant colors. Our countrymen wear such dull colors. Pale blue, rose, brown, and black. And, Mama, you have so much jewelry. Would you not let me have some of it, please?"

"She is certainly not shy about asking for what she wants, is she?" Cat said to her son. "She has been, I imagine, quite a handful to raise, Jemmie, eh?"

The duke of Glenkirk smiled. "She is nae worse, Mother, than any other girl," he told her. "She hae always been an obedient lass."

"Give her what she wants, and then find her a good husband," was his parent's advice. "She will not be obedient much longer, I think."

"I agree with your mother," Jasmine said. "There is a wild streak in India that I have never really recognized before. Perhaps I have not wanted to see it because it reminds me of my brother, Salim. But suddenly I see familiar traits in India, and I remember that my father indulged Salim, even when his disobedience was unforgivable. And yet our father forgave him. Drunkenness, lechery, theft. Even murder. There was only one thing my father would not forgive him."

Curious, Lady Stewart-Hepburn asked, "What?"

"Salim desired me as a man desires a woman. My father could not countenance it, and I was married to my first husband, Prince Javid Khan. Salim had him murdered, and knowing he was near death, my father smuggled me out of India. When I was India's age I was about to be wed to my second husband, who was India's father."

"Then you must find a husband for India," Cat said. "It is obvious it is time for her to be settled before she causes a scandal. I wish I knew a suitable match for her in Naples."

"Oh, no!" Jasmine cried. "I should not want her so far away from us. Like my grandmother, I want my family about me, and we have all our family in England and Scotland, madame. All but my Uncle Ewan O'Flaherty, who lives in Ireland. And, you, madame, who remain in the kingdom of Naples. Jemmie has told me of your, ah, difficulty with the late king, but now that James Stuart is dead and buried, would you not consider coming home to Scotland again? There is a place for you at Glenkirk always."

"Bless you, my dear Jasmine," Cat said, her voice thick with emotion, "but my beloved Bothwell is buried in Naples, at the foot of our villa's garden, and that is where I will lie one day, beside him in death as I was in life. Besides, my old bones are too used to the warmth of the south to tolerate the damp and chill of Scotland any longer."

"Your great-grandmother returned home from a warm climate," the duke said quietly.

"I am not Janet Leslie," Cat said as quietly.

Outside the salon where they were waiting, a canon boomed.

"It would appear the Mass is finally over," the earl of Carlisle noted dryly.

"Took long enough," Viscount Kensington responded. "Do these Catholics really think God is going to overlook their fornications and other mischief just because they spend so much time in church on their knees? Well, let's hope this little queen we've gotten proves as fecund as her old mother."

"Come to the windows," the earl called to them. "The rain has finally stopped, and there are fireworks being shot off."

They stood watching as the rockets soared into the skies, bursting red or green, gold or blue sparkles against the darkness. The wedding party and its guests made their way to the archbishop's palace where a banquet was to be held in the great hall, which had been newly decorated for the occasion with tapestries from the Louvre.

A banquet table stretched from one end of the hall to the other. The king had been placed in its center beneath yet another embroidered cloth-of-gold canopy. To his right sat his mother. To his left, his sister, England's new queen. The proxy bridegroom was placed on Henrietta's other side. The bride was served by a high-ranking nobleman, her old friend from childhood, Baron Bassompierre, and two French marshals.

When the meal had at last ended, all the guilds of Paris paraded before the new queen, and her brother's Swiss Guards performed an intricate drill. At eleven o'clock, the exhausted bride retired back to the Louvre. For the rest of the week, all Paris rejoiced, and celebrated the marriage that united England and France. There were balls and banquets so numerous it was difficult to get to them all. The finest, however, was given by the Queen Mother in her new and magnificent Luxembourg Palace.

Then, suddenly, George Villiers, the duke of Buckingham, arrived in France. He had come, he announced grandly, to escort England's new queen home. Buckingham was very tall, and extremely handsome. His dark eyes when fixed upon a woman made her feel she was the only woman in the world. His wife was devoted to him, and while he was considered a terrible flirt, Lady Villiers had no cause for jealousy. Buckingham had such beautiful features that the late King James had given him the nickname of Steenie, because the old monarch said George Villiers had the face of St. Stephen, who had been noted for his beauty.

The French queen was openly admiring of the Englishman. The French male courtiers hated him on sight, for they considered Villiers arrogant. It was their opinion he behaved as if he were a king himself, and they could barely tolerate his presence. Their wives disagreed, sending the duke languishing looks each time he came their way; smiling invitingly, sighing over his chestnut curls, his exquisitely barbered mustache and little pointed beard. The queen and the other ladies of the court were always delighted to have the English duke among their company. He swept into their midst one afternoon wearing a suit of silver-gray silk, and gold tissue. The suit was sewn all over with pearls, but the pearls were forever dropping off, and rolling across the floor. As servants scrambled to retrieve the gems, the duke of Buckingham waved them away with a smile. The pearls were naught but trifles, he told them, implying there were plenty more where they came from. Keep them, he said.

"You have done it quite deliberately," the duchess of Glenkirk scolded George Villiers. "These pearls are sewn too loosely so, of course, they will drop off. You are intent on annoying these poor French. What a wicked creature you are, Steenie!" They had known each other ever since Villiers's very early days at King James's court.

The dark eyes twinkled. An elegant eyebrow arched mischievously, and then he smiled at her, but he said not a word.

At last, on the twenty-third of May, the new queen of England's great cavalcade finally departed Paris. It was made up of the several hundred people who would accompany Henrietta-Marie, including, besides the lords and ladies who were to make up her household, a large number of servants: cooks, grooms, a surgeon, an apothecary, a tailor, an embroiderer, a perfumer, a clockmaker, eleven musicians, Mathurine, her Fool, and twenty-four priests, including a bishop.

The king had an attack of the quinsy. His throat was so en-flamed that he could barely speak. He bid his sister farewell at Compiegne, and returned to Paris to recuperate. At Amiens, Marie di Medici developed a fever. After a few days, it became obvious that Henrietta-Marie would have to leave her mother and travel onward with her great train by herself. Charles was already sending impatient messages to France requesting his bride come forthwith. Finally, they reached Boulogne where twenty ships were waiting to take the new queen and her retinue to England. There was also a party of English ladies and gentlemen who had come to greet the new queen, but while Henrietta-Marie was polite, she showed little warmth toward these members of her new court. They were Protestants, and must be avoided as much as possible, her foolish spiritual advisors warned her, little caring if she made a good impression on her new subjects as long as her soul was safe.

The duke of Glenkirk and his family had taken their leave of the young queen in Paris. They would see her in England, but it was not necessary that they be part of the great company traveling with Henrietta-Marie to her husband. They returned to the chateau with the St. Laurents so they might have a few more days with Lady Stewart-Hepburn, who would be spending the summer in France with her youngest daughter.

James Leslie tried hard to get his mother to return home to Scotland with them. "You dinna even know this Stuart king, Mother, and his parents, your last link wi the royal Stuarts, are both gone now. Come home wi us to Scotland. There is always a place for you at Glenkirk."

Catriona Hay Leslie Stewart-Hepburn shook her head. She had been a dazzling beauty in her youth, and while time had aged her, she was still a stunning woman. Her honey-blond hair had turned a snowy white, just faintly tinted with gold. Her leaf-green eyes, however, had not changed. They were as clear and beautiful as they had always been. Now they fixed themselves on him. "Jemmie," she said, "you are my eldest child, and I love you dearly, but I will not leave Bothwell, as I have already told Jasmine. Besides, as I have also said, my old bones are too used to the sunshine and the warmth of the south. Going home to Scotland would take ten years off my life. While I miss Francis, I am not all that anxious to join him yet. I enjoy my grandchildren too much, I fear." She laughed, and patted his hand. "You have done very well all these years without me."

"Do you not miss your children?" he queried her. "My brothers and my sisters hae given you grandchildren, too, Mother."

"And all have at one time or another come to Naples with their families to see me," she responded. "They do not need me, either, Jemmie. A woman raises her bairns, and then no matter how much she loves them, she must let them go on to live their own lives. A mother and father are like the sun around which their children move. Then one day it all changes. The bairns are grown, and become like the sun themselves, which means the parents must take a lesser position in their lives. There is no tragedy in this, for a mother wants her bairns to nourish and lead their own lives. They go on, and we go on. I loved all my bairns, but you were not my only life.

"Soon Jasmine's three eldest will be ready to leave the loving nest you and she have built for them. You must let them go, Jemmie, as I let you, and your brothers, and sisters go. And you must let me go, my son. While you may not realize it, you did so years ago when I left Scotland, and you became head of the Leslies of Glenkirk. Seeing me after so long a time has but made you nostalgic."

"I dinna realize how much I hae missed you, Mother, until now," James Leslie said. "Will you nae return to Scotland ever?"

"You know I will never leave him," she replied.

"He would like it if he were buried in the soil of his native land," the duke of Glenkirk said slowly. Then he chuckled. "I'll wager he was awaiting Cousin Jamie at heaven's gate, and Queen Anne with him. She always liked Bothwell, Mother, didn't she?"

Cat nodded. "All the women liked Francis," she recalled with a small smile, "but if he were awaiting Jamie at heaven's gate, surely the king thought he had been sent in the opposite direction from which he anticipated, although seeing his Annie might have reassured him." She laughed, and then grew pensive again. "Aye, he would like to have been laid to rest in his native land, Jemmie."

"Do you think he would object to being planted in Leslie soil?" the duke inquired of his mother.

"On the grounds of the old abbey," Cat said softly. "Could you, Jemmie?"

"Did we nae once hoax the royal Stuarts, Mother?" the duke answered her. "You and I together?"

"You would not think it disloyal to your father's memory?"

"My father is nae buried at Glenkirk," the duke said. His mother did not know it, of course, for she had been gone from Scotland, but the duke's father, the fifth earl of Glenkirk, had not been lost at sea as had been reported, before the king ordered him declared dead. Actually, he had been captured by the Spanish, and gone exploring with them in the New World, where he had made himself a new life.

The duke had learned of it almost twenty-five years ago when his father appeared suddenly at Glenkirk to make amends for his long absence. He was extremely relieved to learn he might go on with his new life, and return to the young woman who awaited him in a place called St. Augustine. James Leslie had never seen his father again, although every few years a missive would arrive filled with news of his adventures, and the half-siblings his new wife had borne him. "My father was a good Scotsman, Mother, and if it had been possible, he would have been buried at Glenkirk himself. I dinna believe he would object to you and Bothwell being there. He owes you that much," the duke said meaningfully, and then, "Besides, who will know it but us?"

"Then one day we shall come home to Scotland together, he and I," Lady Stewart-Hepburn said, and suddenly her eyes were filled with tears, which slid down her beautiful face even as she attempted to prevent them. "Ahhh," she said softly, "we had such grand times, he and I, as we rode beneath the border moon." Then, catching hold of her emotions, she said, "We will travel in a single coffin. That way there will be no questions. Just the duke of Glen-kirk's old mother returning to be buried in her native soil. And no one shall ever know where Bothwell's grave is, Jemmie, for even in Naples there are those who believed those scurrilous tales of witchcraft and magic Cousin Jamie and his Protestants spread about Francis. There are some who come to take soil from his grave, believing it has powers. I must keep a watch there all the time, or they would surely steal his body away to use in their vile rites."

"I dinna think I will get you home too soon, Mother," the duke said, seeking to lighten the moment.

"No," she replied with a small laugh. Then she hugged him. "Thank you, Jemmie, for your generosity."

"I hae always enjoyed sharing secrets wi you, Mother," he chuckled. "Only Jasmine shall know besides we two."

"Agreed," she answered him. "I will miss you."

"And I you," he told her. And then the duke of Glenkirk took his mother for a final stroll in his sister's gardens.

Chapter 2

“Such extravagance!" the countess of Alcester said, in very disapproving tones. She turned to her niece. "You are spoiling the chit, Jasmine, by allowing her to have such a wardrobe. Every fortune hunter at court will descend upon you when India parades herself in this splendor."

"Am I so witless, Great-aunt," India defended herself, "that I cannot separate truth from fiction? I have turned down half a dozen matches in Scotland for the very reason I knew it was my fortune that attracted the gentlemen in question and not me. Fine clothes will do little, if anything, to dull my perception of men."

"Your tongue is too quick for a girl of respectable upbringing," the countess snapped. India was too damned headstrong, even as her mother had been. Even as my mother was, Willow, Lady Edwardes, countess of Alcester, thought irritably. Thank heavens my daughters have all been obedient girls, and my granddaughters, too, although perhaps one or two of them bear watching. "If you will take my advice, Jasmine, although I suspect you will not, you and James will make a good match for India and cease this nonsense and outrageous expense." Then, heaving her bulk from the chair in which she had been sitting, Lady Edwardes shook out her own dark skirts. "I do not like London anymore," she grumbled, "and no one should live here at this time of year. It is too warm, and much too damp, but what could we do? We had to come to London to greet the new queen."

"I think the queen is very pretty," India noted.

"All young girls are pretty," her great-aunt said, "and this one no more or less than many, but there will be difficulty over her religion, mark my words. And if all those French with her persist in their rude habits, the king will do well to send them away." She moved toward the door. "I am going back to your uncle's house now," she announced. "I will see you all in the morning when we go to court, and I hope, Jasmine, that your daughter will be suitably garbed like a proper young Englishwoman, and not decked out like some foreigner." The countess of Alcester stamped through the open door, which a servant held for her, her skirts swinging indignantly as she went.

"Fat old cow!" India muttered when the door had shut again.

"She has just forgotten what it is like to be young," Jasmine told her daughter, although personally she agreed with her daughter's assessment. Aunt Willow had always been prim and proper. It was as if she strove to be entirely and totally different from her own mother, a lady of passion and colorful character. It often made her seem joyless and didactic. "Your great-aunt is correct in one thing, however, India," Jasmine said. "Tomorrow you will wear one of your less spectacular gowns to court to greet the queen. It would not do to outshine Her Majesty when she is undoubtedly striving to make a good impression upon her new subjects. She will be feeling strange, and, I suspect, not just a little frightened in her new land."

"Like when you came to England?" India said.

Jasmine nodded. "At least the queen can go home again if she wants to visit France. Once I left India there was no going back."

"Do you ever regret leaving?" her eldest child asked.

Jasmine shook her head. "No. My life there was at an end. My fate was here with your father, and later in Scotland with your stepfather, my darling Jemmie. You must never fight your fate, India, even if it is not the fate you believe you would choose."

"My fate isn't very interesting, Mama," India said. "I will have to choose a husband very soon, or risk being an old maid. I will settle down, and have children as you, and Grandmother Velvet, and my great-grandmother, Madame Skye, did. There is no excitement or surprises in such a fate. It is all quite ordinary, I fear."

