But the older woman was very serious in her attempt to reunite India with Caynan Reis. She had sent Conall to the harbor that very morning to find a ship that would travel across the Mediterranean and stop at El Sinut. There were none. Finally Conall found a fishing boat willing to make the passage and take a message to the dey.
“But can he be trusted?” India asked the highlander, who had brought his information to his mistress while India was breaking her fast with Lady Stewart-Hepburn.
“The man says he fishes, but he and his crew smuggle a little, too,” Conall said. “Their little felluca goes back and forth between Tunis, El Sinut, and Naples wiout any difficulty. They pay protection to both ports, and half the men aboard are Arab. They can get there, get your message delivered, and they can get back.”
“And they will do it?” Cat asked her majordomo.
“Aye, they will. I’ve promised them an extraordinary amount of coin, half before they go, half when they get back. And, I’ve hinted they are doing the dey of El Sinut a great service for which they will receive an additional reward when they return to Naples wi his answer. Greed is a powerful spur,” he finished dryly.
“They will go today?” India demanded.
“As soon as I put your message in their hands, my lady, they will depart the port,” he told her.
Cat supplied the parchment and pen, and India immediately sat down to write to her husband. She told him of how her cousin had invaded their private garden by coming over that tiny piece of the wall that was vulnerable to the outside world. How he had rendered her unconscious and carried her off, forcing Meggie to go, too. That she was now in Naples at the villa of her stepfather’s mother, Lady Stewart-Hepburn, who had agreed she must return to her husband, but because of the constant strife between the Barbary States and Christian Europe, the women did not know how this end might be accomplished. She wrote that she loved him, and was desperate to be back in his arms again.
The waterproof parchment was then folded and sealed. Then it was placed into a leather envelope, and sealed again. Conall More-Leslie returned to the harbor, giving the leather carrier into the hands of one Captain Pietro, along with a pouch of coins. The captain weighed the pouch in his palm, his look thoughtful and assessing.
“ ’Tis all there,” Conall told him. “When you get to El Sinut, go to the dey’s palace, and ask for the chief eunuch, Baba Hassan. Tell him the leather envelope contains a message from his mistress, and is to be given to the dey immediately. Then do exactly what this man tells you to do, and when it is permitted, you will return to Naples with any answer, coming to the Villa del Pesce d’Oro to deliver that reply and collect the rest of your reward. As I have told you, the dey will instruct us to pay you additional for your service, so do not fail us, Captain Pietro.”
“This is no plot against Naples, is it?” the captain asked.
Conall shook his head, rather amazed to find this smuggler was a patriotic man. “It is a private matter,” he said. “Nothing more.”
The captain nodded.
“Bene,”
he said.
Knowing her messenger was on his way back to El Sinut softened India’s stance somewhat toward Thomas Southwood, but she was not entirely mollified, and wouldn’t be until a message of reassurance came from her husband. Still, she sat at the table that evening with Cat, her handsome son Ian, and Thomas Southwood. It was Ian Stewart-Hepburn who kindled his mother’s emotions, and took the attention completely from India by announcing his intentions to go with Thomas Southwood.
“What on earth for?” Cat demanded.
“Because, my dear mama, it is time I made something of myself and my life. I am thirty-three years of age, and I have spent much of my time in idle pursuits. I cannot continue to be a wastrel.”
“But what will you do on Tom’s ship?” Cat asked, somewhat confused. “You are not a sailor, Ian, nor can you be one at your age.”
“But I can be a merchant-trader, Mama,” he told her. “I’ve bought a cargo of fine olive oil, and I’ve sent to my saddle maker in Firenze for a dozen of his best saddles. I intend shipping them on the
Royal Charles
, and finding a market for them in Istanbul. Then I shall buy something there, perhaps silk, and return to Naples.”
“Ian! You are the son of the earl of Bothwell,” Cat said. “What can you be thinking that you would go into trade?”
