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Chapter 2

Bess! His beautiful blue-eyed Bess lay crumpled in a heap upon the dark polished wooden floor of the entry; the blood on her bodice dried black now; her eyes wide, the image of shock and disbelief still lingering in them. Within his chest his heart was suddenly crushed, and then an emptiness such as he had never felt swept over Charles Frederick Stuart. His glance took in Smythe, also dead. His sister and his daughter huddled together weeping with sorrow. His eldest son was frozen by his side, his small hand clutching his father’s.

“What has happened here?” He pushed the words up through his constrictred throat, his tongue almost becoming entangled in them. He wanted to shriek his outrage; howl to the heavens at this terrible injustice. Bess! Bess! Bess! Her name echoed in his brain.

Autumn looked up, her eyes swollen and red. “Roundheads,” she said, and nothing more. Then she began to shake, finally collapsing unconscious next to her dazed and benumbed niece.

The Duke of Lundy picked up his young daughter. She was cold but half-conscious with her shock. The servants were beginning to crowd into the hall. Many were sobbing with both fright at what had happened and relief to see the duke, their master, returned from Worcester.

Becket, with a wave of his hand, called forth young Sabrina’s nursemaid, Mavis, taking the child from her father and transferring her into the woman’s arms. “Take Lady Sabrina to her bedchamber and see to her welfare,” he said in a very no-nonsense voice. “You two!” He pointed at a pair of young footmen. “Remove Smythe from the entrance to be prepared for burial. Lily! Don’t just stand there gaping, girl. See to your mistress. Samuel! Peter! Carry Lady Autumn to her chamber! Clara, take Master Frederick upstairs. My lord, if you will come with me, I will try and explain what has happened here this morning. Where is the duchess’s tiring woman? Sybll, stay with your mistress until the master decides what is to be done. The rest of you, back to your duties!

The duke followed Becket to the relative quiet of his library. The servant poured him a generous dollop of smoky, peat-flavored whiskey, shoving the crystal tumbler into his master’s hand.

“Forgive my boldness, my lord, but with Smythe dead I felt, as his assistant, that I had to make some order out of the chaos. I am at your service, and will tell you what little I know. Just after dawn a cowherd spotted a troop of Roundheads making their way toward Queen’s Malvern. He gave the alarm. Her ladyship ordered the children hidden with their servants in the gardens. When I had finished overseeing this duty I discovered some of the blackguards had entered the east wing and, finding nothing they might loot, fired it. I ran to tell her ladyship, but she was already dead. Lady Autumn orderd a bucket brigade and sent me back to oversee it. I fear I can tell you nothing else.”

“Did my daughter see her mother murdered?” the duke asked.

“She was not in the hallway, my lord, when I was there,” Becket replied. “There was, however, a third victim, a Roundhead soldier. I must assume the captain of the troop removed him. He was obviously quite dead. He lay on his back, a bullet hole directly between his eyes, my lord. The Roundhead captain was a gentleman, my lord.” Becket refilled the duke’s tumbler, which was already empty.

“Then my sister is the only person who can tell us all that happened here this morning,” the duke said slowly. He focused his gaze on Becket. “Your loyalty is appreciated, Becket, and you will, of course, assume Smythe’s position permanently. Have my wife’s women lay her out in her wedding gown. Have a grave dug in the family graveyard. We will bury her tomorrow. Inform me when my sister is conscious and able to speak with me.”

“Yes, my lord,” Becket said, and then he withdrew.

Alone, Charles Frederick Stuart put his head in his hands and wept. How could this have happened? The county of Worcester was a royalist enclave, a place of safety from Cromwell and his bloody Roundheads. Not any longer, obviously. And that fool, Billingsly, who had told him the Roundheads were headed in a different direction! Bess! His sweet Bess was dead and gone. He would never again hear her voice or lay with her in their bed. Never again would he caress her little round breasts that had always responded so well to their shared passion. Bess was dead. Taken from him in a war of rebellion that had seen his uncle murdered by the Parliament and his cousins in exile.

