“Why, bless you, child, I thank you.” Skye laughed. “You surely have your great-grandfather's charm. But come into the house, my dears,” she invited them. “It is starting to rain, and I want a good look at these babies of yours, Jasmine. Gracious! Is that Patrick? He is going to be a big boy.” She peered at the two-year-old in his nursemaid's arms. “How do you do, Patrick Leslie,” Skye said. “I am your great-grandmother, and I helped to birth you. Where is the other laddie? The one named after my Adam. Ahhh,” she said with a satisfied smile when he was presented to her in the front hallway of her house. “He has
his
eyes, doesn't he?”
“From the moment of his birth, Grandmama,” Jasmine said.
“Tomorrow, when the rain is over, you will come and see the monument we have set over his grave,” Skye said.
They settled into Queen's Malvern for the summer. In a few weeks Henry Lindley and his two sisters would be departing for his seat at Cadby. Adali would accompany the children and remain with them until the summer's end, when they would return to Queen's Malvern, and thence to Glenkirk. Their Gordon grandparents would also remain with them. James Leslie, however, insisted upon personally taking his stepchildren across the countryside to Cadby.
“At last we have time together,” Skye said to Jasmine when they had gone. It was evening, and they sat together in the family hall before a fire that took the chill off the early June evening. The young Leslies were safe asleep in their cots. Charlie-boy, who did not like being separated from his elder siblings, had been allowed to ride over with the duke's party. He felt very grown-up. “You are happy, of course,” Skye said, “and that makes me happy, darling girl. Will there be more babies?” She sipped at her wine cup, then nibbled on a sweetmeat.
“I did promise Jemmie three sons,” Jasmine said with a smile “and I should like another daughter, God willing.”
“You take the potion I gave you?”
Jasmine nodded. “Two sons in two years was enough for the present. I wanted a rest else I be worn out like so many women.”
“Good, good,” the old woman nodded. “I did the same after I birthed Ewan and Murrough. His son rescued you last year, I was told.”
“I went to the docks in Leith, hoping to find one of your ships in port, and I did. Fortunately, it was Geoffrey O'Flaherty captaining. Heaven knows if a stranger to me would have believed such an outlandish tale; his little son certainly thought I was mad, or a whore sneaking aboard to find business. I was dressed like a simple Scotswoman, as we had just come from the games hosted by Clan Bruce.”
“They have never found Piers St. Denis?” Skye asked.
Jasmine shook her head. “I still fear he may come back some day to try and take me away from my family. He is quite mad, Grandmama.”
“You need have no fears, darling girl. Put them behind you, for he has undoubtedly fled the country,” Skye said.
“But fear, madame, is an excellent goad when dealing with recalcitrant women,” a familiar voice said, and Piers St. Denis stepped from the shadows of the room. He was badly dressed in the simple garb of a citizen of the merchant class, a small white ruff about his neck relieving the severity of his black clothing.
“Oh, God!”
Jasmine whispered, and her heart began to beat very quickly at the thought of having to contend once more with the madman.
“How did you get into my house?” Skye demanded, not in the least afraid. He was mad, of that she had not a doubt, but he also reminded her of her first husband, Dom O'Flaherty, and she had never been really afraid of Dom, who had been nothing more than a bully.
“The front door was open, madame, and there were no servants about to stop me. Tsk. Tsk. Such carelessness,” came the mocking reply.
“Get out!”
Skye told him firmly.
Piers St. Denis laughed, genuinely amused. Too bad she was so old and dried up. If rumor had it correct, she had been a marvelous fuck in her youth. Her granddaughter, however, promised equal delights.
“How did you know I was here?” Jasmine had finally found her voice, and now that the shock of his arrival was over, she found her fear had gone also. She was very angry.
“It is well-known that you and your mother like to return here to Queen's Malvern in the summer. You did not come last year, of course, because the king went to Scotland; but I knew you would be here this summer. I had but to wait until your parents and husband took the young Lindleys off to Cadby. I am a most patient man, my pet, and you are a very clever woman. I shall not underestimate you again. I was very surprised to return to our little love nest to find you gone. And how quick-witted of you to go to Leith, knowing I would believe you were trying to escape back to Edinburgh. It was adroitly done, my pet.”
“What do you want here?” Skye demanded of him.
“Why, madame, I would have thought that was obvious. I am going to kill you both, and then I shall slay your two Leslie children, who are within this house. My only regret is that I cannot destroy your little Stuart bastard, and break old king fool's heart as he has broken mine. You see, madame, I have given up all hope of your ever being mine; but it is due to you that I have lost everything. If you had not led me on only to reject me, I should yet today be marquis of Hartsfield, with a rich wife chosen by the queen and the king still my friend. You, and you alone, are responsible for my misfortunes, and you will pay for your treachery.”
“No!”
Jasmine almost shouted at him.