“Aye, I am the youngest son of Francis Stewart-Hepburn, once the earl of Bothwell, cousin to the royal Stuarts, but my father was outlawed, and driven from Scotland. Everything was taken from him. They even tried to take you from him, Mama. There is no title, or estates, to inherit, and if there were, Margaret Douglas’s sons would have long ago laid claim to them, for she was his first wife, and her children take precedence over we youngest three, who were born when you were wed to the earl of Glenkirk. Until our father claimed us, we were thought to be Leslies, Mama.
“I am my father’s son, Mama. I cannot live my life in idleness and boredom. I cannot return to Scotland, for there is nothing there for me, and I should be considered Bothwell’s bastard, and scorned. I need to make a life for myself. I have been astoundingly well educated, and I have spent several years enjoying myself while I played. Now I need to move onward. Your generous allowance allows me to attempt this venture. I think I shall be good at it. I like the business of business. Perhaps if I make a small success of this, I shall even take a wife at long last. I know that would please you, eh, Mama?”
For a moment she stared at this man who looked so much like his father, with his blue eyes and auburn hair. She wondered what Francis would have thought of his youngest son’s desire to go into business. The world was changing, she realized, and those who did not change with it would certainly be doomed to extinction. Francis would have agreed with that sentiment. He, himself, had been a man born ahead of his time. At least their son wanted to make something of himself, and he had some Leslie blood in his veins through her, for Cat’s mother had been a Leslie. The Leslies had always been fascinated with trading, and the wealth it brought them. “I’m surprised,” she admitted candidly to him, “but if this is what you want, Ian, then I cannot deny you. But make a success of it, damn it! Trade carefully, and be clever, and get your own vessel as soon as you can. That’s where the money is, my son. In owning your own ship, and not having to pay someone else to ship your goods.”
“Exactly, madame,” Thomas Southwood said. “The
Royal Charles
is mine, which is why I was so anxious to regain her custody.”
“Would you consider selling a third share in her, sir?” Cat asked the surprised young man. She turned to Ian. “It would be my gift to you, which would allow you not only the profits from your own cargo, but a third profit from the ship itself.” She looked back to Thomas Southwood. “The third share I buy for Ian will ease the loss of the cargo you carried when you were captured last year. I know you sail under the banner of the O’Malley-Small Trading Company, but do they own any share of the
Royal Charles?”
Tom Southwood shook his head. “She’s all mine, madame,” he said. “Several of my relations have their own vessels now, but we still sail under our family’s banner for a number of reasons.”
“I understand,” Cat said, “but will you sell me a third share?”
“Aye,” he consented, “I will, madame. The price you agree upon will indeed ease my loss, and allow me to pay my men a small stipend, for they lost, too, by our sojourn to El Sinut.”
India had been fascinated by the conversation, but now as the talk turned to concluding the bargain, her mind wandered. How far had her message traveled? How would her husband retrieve her safely? What would her family think of all of this? She was hesitant to write to them just now for fear they might somehow manage to prevent her from returning to El Sinut. She knew it was a silly fear, for they were so far away in Scotland, or perhaps England, at this point in time. Still, she might err on the side of caution, and wait.
Several weeks went by during which the
Royal Charles
was restored to her full glory, but the cannon installed by the janissaries remained aboard. Thomas Southwood had decided that the loss of some cargo space was worth the ability to defend his ship. Finally, one sunny morning, he and Ian came to bid the ladies a farewell, the vessel being fully loaded, and ready to set sail for Istanbul.
“When do you plan to send India home?” the captain asked Lady Stewart-Hepburn. “Have you written to your son yet?”
“There has been no time with all your excitement, and Ian’s plans,” Cat said ingenuously. “I shall, of course, write to Jemmie and Jasmine soon. I enjoy India’s company, and think I may take her with me to my villa outside Rome for the winter. Next spring is time enough for her to return home.” She smiled at him.
“I leave the matter in your hands, madame. I have done my duty in rescuing my cousin from Barbary. My conscience is clear,” Tom replied with a smile of his own. He kissed her hand, then turned to India. “I am happy to see you are returning to reason, Cousin.”