"Neither Madame Skye, nor my mother, nor I led dull lives in our youth, India," Jasmine reminded her daughter, "although I do hope you will not face quite all the excitement we did. I am not certain you could cope with it, being so gently raised."

"Grandmother Velvet was gently raised, and she managed to survive her adventures," India reminded her mother.

"It was a different time," Jasmine said softly, thinking her English born and bred daughter did not know the half of it.

"Come, and help me choose what I will wear tomorrow, Mama," India said. "And we must choose something for Fortune. She will wait until the last minute, and somehow manage to look like nobody's child, embarrassing us all. Fortune's appearance matters little to her, I fear."

The duchess of Glenkirk laughed aloud at her eldest child's assessment of her younger sister. It was so accurate. India cared very much how she looked, and how she appeared before the world. Her hair was always properly coiffed, her gown fresh, her nails neatly trimmed. Fortune, on the other hand, was an unrepentant hoyden whose red hair was always flying and tangled as Fortune dashed impulsively through life, her skirts muddied and more than likely a smudge upon her pale cheek. The duchess's mother said that Fortune would change when she got older, but Fortune would be fifteen in just a few weeks and showed no signs of maturation. How on earth could she and Rowan Lindley have spawned two such different daughters? "Let us choose your sister's gown first," Jasmine suggested, knowing it would take India forever to settle upon her own garb.

India nodded her agreement. "The main problem will be to find something clean," she said, "but I suppose Nelly does her best to keep up with our wild Fortune." Then India laughed. "No one can make me angrier than Fortune, Mama. She does not seem to care at all, but I do love her!"

"I know you do," the duchess replied, and then together the two hurried upstairs to seek out a wardrobe, India's elegant new silk skirts rustling as they went.

Impressed by the exquisite clothing she had seen at the French court, India Lindley had returned from France determined to have a new gown, nay, a dozen new gowns fashioned in the same manner, of the finest materials, sewn all over with jewels and gold thread, with fine brocade petticoats that would show through the gown's front opening. She thought the farthingales and bell-shaped skirts of her great-grandmother, grandmother, and mother's day far more elegant than the skirts of today that fell to the floor in simple folds, with the fullness toward the back. It was somehow sloppy, India thought, but it was the fashion now. Opulent fabrics, India thought, would take the curse from this less elegant mode.

India had therefore raided the O'Malley-Small trading company warehouses where there were incredible fabrics stored that her mother had brought from her homeland nearly twenty years ago. There was so much fine stuff that India knew even if she and her sister were completely outfitted in dozens of new gowns each, there would still be enough of the beautiful materials left over. She had picked carefully, colors and fabrics that would flatter her skin. Then she had personally overseen the making of the garments, which were far richer than those normally worn now in England. Satisfied that her gowns were every bit as good as those that would be worn by the queen and her French ladies, India looked forward to going to court.

The king and queen had been remarried at St. Augustine's Abbey in Canterbury, and had then made their way to London, coming into the city by barge as there was plague about. It was not the official state entry that Henrietta-Marie had expected. Still, the young queen waved at the crowds through the open window of the vessel as they stood there along the Thames bank in the wind and rain to greet her. The king was more sedate, waving regally, his face somber. Afterward, however, the queen had retired to rest from her long journey. It was just now at the end of June that she felt ready to attend the formal proclamation of her marriage.

The ceremony took, place in the Great Hall of Whitehall Palace. The king and his queen sat upon their thrones while the marriage contract was read aloud to the assembled dignitaries and the court. Looking about her, India was quite satisfied that she was the best dressed Englishwoman in the hall. Fortune, of course, had rolled her eyes as India had been laced into a small corset, but India knew it was worth it, for her small breasts swelled discreetly over the low, square neckline of her gown, pushed up by the corset. The gown itself was of claret-red silk with a wide, ivory lace collar that extended low on the shoulder. The sleeves reached the elbow, and showed ivory-and-gold brocade through their slashes that matched the tantalizing glimpse of petticoat through the gown's skirt opening. The duchess had refused to allow her daughter to wear her own famous rubies, believing pearls more suitable to the occasion. India's hair was as fashionable as her gown, her dark locks being fixed into a flat, coiled knot at the back, with a single lovelock tied with a gold ribbon draping itself teasingly by her left ear.

"Damn me if that ain't the most beautiful girl I've ever seen," Adrian Leigh, Viscount Twyford, said to his friend, Lord John Summers.

"Too rich for your blood," Lord Summers replied dryly.

"You know who she is, Johnny? And why should I not aspire to such a magnificent creature?"

"Because she is the stepdaughter of the duke of Glenkirk, and the sister of the marquis of Westleigh. A virgin, and an heiress far beyond your reach. You don't want to marry, Twyford. You want to seduce. Seduce that beauty, and you'll end up very dead. Whatever they have planned for Lady India Lindley, it isn't you."

"I'll be earl of Oxton one day, Johnny," Viscount Twyford replied, "and what a countess she would make! India? 'Tis an odd name."

"The duchess of Glenkirk, the girl's mother, is from that land, I am told, although her mother is English or Scots, I'm not sure which. I do know they are a wealthy family, and somehow distantly related to the king's family. Lady Lindley's half-brother, the duke of Lundy, is also the king's nephew. Wrong side of the blanket, of course, but you know these Stuarts, Adrian."

"The women are obviously hot-blooded," Viscount Twyford noted, his blue eyes fixed on India.

"Be careful, Adrian," his friend teased. "If your mama should find out you have an interest in such a suitable girl she will be quite piqued. I know how she dotes on you. It is said she will never give you over into the care of another woman."

"My mother would do well to remain at Oxton Hall, looking after my father. He has not been well in recent years," Twyford said sourly.

"She's still a handsome woman," Lord Summers remarked.

"She concentrates on remaining so," the viscount replied. "It is her sole interest. That, and certain men. She will not prevent me from marrying, Johnny, when I find the right girl, and I believe I have. It is my duty to have an heir. I know it would please my father." He fixed his eyes on his companion. "I must be introduced to Lady India Lindley, Johnny. Do you know any of the family?"

"I have an acquaintance with her brother, Henry Lindley, the marquis of Westleigh. My little estate borders his holdings at Cadby. If he is here, I suppose I might presume upon him. He has a good nature." Lord Summers swept the Great Hall with his mild gaze. "Ahh, there he is! With his stepfather, the duke. Come along, Adrian. This is as good a chance as we'll get, I think."

The two men made their way across the large chamber which was filled to overflowing with the court. The marriage contract having been read, the king had gone into a nearby chamber to dine, and the queen had retired to her apartments. This left the courtiers to mill about, visiting and gossiping with and about each other.

When they had reached the area where the duke of Glenkirk stood speaking with his stepson, Lord Summers stopped, and waited to catch Henry Lindley's eye, saying when he did, "I came to pay my respects, my lord, and to introduce you to my friend, Viscount Twyford, who, having seen your sister, Lady India, tells me he will perish if you do not introduce them." Lord Summers grinned in friendly fashion at the marquis of Westleigh, who was three years his junior.

"Introduce me to these gentlemen, Henry," the duke of Glenkirk said. He took in the measure of the two young men before them.

"Lord John Summers, Father. His estate borders mine. We have sometimes hunted together when I have been at Cadby," Henry Lindley said. "And this is his friend, Viscount Twyford."

"Do you have a name, young man?" the duke of Glenkirk demanded.

"Adrian Leigh, sir. I am the earl of Oxton's son, and heir." He bowed to James Leslie and the young marquis.

"And you wish to meet my stepdaughter, sir? To what purpose?" the duke inquired fiercely.

A tinkle of laughter greeted his words as the duchess of Glenkirk, overhearing, turned and took her husband's arm. "Do not be such a ninny, Jemmie. Viscount Twyford would appear to me to be a fairly respectable young man, and India is a beautiful young girl. To what purpose indeed." She laughed again, then said, "Henry, take both these gentlemen and introduce them to India." Then she lightly touched Adrian Leigh's arm. "You are respectable, sir, are you not?"

"Aye, madame, I am," he said boyishly.

"Then go along with my son, my lord," Jasmine instructed him.

The trio hurried across the hall again, this time headed for India, who stood with another young girl chattering. She smiled at her brother's approach, holding out her hand to him.

"Henry." She quickly looked at her brother's two companions, and then directly at her brother.

"Mama says I may introduce these gentlemen to you, India."

"But I recognize Lord Summers," India said, smiling prettily at him. "You hunt with Henry at Cadby, don't you?"

"I did not know you had seen me, mistress, as we have never been formally introduced until now," Lord Summers said, bowing to India.

"How could I fail to notice so handsome a gentleman," India said coquettishly, tossing her head just slightly.

"God's blood!" the girl next to her swore.,

"Fortune!" India looked scandalized. "She is my younger sister, and has never been out in society before," India excused her sibling. "She will never, I fear, behave properly."

"Is flirting outrageously with a man you've just met proper?" Fortune demanded.

India flushed. "I am not flirting! I was being polite."

Fortune snorted.

Henry Lindley laughed. "Sisters," he said, effectively dismissing them both as silly creatures. "India, if you are quite through being indignant I will introduce you to Viscount Twyford, who for some reason has insisted upon making your acquaintance. The word beautiful did pass his lips when he spoke of you."

India Lindley turned her golden eyes upon Adrian Leigh. She held out her hand. "How do you do, my lord," she murmured.

"Much better now that we have met, my lady," he returned, taking her slender, elegant little hand and kissing it.

Fortune rolled her eyes comically. "Henry, I am suddenly nauseous. Will you escort me away from this sickening sweetness?"

India did not hear her. She had the presence of mind to withdraw her hand from Viscount Twyford's grasp, but she was already intrigued by him.

"Zut alors, India! Un Anglais avec charme," a voice declared, and an outrageously beautifully dressed young man turned from the throng. Taking up India's hand, so recently released by Viscount Twyford, he kissed it gallantly. "Bonjour, ma belle cousine."

"René! Oh, René, you have grown up, haven't you?" India's gaze swept over the handsome Frenchman. He was quite gorgeous.

"Oui, chérie, je suis un homme."

"Speak English, René! You are in England now, and not France," India scolded him. "And you do speak better English than most English speak French, Cousin. How good it is to see you again!" She turned again to Lord Summers and Viscount Twyford. "This is the chevalier St. Justine, my cousin. René, Lord John Summers, and Adrian Leigh, Viscount Twyford. René, I didn't know you were coming with the queen from France. I didn't see you in Paris," Jasmine said. "Why are you here?"

"One of Her Majesty's gentlemen of honor fell ill at the last moment, and as I had just come up from Archambault to Paris on estate business, and stopped at the Louvre to pay my respects to King Louis, it seems I was in the right spot at the right time. It's quite an accolade for the family that I was chosen, chérie."

"And just how are you related?" the viscount asked, not simply curious, but strangely jealous. She called him cousin, but exactly how close were they? The froggie was perhaps too handsome, too suave.

Lord Summers, the chevalier, and young Henry Lindley all recognized the suspicion in Adrian Leigh's tone. It was an incredible presumption on his part to voice such an inquiry, but India seemed totally unaware.

"René's great-grandmother and my great-grandfather were brother and sister," she answered the viscount. "I spent part of my childhood in France. René and I were playmates. René! Do you recognize Henry all grown up. And there is Fortune over there with Mama."

The chevalier bowed to the marquis. "My lord, it is good to see you again as well. Now, however, I shall go and pay my respects to your parents, and Lady Fortune, eh?"

"I'll come with you," India said, tucking her hand through his arm. "Mama will be so surprised, René. Henry…" She called to her brother. "You come, too." Then, smiling at the other two gentlemen, she moved off across the Great Hall with her escorts.

"You have an admirer, ma petite," René St. Justine noted mischievously as they walked.

"A bit bold for my taste," Henry Lindley replied. "There is something I have heard about the family that is not savory, but I cannot think what it is right now."

"I do hope you are not going to be one of those overly protective brothers, Henry," India said sharply. "Remember that I am older than you are. I thought Viscount Twyford rather charming, and he is handsome."

"You are ten months older than I am, India," her brother reminded her. " 'Tis hardly a generation. The earl of Oxton! Yes! Now I remember! The earl's eldest son was implicated in the murder of a rival in love, and fled England. He disappeared, and has never been heard of again. The earl fell into a deep decline, and has not appeared publicly since it happened. Your swain is his younger half-brother, India, son of the second wife, who is said to take her lovers from among her servants and tenants. Charming, indeed! I'm surprised a fellow as decent as Summers would associate with such a man. I hardly think Viscount Twyford suitable for you, Sister."

"You cannot blame the viscount for the behavior of either his elder half-brother or his mother, Henry. How unfair of you!" India cried. "I like him, and if he wishes to pay me his addresses, I shall welcome them. Say anything to Father about his unfortunate relations, and Father will know about that little housemaid at Greenwood you have been fucking in dark hallways. Didn't think I knew, did you?"

"God's blood!" her brother swore. "How did you know?"

"Are all men that noisy when they fuck?" India wondered aloud.

The chevalier burst out laughing. "India, you have not changed, little cousin. I am so glad!" Then he paused a moment and said, "But Henry is correct in one sense, chérie. A man is rarely unlike his family in his behavior. Besides, you can do better than a mere viscount. You are the daughter of a marquis, the stepdaughter of a duke. You have a marquis for a brother and a duke for a brother, and that little duke is the king's own nephew. Aye, chérie, you can do much better than a provincial little viscount."

"I shall do as I please," India answered him, and he laughed once more. "I am not just well connected, but rich as well, René, and when you are rich, you can do as you please," she told him.

"Within the law," her brother reminded her disapprovingly.

While the queen struggled to find her way within this new court she had been married into, and her French household and the English court jockeyed for dominance, the younger, less important members of her train, led by the chevalier St. Justine, and the younger English courtiers became friendly. None of them cared for power. They simply wanted to have fun. It was summer. The weather was pleasant, and new to court, most of them found it exciting. Filled with youthful exuberance, they involved themselves in hunting and picnics, boating, tennis, and archery contests from dawn till dusk. Then they danced the night away, or took part in little masques. Often the young queen joined them, for like her late mother-in-law, Anne of Denmark, she loved such merriment. The king, however, who had enjoyed his mother's revels in his youth, was now weighed down by his office, and not often amused.

"I want to go to Queen's Malvern," Lady Fortune Lindley complained to her mother one warm and muggy morning. "Why must we remain here with the court? We have never followed the court. Soon summer will be at an end, and we shall be returning to Glenkirk, Mama."

"Your sister has entered society, and if we are ever to find her a husband, Fortune, we must remain with the court. Right now, all the eligible young men are here," Jasmine explained to her middle daughter.