“You
are responsible for your own bad fortune, sir. I told you from the beginning that I was in love with James Leslie, and pledged to him, and him alone. You would not listen! You kept insisting despite everything I said that I would be yours. You even followed me to Scotland after my marriage, and after the birth of my first Leslie son, and had the temerity to kidnap me. It is your stubborn nature that has caused you to lose everything, not I. Now go away while you yet have the opportunity, or I shall call the servants, and they shall hold you for the local sheriff. There is a price on your head, and many who would gladly have it.”
He moved across the room until he stood directly before the two women. “I will not be deterred in my purpose this time, madame,” he said. “Know this, and be afraid of my power. My traitorous half-brother is this day a widower. Had he not been up in London when I arrived at Hartsfield Hall, I would have killed him, too. His wife was quite a lovely woman. I whipped her until her back was raw, and she was begging for mercy. Then I forced her as I did you, but her mouth and tongue were not nearly as skillful as yours, my pet. And when she had finished, I had my way with her. How she screamed, but more so when I plundered her temple of Sodom, for it would seem my brother had never been that way. And when I had my fill of her ripe charms, I slit her throat and left her dying in a pool of her own bright red blood. My final act before leaving my home was to strangle her infant son. I will not allow my half-brother's bastard line to defile the house of St. Denis.”
“And where were the servants when you were doing all of this, sir?” Skye demanded, not certain that she believed him.
“At a fair in the village,” he said. “She had allowed all of them to go, the silly, softhearted creature. But I have wasted far too much time here tonight. I must complete my revenge, then disappear for good this time. The jewelry that you are wearing, Madame Skye, will keep me comfortable for quite some time.” He smiled and, moving closer, reached out to take the heavy gold necklace with is sapphire pendant from her.
Jasmine was in a half daze from listening to the story Piers St. Denis had just told them. She heard her grandmother speak.
“I told you once, sir, that you were not skilled enough to play my game,” Skye said, and her hand moved so swiftly that Jasmine could not believe what she was witnessing. The dagger appeared from nowhere and plunged straight into Piers St. Denis's heart muscle. Skye smiled into his face as she twisted her weapon in order to inflict the most damage and ensure his very swift death. “I will not allow you to ruin my darling girl's life ever again,” Skye said firmly, then she stepped back a pace.
He crumpled to the floor, a look of incredulous surprise upon his very dissolute face. Then the light fled from his bright blue eyes, and Piers St. Denis breathed his last. He was quite dead.
Jasmine's breath escaped her in an audible whoosh.
“Grandmama!”
was all that she could say.
Red Hugh ran into the hall and, seeing the body, swore. “Jesu! Why is it, m'lady, that whenever yer in danger from that fellow, I am nae where to be found? Is he dead?” He knelt for a moment by the body.
“He's dead,” Skye said. “He got in because the door was open for the breeze, and there was no servant in the front hall. From now on there must always be someone there.” She sat down heavily. “Get me some wine, man. I've just killed the devil's own son.”
He arose. “Whiskey would be better, madame,” he said, pouring her out a dram. “Here! Drink it down, and I'll gie ye another.”
Skye followed his orders. She was weak with relief.
He took the dram jigger and poured her a second libation. “One more,” he said. The old lady looked pale. “Ye did a fine job of it, madame,” he told her. “He dinna hae a chance once ye stuck him wi yer blade. I dinna know that ye carried any weapon.”
“Old habits are hard to break,” Skye remarked. “I have always, since my girlhood in Ireland, carried a dagger.” She looked dispassionately at the body of Piers St. Denis. “Get rid of that, Red Hugh. Take it to the parson in the village and have it buried in unhallowed ground. He was an evil man, and while God may forgive him, none of us will.” She pulled herself up. “Come, my darling girl, and help me upstairs. I have had quite enough excitement for one day. Will there ever come a day when my life is completely at peace? Nay. I know the answer to that, and I can even hear your grandfather laughing at my foolishness. There will be no peace for Skye O'Malley until she is dead and buried.”
“Are you certain you will find peace even then?” Jasmine teased her grandmother, as they made their way up the staircase.
“Probably not, my dear duchess, probably not,” Skye said, and then she laughed along with her darling Jasmine.
Queen's Malvern
MIDSUMMER'S EVE, 1623
Epilogue
T
he old woman was dying. They had not said it to her, of course, but why else had all her children gathered here together at Queen's Malvern with their spouses, offspring, and grandchildren? Even her eldest child, her son, Ewan, now in his sixty-seventh year, had made the trip from Ireland to bid her a proper farewell. God's boots! Was it that long ago she had given birth to Ewan in that draughty tower house that the O'Flahertys called home? Her sister, Eibhlin, had been there to help her, and again ten months later when Murrough had been born.
So many years gone by. So many wonderful adventures. She outlived them all. Her husbands. Her lovers. Bess Tudor. What a great friend to her the queen had been. And what a bitter enemy. She had, she decided, absolutely no regrets at all. She had lived her life to the fullest; raised her children well; founded a commercial enterprise that had made them all wealthy.