He had avoided taking sides in this civil strife even as his mother had advised, even as his brother, Henry Lindley, was doing. The royal Stuarts had always loved him and treated him with exceptional kindness from the moment of his birth. Still, for his family’s sake he had remained neutral. Now, however, he had no choice. Now he would take sides, for with his wife’s murder the Roundheads had forced his hand. So be it, Charlie thought grimly, but no matter how many of them he killed—and he would kill—it would not bring back his lovely young wife. Bess was gone from him forever.

He stood by her graveside the next day in an autumn rain, his three children by his side. His sister, however, had not yet been revived from her swoon, although she was showing signs of returning consciousness. Sabrina and Frederick were somber. Baby William did not understand what had happened. He would have no memories of Bess at all but those they gave him, the duke thought sadly. He took comfort in the fact that Bess was buried next to her great-grandparents, Adam de Marisco and Skye O’Malley. They would watch over her, he knew.

Autumn Leslie finally revived the morning after her sister-in-law’s burial. Charlie came and sat by her side, taking her small hand in his.

“Do you remember what happened, lass?” he asked her.

Autumn nodded; then she told him.

“Becket said the trooper was shot,” Charlie gently probed. “Did his captain execute him?”

“Nay,” Autumn told him. “I did.”

“You?” The duke was not certain whether he should believe her or not. It had been, after all, a terrible experience.

“I said I wanted him killed for murdering Smythe and Bess,” Autumn explained. “Sir Simon laughed at me, but he handed me his pistol and told me to go ahead and kill him. He didn’t think I would, Charlie. He thought me a silly girl, hysterical with what had happened; but I took his weapon and slew the monster who had killed Bess and Smythe! Sir Simon was very surprised. I told him to arrest me, but he said the trooper was cannon fodder and would have died sooner or later. He said he accepted the responsibility for his death, for it had been he who had foolishly given me his pistol. Then he took the body and left. It was then that Sabrina came and saw her mother lying there. Oh, Charlie! I hate this Commonwealth, these Roundheads, and pocky Cromwell. I hate them!”

He sighed deeply. “We buried Bess yesterday,” he said.

“How long have I been unconscious?” Autumn gasped.

“Three days,” her brother answered.

“My God!” She was stunned by his revelation.

“As soon as you are well enough to travel, Autumn, I will take you to Cadby. Perhaps Mother will be there by the time we arrive. Then I am taking the children to Glenkirk to Patrick, for safety’s sake.”

“Charlie! What do you mean to do?”

“Fight for my king,” her brother answered her. “I mean to join my cousin, King Charles II, in Scotland, little sister.”

She nodded, understanding completely. “You have been left with no other choice,” she said. “What of Queen’s Malvern?”

“I will close it up and leave but a skeleton staff to watch over it. I shall pay the servants for two years, and they shall all have their places when this is over, should they want them. They are safer without my presence than with it, now that the Roundheads have decided all Stuarts are the enemy. They will learn that they have made a bad mistake, making an enemy of me,” Charles Frederick Stuart said.

“Mama will not be happy with your decision,” Autumn said softly.

“I know,” Charlie answered, “but I cannot allow my wife’s death to go unavenged, nor can I now stand by as the monarchy is rent asunder by these traitors. Cromwell and his ilk are little better than the others, sister. My uncle was a good man but a bad king. Those who had his favor, and surrounded him, keeping him from the truth, were every bit as abusive of their power as the men who now claim to govern England. But these men have murdered God’s annointed king and persecuted our good Anglican church. I see now, as I did not see before, that they must be stopped!”

“I am in complete agreement with you, brother, but you know what Mama will say. Particularly now that our father is dead in defense of the Stuarts.”

“I will send a messenger to Cadby, saying that you are coming to be with Mama,” the duke said. “The rest of it I prefer to tell Henry and his family myself. It is not something one can write in a letter, although I must send a message to Bess’s parents in Dorset. Welk and his wife are now openly Puritans, but they are still Bess’s family.”

“Do not tell them what you intend to do with the children,” Autumn said. “They will want their daughter’s offspring, but they must not have them, Charlie. They must not be allowed to make Brie and Freddie and wee Willie into joyless, condemning psalm-singers.”

He nodded. “I shall tell them only the truth—that Bess was murdered by a Roundhead trooper in defense of one of her servants. It will be enough,” the duke said with a grim smile.