"If India wants to remain here, fine!" Fortune said, "but can't the rest of us go up to Queen's Malvern? It isn't just me. We all want to go, isn't that so, Henry?"

"I should be at Cadby," her brother agreed, nodding.

Jasmine looked to her children. "Charlie?" she said.

"I have paid my respects to my uncle, Mama, and been presented to the queen," Charles Frederick Stuart, the duke of Lundy replied. "It is not necessary for me to show myself at court again until the coronation, which my uncle, the king, says will be next winter."

The duchess of Glenkirk peered questioningly at her three Leslie sons.

"We would rather be in the country, Mama," said Patrick, speaking for himself and his two younger brothers, Adam and Duncan.

"I suppose that we could send the seven of you to Queen's Malvern," Jasmine said thoughtfully, "and your father and I could remain here to chaperone India, but you would have to behave yourselves if I did," she warned them.

"Adali is at Queen's Malvern, Mama," Fortune reminded her parent. "You know Adali would not let us run wild. If anything, he is sterner with us than you and Papa."

"Well," Jasmine considered, nibbling on her lower lip.

"And I will help him oversee the boys," Fortune pressed gently.

"And I will be at Cadby, Mama," Henry reminded her. "It would just be our younger brothers and the baby for Adali to monitor. Fortune will spend her days riding, and she cannot get into trouble just riding."

"I see no reason for your father to object," Jasmine decided. "Very well, you may all go up to Queen's Malvern."

"Yaaaaay!" her offspring cheered.

"When?" Fortune pressed.

"Tomorrow, if you can pack yourselves up by then," her mother replied, and Fortune's siblings cheered lustily once again.

"What is this all about?" India demanded to know, coming into the family hall where they were all seated. She was dressed for riding in a deep blue velvet skirt, and a jacket trimmed in silver.

"We are going to Queen's Malvern…" Fortune began.

India shrieked. "Nay! We cannot! I do not want to go up to the country. It is boring, and then before we know it we shall have to return to Scotland. Ohhh! \ shall never see Adrian again!" She turned on her sister. "This is all your doing, Fortune! You are simply jealous because the gentlemen are attracted to me, and not attracted to you and your carroty hair! Ohhh! I hate you! I shall never forgive you! I shall die if I cannot remain with the court!" She flung herself into a chair.

"If you ask me, she should be sent home to Glenkirk right now," muttered Henry Lindley, darkly.

"You are not going to Queen's Malvern, India," her mother said. "I intended to let you remain here with your father and me, but now I wonder if Henry isn't perhaps right. Apologize to your sister this moment! And I was not aware that Viscount Twyford had caught your fancy. He is not at all suitable for a girl of your breeding and wealth."

Henry Lindley quickly shook his head at India, denying any betrayal of her secrets.

"But I like Adrian, Mama. He is charming, and he is very amusing. And he likes me," India finished smugly.

"Has he said so?" Jasmine asked her daughter.

"Gracious, no!" India replied. "But René says it is so."

"Fortune is awaiting your apology," Jasmine said quietly.

India quickly hugged her sister. "I'm sorry," she said. "You know I didn't mean it, Fortune."

"If this is what an interest in men does to a person," Fortune answered, "I hope I shall never seek to attract a gentleman's attention." Then, picking up her skirts, she hurried from the hall, saying as she went, "I have to pack if we are to be ready by the morrow. Come, laddies!"

Her brothers scrambled to their feet and dashed after Fortune.

"Why don't you and Papa go with them?" India said innocently.

Jasmine laughed. "Because you must have a chaperone."

"But I'm seventeen!" India protested.

"Just," her mother reminded her.

"In Grandmother Velvet's day girls younger than I came to court," India grumbled. "I don't understand why I can't stay alone."

"In your grandmother's day, the girls at court your age were either maids-of-honor serving old Queen Bess, married, or in the charge of a parent or older relative, and, like you, seeking husbands of good name, good repute, and suitable fortunes. This is not, however, your grandmother's day. A young woman of good family is properly supervised by her family lest society receive the incorrect impression that she is either not valued, or that her behavior is loose."

"You are sooo old-fashioned," India muttered.

"If I am," her mother replied serenely, "I shall remain so, and until you have left my home for your husband's home, you will obey me. You will also not give me cause to regret that I have allowed you to remain with the court when I should far prefer to go home to Queen's Malvern myself with your sister and brothers. I am quite capable of changing my mind, India. Now, tell me about Viscount Twyford. Does he seek to pay his addresses to you? He really is not suitable, you know."

"Why not?" India was curious as to what her mother had heard.

"His father's family is a respectable one," Jasmine said. "They are Glocestershire people. I am sure you know about his brother, Deverall. It was quite a scandal, and such things do not die."

"Deverall Leigh murdered a rival," India said.

"So it was said, and the fact that he fled England did nothing to erase that impression. Many, however, did not believe it. Deverall Leigh was an honorable young man, but still it was his knife found in the victim's chest, and he ran away. A convenience for his stepmother, and her son, Adrian. No one saw or heard the murder of Lord Jeffers. His serving man was away that night, and there was no one else in the house. And, of course, there was the knife. Deverall Leigh can never return to England without facing the hangman's rope, for there is no one to attest to his innocence, if indeed he is innocent. I had heard that his father had disowned him. What choice did the poor man have? So your friend, Adrian, will one day be the earl of Oxton, and sooner than later if the rumors are to be believed," Jasmine finished.

"But why do you hold Adrian to account for his brother's behavior, Mama? You have said the Leighs are a respectable family," India replied.

"I said his father's family was respectable. His mother, however, is another thing. She is a foreigner. Her family is not the equal of her husband's. She is said to take lovers. Men of low station. Her husband is a broken man. Some say her behavior is as much to blame as the alleged behavior of Deverall Leigh. This young man who has caught your fancy is her son. Raised by her. What kind of man can he be? The acorn, India, does not fall far from the oak. Besides, the Leighs are not a family of wealth, and you have always sought to avoid those young men who were fortune hunters. What makes you think Adrian Leigh is not?"

"Because he is obviously interested in me, Mama! The others were always asking about my lands, and my other holdings, and what kind of income I had from my inheritance. Adrian never asks such things."

"Then possibly he is different, India, but he is still not suitable," Jasmine responded. "Still, as long as his behavior is correct toward you, I see no reason you should not continue to enjoy his company." Better she think I have no violent objection to this young man, Jasmine thought. I do not want to drive her into his arms. He is clever, this Adrian Leigh. He has to know that India is very, very wealthy. It has never been a secret. He is willing to wait, and see just how wealthy she is until he has her securely netted. A dangerous opponent, I fear. Damnation! Why could not the perfect man come along, and sweep India off her feet? Jemmie's mother was right. My daughter is ripe for the taking, and a girl in love for the first time is not always prudent.

James Leslie stood with his wife the following day, waving the majority of their children farewell as they set out with their servants for Queen's Malvern. "I should just as soon go wi them," he said dourly, but he understood the importance of their remaining. Come autumn, though, they would return north whether it pleased India or not. And he agreed with his wife that they would allow India a certain measure of freedom, for nothing was more embarrassing to a young girl than to be obviously overseen.

India danced that same evening away, in a magnificent gown of peacock-blue silk with a silver lace collar, the bodice of which was embroidered all over with pearls and diamante. She wore pearls in her dark hair, and her lovelock was tied with a silver ribbon studded with twinkling crystals. About her slender throat was a choker of creamy baroque pearls. She was flushed with pleasure, and her creamy cheeks were rosy.

"You are the most beautiful girl in the entire world," Adrian Leigh told her passionately, his sapphire-blue eyes glittering.

"I know," India replied, and then she laughed at his surprise. "Do you want me to demure, and giggle like some little ninny?" she teased.

"No," he said, surprising her. "I want to steal you away and make love to you for hours on end. Would you like that, my India?"

"As a virgin, I have no idea whether I would like it or not," India replied pertly, "and I am not your India. Even when I am married, I shall belong to no one but myself, Adrian. The women in my family have always been both independent of spirit, and independent in their own wealth. I see no reason to change such a fine custom, do you?"

"I would change nothing about you," he told her fervently. "I adore you just as you are, India." He bent his blond head, and brushed her lips impulsively with his.

India tossed her head, half avoiding him. "I have not given you permission to kiss me," she said, tweaking the fabric of his sky-blue silk doublet.

"I should be a poor suitor if I meekly waited for your permission," he said, pulling her into an alcove and pinioning her against the wall. The blue eyes stared down into her gold ones. "You are ripe for kissing, India, and I vow that no lips but mine shall ever touch yours," Adrian Leigh said, his mouth fully touching hers for the first time.

Warm. Firm. Not at all unpleasant, India thought. Her heart raced madly with her first kiss. Her stomach felt as if the bottom had suddenly fallen out of it.

Then he took his lips away, smiling down at her. "Did you like it, India?" he asked her.

She nodded.

"You have nothing to say to me?" he said.

"Again," she commanded him. "I want to see if it's as nice the second time as it was the first."

Adrian Leigh laughed. "Very well," he acquiesced, and kissed her a second kiss, encouraged this time when her own lips pressed back against his. He raised his head up. "That's it, India. Kiss me back." Then he kissed her a third time, and India's arms slipped about his neck. Her little round breasts pressed against him.

"Tsk! Tsk! Tsk! I think that is quite enough, chérie," India heard her cousin, the chevalier St. Justine, say with a feigned sigh of exasperation.

Guiltily India pulled away from the viscount. "René!"

He drew her blushing from the alcove. "You must have a care for your good name, chérie, even if Monsieur le viscount does not."

"My intentions are honorable, Chevalier," Adrian Leigh protested.

"If they are indeed, Viscount," René St. Justine said, "you surely know better than to take a well-bred virgin into a dark alcove and enflame her innocent passions with kisses."

"René!" India was mortified. "I am not a child, damn it!"

"The gentleman knows what I am saying, India, even if you do not understand," he replied. "Now, come and dance with me, Cousin." He led her off, leaving Viscount Twyford standing in the semidarkness. India was certainly well guarded, Adrian Leigh thought to himself, but he meant to have her for his wife. Much to his surprise, those unschooled little kisses she had returned his kisses with had aroused him.

"Was it your first kiss, chérie?" René inquired, curiously.

"I will be so glad when I do not have to answer to my family for my every action," India muttered as they walked together. "How did you know we were there, René?" India was torn between irritation and outright anger.

"I saw him push you into the alcove, and when you did not emerge as quickly as you should have, I came to rescue you," he told her. "If I saw it, India, then others certainly did. You are not a girl of easy virtue, Cousine, but if you allow gentlemen to take you into dark places, you will gain a reputation whether you want one or not. Your viscount sought to put you at a disadvantage, I fear, and you are too innocent of the world to understand that. Now, however, you do, eh?"

"Why does everyone think Adrian is bad?" India asked him.

"Perhaps not bad," the chevalier said thoughtfully, "but he is, mayhap, opportunistic. To catch an heiress such as Lady India Lindley would be quite a coup for him."

"But I haven't said I wanted to marry him, René, nor has he even mentioned the subject," India replied.

"He does not have to, chérie. If he sullies your good name, then no one else will have you despite your wealth and your beauty. You would fall into his lap like a ripe fruit, ma petite. I do not think you want anyone to manipulate you like that, India, eh?" René St. Justine's brown eyes were questioning. Bending, he kissed her cheek.

"But I do like him, René," India said. "Still, you are correct in realizing that I don't like being beguiled into an untenable position. So, I suppose the answer is not to allow gentlemen to put you in dark corners." She laughed. "I thought I was so grown up, René. It seems I am not. I am glad I have you for my guardian angel. Henry has gone to the country with my siblings. Court did not suit them at all."

"Alas, chérie, I shall only be with you for a little while longer. The gentleman whose place I took has recovered, and will be coming from Paris soon; and I am needed at home. I may be a chevalier of France, but I am also the finest wine maker at Archambault. I must return to France in time for the harvest, and you will be returning to Scotland."

"The king wants Papa here for the coronation," India said. "I hope I shall be allowed to come from Glenkirk then."

"If you behave, and do not give your mama and papa any difficulty, chérie, I suspect they will allow you to come," René said, his eyes twinkling, a small smile upon his lips. "But you must be very, very good, eh?"

India laughed. "I will be, Cousin," she promised him, "because in a few weeks' time I shall go north, and unless I can come to court this winter, I shan't ever see Adrian again. Then I shall die an old maid, eh?" she mimicked him teasingly.

"Non, non!" the chevalier protested. "You shall not die an old maid, chérie! Somewhere in this world is a wonderful man just waiting to make you happy. You will find him, India. Never fear. You will find each other. This I know!"

^{Chapter 3}

George Villiers, the duke of Buckingham, had come to court as a young man. He had found favor with old King James, worked his way up the social ladder from the second son of a knight to a dukedom, and married an earl's daughter, Lady Katherine Manners. But James Stuart was old, and having gained his favor, George Villiers set out to win over the king's only surviving son and heir, Charles. In this endeavor he was successful, and now George Villiers was, next to King Charles, the most powerful man in England.

Wealth and power had bred in him the desire for more wealth and power. In the young queen he sensed a rival, and so he set out to destroy any small influence she might gain with her equally young husband. His tactic with King James had been to subtly create a conflict between the old man and his son. When the disagreement was full blown, the king's beloved Steenie would step in and mediate between king and prince. It was clever, and neither James Stuart, or Charles Stuart ever realized they were being cunningly maneuvered by the wickedly adroit Villiers.

The duke attempted to work the same tactic on the queen, but Henrietta was far more clever than her husband, and quite used to such court intrigue. She resisted George Villiers strongly, and he, fearful of losing his position, set out to destroy her marriage to Charles Stuart by deliberately fostering misunderstanding between the two. Henrietta could not complain to her husband, for, like his father before him, Charles was of the firm belief George Villiers was his true and best friend.

Both king and queen had been virgins on their wedding night, for Charles was far too prim to have taken a mistress or tumbled a servant girl in a dark stable. As neither his father nor Buckingham wanted any other influence in Charles's life, they had discouraged his involvement with women. The young couple dared to speak to no one about this painful experience. They stumbled along in their physical relationship; the sixteen-year-old queen shy of her equally shy but demanding husband who had been told by Villiers that what the man wanted was what God approved of, for man was superior. Villiers then convinced Charles that his wife's shyness was a refusal of his wishes, and an attempt to gain the upper hand. Things went from bad to worse.

"Whoever heard of a name like Henri-etta?" Villiers said one day to the king. "It's so foreign. The queen is English now, and really ought to have a good English name. Perhaps we could call her Queen Henry."

Henrietta, of course, as the duke had anticipated, fell into a terrible rage upon hearing the suggestion. "Mon nom est Henrietta!" she screamed. "Henri? La Reine Henri? C'est impossible! Non! Non! Non! Je suis Henrietta!"