And she had loved.
From her innocent first love for Niall Burke, Deirdre and Padraic's father, to her last love, Adam de Marisco. Aye! She had loved well, and been well loved by them all.
The curtains about her bed had been drawn back at her request so she might gaze out the open windows. Willow, of course, had wanted the curtains drawn and the windows shut, but Skye would not have it; and Robin, her dearest Robin, had overruled his eldest sister, which gave their other siblings the courage to side with him. Willow was growing sallow as she aged.
I have not told her the truth about her father,
the old woman thought,
but I think I shall spare her the knowledge that the “respectable Spanish merchant” in North Africa whom she believes sired her was, in truth, a renegade who took the name Khalid el Bey, and was known as the Great Whoremaster of Algiers.
A bubble of laughter choked the old woman for a brief moment. Such a knowledge would destroy poor proper Willow, and she did not want
that
on her conscience as she went to meet her Maker.
There is no harm in my daughter's ignorance, and after all, I have kept this secret for sixty-three years. Even my dearest Daisy did not know.
Daisy Kelly, her faithful tiring woman and dearest confidante and friend. She had died suddenly just over a year ago, and nothing had been the same ever since. Just gone to bed one evening and never awakened in the morning. Young Nora had been a great comfort to the old woman, but it was not the same. Nora had not been young with her mistress, nor shared her many adventures or her secrets. No. It hadn't been the same, nor would it ever be again. Her time was long past. Her eyes strayed to the windows beyond. It was almost sunset now. The sky was slowly becoming streaked with gold, lavender, pink, scarlet, and orange. It was, she thought, the most beautiful sunset she had ever seen. Soon the midsummer fires would begin leaping from the hillsides. It was a most magical night.
“Grandmama?” Jasmine placed a kiss on her forehead. “How do you feel?”
“Tired,” she answered the young woman.
Jasmine.
Darling Jasmine, her husband called her. Her favorite grandchild, although she had certainly never had a favorite until Jasmine had come into her life. She felt no shame at all in loving Jasmine best of all of them. She had arrived a month ago for her English summer, with her beloved Jemmie, and her eight children. India, who at fifteen, was already a great beauty; Henry, now fourteen, and his father's image; Fortune, at thirteen outgrowing her coltishness, and promising to rival India shortly; Charlie, the not-so-royal Stuart, now eleven, and, like his elder brother, every inch
his
father's son. And the four little Leslies; Patrick, Adam, Duncan, and the old woman's youngest descendant, Janet Skye, who had been born just over six months ago on her own eighty-second birthday.
She turned toward the windows again, and it was then that she saw them as they came walking toward her out of the sunset. Niall Burke as she had first known him, his smoothly shaven face tanned by the outdoors, his short-cropped hair as midnight dark as her own. Her father, and Eibhlin, who was smiling at her. And Khalid el Bey, with his long oval face, with its well-barbered black beard and those melting amber eyes fringed in the outrageously thick lashes she had always envied. And here was Geoffrey Southwood, lean, blond, and arrogantly handsome, his lime green eyes laughing at her surprise.
And her darling Daisy!
Not old and wizened as she had been but a year ago, but apple-cheeked, and gap-toothed, and young again. The old woman strained to see them all, yet something was missing.
“Come, little girl, it is time for us to go now.”
Her eyes widened, and he was there before her, holding out his hand for her to take.
“Adam!”
she said, reaching for his hand, and Jasmine gazed anxiously at her.
Skye rose from her sickbed, gazing long and lovingly at each of them; her smile was as bright as the morning. Her heart was filled to overflowing with the deep, pure happiness she felt. She would miss her children and grandchildren, of course, but one day they would meet again. For now another door was opening. Another wonderful adventure was beckoning to her. Never fearful of a new venture, she eagerly accepted their invitation.
“Gentlemen, lead on!”
she cried; and then, linking her arms with those of Adam de Marisco and Geoffrey Southwood, she hurried off toward the sunset and down the road to forever, without so much as a regret or a backward glance.
“Jemmie!”
Jasmine's hand went to her heart as she felt the pain of the separation. She looked up at her husband, stricken.
“Aye, she is gone, darling Jasmine,” he said gently, putting his arms about her. “She is gone from us for now. Do not weep, sweeting. She would not want it. She would want you to be brave as she was brave.”
“They say I am like her,” Jasmine said brokenly, “and I wish it were so, but it is not. There will never be a woman like Skye O'Malley ever again, Jemmie.
Never again!”
James Leslie, the duke of Glenkirk, leaned over, and gently closed the old woman's now sightless Kerry blue eyes, but upon her face he saw there was a tiny smile. She had been glad to go, he thought.
No.
There would never ever be a woman like Skye O'Malley.
Godspeed, Skye,
he said silently.
Godspeed until we meet again!