On the following day the duke sent one of his own servants off to Dorset to inform his in-laws of their daughter’s demise. The messenger was instructed to return at his leisure with the Earl of Welk’s response. Becket would then write to the Earl of Welk, explaining that his master and his children had departed Queen’s Malvern; that they would be traveling; and that the duke had not said when he would return. Charlie knew that when he explained his plan to his mother and brother Henry, they would understand and not betray either his whereabouts or that of the children to Johnathan Lightbody.

The day after the messenger had been dispatched to Dorset, the Duke of Lundy, his youngest sister, his children, and several servants departed Queen’s Malvern. Gazing back at the beautiful house with its ivy-covered and ancient brick walls, they all wondered if they would ever see it again. To protect their destination, the servants would not be dismissed until December, when they would be given their two-years’ stipend and the assurance of their places when the duke returned home to Queen’s Malvern one day.

“The east wing doesn’t look too bad,” Autumn said softly.

The duke stared at the blackened walls and smashed lead-paned windows. “The servants rescued most of the paintings,” he said bleakly. Then he turned his horse toward his brother’s estate, a twoday ride across the countryside.

Cadby, home to the Marquis of Westleigh, was a fine old brick house set above the banks of the river Avon, its green lawns running down to the water. Henry Lindley greeted his brother warmly and hugged his sister, exclaiming over her beauty effusively.

“We’ll have to find you a fine husband,” he teased her.

“Where?” Autumn demanded. “Certainly not in the England of today, unless, Henry, you expect me to wed a sober-sided Puritan.”

“Heaven forfend!” her eldest brother exclaimed.

“Is mama here yet?” Charlie asked his sibling.

“She arrived two days ago and is already well ensconced in the dower house,” Henry answered. “God’s blood, Charlie! I have never seen her so despondent. When you sent word you were coming, I rejoiced. Perhaps your presence, and that of Autumn, can cheer her up.” Then, suddenly, the Marquis of Westleigh looked about, saying, “Where is Bess?”

“That is why we are here,” the duke told his elder brother. “Freddie and I were in Worcester. Roundheads, led by that devil, Sir Simon Bates, invaded Queen’s Malvern one morning. Bess, and my majordomo, Smythe, were killed in cold blood. Autumn shot the trooper who did it.” Then he continued to tell Henry in detail what had transpired that terrible day.

“Sabrina and William?”

“Saw nothing, thank God! I am taking them all to Patrick, and then I shall join the king,” Charlie said quietly.

Henry nodded. “I understand,” he said. “You have no choice now in the matter. Ahh, Charlie, I am so sorry!”

“Sorry for what?” Their mother, Jasmine Leslie, entered the room, and immediately her daughter flew into her mother’s embrace.

“Mama!” Autumn burst into tears.

“What is this? What is this?” Jasmine demanded, first hugging her child and then setting her back to look into her face. The now Dowager Duchess of Glenkirk was as beautiful at sixty as she had been at forty, but the look in her eyes was bleak.

“Come into the Great Hall,” Henry said, “and Charlie will tell us everything, Mama.” He quickly instructed his servants to see the children to the nurseries with his own brood, and bring wine and biscuits for his family. His wife, he explained, was not home, being out tending to some sick tenants, but even as they settled themselves in the Great Hall of Cadby, Rosamund Wyndham Lindley hurried in with a smile, greeting her guests and fussing at her servants to bring the refreshments in a more timely fashion.

“They do take advantage of Henry,” she said with a twinkle. Rosamund was Henry’s second wife, and the mother of his children. The marquess’s first wife, his beautiful cousin, Cecily Burke, had died six months after their wedding, when she fell from her horse as she took a particularly high jump, breaking her neck. Cecily had died instantly, and Henry had gone into shock, refusing to leave Cadby, seeing only his brother, Charlie, and his older sister, India, as he mourned his young wife.

Two years after Cecily’s death, the Marquess of Westleigh was invited to the wedding of the Earl of Langford’s heir. Charlie, who had also been invited, prevailed upon his elder sibling to go.

“You can’t mourn forever,” he said bluntly. “Mama certainly never did.”