Charles found her passionate Gallic outburst distasteful. "We will speak when you are calmer, madame," he said coldly. Then his gaze swept the queen's chamber. "All these monsieurs," he said in reference to his wife's French attendants both male and female. "They really must go, madame. It is time you were served by your own people."

"These are my own people," the queen answered him sharply.

"These persons are French, madame. You are England's queen, and should be served by good Englishmen and -women," the king replied, his tone equally sharp.

"It was agreed," Henrietta said, struggling to remain calm, "that I should have the right to choose my own household, sir."

"It was not agreed that they should all be French," the king snapped. Buckingham has sought a place for his sister, the countess of Denbigh, within your household, and yet you have been adamant in your refusal, madame. I like it not."

"The comtesse is a Protestant, sir," the queen said. "You cannot expect me to be served by a Protestant."

"I am a Protestant, madame," the king replied. "It did not stop you from marrying me, nor will it stop you from having my heirs one day, and they will be Protestant." He glared at her.

"Marie, Your Majesty," said Madame St. George, who had been the queen's governess, and now sought to turn the argument back to the original, and less volatile ground. "If the queen's name, Henrietta, seems unsuitable for a queen of England, would not Marie, Mary, Queen Mary, be better? I know Your Majesty is not so petty that he would insist upon calling the queen by any other name but her own in private, but Queen Mary would be her official title, if it would please Your Majesty." She curtsied. "Mary is English, is it not? And it is my mistress's second Christian name."

"It seems a good compromise," the king said, pleased to have gotten his way, and not wishing any further outburst from his wife, who nodded mutely in agreement.

The duke of Buckingham was equally pleased, but for a different reason. The English had long memories, and they had not forgotten Bloody Mary Tudor, the last Roman Catholic English queen who had persecuted the Protestants. She had not been popular, and neither would this Queen Mary be. He chuckled to himself, well pleased.

When parliament opened, the queen was not present, for her confessor, Bishop de Mende, had somehow gotten the idea that a Church of England religious ceremony was central to the occasion. The king was furious. The parliament was offended, and granted the king only a seventh of the monies he needed. He adjourned the session, and moved his household to Hampton Court, for the plague was still rife in London.

Buckingham continued to undermine the queen, advising her that her clothing was far too lavish, and unsuitable for an Englishwoman. Her hairstyle was too foreign. Her temper too quick. He advised her that she should be more amenable to her husband, or Charles would send her back to France. Then he attempted once again to gain a place in her household for not just his sister, but his wife, and his niece as well. The queen was outraged, and this time did complain to her husband. In response, Charles went hunting to avoid the uproar, and while he was gone, the countess of Denbigh held a public religious service in the royal household. The queen and her people interrupted it, not once, but twice, trekking through the hall chattering and laughing, their dogs in their wake, as if nothing unusual were taking place. Buckingham dutifully reported this to the king, making certain Charles's anger was well roused.

The king was indeed outraged, but not at Lady Denbigh for deliberately baiting the queen. His anger was directed solely at his wife, whom he decided to punish by sending her entire retinue of French back to Paris. Now Buckingham realized he had gone too far. He did not wish to be responsible for endangering the alliance between England and France, which this marriage represented.

In Paris, King Louis and his mother had heard of the discord between the recently married couple. They were not at all pleased, and decided to send an envoy to investigate. Buckingham quickly persuaded the king to allow the queen's household to remain for the time being.

The plague having finally subsided, the coronation was set for February second. At Glenkirk, James Leslie grumbled loudly at having to make the trek from the eastern highlands of Scotland down to London at the midpoint of the winter. The snows were deep. The trip would be cold, and take forever. They would have to leave immediately after Twelfth Night.

"I dinna intend taking all of you bairns," he said to his assembled family.

"I am perfectly happy to remain home," Fortune Lindley said.

"Henry, Charlie, and Patrick shall go, because the first two are English, and the last my heir," the duke of Glenkirk said.

India held her breath, and threw a beseeching glance at her mother. Adrian Leigh had been permitted to correspond with her, and had kept her apprised of all the gossip, and the coronation plans.

"I think India should go, too," Jasmine finally said.

"Why?" James Leslie demanded.

"Because she is Rowan's firstborn, and an English noblewoman of an old and respected family, who certainly should see her king crowned," Jasmine said quietly. "Besides, this is an excellent opportunity for us to look over the young men from suitable families. Many will be at the coronation who do not as a rule come to court. It is a wonderful chance for her. Besides, it will please me to have my daughter with me, Jemmie."

"Verra well," he said grudgingly, "but I dinna want to see that fancy young viscount hanging about India." He looked directly at his stepdaughter. "He's nae for you, mistress. Do you understand me, India? I hae been patient allowing him to write to you once a month, but you will nae wed such a fellow. This time I would see other suitors at our door. Ye dinna hae your cousin, René, to hide behind any longer. Did you nae know I knew 'twas young Leigh who you were so anxious to be wi, and nae the chevalier?"

India bit back the quick retort on her lips, and hung her head in a contrite fashion. She would damn well do what she wanted to do, but she would wait to get to England before she made that announcement. "Yes, Papa," she said meekly, "and thank you for allowing me to go."

"And ye'll pick a husband, India," James Leslie told his stepdaughter. "Either down in England, or here in Scotland, lassie. You'll be eighteen this June, and you canna wait any longer."

"Mama was only eighteen when I was born," India noted.

"But she hae already hae two husbands," he said. "And, besides, it takes time to make a bairn and birth it."

"I want to love the man I marry," India told him.

"I'll nae force you to the altar, lassie." James Leslie said, "but you must be more tractable and practical in this matter."

"I will try, Papa," India promised him.

"What a little liar you are," Fortune mocked her sister afterward when they were alone in their chamber. "You want to marry Adrian Leigh, India. I know you do! And he would like to marry you, although I do not think he loves you. Just your wealth."

"Of course he loves me," India said angrily to her sister. "He has told me so in his letters, Fortune."

Fortune shook her head. "I do not understand you, India. You have always been so careful where fortune hunters are concerned, yet now you become clay in the hands of this viscount. What is the matter with you?"

"You don't understand," India began.

"I know I don't," Fortune agreed, "but I do want to, India. You are my sister and I love you. We are only two years apart, and while we are very different, it doesn't mean I don't care what happens to you, because I do. Adrian Leigh writes you in a manner I do not believe he should be writing you. He behaves as if you were formally betrothed."

"You haven't read my letters, have you?" India was outraged.

"Of course I've read them," Fortune said matter-of factly. "You don't hide them very well, India. If Mama didn't trust you, she probably would have read them, too, and then you should not be going to England for the coronation. This Adrian Leigh is very bold, sister."

"He kissed me," India said. "The first time René caught us, and scolded me roundly. After that we were more careful. Ohhh, Fortune, I cannot imagine my life without him! Papa simply has to change his mind about Adrian. I cannot bear to think of marrying anyone but him."

"But why?" Fortune was entirely perplexed. Certainly Adrian Leigh wasn't any more handsome than their brothers. His prose to India was just plain silly-her lips were two turtledoves-and his spelling was utterly atrocious. What in the name of all heaven was so special about him that India was behaving like a little ninny?

"I cannot explain," India said helplessly. "He is just too wonderful, Fortune, and I love him. You will understand one day."

Fortune shook her head. "You had best be careful, sister," she warned her sibling. "If you don't choose a husband, and you know it cannot be your swain, Papa will choose one for you. Parents still do, you know. It is their right. Mama and Papa have been very lenient with us."

"It must be Adrian," India replied stubbornly.

Fortune shook her head again. "We shall have no peace in this house, I am thinking, until you are safely married, India."

"To Adrian," came the reply, and Fortune laughed.

"I hope to never have a daughter like you," she said.

The duke and duchess of Glenkirk departed Scotland on the seventh of January, arriving at their house in London, Greenwood, on the thirtieth of the month. There was barely time for their clothing to be unpacked and pressed. Waiting for them upon their arrival was Viscount Twyford, filled with news. James Leslie was not pleased to see the young man, but listened politely.

The queen, it seemed, would not be at the coronation. Once again she had taken the counsel of her religious advisors, ignoring the pleas of both her mother and her brother, the king of France, who wanted her crowned with her husband. Henrietta, however, had been convinced by Bishop de Mende that the Protestant archbishop of Canterbury could not possibly place the crown of England upon her Roman Catholic head. Only he, a French Catholic bishop, could.

As that was completely unacceptable to the English, the queen would not be crowned at all; nor would she be in the abbey when her husband was. Of course the queen's behavior was outrageous. The duke of Buckingham was openly irate at what he claimed was an insult to England's church, and to Charles himself. The entire court was talking about it, Adrian Leigh told them, all the while throwing languishing glances at India, who kept sneaking peeks at him from beneath her dark lashes.

Adrian Leigh's mother had, to his annoyance, come up to London for the coronation. When she learned from her son that India would also be there, she began to advise him, and while he was no longer fond of her as he had been when he was a boy, he had to admit she was a wretchedly clever woman.

"Her stepfather will not even discuss the matter of marriage with me," Viscount Twyford told his mother. "I attempted to bring it up today when I went to Greenwood to welcome them back to London. I asked if we might speak privately, but he held up that big hand of his and said there was nothing I had to say to him that would possibly be of interest to him. How the hell can I ask for the girl's hand if he won't let me? India says he disapproves of our family because of the Lord Jeffers murder, and because of your poor reputation. Why the hell must you consort with men of such low station, madame? If you must take a lover, could it at least be one of noble blood? Could you not at least be discreet?"

"Blue blood runs cold," MariElena Leigh replied dryly. "Besides, Adrian, my lovers are not your concern."

MariElena Leigh was still a beautiful woman with smooth white skin, dark hair, and large, exciting dark eyes. Reaching out with very long, slender fingers, she plucked a sweetmeat from the plate before her and popped it into her mouth, the pointed tip of her pink tongue catching a drizzle of honey from the corner of her sensuous mouth.

"When the scandals you create endanger my marrying one of the wealthiest virgins in England, madame, they most certainly do concern me," he told her angrily.

"You cannot erase what has been, Adrian," she said. "If her family objects to you, you must take another tact, my dearest. I am surprised you have not considered it. Does the girl love you?"

"She believes she does," he said thoughtfully, "but I am the only man ever to kiss her, or try to court her. She is inexperienced, and has been very sheltered by her family. They have allowed her to refuse the eligible suitors who have come courting her. And why? She believes they were only after her wealth. I, on the other hand, have never mentioned her wealth. Although I am told by those who know that she is an heiress of considerable property."

"A fat dowry could help us to rebuild Oxton Court," his mother said slowly. "Do you love her? Could you be happy with this girl?"

"She is perhaps a trifle too independent for my taste, but her wealth makes it possible to overlook her behavior. Besides, once we are married, and I have control over India, I will see she changes her ways. The women in her family are very fecund, and several children should take a great deal of the spunk out of her." He laughed. "I will enjoy having her in my bed. Aye, madame, I could be content with Lady India Lindley and her wealth."

"Then you are going to have to reach out and take what you want, my son," his mother said. She licked the sweetness from her fingers.

"What do you mean?" he demanded. "Her stepfather will not even speak to me except when forced to do so, madame."

"Adrian, if you do not take this girl while you have the chance to take her, I can guarantee you that the duke of Glenkirk will see you do not get another chance at her. Convince her to elope with you. Even if you are caught before you can marry her, her reputation will be totally ruined. No one else will want her, and you will win by default," the countess of Oxton said to her son.

"I don't want to get caught," he replied. "I want to wed her, and bed her before her family can intervene. If we were stopped before I could accomplish those two things, the duke is quite capable of dragging India back to Scotland and marrying her off to some highlander who would know nothing of the scandal; and finding his bride a virgin, would be satisfied with the match. I must take her someplace that they are unlikely to look for us at first. But where?"

"Take her to Napoli, to my brother's house," his mother suggested. "Your uncle Giovanni will welcome you at Villa di Carlo. You can marry the girl, and bed her to your heart's content The Leslies of Glenkirk are unlikely to seek you there, for how could they know of it? When she has given you a son, then bring her home to England. Her family will be forced to welcome you then, Adrian."

For the first time in many years, Adrian Leigh embraced his beautiful mother. "You are so damnably clever, madame!" he said. "You have always looked after my best interests. It is perfect!"

She shook him off gracefully. "You must convince the girl, Adrian, and, believe me, it will not be easy." She sat back in her chair, and, reaching for her goblet sipped the wine he had earlier poured them.

"Why not? She loves me," he declared with the enthusiasm of his youth. Picking up his own goblet, he swallowed the cool red wine thirstily until the goblet was empty.

"She loves her family, too," the countess of Oxton replied wisely. "She will be torn between you both. You will have to make her choose you over them, my son, or you have not a chance, despite her feelings."

"But how, Mother?"

"We must make certain that the duke and his family continue in their coldness toward you despite your charm and good manners. The sweeter you appear, and the chillier their reception, particularly if it is in Lady India's presence, will only help but make the girl take your side. Do not at any time criticize her family, my dearest. Defend them, saying if you had a beautiful daughter, you would want to protect her, too, from what you believed was an unsuitable match. Remind her what a fine old family the Leighs are. Say things like 'We are not wealthy or powerful people like your family, but we are honorable and noble.' That, too, will make her take your part. You will appear to be a worthy and virtuous young man, held unfairly responsible for the wicked behavior of your elder brother, and your flighty mother, neither of whom you approve of, and would disown if it would not break your poor old father's heart."

Adrian Leigh laughed, genuinely amused by his mother's cunning. "You are absolutely diabolical," he said. "Again I say it is a perfect plan, Mother, and I thank you." He leaned from his own chair and kissed her cheek.

"If she proves too reluctant, Adrian, you must make love to her in order to convince her. I do not mean you should deflower the girl, but I assume, from what you have told me, that you have only traded kisses with her so far. Caress her breasts. First through the fabric of her gown, and then, if you can, slip your hand into her bodice and gently fondle her. Be certain not to frighten her, however, else you lose your advantage with her."

"I should like that," he said softly. "She has the most tempting little breasts I have ever seen."

The countess of Oxton smiled at her son knowingly. He was a great deal more like her than he was willing to admit. His wife would not be unhappy with him as she had been with her son's father, the cold bastard.

The king was crowned in Westminster Abbey on Candlemas Day, February 2, 1626. The queen watched the procession from a window in the gatehouse of Whitehall Palace. The king wore a white satin suit, but, overall, the coronation was an austere event as the royal treasury was almost bare. Only the generosity of several wealthy families, prevailed upon by the duke of Buckingham, made it possible for there to be a celebratory feast afterward. The duke and duchess of Glenkirk had kept a sharp eye on India, whose behavior was demure in the great abbey. Afterward, when they entered the banquet hall at Whitehall, however, India managed to give her parents the slip, and find her way to Adrian Leigh, who greeted her warmly.