“Go to hell,” India told him, smiling brightly.
He laughed. “I think you will be too old by the time you return to Scotland for a husband. Perhaps it will suit you to live out your life without a man. I wish you good fortune.”
“Farewell, Thomas Southwood. Go safely,” India said, and turned away to bid Ian Stewart-Hepburn an adieu. “I hope your venture will succeed. Listen to Tom. He is knowledgeable, if pigheaded.”
Ian chuckled. “Godspeed, India,” he said with a wink.
For a moment, she looked a bit puzzled, and then India realized that Ian knew of her plans. She laughed aloud, then said, “I thank you, Ian. You may look like your father, but you are your mother’s son as well, I think.” Then she kissed him on the cheek.
Several days later, Captain Pietro appeared at the Villa del Pesce d’Oro. He was shown into the salon where the two women awaited him. He tried hard not to gape at the exquisite furnishings and the two beauties, only coming to his senses when Conall poked him roughly.
“Well, man, what news do you bring?” Conall demanded.
The smuggler drew the leather envelope from his shirt, and handed it to Conall. “We could not deliver it, signore.”
“Why?”
The single word snapped from India’s mouth.
“There is a rebellion in El Sinut, madonna. The city was half aflame, the people alternating between fleeing into the hills and rioting. The janissaries were attempting to restore order. It was impossible to even get near the palace. Besides, the dey has been killed by the janissaries. He was, it appears, disloyal, or so the rumor being bruited about said. I am sorry, madonna.”
India never heard him. She had already crumpled to the floor.
Part III
SCOTLAND AND ENGLAND, 1627—1628
Chapter
16
“
N
ever, madame, did I expect to ever see you standing in this hall again,” the duke of Glenkirk said to Lady Stewart-Hepburn. “Welcome home, Mother.
Welcome home!”
“Thank you, Jemmie.” Cat let her eye wander. Little had changed in all the years she had been gone. Her great-grandmother, Janet Leslie, still commanded the hall from her portrait above one of the two large fireplaces.
God’s boots
, she thought.
Did Mam ever face the problems I now face, and must solve?
Cat doubted it.
“Where is India?” he asked her.
“She is with her mother, Jemmie. They need to talk,” Cat replied. “India has suffered greatly.”
“Come and sit by the fire, madame,” he invited her, leading her by the hand to a comfortable chair. He signaled a servant to bring them refreshment. “India deserves to suffer for her disobedience,” James Leslie said harshly. “I suppose haeing had his way wi her, that young English fop deserted her. I always thought it was India’s wealth that attracted him, nae just what was between her legs. I suppose when he discovered only her mother and I could release that wealth to her, he departed. Still, either way she’s ruined herself, and I’ll nae forgie her for it!”
“God’s blood, Jemmie, you’ve become narrow and pompous in your old age. While it is true that India eloped with young Leigh, she was wise enough to do so on an O’Malley-Small vessel. She went aboard disguised as an old lady being escorted by her nephew to Naples. Fortunately, the captain was your wife’s cousin, Thomas Southwood. Her ruse was quickly discovered, and India was taken into his custody while her equally foolish swain was confined to his cabin. The only intimacy between them were a few stolen kisses.
“Unfortunately, the ship was taken by Barbary corsairs out of the state of El Sinut. When he saw they would be captured, Tom Southwood advised his men to accept Islam and avoid the galleys. He did so himself, and was eventually able to steal back his own ship. Young Leigh, however, offended the dey of El Sinut, and is still today in captivity and chained to an oar. We don’t even know if he is yet alive.”
“And my daughter? What happened to India?” the duke asked.
“The dey was attracted to her, and took her into his harem. He fell in love with her, and made her his first wife. She was very much in love with him, but Tom Southwood kidnapped her when he and his men escaped El Sinut. He would not listen to her when she tried to tell him she was content and happy. He brought her to me in Naples. When I heard the story, I, of course, planned to send her home to her husband, but then we received word there had been some sort of civil unrest in El Sinut, and that the dey was killed trying to put it down. She has been inconsolable ever since. That was why I decided to bring her home, instead of keeping her with me in Rome this winter. India needs her family now more than she has ever needed them, Jemmie.”