So Henry Lindley had gone to the wedding at RiversEdge and, to his astonishment, met the girl who was to be the love of his life. Rosamund Wyndham was, at almost sixteen, not ready to consider marriage, but the Marquess of Westleigh knew what he wanted. God rest his sweet Cecily, but he was finally ready to get on with his life. He courted Rosamund with a mixture of charm, humor, and determination. Unable to resist him, Rosamund wed Henry Lindley shortly after her seventeenth birthday. She had ruled his heart and his house ever after.

They were barely settled about the roaring fire when the dowager duchess, mentally counting heads, said, “Where is Bess?”

“She is dead,” Charlie told his mother, and then proceeded to relate the entire tale.

When he had finished Jasmine Leslie looked at her youngest child, amazed. “You shot a Roundhead trooper?” she said.

Autumn nodded.

“God’s blood!” the dowager duchess exclaimed. “I remember a time when my grandmother did a similar deed to save my life, and that of my children. ’Twas a brave act, as was yours. I am proud of you!”

“Surely, Mama, you do not condone murder,” the Marquis of Westleigh said, shocked at what his sister had done. This fact his brother had omitted when telling him the tragic tale earlier.

“The man was scum and had murdered both Bess and a trusted servant,” the dowager duchess said. “Autumn was protecting herself, for who knows what this Sir Simon Bates would have done otherwise. The fact that he accepted responsibility for the trooper’s death shows my daughter proved to this villain that she is a strong girl, and not to be taken advantage of by any!”

“Sir Simon Bates is known to be totally ruthless. What if he holds the death of this man over Autumn, over the family?” Henry said in worried tones.

“How can he?” Autumn spoke up. “The only people in the hallway of the house were the trooper, Sir Simon, and myself. What proof could he possibly offer for my act? I am but an innocent and unmarried maiden, and certainly incapable of such a terrible deed. If we should ever see Sir Simon again, and he accused me, I should believe he was attempting to extort moneys from us, as we are known to be a wealthy family. Or perhaps the threat of such a tale would be an attempt to force me into marriage with him. A wealthy, well-connected wife could not harm Sir Simon’s future when the king is restored to his kingdom. Particularly a wife whose brother is the king’s first cousin.” Autumn smiled sweetly at her astounded relatives, but her mother laughed.

“You are quick, my child,” she said with a chuckle. She turned to Henry. “You fret too much, my dear. Autumn is perfectly correct. There is no proof that she killed that trooper, and no other witnesses than herself and this Sir Simon Bates. I expect he is still in a bit of a shock that a slip of a girl could be so brave, and remember, he did give her his weapon and encourage her to dispatch Bess’s murderer. He’ll say nothing, I assure you all. And now, Charlie”—she looked directly at her second son—“what are you about?”

“I have closed Queen’s Malvern up and I am taking my children to Glenkirk. Then I will declare for the king, Mama.” He stood before the fireplace, legs apart, his hands upon his hips in a gesture of defiance.

Jasmine sighed deeply. “Of course you will, Charlie. You are Henry Stuart’s son, and but for an accident of birth would have been England’s king. You have attempted to remain neutral in this strife. But you can no longer be undecided, and Cromwell’s ilk has forced your hand. I understand, my son. I am not happy about this turn of events, but I do understand. You can do nothing else now. But why take the children to Scotland?”

“Because left here, they would endanger Henry and his family. Cromwell’s people have not hesitated to use children as pawns. We cannot forget poor little Princess Elizabeth, imprisoned in Carisbrooke Castle, who has only recently died because these godly Puritans did not properly care for the poor girl. Nay, Charlie’s children will be safer, and more than likely forgotten, at Glenkirk.”

“And when his in-laws come calling, which they will,” Henry asked, “what the hell are we to say to them?”

“You will lie, Henry,” his mother instructed him, “and say you do not know where your niece and nephews are. You will admit that Charlie came here, but you will say you know not where he was going, for he refused to tell you, fearing to endanger your family. It is a small lie, and a perfectly plausible explanation. The Earl of Welk has neither power nor the funds to pursue the matter. Common sense will tell him the children are safe in their father’s care. He may bluster and blow, but there is nothing he can do but accept that with his daughter’s murder, his grandchildren are gone until this nonsense is settled,” the Dowager Duchess of Glenkirk concluded firmly.

“He will come,” Henry said gloomily, “and you will deal with him, Mama, for you know I am very bad at lying.”