Helpless to stop her without causing a scene, James Leslie nonetheless saw where she went. Back at Greenwood House that evening, he paced the family hall angrily. "She hae deliberately disobeyed us, Jasmine, and I for one hae had enough of her willfulness. We will leave for Scotland at the beginning of the week."

"What good will that do?" his wife asked. "India will correspond with young Leigh, and we will be returning to England come summer."

"There will be nae more letters! By summer India will be either betrothed or, better yet, married," James Leslie replied firmly. "Since India will nae choose a suitable match for herself, we will choose one for her."

"Ohh, Jemmie!" his wife murmured. "I don't like to do that to India. I want her to love the man she marries."

"Your father chose Prince Jamal, your first husband, for you. You dinna know him until you married him, and yet you were happy," the duke reminded his wife. "Your grandparents chose Rowan Lindley, India's father, as your second husband, and you grew to love him, didn't you? So much so that you almost died when he was killed. King James chose me as your third husband, and we have nae been unhappy, hae we? I know you love me, darling Jasmine, and I certainly love you. India is behaving in a childish manner. She hae deliberately fixated herself upon an unsuitable man, and refuses to look elsewhere, because she thinks if she continues in her stubbornness she will, as she hae many times before, get her own way. But this time it is nae about a gown or a puppy. This is India's life, and I will nae hae her miserable for the rest of it because she chose the wrong man. I owe that to her father."

"Have you any ideas for an appropriate match?" Jasmine asked.

"Well, I would hae you ask your aunt Willow about eligible young Englishmen, and I know both Angus Drummond and Ian MacCrae hae unmarried sons. They would be more than favorable to a match wi our daughter. Both the Drummonds and the MacCraes are solid families. Nae great titles, but educated, and nae fanatical where religion is concerned. Still, your aunt may know of some suitable young noblemen, and India, being English by birth, might prefer to live in England near her two brothers, Henry and Charlie, and your family."

"I suppose it is the only way," Jasmine said reluctantly. Her husband might be taking a firm approach, but he certainly wasn't being unreasonable, she thought. India, of course, would rage and howl, but they had no other choice. Her mother-in-law had been right when she had suggested that India was ripe for bedding. Before the girl caused a scandal with the wrong man, they were going to have to marry her off to someone more eligible.

"By summer we'll hae a wedding," the duke decided firmly. "Then you and I will hae to consider what to do about Fortune, for she will be sixteen in July, and should also be wed."

"I had thought to take her to Ireland," Jasmine said. "I had always intended giving her MacGuire's Ford and its lands. I think she should therefore have an Irish, or Anglo-Irish husband, Jemmie."

"Excellent!" he agreed. "We will take Fortune to Ireland this summer. Henry will go to Cadby, Charlie to Queen's Malvern. Patrick will remain at Glenkirk in my stead, and the other two lads may either go down to England, or remain at Glenkirk. Then it is settled, my love?"

Jasmine nodded. "It is all for the best," she agreed. "It is past time we established the girls, but I hate to lose them. The time has gone so quickly. Just yesterday they were little lasses, running barefoot through the vineyards at Belle Fleurs. Do you remember the first summer we brought them to Glenkirk and they swam naked in the loch? I remember how they splashed and giggled, refusing to come out of the water even when their lips were blue with the icy, icy cold." Her eyes grew moist. "Where did my little girls go, Jemmie? Where did they go?"

He put a comforting arm about her. He had no answer to such a question.

In a dark corner of the family hall India had listened to her parents so cruelly deciding her fate. Now she sidled carefully from her hiding place and slipped into the hallway of the house, bumping into her sister, Fortune, as she exited.

"You've been eavesdropping!" Fortune accused her.

"Be quiet!" India hissed. "Mama and Papa will hear you. I didn't mean to eavesdrop. I was in the hall when they came in, and they didn't see me, so I hid in a dark place, and listened. You won't believe what I heard! Some of it concerns you. Come on!" She half dragged her younger sibling up the stairs to the bedchamber they shared. Closing the door behind her, she announced dramatically, "We are to be married!"

"What!" Fortune squeaked. "Have they relented about your viscount? And what do you mean by we?" She plunked herself down upon the bed. "Speak up, India!"

"They won't let me marry Adrian, and they intend to pick a husband for me. Either some son of one of Papa's uncouth friends, or someone our old dragon of a Great-aunt Willow thinks is suitable. Papa says I'm to be married by summer. Then Henry is to go to his seat at Cadby, and Charlie to Queen's Malvern."

"What about me?" Fortune pressed. "You said we were to be married. I don't know anyone I want to marry."

"They're taking you to Ireland this summer. Mama says she's giving you MacGuire's Ford and its lands. I suppose you're getting it because you were born there. She hasn't been back to Ireland since our father was murdered before you were born. They are going to look for an Irish, or Anglo-Irish, husband for you. You will be married probably before summer's end. Well, little sister, what do you think of that?"

Fortune was strangely silent for a long moment and then she said, "There are three thousand acres belonging to MacGuire's Ford. It's a goodly estate to have. I wonder if the horses will be included as part of my dowry. I'll get a fine husband with all of that."

India was astounded by her sister's reaction. She had fully expected Fortune to rebel even as she was rebelling. "Don't you care that you are going to be married to some stranger?" she demanded.

Fortune turned her turquoise eyes on her sister. "A woman, particularly women of our class and wealth, must be married, India. I have absolutely no experience with men, and so I think I shall rely upon our parents to pick my husband. They will not force either one of us into a bad match. I imagine I'll be given a choice, and can choose the man I prefer myself. If you were not so pigheaded you would not be in the difficulty that you are in now. Mama and Papa made no secret that Adrian Leigh was not for you. They said it plainly, but you will have your way, or die trying, won't you, sister? Well, this time you will not get your way, and I think you had best accept that. It's past time we were both married."

"I will marry the man I love!" India snapped.

"Don't be such a fool, India!" Fortune snapped back.

"You will not tell Mama and Papa that I overheard them?" came India's reply.

"Of course not," Fortune said. "It's months away." Then she grew thoughtful. "I wonder what he will be like. I shall enjoy having my own home, although I shall miss the family. We will all be scattered now, won't we?" Fortune was a practical girl, if a bit wild.

India was no longer listening to her sister, however. She somehow had to find Adrian, and tell him of these latest developments that threatened to part them. He would know what to do. Leaving Fortune, she hurried back downstairs to the writing room, penning a message to Viscount Twyford, and then, sealing it with wax, she pressed her signet ring hard into the soft substance. Slipping from the room, she let herself out into the garden and ran down the lawns to the riverside.

"Oi!" she called to a passing werryman, who, seeing her wave and hearing her call, rowed over to the Greenwood quai.

"Aye, lady? Where does ye want to go?"

India handed him the packet, along with a coin. "Take this to Whitehall. Give it to the royal boatmaster and tell him it is to be delivered immediately to Viscount Twyford, the earl of Oxton's heir. You're to wait for him. Do you understand? You are to bring Viscount Twyford back here."

The werryman felt the weight of the coin in his hand. He didn't have to look at it to know it was double, probably triple, in legal fare. "Yes, m'lady," he said, pulling at his forelock respectfully. Then, pushing cockle away from the quai, he rowed away. It never occurred to him to keep her coin, and throw the missive in the rapids beneath London Bridge, for he was an honest man. Besides, the gentry had a way of repaying dishonesty.

India watched him go, relieved. It was going to be all right. She and Adrian would figure out what to do together. Picking up her skirts, she hurried back up to the house, realizing as she ran that she was cold. In her haste she had forgotten her cape, but it didn't matter. Nothing mattered but her future with Adrian Leigh.

Chapter 4

Greenwood House was silent at the midnight hour when India heard the rattle of pebbles at her window. Slipping from the bed she shared with Fortune, she hurried across the chilly floor, and, swinging the casement open, peered out. Seeing Adrian Leigh standing in the moonlight, she called softly to him, "I will come down." Then, pulling the window shut, she caught up her cape and headed toward the bedroom door. Fortune murmured softly and turned in the bed, stopping her sister for a moment to make certain that her sibling was not awakening. Satisfied she slept, India eased herself through the door, and, pulling her cloak about her, ran quickly down the staircase, through the hallway, and into the library. Pushing open one of the large windows, she summoned her swain to her.

"Adrian! Here!" She beckoned to the shadowy figure.

The viscount climbed through the open window, drawing it shut behind him. Then, pulling India into his arms, he kissed her.

Startled, and breathless, she gently extracted herself from his embrace, laughing nervously. "Adrian! For shame! I have not asked you here for the purpose of dalliance." She was flushed, and her heart was beating rather more quickly than before. He was so bold, she thought.

"No, sweeting? I am disappointed," he teased her. "Then, pray, m'lady, why have you summoned me?" He took up her hand and kissed the fingers on it.

"Ohh, Adrian, I do not know what to do," she cried softly, and did not protest when he pulled her back into his arms and began to stroke her dark hair.

"What is it poppet?" he encouraged her. "Tell me, and I will endeavor to make it better." He kissed the top of her head. She was so trusting and sweet and rich. He knew she was his for the taking.

"We will be returning home next week. Papa says since I will not choose a suitable man to marry, then he and Mama must pick a match for me. But I don't want to marry some stranger! Oh, what are we to do, Adrian? They are going to separate us forever," India sobbed softly. "If they take me home to Glenkirk, I will never see you again! Oh, I know it is bold of me to say it, but I couldn't bear it if we were parted from one another! I will die. I know I will."

"I cannot let you do that," he said as softly, thinking that his soon-to-be father-in-law had just provided him with the very opportunity he required to steal Lady India Lindley away from her overly protective family. When his mother had suggested it, he hadn't thought it would be this easy.

"But Adrian!" She gazed up into his face, and he thought she was really quite beautiful. "What can we do?"

"Your father has left us with no choice, my darling," he told her in a calm and most sensible voice. "We must run away and get married before they can take you back to Scotland, India."

Now she looked up at him, and found herself very torn. He was so handsome with his long, straight nose, and his silky blond hair. His sapphire-blue eyes seemed to look at her with such love and devotion. "Ohhh, Adrian! I do not know. It seems so impetuous a thing to do."

"Ah, India! Do you not love me?" he asked her in a hurt tone.

"Oh, yes, Adrian! I do love you!" Then she blushed furiously, for she had never said such a thing to him before.

"And I love you, my darling," he quickly reassured her, knowing such a declaration from her lips required a similar devotion on his part.

"But I love my family, too," she said, worrying her lower lip with her top teeth in her concern.

"You do not have to stop loving them, my darling, just because you love me," he told her, "but is it really just of them to keep us apart when we love each other? I know that my mother and my half-brother have brought shame upon the Leighs of Oxton Court, but I am my father's son first and foremost, India. We are an old and noble family. Is it fair of your father to hold me responsible for Deverall and Mama's bad behavior? I think the duke of Glenkirk a better man than that, my love. Still, he is a father protecting a beloved daughter, and I do understand how he feels even if I think him wrong. If we are married, then you and I settle the entire matter by controlling our own destiny. I know our actions will anger your parents at first, but when they see how happy we are, they will forgive us. I know it."

"But where could we go, Adrian, that they would not follow?" India asked, snuggling against him. She felt so safe now.

"We must leave the country," he ventured, waiting to see what India's reaction would be to that.

"Leave the country?" She was more than startled by his suggestion.

"There is no other option, India. Where can we hide in England, my love? Your family is large, and scattered all about the whole country. And we certainly cannot go north, can we?" He chuckled, and kissed her on the tip of her nose.

"We cannot go to France, either," she informed him, joining in with his train of thought. "We have family there."

"We could go to Naples," he suggested.

"Naples? Why Naples, Adrian?" His hand was caressing her back now, and it was really quite pleasant.

"My uncle, the Conde di Carlo, lives in Naples," he said. "We could go to him, and be married there. Then we could remain with my uncle until we had our first child. If we returned home with our son, your father could not annul our union, sweeting."

"My father's mother lives in Naples," India said. "Lady Stewart-Hepburn. Papa's sister is the marchesa di San Ridolfi. What if we ran into them, Adrian? Then Papa would know where we were!"

"We will be wed privately, my love, and remain safely within the walls of my uncle's estate. Have you ever met these ladies, India?"

"My stepgrandmama, last summer in France, but not the marchesa," she answered him. A wave of doubt washed over her. It seemed so rash an action to take, running away and marrying.

"Perhaps you do not love me enough, India, to dare such a bold course," he subtly taunted her, seeing the indecision on her face.

"Ohh, but I do!" she cried.

"No, I think not," he replied sorrowfully, goading her further.

"But I do, Adrian! I swear I do!" India insisted.

"Then say you will pledge yourself body and soul to me as my wife, sweetheart," he said, his voice holding just a hint of pleading. "Say you will marry me and be my wife and bear my children! Say it!" But before she might speak, he was kissing her passionately, his lips hot and hungry upon hers; the hand that had been caressing her back was now sliding beneath her cloak, moving to caress her bosom lightly.

India's head was spinning with delight. Her lips parted slightly beneath his, and she drew her perfumed breath into her own mouth. When his hand slipped into her nightgown bodice to cup a single breast, she gasped with surprise. No one had ever touched her breasts before! The warmth of his palm was intoxicating, and when his thumb and his forefinger gently pinched her thrusting nipple, she almost swooned, falling back against his arm with a soft moan of distinct pleasure. If this was love, it was wonderful!

Lifting his head from her, he begged, "Say you will marry me, my darling. Can you not sense how I long for you? How much I love you, my precious India? Say it! Say it, or I will fling myself into the river this very night, for I cannot live without you!"

"Yes. Oh, yes," she breathed.

Immediately he removed his hand, dipping his head to kiss the swell of her bosom over her gown. "Your virtue is a precious jewel to me, my love," he told her solemnly. "I must cease our loveplay lest I lose control of my passions and shame us both. We have a lifetime before us in which we may pleasure each other, but not until we have married."

"Oh, Adrian, I do love you!" she told him, wishing he were not quite so noble at this moment in time. She had liked his caress, and his kisses. Her entire body seemed more alive now than it had ever been, but the wet stickiness between her legs in that secret place was confusing. She didn't know what it was, and she certainly couldn't ask Mama now.

"Do you know exactly what day your family plans to depart for Scotland?" he asked her in practical tones. "I must find a ship sailing for Naples. I suspect we do not have much time."

"In three or four days' time at the most," India replied. "He has not given the order for our possessions to be packed up yet."

"I will go to the docks in the morning and find us a vessel," he told her. "There will be someone sailing for the Mediterranean soon."