“We told all our neighbors that she hae remained in England, and that she was visiting her relations in France and Italy,” he said slowly. “I doubt anyone in England knew of her foolishness since we hae planned to leave London, and hae already taken our leave of the court just before she ran away. This misadventure in Barbary can be covered up if we are clever and careful. She is close to twenty, but I believe I can still obtain a good husband for her. Her wealth will be the key to her salvation.”
“Jemmie, there are things you don’t know,” Cat told her son. “Do not be in such a hurry to find India a husband. She is not able to face such a prospect right now. Be patient with her.”
“Madame, I hae surely been more than patient wi India, but my patience is at an end,” the duke of Glenkirk said irritably. “There are several possibilities, and I’ll hae the wench wed before Twelfth Night. Then she is nae my responsibility any longer, and whatever mischief she may get into ‘twill nae be my problem. ’Twill be her husband’s problem. I love her dearly, Mother. Every bit as much as I love the sons and daughters of my own blood, but India is a wild wench. I canna hae her disrupting my household. Jasmine would nae go to Ireland to find a husband for Fortune when India disappeared, and she, poor lassie, is eager to wed, and be gone to her own home. Nay, India must be wed as soon as possible, madame.”
“And what man will have me, my lord,
in my condition?”
India said as she came into the hall. She walked directly up to her stepfather.
James Leslie’s dark-green eyes grew almost black with his anger as he saw her rounding belly. “Jesu!” he swore angrily. “Whose bastard do ye carry, mistress?”
“How dare you speak to me in that manner,” India said in cold, even tones. “I carry the son my husband and I joyously created. This child is all I have left of my lord, Caynan Reis. I had a husband, Papa. I will have no other. No man will ever take
his
place.”
The duke of Glenkirk was speechless for a long moment.
“You have seen your mother?” Cat asked quietly.
“Aye, and I have told her all,” India said. “She understands, and says I am welcome home. I have told her I do not intend to stay after the baby is born, but rather will purchase a house near my brother’s seat at Cadby. I prefer English winters to highland winters.”
James Leslie finally found his voice again. “And what will you tell people about your bairn, mistress? Who will ye say his sire was? Some infidel who took you into his harem? The child is a bastard, India, plain and simple. You will nae find a husband wi that bairn about yer neck like a millstone.”
“I was wed to Caynan Reis,” India said wearily.
“In a Christian church? By a Christian minister or priest?” he demanded furiously. His temples were throbbing as they had not throbbed in many months. He loved her. He had raised her, but she was the most irritating female he had ever known in his entire life.
“We were married by the grand iman of El Sinut,” India said, “but my husband promised me a Christian marriage when we could find a Protestant minister who would be discreet.”
“Why did the minister need to be discreet?” the duke shouted.
“Because for an Islamic ruler to wed in a Christian marriage ceremony would be a cause of strife. My lord was the sultan’s governor in El Sinut,” India explained. “God’s blood, Papa, Mama’s first husband, Prince Javid Khan, married her secretly in a Christian rite.”
“The bairn will be thought a bastard, India,” the duke said.
“As my mother was said to be a bastard?” India countered.
“Your mother was a royal Mughal princess,” he replied. “She was raised by her father in India. Your grandfather, Akbar, was wise enough to know that if your grandmother Velvet had brought her daughter home with her to England, the bairn would hae been considered bastard-born. When your mother came to England, she was full grown, and none but your aunt Sybilla dared to question her birth, and she only because she fancied herself in love wi me, and was jealous of your mother, whom I preferred.”
“I am a wealthy woman, Papa. I do not need another husband. I do not care what anyone may think of my son’s parentage. If I find England unwelcoming, then I shall go to France or Italy,” India told them.