She laughed. “So was your father, my dear, but you will have to deal with Welk, for I shall more than likely not be here.”

“What?” Both the duke and the marquis spoke at once.

“England is a very dour place right now, my dears. My responsibility as a mother is not done until Autumn is properly wed. We will find no bridegroom here for her, but perhaps in France or Holland we will. Do not argue with me, my lads. Your sister turned nineteen yesterday and is no longer in the first flower of her youth. Her beauty and her wealth will, of course, find us the right man, but there is little time before she will be considered past her prime, and it will be harder to make a brilliant match,” the dowager duchess told them.

“We are going abroad?” Autumn smiled suddenly. “Oh, yes, Mama! That is the answer! Charlie said you would have the solution to my problem, and you have found it!” She hugged her mother happily.

“So,” Jasmine Leslie said, “you have been discussing this situation with your sister, Charlie.”

“Rather, Mama, she has been bemoaning the fact that she was about to turn nineteen, a fact we entirely overlooked, being on the road.”

“I told you,” Autumn said firmly, “that I would celebrate no more natal days until I was wed.”

Her family all laughed, but Autumn was adamant and shook her head at them.

“When will you leave?” Henry asked their mother.

“In a week or two, when my servants are rested from our flight from Scotland,” the dowager duchess answered. “It was not an easy trip, what with being stopped half-a-dozen times a day by Cromwell’s people and having the coach searched over and over. And remember, my servants are not young any longer.” She arose from the chair in which she had been sitting. “Come with me, Autumn. You look worn from your adventures and should rest before the evening meal.” With her daughter in tow, Jasmine left the Great Hall of Cadby.

“When her servants are rested,” Henry repeated. “She could barely stand when she got here several days ago. Patrick sent a troop of men-at-arms with her, and a damned good thing too. They managed to skirt around Edinburgh, but in the Borders they had a bit of a run-in with a troop of Roundheads. Her coach outran them, but it was quite a struggle. Her driver took a musketball in the shoulder, but he never faltered. Fergus More-Leslie is a tough bastard,” the marquis said admiringly. “And Adali! My God, Charlie, the man is close to eighty, but he took the reins from Fergus so he could bind up his wound, and he brought the coach through the worst of the attack. None of them are young anymore. Yet here they are, leaving home and hearth for a new adventure.”

“It has always been said that Mama is more like our great-grandmother than any of her children or other grandchildren,” Charlie noted. “Are the Glenkirk men still here?”

“Aye,” the marquis replied.

“Good! They can accompany me and the children to Scotland, then. We’ll take Mama’s coach for the children and their servant. I’ve just brought Biddy. I had to leave Clara and Mavis behind. Both have lads at Queen’s Malvern. Who knows how long my bairns will be at Glenkirk. I couldn’t be burdened with a household under the circumstances,” Charlie explained.

“Can this Biddy ride a horse?” the marquis asked.

“Aye. Why?” his brother inquired.

“Don’t take the coach, Charlie. You’ll make better time and have a better chance of getting through without difficulties a-horse. The coach is cumbersome. One of the Glenkirk men will take William with him, leaving the serving woman free to concentrate on her journey. Brie and Freddie have been riding since they were three. It will be tiring, but they will survive it, I’m certain,” his brother advised.

“Perhaps you’re right,” the Duke of Lundy replied, nodding thoughtfully. “Brie and Freddie will think it a game.”

“When will you go?” Henry asked.

“I’ll give the children two days to rest and then we must be on our way. I cannot take the chance that Welk will find us here, and I would be over the border as quickly as possible. The more distance I put between the children and England, the safer I will feel.”

Henry Lindley agreed, and while he loved his younger brother, he was not sorry to see him depart two days later. He and his wife had five children of their own who must be considered. And there were Cadby and its people to be protected as well. Unlike his father, who had been a charming and swashbuckling gentleman, life had taught Henry Lindley to be cautious, which was not a bad trait in this day and age.