"Go to the O'Malley-Small Trading Company docks," India advised. "I will not sail on any other ship but one of theirs. If we trust ourselves to strangers, we could end up murdered for our possessions and thrown overboard, Adrian. Sea travel can be dangerous, but the O'Malley-Small ships belong to my family, and we will be safe."

"But will these people not recognize you, India?"

"Not if I board the ship in disguise, Adrian," she told him, feeling quite clever. "You shall be a son of the conde di Carlo, and I your elderly great-aunt, Lady Monypenny, newly widowed and childless, returning home to Naples, my girlhood home, after many years, in order to die. You have been sent by your father, my nephew, to escort me. This will allow us to purchase two cabins without arousing suspicion. I shall keep to my cabin during the voyage so my disguise may not be penetrated by anyone else on board. Am I not cunning, my sweet lord?" She grinned mischievously at him.

"Indeed," he agreed, a bit surprised by her resourcefulness. Perhaps India's mind was a little too skillful at deception, he considered, but then he remembered how rich she was, and how beautiful, and how well she had responded to his roving hands. She was tamable. All women were tamable under the right circumstances, and he would not be a harsh master.

"You must go now," she told him. "Come tomorrow night, and use the same signal to call me. Our plans must be finalized by then."

Giving India a quick kiss, the viscount opened the casement window and stepped through it into the night. "Until tomorrow, my love," he told her, and then he was gone into the darkness.

India sighed as she latched the window shut. He was so wonderful, her Adrian, and soon they would be man and wife. How sensitive he was! Not only did he sympathize with Papa, who was being totally unreasonable and difficult, but his carefulness and concern for her person and her innocence showed her that he was a man of excellent character. Her parents were wrong about Adrian. He was the perfect man for her. Leaving the library, she crept back up the staircase to her bedchamber, and slipped easily into bed next to her sister, who was now snoring. She thought she would be too excited to sleep remembering the events of the last hour, but India was soon slumbering as heavily as Fortune.

In the morning she feigned a headache, and kept to her bed until half the morning had gone by, sipping smoky black tea that her mother had brought her to ease the alleged throbbing in her temples.

"We thought we might spend the afternoon at court," Jasmine told her daughter. "Do you feel well enough to come?"

India sighed deeply. "I think not, Mama," she said. "The pain is easing, but a trip upon the cold and damp river will but bring it back. We are not leaving London tomorrow, are we? I will get another chance to bid their majesties farewell, won't I?"

"Your father has decided we will depart on Tuesday," the duchess told her daughter. "It is only Saturday. You will have the opportunity to say good-bye to the king and queen, India."

"Then I think I shall remain within the house today," India replied. "I should be fine by the morrow."

"Would you mind if we went to Whitehall?" Jasmine asked. "Henry and Charlie have already made some important contacts, and perhaps I shall find a lovely gentleman for you, my daughter."

India smiled wanly. "There is no one for me but Adrian, Mama."

"Oh, my darling girl," Jasmine said, "you must put him from your mind. He is entirely unsuitable, and your father will not hear of it. Jemmie has tried so hard to raise you as Rowan Lindley would have, India, and I know Rowan would agree with Jemmie about your viscount. Put it aside, my daughter, for you will not be happy until you do."

India sighed. "I will try, Mama," she murmured.

"That is all I ask of you for now," Jasmine replied.

When the Leslies had departed for Whitehall, taking Fortune with them as well, India arose and began to pack her own little trunks. Neither she nor Fortune had been allowed to bring servants on this trip. The house was quiet, and practically servantless, for the duke had not bothered to hire extra help on this visit, and only the small permanent staff that lived at Greenwood was in residence. There were five of them. The majordomo, the housekeeper, the laundress, the cook, and the stableman. India now took an armful of laundry to the laundress.

"We are leaving on Tuesday," she said. "I want to travel with clean undergarments, Dolly. Would you mind doing these today? I'm sure Mama and Fortune will want their things done, too, and this way we will not overburden you by piling everything on you at once."

"Of course, m'lady, and most kind of you," the laundress answered.

India hurried to the library, and, opening the false panel where her parents hid their valuables when they were in London, she put her hand into the dark cavity. The chamois bag of coins her father always took when they traveled was quite plump. The duke obviously had already been to the goldsmith's bank in preparation for their return trip. India smiled to herself, and withdrew her hand, closing the panel. She fully intended taking that bag with her when she left with Adrian. It would be a down payment on her dowry. She would wager after he paid their fare he would have little left and be glad for her foresight. Her father's gold would keep them quite comfortably for the next year. She returned to her own bedchamber.

Her family had not returned by the midnight hour when Adrian Leigh once again tossed pebbles at her window. India flung open the casement and, looking down, said, "You must be careful. My family have not yet returned from Whitehall, and will be coming by the river. What news, my darling lord? I dare not come down. I can see the river better from here, and you must be gone before they return."

"You were right, my clever poppet," he told her. "The Royal Charles, the O'Malley-Small Trading Company's newest cargo and passenger vessel, departs for the Mediterranean on the morning tide Monday, and it will stop at Naples. I have booked us two cabins as you instructed, and we must be aboard by five o'clock in the morning at the latest."

"Who is its captain?" she asked.

"Thomas Southwood," he replied.

"My cousin," she said thoughtfully. "But as he has not seen me in many years, I expect we will be safe. Especially as I shall be disguised as old Lady Monypenny. Come for me at four o'clock in the morning. I shall bring two small trunks and my jewelry, so do not come in a small werry. You have done admirably, my darling." India blew him a kiss. "Go now before we are caught. I love you, Adrian!" She drew the window shut, her heart soaring. Just a few more days and they would make good their escape! She climbed into bed, and was already sleeping by the time her family returned home.

The next day was Sunday, and they attended religious services at Whitehall Palace. The king preferred the more Catholic Anglican service despite the grumblings from the many Puritans in his court.

"Go and have your own services then," he ordered the more outspoken of them. "Do none of you remember that I am pledged to be as tolerant as I may? You do not like England's church, and you do not like the queen's faith. Go then, and hold your own candleless plain services with no outward show of faith but your droning voices."

Coming from the king's chapel, they saw Adrian Leigh exiting the queen's chapel.

"And there is another reason you cannot wed with that fellow," James Leslie said, his hand reaching out to prevent India from joining her chosen swain. "He is a practicing member of Rome's church, and that is a dangerous thing to be here right now in England as we all know."

"The Leslies of Glenkirk were once Roman Catholics, and so was Mama," India replied pertly. "Did not old Queen Elizabeth once say there is but one Lord Jesus Christ. The rest is all trifles?"

"Everyone was once a member of the Roman church," the duke said patiently, "but times have changed now. While I do not believe God gives a damn how we worship him, as long as we do, and are respectful, we must be prudent, India. This family, and your mother's family have survived by being careful. We do not involve ourselves in politics, or religious bickering. We keep our own counsel and pay the taxes levied on us without complaint. Nonetheless, it would be unwise, even if Viscount Twyford were a suitable match for you, which he is not, for you to wed a practicing member of the Roman church at this time. It is foolish to draw attention to yourself, for if you do, you will find that many people are easily envious of a wealthy and beautiful young girl such as yourself. Such people will strive to harm you."

India pulled angrily away from her father. "This is my last day at court," she said. "Let me do what I want, and associate with whom I choose, Papa. I am seventeen, and I am not some wee lass who needs to be told what to do. If you will take me from the man I love and force me to wed someone of your choice, at least Adrian and I have had this one last day together!" Then with an angry swish of her garnet-colored velvet skirts, she was gone.

"Let her go," Jasmine advised her husband. "She is a sensible girl, and will make peace with the situation if you do not irritate her any further, Jemmie. She must sort out her feelings by herself."

"Why is it I want to turn her over my knee and whack her bottom with my slipper?" the duke asked his wife.

Jasmine laughed softly. "Because she has gone and grown up on you, Jemmie," she teased him. "No father likes to see it happen to his daughter. Not only that, she prefers another man over you these days. What a betrayal to your heart!" She pulled him down, and kissed his cheek. "But I will always love you, my lord duke, and I will not leave you for anyone but death, and then reluctantly."

He chuckled. "Oh, my darling Jasmine," he told her, "it is good that you are wiser than I. Come, and let us enjoy the day. We will bid our friends and family farewell, and be gone from this place. There is too much strife here, I regret, with Buckingham deciding the queen is his enemy and the French king sending a diplomat to sort out what the hell is going on that our king, and his pretty little queen, cannot get along. And the Puritans are gaining more influence and power every day. They will be trouble, mark my words. There is nothing worse than someone who truly believes his way is the only way and everyone must conform, or be punished, or perish. I shall be glad to be back in my highlands at Glenkirk. I do not think I will come to London again. By the way, have you spoken to your aunt Willow yet about some young men for India. I want her married as soon as possible. Let her be her husband's problem. We have one more daughter and five lads to settle before our job is done," he concluded with a chortle.

"Do you honestly believe that marrying them off absolves us of our parental responsibilities?" Jasmine asked. "I do not care how old they get, they will always be our children, and we will always care what happens to them, Jemmie Leslie!"

"But they'll be out of the house," he reminded her cheerfully.

They spent their day making their farewells, and James Leslie was pleased to see India awaiting them at the riverside quai without Viscount Twyford in tow when they were ready to depart. It was just dusk when they reached Greenwood House. Once inside, India asked her brothers to bring down her trunks and place them in the front hall.

"But, dearest," her mother said, "we are not going until Tuesday morning. There is no hurry."

"Papa is always saying that I am tardy, and that I keep everyone waiting and make them late being behind with my packing. I decided this time to be ready before all of you. I even had the laundress do my laundry yesterday so she would not be overburdened. I want to see my trunks here in the hall, Mama." Then she giggled charmingly. "It may be the only time in my life I am ahead of Papa's schedule."

"Well, go and get your sister's trunks," James Leslie commanded his sons. "If she is ready now, she deserves the credit for it, and we shall all look admiringly upon her trunks here tomorrow as we pack our own clothing for our departure."

India smiled sweetly at her father as her brothers brought down her luggage. "I was very rude to you today, Papa. I apologize for my discourteousness, but I do not ask your pardon for loving Adrian, even if you won't let us marry. I think you are being very unfair. You will not even give him a chance, but hold him responsible for the bad behavior of his mother and half-brother. It is wrong, Papa, and I am ashamed that you would do such a thing. You have always been a fair-minded man until now." She curtsied.

The duke gritted his teeth and held his temper. "You know that I love you, India. You must accept that I know what is best for you. I only want you happy, and damn it, I will see that you are in spite of yourself!" He caught himself. "First love is always the most poignant, but it is not necessarily the most lasting. I want a lasting love for you. You have always trusted me, India. Why will you not trust me in this matter? You are my daughter, and I don't want you hurt."

"If you do not let me marry Adrian, I will be unhappy the rest of my life," India announced dramatically.

"Since you two cannot agree on this point," Jasmine said, interjecting herself between her eldest child and her husband, "I think it best we do not discuss it again tonight. India, you have done a fine job of getting ready, and since you are, you will help your sister and me to pack our own possessions tomorrow. Now, go to your room, my child, and rest. You know how difficult it is to rest along the road, and we have a very, very long journey ahead of us," Jasmine concluded.

Kissing her parents, India moved serenely up the staircase and entered her bedchamber. She had given her father one last chance, and she had hoped against hope that he would change his mind and then they wouldn't have to run away. She sighed. Adrian had been right all along. Her father was not giving them any other choice. Well, this time tomorrow they would be well at sea and on their way to Italy, and all her parents would know from the note she was leaving them was that she and Adrian had gone off to marry and they would not come back until they had.

"Why do you bait Papa that way?" Fortune demanded, entering the room. "He is not being unreasonable. Your viscount really isn't right for you, India, but you are always so insistent upon having your own way."

"Papa has never said he disapproved of Adrian, only his family," India retorted.

"A man is his family," Fortune replied. "You packed early so you could sneak off tomorrow, and spend time with your swain, didn't you? Mama saw right through you, and now you'll have to help us," she teased her elder sister. "I am very fussy about how my things are packed. It will take you all day between us, I fear."

"If you are not careful," India threatened her sister, "I'll take all your clothing and throw it out the window!"

"Ha! Ha!" Fortune taunted, and, picking up a pillow, whacked India with it.

Within moments, the two were engaged in a pillow fight that ended with them both collapsing into gales of laughter upon the bed.

"I shall miss you, little sister," India said.

"Miss me?" Fortune looked puzzled.

"When Father marries me off to his dark stranger in a few months' time," India quickly said. "God's boots! Do you realize our childhood is just about at an end? By this time next year we could be both great with child!" She stuffed one of the pillows beneath her skirts and paraded about the room. "Ohhh, I hope it's a son for my dear lord."

Fortune giggled. "Why do men always want sons?" she wondered aloud.

"Well, our real father didn't get one first," India said. "He got me before he got Henry, and then he got you after he died."

"Do you remember our real father at all?" Fortune ask wistfully.

India sighed deeply. "I have one tiny memory of this great, big, golden laughing man lifting me up in front of him on his horse and riding me about, but that is all. It really isn't much, is it?"

"It's more than Henry and I have," Fortune answered her. "Our real father wasn't even alive when I was born, but I do remember Prince Henry a little bit. He was handsome, and could never take his eyes off Mama. Just imagine if he had been allowed to marry Mama. Then our Charlie would be king now instead of his uncle Charles."

"Mama was considered unsuitable," India said. She had been older than Fortune, and remembered more.

"Just like Adrian is unsuitable for you," Fortune responded.

"I am going to bed," India announced, ending the discussion.

The two sisters washed themselves, put on their nightgowns, and climbed into bed. Across the room the fire burned brightly, warming the bedchamber. India blew out the candle and settled down. If she did not wake up in time, Adrian had promised to throw pebbles at the windowpane again. As her trunks were in the hall by the front door, it would only take her a little while to dress and go down to join him. She wasn't certain she would sleep, but she did, Fortune snuggled close next to her, making her familiar little sleep noises.

India awoke suddenly in the darkness. The clock in the hallway struck three times. She lay quietly for several minutes and then arose carefully, wincing as her feet touched the icy floor boards. Padding across the chamber, India added some coal to the fire, and it soon after sprang to life again. The clock chimed the quarter hour. She dressed slowly in a black velvet gown, a starched white ruff about her neck. On her feet she wore dark walking boots. In the attics she had found a mourning veil she would wear with her dark gloves and long dark cape. While she dressed, the clock in the hall chimed the half hour, and now was chiming three-quarters of the hour. India stuffed her jewelry pouch in her beaver muff and slipped quietly from the room.