The Dowager Duchess of Glenkirk bid her second son a tender farewell. “Try not to get yourself killed, Charlie,” she said. “God’s blood! You so resemble your father! Remember, you are all I have left of him, Charles Frederick Stuart. I am not of a mind to give you up yet.” She kissed him on both cheeks. “You can reach me by sending your messages to Belle Fleurs. Even if we are not there, they will know how to get in touch with me.” She kissed him again, and then turned her attention to her three Stuart grandchildren. “You must be in charge of your brothers, Sabrina. Obey your Uncle Patrick when you can, though he’s likely to let you run wild.” Jasmine kissed the little girl.

“Yes, Grandmama,” Lady Sabrina Stuart said, and she curtsied.

“And you, Frederick Henry Stuart, remember who you are. Obey your uncle and watch over your sister and baby brother,” she instructed.

“I will, Grandmama,” Freddie said, kissing her hand.

“Gracious! That was as elegantly done as any courtier, laddie,” she praised him, and then kissed both his cheeks.

“And now you, William Charles Stuart, obey your elders and try to be a good lad.”

“Yeth, Mam,” the little boy lisped.

Jasmine smiled softly, then bending, she kissed the child. Straightening, she looked at them a final time and said, “God go with you all, my dears.” Then she reentered the house, not wanting to see them ride off.

“Until the Roundheads came, it was a lovely summer, Charlie,” Autumn said. “I’m sorry it had such a sad end to it.” Then she flung her arms about her brother and kissed him. “I will miss you.”

“Don’t wed with just any man, little sister,” he advised her. “Marry for love and love alone, Autumn.” Kissing her, he turned away and mounted his horse, joining his family.

Autumn had already bid her nephews and niece a fond farewell. Now she stood with Henry as the Duke of Lundy and his children, in the company of the Glenkirk men-at-arms, rode away from Cadby. The brothers had said their good-byes previously.

“I hate Cromwell and his pocky Roundheads!” she said softly as the riders disappeared around a bend in the road.

“So you say quite frequently, little sister,” Henry remarked dryly. “Come inside now. The day is chill, and if you and Mama are to leave for France shortly, you must be healthy and well.”

“Have you ever been to France, Henry?” she asked him.

“Several times,” he told her. “You will enjoy it. I believe Mama means to spend the winter in the Loire at Belle Fleurs.”

“Oh,” Autumn said, sounding disappointed. “I was hoping to go to Paris.”

“Do not fret, sister,” her brother advised. “Mama will want you to acclimate yourself to France, give you time to get used to speaking French instead of English, have a wonderful and most fashionable wardrobe made for you and, like any good general planning a strategy, learn all she can about the current French court. Her wealth, and her grandfather’s French relations, will be invaluable to you, Autumn, which is why she wants you to meet them first. Trust Mama to do what is right, and I will wager a year from now, if not sooner, you will be a happily married young woman,” Henry Lindley assured his sister as, linking his arm in hers, they returned to the house.

It rained for the next week, and Autumn thought often of her brother Charlie, on the road north with his children. Actually, the weather would be of help to them, provided they didn’t catch an ague. Only someone in a great hurry, or in desperation, would ride in such weather.

The day before she and her mother were to leave for France, the Earl of Welk arrived, angrily demanding to know what had happened to his daughter’s children, and where they were now.

The Marquis of Westleigh welcomed the angry man into his Great Hall and then told him, “My mother will discuss the matter with you, my lord. I know little, if anything, but that my sister-in-law was murdered in cold blood by parliamentary forces. My youngest sister, Lady Autumn Leslie, was there and can tell you what happened that day, but you must speak gently to her. The shock of that day still pains her.”

The Earl of Welk was a spare man of medium height and sallow complexion. His severe black garb did little to alleviate an impression of meanness. He turned to the Dowager Duchess of Glenkirk. “Well, madame?”

“My son and our grandchildren were here several weeks ago, but where they are now, my lord, I have not the faintest notion. I told Charles that I did not want to know, in order that I might protect his safety, and that of our shared grandchildren. Surely you can understand.”

“Your son is not fit to care for my grandchildren, madame!” came the angry reply.

“Indeed, my lord, and what makes you think such a thing?” Jasmine demanded in haughty tones. “My son is their father.”

“Your son is profligate, a wastrel,” the earl answered.

Jasmine laughed. “Even in his callow youth Charlie could neither be called profligate nor wastrel by any. And once he had met your daughter, my lord, once his heart was engaged, there was no one for him but Bess. He was loyal, loving, and faithful to her from the moment they met, and you, my lord, know it well.”

“My daughter would be alive had she not been wed to your son,” the earl responded.

“Your daughter spent the happiest years of her young life with Charlie and their children. She is dead not because of my son but because of the actions of one of your godly parliamentary troopers. They burst into her home and battered her majordomo to death. When Bess protested, this devil, without a word, shot her dead. My own daughter witnessed the entire incident and would, herself, have been killed had the captain of these men not entered the house. When he did, the trooper was stripping the rings from your dead child’s stiffening fingers. These are the creatures you and your ilk have loosed on England, my lord! Thieves and murderers of the innocent.”

“The Stuarts are not innocent,” the earl muttered.

“The Stuarts, for all their royalty, are like the rest of us, John Lightbody. They are human, and subject to human frailty. The king was a bad king, but he was a good man. You were not satisfied with deposing him. Nay, your ilk had to murder God’s own annointed, and then mouth piously to excuse your crime. Shame on all of you!”

“It is easy to see where your heart lies, madame,” the Earl of Welk said grimly.

“My heart, sir, lies in a tomb at Glenkirk with my husband, who died at Dunbar in defense of king and country. I espouse no cause, nor did my not-so-royal Stuart son. As to our grandchildren, as I have told you, I do not know where Charlie has taken them, but wherever it is, it is for their safety’s sake. Their surname would, it now appears, have made them targets of your godly parliamentarians. Given the way in which they treated Charlie’s little cousin, the Princess Elizabeth, I understand the necessity to hide his own children. Your people did not care properly for the princess. She died of exposure, for you would not allow her chambers to be properly heated; and she died of hunger, for she was ill fed. Is that a fate you wish for Sabrina, Frederick, and wee William, my lord?”

“In the care of my wife and myself, loyal citizens, our three grandchildren would be safe,” he told her.

Jasmine laughed scornfully. “You are truly a fool if you believe that, my lord. The children belong with their father, and that is where they are. Do not make an enemy of my son, sir, for one day, I guarantee you, the king will be restored to his throne, and when that time comes, you will be glad of a friend at court who is the king’s dearly beloved cousin.”

“The Stuarts will never return to England’s throne,” the Earl of Welk said.

Again Jasmine laughed. “Oh, but they will, sir. I do not know how long it will take, but they will return to rule England one day. Be certain you are not on their personal list of traitors.”

“I shall go to the courts!” the earl cried, frustrated.

“Go then. I’m certain your parliamentary courts will be eager to learn of the unjustified murder of an innocent woman by one of their soldiers, who then attempted to steal from her. Already two of the commandments you hold dear are broken: thou shalt not kill and thou shalt not steal. My daughter is not the only witness to this crime. Sir Simon Bates was captain to the troop that invaded Queen’s Malvern. He, personally, executed the soldier involved. He cannot deny it lest he perjure himself. Your godly officers would not lie, I am certain.”

“Madame, there is something wicked about you, but to my regret your logic is flawless. If you hear from your son, will you contact me?”

“Alas, sir, I will not be able to do so. My daughter and I leave for France shortly. I could not remain in Scotland, for my memories overwhelmed me. The dower house here at Cadby is mine, of course, and I thought to end my days here, but again, I am engulfed by my remembrances. My grandmother left me a small home in the French countryside. My daughter and I shall go there to mourn the loss of James Leslie. My son, Henry, however, will, of course, send any word to you that he receives. Do not wait for it, though, sir. I suspect Charlie will not reveal his hidey-hole to any, lest his children be endangered again.” She smiled sweetly at him and held out her hand for him to kiss.

He was dismissed and he knew it. His gloved hand took her beringed one, and his lips offered the customary salute to her rank. “I thank you, madame, for seeing me,” he said, “and I bid you good day.”

“Good day, my lord,” Jasmine replied. “My felicitations to your exemplary lady wife.” Then Jasmine turned and departed the Great Hall of Cadby.

The Earl of Welk turned to the Marquis of Westleigh. “Your mother is a formidable woman, my lord.”

Henry restrained a smile. “She is, sir,” he replied with the utmost seriousness.

“You will contact me?”