She tiptoed down the staircase, moved as silently as she could through the hallway and entered the library. Going to the panel, behind which her father hid the valuables, she opened it and thrust her hand inside. Immediately her fingers made contact with the chamois bag. Pulling it out, she opened it, making certain that it was filled with gold coins. Satisfied, she pushed it into her muff with her jewelry and closed the panel. Now she hurried out into the main hallway of the house again, and, going to the front door, she slowly, and not without some difficulty, drew the bolts securing the entrance aside. She did not have to wait long.

There came a gentle scratching at the door, and India opened it immediately, allowing Viscount Twyford into the house with another man. He immediately picked up one of India's trunks and headed back down to the river.

"Take the other trunk," India instructed Adrian. "I want to rebolt the door so no one notices the door unlocked in the morning and raises an alarm too soon. I'll go out the library window, my love, and join you in but a moment."

The viscount took up the second trunk and India shut the door behind him, sliding the bolts back into place. She then retraced her steps to the library and exited through one of the casement windows, pushing it shut behind her. It was unlikely anyone would notice the window was unlatched if it gave the appearance of being closed tightly. Then, without a backward glance, she hurried down the lawns to the quai where her transport awaited her. As he helped her into the boat, she had only a momentary pang, but then her heart soared. They were free!

"Lift your veil, madame, so I may be certain it's you, and not your papa hiding beneath the gauze," he teased her.

India raised the silk fabric. " 'Tis I, my love," she said.

The werry moved quickly down the river into the Pool, and was rowed directly to a dock at the O'Malley-Small Trading Company. Adrian Leigh climbed from the small vessel and helped India onto the dock. Leading her to a sturdy gangway before a great sailing ship, he helped her to board. India moved slowly and heavily in her guise as an elderly widow. Beneath her veiling she might have been anyone.

"Ahh, Signore di Carlo," a cultured voice spoke, "you are right on time, sir. And this will be your aunt? My condolences, madame, on your great loss."

"Monypenny was old. He lived a good life," came a gravelly voice from beneath the veils. "You are one of Lynmouth's lads, aren't you?"

"Aye, madame, I am his fourth son," Captain Thomas Southwood replied. "Geoff is the heir. John is a churchman, and Charles is married to an heiress. I, however, prefer the sea as a wife. She's less troublesome, and asks little of a man."

"Heh! Heh!" came the snicker from beneath the veils. "Then you are like your grandmother, who, I am told, was a pirate."

"A base canard, madame." Captain Southwood was smiling. "Now, my steward will show you to your cabin." He bowed.

"What was all that chatter?" Adrian Leigh asked nervously when they were alone again. "You will give us away before we have even escaped."

"I am supposed to be a garrulous old lady, and as such it is highly possible that I would know his family. It has put him off guard, Adrian. He doesn't imagine for one moment that I'm not the old lady I am supposed to be."

The Royal Charles moved out into the Pool precisely on schedule, and made its way majestically down the Thames with the outgoing tide toward the sea. India remained in her cabin once she entered it. She stood by the small porthole that looked out on the deck, and beyond it, the river. They passed by Greenwich, and the shipyards at Tilbury. The mid-February day was gray, although not stormy. India had thought when they had left Greenwood that she detected the faintest hint of spring in the air. How long would it be before she enjoyed another English spring and summer again? She felt the deep roll of their vessel as the Thames entered the Channel, realizing with singular clarity of mind that her course was set. She could not go back, and for the first time in her life India Lindley wondered if she had really done the right thing. Shivering, she drew her fur-lined cloak about her tightly.

^{Chapter 5}

The Royal Charles was a serious cargo vessel. It had left England with a load of wool and Cornish tinware in its deep holes. The ship made its way down the English Channel past Land's End, and plotted a course across the Bay of Biscay. At Bordeaux it took on a consignment of red wine. It then sailed around Cape Finsterre, putting in at Lisbon, where it took on a cargo of hides. Hugging the coast for a time, it moved around Cape St. Vincent and into the Gulf of Cadiz, stopping at the city of Cadiz to take on baskets of oranges and lemons. They sailed through the Straits of Gibraltar, docking at Malaga to onload barrels of sherry. It was here that the other passengers, two Spanish wine merchants, debarked. They would next put into Marseilles to offload the wine and take on salted fish, and then sail on to Naples, Adrian informed India, having obtained his information from the captain.

India had not come out of her cabin since they had left London, except for short walks on the deck at night, well muffled in her veils. She was in deepest mourning, Adrian had explained to Captain Southwood, and preferred her solitude. She found the sea soothing.

Tom Southwood laughed. "We are fortunate to have had fine weather so far, Signore di Carlo, or Lady Monypenny would find the sea not quite so salubrious. I am sorry, however, that she will not take her meals with us. I found her a rather amusing old lady, outspoken and much like my late grandmother, Lady de Marisco."

"Alas," Adrian replied, "while my aunt's spirit is soothed by the sea, her stomach is a bit more delicate, I fear."

The weather had grown quite warm. They were in the narrowest part of the Mediterranean, Adrian told India. She was skittish, and would not allow him much time in her cabin or her company these days. He worried that she was regretting her actions, but India said nothing to that effect and so he believed her just nervous of travel. They would return overland when the day came, he decided, but for a quick cruise across the Channel.

They were several days out of Marseilles when the passenger steward sought out Tom Southwood. "Captain, may I speak with ye a moment?" The steward stood in the door of the main cabin.

"Come in, Knox. What is the problem?"

"Well, Captain, 'tis the lady… the one who is getting off in Naples. Ain't she supposed to be an old lady, sir?"

"Aye." Now, what was this all about? Tom Southwood thought.

"Well, Captain, she ain't an old lady. She's a young lady." Knox looked very uncomfortable. "I was going by her cabin this afternoon, and I seen her sitting on her bunk, brushing her hair. I stopped because I was so surprised that an old lady would have such fine tresses. Then she turned her head slightly… she didn't see me, sir… and it weren't an old lady's face. It was a beautiful young girl, Captain!"

"Damnation!" Tom Southwood swore, irritated. What the hell was going on? And he would certainly have to find out before they put into another port. A young lady. A Signore di Carlo who spoke accentless English. He had said he was schooled in England. An elopement! It was the only, and the logical, answer. Signore di Carlo was running off with someone's daughter. But whose? And what was Captain Tom Southwood to do about it? "Come with me," he said to Knox, and, leaving his cabin, made for the passenger deck. Knocking on the faux Lady Monypenny's cabin door, he entered without waiting for her permission to do so. A young girl jumped up from the bunk where she had been reading and gave a startled gasp. "Jesus Christ!" Tom Southwood swore again. "India Lindley!"

"I'm sorry, Captain, but you have mistaken me for someone else," India said in her plumiest tones.

"India, you are somewhat grown since the last time I saw you," Tom Southwood said grimly, "but you have your mother's look about you, and that fetching little mole she sports between your nostril and your upper lip, and you are wearing the Lindley signet ring your mother gave you. Now, what is this all about, and why are you masquerading as an old lady? Although I believe I know the answer to my own question."

"Then you need nothing from me, Tom," India said angrily.

"Is he your Italian tutor, this Signore di Carlo?" the captain demanded of her. "You're eloping, aren't you, and you chose my ship to do it on? I had heard you had grown into a little hellion, but I never thought you would cause a scandal like this! If anyone finds out what you have done, you will be ruined. No decent man will have you."

"But Adrian is a decent man!" India cried out, defending her love. "He isn't my Italian tutor, Cousin Tom. He is Viscount Twyford, the earl of Oxton's heir. We were eloping to his uncle's house in Naples to be married because Papa would not be reasonable. I love him, and he loves me! I chose your ship because I knew we would be safe, and I came aboard in disguise for obvious reasons."

"Knox, move Lady Lindley's things to my cabin, and see that her gentleman is confined to his quarters for the duration of the trip," Captain Southwood said.

"Tom! You cannot be so cruel," India sobbed.

"Cousin," he told her sternly, "if we are fortunate, there will be one of our company's vessels in Marseilles going west to England. If there is, I intend putting you on it, and seeing that you are returned home to your parents. If there is not, you will remain aboard my ship and return home with me. As for your swain, he has paid his passage to Naples, and he shall disembark there, but without you!"

"Noooo!" she wailed. "No!"

Grasping her lightly by the arm, Tom Southwood literally dragged his young cousin from her cabin to his. As they passed the cabin housing Adrian Leigh, they could hear him pounding on the door in furious frustration. Shoving India into the day room of the great stern quarters that were his, Tom Southwood said, "I will speak with your viscount, and explain to him that things have changed, India. You are going home, young lady!"

"I hate you, Thomas Southwood!" India shouted, and she flung a wine carafe at him. "I hate you!"

He ducked, and, beating a hasty retreat, exited his cabin, locking the door behind him. Now he returned to the passenger deck and let himself into Viscount Twyford's cabin. The young man leapt up from the bunk upon which he had been sitting. "Well, my lord, you are found out," Captain Southwood said grimly. "The game is up, and you will be put off in Naples. My cousin, India, however, will be sent home. You will be confined to your cabin until we reach your destination."

"You have no right…" Adrian began pompously, only to be cut off.

"Aye, my lord, I have every right. As captain of the Royal Charles, I am the master of this small seagoing domain upon which you currently reside. You do not have the duke of Glenkirk's permission to marry his daughter. You have cajoled and lured an innocent young girl away from the safety of her family. You are a cad, my lord. Now I will leave you to consider the seriousness of what you have done. I think it will be a long time before you dare to show your face in England. We are a large family, my lord, and we protect our own. I pray to God this has remained a private matter, and that India's reputation is yet intact. Do you understand me?"

"May I at least say farewell to India?" Viscount Twyford asked.

"You have said all to my cousin that you should, and probably a great deal more," Captain Southwood replied. "And do not bother trying to speak with India through the cabin walls. I have moved her to my quarters. She, too, will be confined even as you are, until she leaves this vessel. Now I will bid you good day, sir."

Thomas Southwood then found his first mate, Mr. Bolton, and explained to him what had happened.

" 'Tis a right bad coil, sir," Mr. Bolton said, shaking his head. "There's advantages to being a bachelor, I'm thinking. Pray the lord the lass hasn't ruined herself with a scandal."

India was so angry with her cousin that she refused to eat that evening. "I shall starve myself to death," she told him dramatically. "You shall return to England with my withered body in a coffin, and then Papa shall kill you!"

Thomas Southwood swallowed back his laughter. He had a younger sister, Laura, who at India's age had also been given to similar histrionics. "Suit yourself," he said mildly, "but this fish is really quite delicious. It was fresh-caught by Knox earlier today, and the artichokes came aboard at Cadiz. Would you like a fresh orange? They are very sweet."

"Go to hell!" India spat angrily, her hand inching toward a pewter goblet, a dangerous look in her eye.

He was quickly on his feet, and before she might throw anything at him, he dragged her up from her chair and across the cabin. "You may sleep in my bed, India, and I shall take Knox's trundle out here." He pushed her into his smaller sleeping cabin, locking the door behind her. "There is water for bathing and drinking, my dear," he called to her, and then returned to the table to finish his meal while she shrieked at him from her prison.

In the morning it was Knox who opened the door to let her out. "Captain says you may have the run of his quarters during the day, m'lady," the steward said pleasantly. "Can I get you anything to eat? Some fruit, perhaps?"

"No, thank you," India said politely. "Where is my cousin?"

"Captain don't sleep more than four, five hours, m'lady. He be up on deck, and has been since before dawn," Knox said. "Well, if I can't be of any service to you, I'll go tend to the young gentleman."

"Knox! Wait! Will you take a message to Viscount Twyford for me?" India pleaded. "I will make it worth your while."

The steward shook his head despairingly, edging toward the door, for he knew of India's penchant for throwing things. "I'm sorry, m'lady, but you know I cannot." Then he was out the door before she could argue with him, or pitch a missile at him.

India heard the sound of the key turning in the lock once again, and almost snarled in angry despair. She had not come this far to be denied. Setting herself in the window seat of the cabin's great window, she looked out. No escape here. The window looked onto the sea itself, and, peering down through the glass, she could see there was no ledge. The little sleeping cabin had no access to the deck. Only the door in this cabin itself had entree to the main deck. But she would find a way. She would! And she was certain that her beloved Adrian was also seeking a means of escape. Perhaps when they got to Marseilles, and her interfering cousin attempted to transfer her to another ship, she could escape them. And while they were looking for her she would sneak back on board and help Adrian. Then they would travel on overland to Naples. She wasn't going to be stopped now.

"Sail ho!"

She heard the call out on the deck. Looking out the great window, India could see another vessel in the distance.

"Put on more sail!" came the command.

India could hear the creaking of winches as additional canvas was raised, but the ship didn't seem to be gaining any speed. She looked back out the window again. The other ship was gaining on them rather quickly. It was a narrow, sleek vessel with scarlet-and-gold-striped sails. She turned as the cabin door opened and her cousin entered, a worried look upon his handsome face.

"Be quiet and listen," he told her. "In a few minutes we are going to be boarded by pirates from one of the Barbary States."

India paled, and gasped. "Can't we escape them?" she asked.

"Under ordinary circumstances, yes, but the bloody wind is dying on us, and without the wind we can't outrun them. Now hear me very carefully, India, for what I am going to say may save your life. My grandmother was once in a similar situation. If you are asked to convert to Islam, agree and save your life. Don't be a little fool and refuse. We need no martyrs in this family. Agreeing means you will be given, or sold, to a highly placed man, and not thrown into the common slave bagnio where you would be raped and forced into whoredom."

"But can't we be ransomed?" she asked him, horrified.

"Neither of us is important enough, Cousin," he told her. "One day I may be able to get a message home, and then perhaps…" He stopped, and looked at her. "You may not be able to go back then."

"Ohhh, Tom!" India cried. "Not to see Mama or Papa ever again?"

"This family has a history of troublesome and adventuresome women, who usually end up surviving quite nicely, India. Listen, learn, and for God's sake remember that from the moment of your capture you are no longer the duke of Glenkirk's daughter but nothing more than a beautiful slave. You will be at the mercy of your master, whoever he will be. Keep your temper in check, Cousin, and a civil tongue in your head, or you could find that tongue yanked out. The Barbary pirates are fierce men."

"I would rather be dead than submit!" India cried dramatically.

Tom Southwood grasped his young cousin by the arms, and shook her hard. "Don't be an idiot, India," he said, and then, releasing her, he was gone out the door again. To her despair she heard the key turning in the lock. Did he never forget?

The corsair ship drew skillfully alongside the Royal Charles. She could now see the reason for its speed. While the ship had sails, it was also propelled by banks of oars, which had given it a great advantage over the larger merchant vessel, caught in a dying wind. India wished she could be out on the deck. What was her cousin doing? Was he going to fight?

"The crew stand ready to defend the ship, sir," Mr. Bolton said.