“Should I receive any communication from my brother, sir, of course,” the marquis responded immediately. Not that he meant to keep such a promise, but he must appear to be sympathetic and cooperative. His own family had to be considered, but he would never betray any of his siblings. His mother was correct in her estimation of John Lightbody, Earl of Welk. He had neither the power nor the wealth, nor powerful friends who would pursue the issue for him. Still, Henry Lindley considered, there was no use making enemies. With charm and a smile, he bid the Earl of Welk a good day, watching as Lightbody left his home.

“You are clever,” his sister Autumn said, arising from her chair by the fire, where she had been seated the entire time. “Mama is clever in a haughty way, as her royal heritage dictates, but you, Henry, are clever in a different way. I will wager that Bess’s father actually believes that you will contact him if Charlie should send a message to you. He left you in a far calmer state than our mother left him,” she concluded with a chuckle.

Henry smiled a slow smile. “There is no sense making enemies one does not need,” he said. “Now Welk will return to his wife with a reasonable explanation for his failure to obtain custody of Charlie’s children. The man is a fool to believe our brother would relinquish his offspring to them under any circumstances.” He shrugged. “Where is Mama now?”

“Back in her house, overseeing the repacking of her trunks. She will leave some of her possessions there, I believe, as it is now her home in England. Tell me about Belle Fleurs, Henry. You were there once, I know. Is it big? Is it pretty?” Autumn asked her eldest brother.

“Aye, we were there as children,” he said, “when Mama was attempting to avoid marrying your father because she was annoyed that King James and his wife had ordered it. She had no idea how deeply he loved her and hid us all there until one day he found us.” The Marquis of Westleigh smiled with his memories. “I was close to seven then, and India eight, Fortune five, and Charlie still in nappies. It was long ago, and yet it seems like yesterday,” he chuckled. “What fun we had there! Mama allowed us to run wild, which we did. We almost forgot our native tongue. Then our great-grandmother came, with news that our great-grandfather had died; and close on her heels was your father, whom we quickly began to call Papa, because the truth was, we all wanted a father most desperately.

“Belle Fleurs is small and exquisite. I remember it had wonderful gardens. It is near Archambault, which as you know is the home of our French relations. I do not think Mama’s been back to Belle Fleurs in over thirty years. I know, however, she has always kept staff on to see the place was kept up. I believe India and her family went there one summer, and Charlie took Bess there for their honeymoon. Still, it has been years since the family went to Belle Fleurs for any extended stay. I imagine it will now be your home, Autumn.”

“I will return to England and Scotland when the king is restored,” Autumn said.

“You might wed a Frenchman,” her brother told her “and besides, no matter what Charlie and Mama say, it will take much skill and not just a few years to remove Master Cromwell from his place and restore Charles II to his throne.”

“But the majority of the people hate pocky Cromwell and his minions!” Autumn said.

“The people, dear little sister, have no real power, whatever the politicians may say. The people do what they are convinced to believe is the right thing to do. Power, Autumn, is the headiest aphrodisiac of all. Few can resist its lure. In times past it was the king’s own council who held the greatest power. Today it is the Parliament. England has not had quite its cropful of Master Cromwell and his adherents quite yet. Go to France, dearest sister, and make a new life for yourself. What a wonderful adventure you have ahead of you, Autumn! Do not be afraid of it.”

“But what will become of you, Henry, and the others?” Autumn wondered aloud, with regard to her siblings and their families.

“In Ulster our brothers have married and continue to do what they can to protect their people from Cromwell’s men, although they do little damage in the north. Fortune, Kieran, and their family are safe in Mary’s Land. Charlie has gone to join the king. Patrick will not, I am certain, but rather draw in his Glenkirk people for their own safety’s sake. India and Oxton, like me, will remain on our estates, attempting to remain neutral but doing whatever we must to protect our lands and families. We aren’t important families and with luck will survive this storm intact. And you, darling girl, will go with Mama to France to find your true love, and your fortune.”

Suddenly Autumn was weeping against her brother’s black velvet doublet. “I l-liked it better in the old days, when we were all together and no one was fighting or afraid,” she sobbed.

Henry Lindley, Marquis of Westleigh, sighed softly and stroked his sister’s mahogany-colored hair. “So did I, Autumn,” he said sadly, “so did I.”