Tom Southwood shook his head. "Resistance would be futile," he told his first mate, who had already known it. "Look at their guns. Besides, I want the ship intact. Eventually we're going to steal it back, Francis Bolton." He chuckled. "You've told the crew what I said?"

"Aye, sir, but two of them is Irish papists, and half a dozen are hard-nosed Puritans. The sailmaker is a Jew, and the cook says he don't believe in anything. They won't convert," the first mate replied.

"Well, I've warned them, and hopefully enough of the lads will so we can sail this ship home one day," the young captain replied. "Heads up, Bolton, here they come!" He stood straight, his green eyes sweeping over the corsair's vessel. It was the largest of the galley class, with twenty… -four, -five, -six, -eight… benches of oars. Each bench would hold four or five men. This particular ship had an enclosure over the stern, which meant it carried janissaries. The rest of the deck was open to the sky. There was a large fixed cannon located on a low deck area, and several swivel guns sat amidships.

Then a large, tall man was standing before him. He spoke accentless French. "I am Aruj Agha, a captain in the royal Ottoman janissary Corps, based in El Sinut, and sailing under the command of its dey. Who are you, sir?"

"Captain Thomas Southwood, out of London, commanding the Royal Charles, under the aegis of the O'Malley-Small Trading Company. We are usually allowed unmolested in these waters, Aruj Agha. Why have you stopped us? Did you not see the pendant we fly?"

"It means nothing to me, sir," came the polite reply. "Whatever meaning it might have had once, it obviously no longer has that meaning. You and your ship are fair game, and now belong to the dey of El Sinut. What cargo do you carry?"

"Wool, Cornish tinware, hides, fruit, and barrels of sherry," was the response. "I also have two passengers, both of whom can be ransomed. One is the son of the earl of Oxton, and the other, who happens to be my own cousin, is the daughter of the duke of Glenkirk. Her younger brother is King Charles's bastard nephew. Her father will pay a fortune to regain her custody. I was taking her to visit her grandmother in Naples."

"If you are familiar with our world, Captain Southwood, then you know the rules on captives. I hope for your cousin's sake that she is an ugly little girl."

Thomas Southwood grimaced, and Aruj Agha laughed.

"No? Well, then, you had best let me see her," he said.

"I have locked her in the main cabin as I feared for her safety, sir. Please follow me."

"Very wise," Aruj Agha agreed. "We'll be taking your ship in tow, and so you, your passengers, and a few of your crew may remain until we reach our destination. I shall put my own men aboard to sail this vessel. We are three days out of El Sinut."

"And the rest of my crew?"

"They'll come aboard my galley, to be put in chains, of course. The dey will decide their fate once we arrive," Aruj Agha said.

Tom Southwood was not surprised. It was to be expected. The dey would give the men a chance to convert to Islam, and those who did would sail aboard his ships. Those who did not would be sold, go to the dey's ships as galley slaves, or go to the mines. It was a well known and common practice. Reaching the main cabin, he unlocked the door, calling to India as he did, "Cousin, it is I."

She stood in the center of the cabin, a sword in her hand. "You gave up without a fight," she accused him.

"We are a merchant ship, India. The corsair has guns," he explained. "Where the hell did you get that sword? Put it down. Now!"

"I cannot. I must uphold the family's honor, Tom, which you have so easily besmirched. I found the sword beneath your bunk. I will not give up without a fight," India declared.

Aruj Agha looked admiringly at India. The girl was a dazzling beauty. She wore a dark claret-colored velvet skirt and a man's full shirt. A large black leather belt surrounded her tiny waist. Her long, dark curls were loose, and her eyes flashed fire. She was utterly magnificent!

"En garde, infidèle!" India taunted, waving her weapon at him.

"Jesu!" Tom Southwood swore helplessly. How could he have forgotten the weapon beneath his bed?

Aruj Agha, however, burst out laughing. "Come, my beauty," he cajoled her with a friendly grin. "Your cousin did the right thing. It would have pained me to have to blow this lovely ship to pieces and kill all aboard. You will not be harmed. Indeed, I foresee a wonderful life ahead of you as the favorite in your master's harem. Give me the sword." He held out his hand. India slashed wildly at it. Fortunately, the agha pulled his hand back swiftly, receiving only a glancing blow that nonetheless opened a small ribbon of blood across his fingertips.

Then India leapt forward, flaying at Aruj Agha wildly. The janissary captain was no longer in a mood to coax the girl. He met her attack, yanking the weapon from her hand and shoving her rudely to the floor, where he held her down with his booted foot. Tom Southwood never moved a muscle. He knew that the agha would not seriously harm India. She had too much value as a captive, but if she didn't learn the place she held in this strange new world, she was going to get herself killed.

"Tom! Are you going to let him do this to me?" India shrieked. "Help me!" She squirmed beneath her captor's boot.

"I warned you, India," he told her in their own tongue. "Now, shut up before he has you whipped, and don't say he wouldn't because he would. That is how recalcitrant slaves are dealt with here. I hope by now you realize the danger you are in." He turned to the jannissary, speaking French once more. "I have told her to behave herself, Aruj Agha, but she has always been very spoiled. I cannot guarantee she will listen."

"I've handled wild mares before, Captain. I am ashamed to have been taken off guard by a mere, unskilled girl. She is a virgin, of course. They are always more skittish in an unfamiliar situation." He looked down at India. "Are you prepared to be a bit more docile, my beauty." He lifted his foot from the small of her back and pulled her up.

"Go to the devil!" India spat at him. "I'll kill you given half the chance. I'll be no man's slave, damn you!"

Aruj Agha chuckled. "A spirited filly is always the finest," he announced. "Is she always this sweet-natured, Captain?"

"I'm afraid so," Tom Southwood replied.

"Where is Adrian?" India demanded of her cousin. "If they have harmed him, they will pay dearly!"

"Shut up, India!" he cautioned her. "You will only make it worse for your friend. He may be ransomed if this dey is generous of heart and greedy of spirit. Now, just do as you are told, Cousin."

"If he can be ransomed, why can't I?" she insisted.

"Because you are a beautiful virgin, and more valuable as a concubine. These people cannot imagine any father paying what you would otherwise fetch on the block, when, having been captured by pirates, you will be considered spoiled by our own people. Now, India, just be quiet and do as you are told. With Aruj Agha's permission, I will come and see you later." He concluded the last sentence in French so the janissary captain could understand him.

"Of course," Aruj Agha replied. "We want the girl content. Fear spoils a woman's beauty."

The two men exited the cabin, locking India in once again. Outside the door she could hear the orderly sounds of activity as the majority of the Royal Charles seamen were transferred onto the pirate galley where they would be shackled. The voices outside her door were now foreign, and indistinguishable but for an occasional English voice. She was frantic for Adrian's safety, and Tom had told her nothing. Her head was throbbing, and she had bruised her hip when Aruj Agha had thrown her to the floor. India suddenly felt like crying.

She heard the sound of the key, and the door opened again to admit Knox, the steward. "Captain wanted me to tell ye what is happening, m'lady, and bring you something to eat. Ye ain't touched a morsel since last night, and that ain't good. You've got to keep up yer strength."

"Where is Adrian?" India asked the steward desperately, and a tear rolled down her cheek.

"Now, don't you go fretting, m'lady, about the young gentleman," Knox told her, feeling a little sorry for the girl now. "He's locked in his cabin same as you. Captain says he might get ransomed. All the rest of the crew but for the captain, me, Mr. Bolton, the first mate, Mr. James, the second mate, and Will, the cook, has been sent over to the galley. We got a bunch of them heathen crewmen aboard us now." He set down the tray he was carrying and peeled the napkin back.

India looked wanly at his offering, and sighed. "I don't think I can eat a morsel," she said.

"If ye eats every bit of this meal up, m'lady, I'll carry a message to yer young gentleman," he bribed her. "Cook killed and roasted the last of the chickens today, and made some fresh bread. There's an artichoke, some grapes, and I've sectioned an orange for ye. Now, you eat it up. When I takes the gentleman his tray, I'll take yer message to him as well. All right?"

India sniffled, but began to pick at the food the steward had brought her. She took a nibble, and then another, and discovered to her surprise that she was actually hungry despite her low spirits. She quickly stripped the meat from the chicken wing, chewing it vigorously and swallowing it down. "Is there any cheese?" she asked the steward.

"Beneath the bread, m'lady," he answered her, masking a smile. The poor lass had not eaten in a day. Of course she was hungry. She had best eat now, for God only knew what kind of heathen food they would be offered when they reached port. I'm getting too old for this kind of adventure, Knox thought to himself. If I ever get back to England, I'll find myself a nice widow with a bit put aside, and settle us in a cottage down in Devon, with a view of the sea from the windows, which will be more than enough for me. If I gets back.

When India had finished all the food on the tray, Knox picked it up to go, asking, "What shall I tell the young gentleman, m'lady?"

"Say I love him," India began, "and that I'm praying for our deliverance. Tell him I wouldn't consider it amiss if he would pray for all aboard the Royal Charles, too. And he should find a way for us to escape!" India concluded.

"Yes, m'lady," Knox replied, thinking he would certainly leave off the last part of her message to Adrian Leigh. They didn't need the young milord trying to be heroic and getting himself killed. Not that Knox thought the young man heroic. He was rather more of an opportunist, taking his chances when they appeared favorable. Still, a little caution never hurt.

Alone again, India sat in the window seat once more viewing the empty sea. The sun was beginning to set in the west, almost directly in front of her. Above, the sky was a clear sharp blue, streaked with wispy pink clouds. The western horizon was flame, and purple and gold, with just the faintest edging of pale green. As the sky darkened, a single bright blue crystal star appeared in the early night sky. India sighed. It was so utterly beautiful. She wondered if Adrian was watching the sunset, too, and did he think of her as she thought of him? The sound of the door being opened caused her to turn her head from the window. She expected to see her cousin, but it was Aruj Agha instead. India stiffened.

"Do not be concerned, my beauty," he said in a reassuring voice. "You will not be harmed in my care. Let me light a lamp. It is dark in here." He drew the oil lamp down, and lit it with a small wick from the lamp he carried. "Remain in your place, my beauty, and let us talk. Do you understand what has happened this day?"

"You and your bandits have pirated our ship," India said sharply.

He chuckled, amused by her continued spirit. "It is my right to capture your vessel, girl," he told her. "These waters are under the control of that most gracious servant of Allah-may he be blessed forever-Murad, the fourth of that name. He is but a young lad, but we hope he will one day be a great sultan. As an infidel ship, you are fair game, my beauty."

"Who are you?" India asked, curious. "Are you a Turk?"

"I am a Bosnian, my beauty. It is part of the Ottoman Empire, but in Europe. I was conscripted into the corps of janissaries when I was eight years old. It was a great honor for my family. My uncle had been a janissary. I was educated by the corps, and nurtured by the corps. I worked my way up through the corps until I attained the rank of agha-captain, you would call it in your tongue," he told her.

"What will happen to me?" India asked. "My cousin says I will be a slave now. I am not a slave! I am the daughter of the duke of Glenkirk. Two of my brothers are dukes, and one a marquis. I am an heiress of great wealth, and related by blood to England's king."

Aruj Agha's brown eyes twinkled, and he stroked his russet beard thoughtfully. " 'Tis a most impressive pedigree, my beauty, but it does not change the facts. Your cousin told you the truth."

India jumped down from the window seat, and stamped her foot. "My family will pay you a fabulous ransom for my safe return. I could pay you the ransom myself. Don't you understand, Arug Agha? I am rich! Why, I own two trading ships: the Star of India, and the Prince of Kashmir. They are on the East Indies run, bringing spices, silks, and jewels to England each year. All that in addition to a great inheritance left me."

"I have listened to you carefully, my beauty, now you must listen to me. I do not have the right to make any decision regarding your fate. You, this ship, and everything on it, men and cargo alike, now belong to the dey of El Sinut, who rules in the sultan's name here. It is he who will make the decision concerning your fate. It is my job to bring you all safely into the harbor of El Sinut, and with Allah's help, guidance, and blessing, I will." He arose. "Now, I will bid you good night. You need have no fears, my beauty. You are quite safe."

"My cousin?" she asked.

"I will allow him to come and see you in the morning," the agha told her. Then, with a bow, he departed the cabin, locking it behind him.

India paced the room. This was impossible. And none of it would have happened if you had heeded your parents, a little voice in her head said. "God's nightshirt!" she swore, but the little voice was right, and she knew it. If she had listened to her family instead of allowing her foolish heart to rule her, she would be safe at home in Scotland, and not the captive of Barbary pirates. Her family wouldn't force her to marry someone she didn't really love. They could try, but in the end she would have gotten her way if she had just been a bit more patient, India decided. And as much as she loved Adrian, he had been wrong to cajole her into the elopement. Just look what had happened to them!

And he would more than likely be ransomed, but everyone seemed to be very sure that she wouldn't be. There was a stigma attached to a girl finding herself in this position. Still, her great-grandmother, and her grandmother, as well as her aunt Valentina, had found themselves in similar situations and come home to lead respectable lives. But that had been years ago. Times were different then, and people certainly more reasonable and open-minded. Now, if it were known that Lady India Lindley had been captured by Barbary pirates, it would cause a scandal of great proportions, and no decent man would offer for her. And if Adrian was sent home ahead of her, and she later returned, why even he wouldn't wed her! "God's boots!" India muttered. What a headstrong damned little fool she had been!

What in the name of heaven was she going to do? How could she save herself? Could she convince this dey to ransom her along with Adrian? It seemed her only option. The only other course open to her was to kill herself, and India knew she didn't have the courage to do that. Besides, if the truth were known, she didn't want to die anyway. But what if this dey fellow decided to keep her? India smiled grimly. She would be the most difficult, the most impossible, the most awful creature he had ever known; and he would certainly send her home, having concluded that a ransom was a better bargain than an uncooperative and raging girl. She was not about to be any man's slave! It was a totally unacceptable concept. She would not tolerate it!

She curled back into the window seat. The sky was dark now, and there was a thin new crescent of a moon reflecting itself delicately into the black sea. Around it, the stars were bright. Was her sister looking at that same moon? Fortune, who was so accepting of their parents' decision to find her a husband in Ireland, so content to settle herself at MacGuire's Ford, and be mistress of her own lands. How much easier it would have been for all of us, India thought, if I had been more like Fortune. Yet her sister could certainly not be called docile. Fortune was anything but meek and mild; but she was of a far more practical bent of mind than her elder sibling.

How long will it be before I see my sister and brothers again; and our parents too, India wondered. "Damn it, I miss them!" she half whispered to the empty cabin. "I have been so foolish. I will certainly never be this foolish again." She sighed, and continued looking out upon the sea, watching the wake of their vessel, just faintly silvered, as the Royal Charles sailed inexorably on toward El Sinut.