“I think we should end this discussion for now,” Cat said. “My granddaughter and I have had a long trip, Jemmie. Besides, I have another matter of great importance to discuss with you. India, my child, return to your mother while I talk with my son.”
India bent to kiss Cat’s cheek, and then she hurried off.
“You like her,” James Leslie said.
“I do. She is honest, and loyal. Give her time, Jemmie, but now to that other matter. As you know, Bothwell is buried at the foot of our garden in Naples. However, his heart is in a silver reliquary that I have carried with me since his death. I have brought it home to bury in Scotland. The spot will be unmarked as will our future grave here. Grant me this request, and I shall never ask anything of you again,” Cat finished.
James Leslie shook his head. “You nae ere asked anything of me, madame, ye always give wi yer whole heart. My father was a fool to ever let ye go.”
“Nay,” Cat said. “Do not criticize Patrick, for ours was a match made by our families when I was barely out of nappies, and he a young man. He was as set in his ways as you are, my son, and I was as wild as a highland pony. I loved him well until he betrayed me by allowing the king to victimize me, but the truth is, and we both know it, Jemmie, Francis Stewart-Hepburn was the great love of my life. Both of us would have gone to our graves never admitting that had your father not been so mindless and jealous in the matter of the king. Patrick Leslie was not foolish. He was simply stubborn, and every bit as wild and proud-hearted as I was, though he would not admit to it.”
“We will make a place for ye both,” the duke of Glenkirk said.
“Only you, Conall, and I shall know the truth,” Cat told her son with a small smile.
“When do you want to do it?” he inquired.
“As soon as possible. I want to return to Rome before travel becomes utterly impossible with the winter weather. I only came to bring Francis home to Scotland, and India back to you,” she told him frankly. “I’ll sail from Aberdeen before Christmas.”
“Remain the winter,” he pleaded with her.
She shook her head. “I cannot take the weather anymore, Jemmie. I am no girl, but an old lady of sixty-five years. Rome is a milder climate, and better for me now.”
“ ’Tis a bad time to be on the sea,” he noted.
“There is always that fair time in December before winter sets in,” Cat said quietly. “I shall be in Calais in a shorter time than if I had to travel overland down through England to Dover. I shall visit your sister and Jean-Claude a brief time, and then go on to Marseilles, through Monaco, San Lorenzo, and Genova, and down the boot through Firenze and on to Rome. I have friends in Monaco, Genova, and Firenze. It will be an easy trip. We came that way, but only stopped each night to rest my horses, which are awaiting my return with my coach and coachman in Calais.”
“How did you get from Aberdeen?” he asked her, surprised, for he had assumed she had traveled with her own equipage.
“The Kira bankers arranged everything,” she told him. “They always do for me.”
True to her word, Catriona Hay Leslie Stewart-Hepburn stayed only a brief time with her son and his family at Glenkirk. There was barely time to gather her family, but learning she was with Jemmie, they all came: her other sons, Colin and Robert; her daughters, Bess, Amanda, and Morag; all Patrick Leslie’s children. She hadn’t seen them in so long, and while they were her children, they were virtually strangers to her. And the grandchildren. There were so many grandchildren. Her brothers and their families came, and again there was the feeling of strangeness. They had always been good-hearted, rough highlanders. She had been the odd one. But still, there was that feeling of
clan
amongst them all, and she wept to see them go.
There was nothing Cat could do to ease the anger and the estrangement between her son and India. Even her daughter-in-law, Jasmine, was at a loss. It made no difference to James Leslie that both his mother and his wife counseled patience to each side. Jemmie was angry, and India was angry. A collision between these two strong wills was inevitable.
“Why would she nae listen to me?” the duke asked his wife for the hundredth time. “Did I nae tell her that Viscount Twyford was not suitable? Look now what her willfulness has cost her!”
“She is a widow having a child.” Jasmine attempted to put a simple face on the problem. She looked at her husband’s hands in hers, and looked into his face. “Jemmie, in El Sinut she was legally, and lawfully wed.
And she was loved.”
“By whom?” he demanded. “Some handsome renegade, nameless and of unknown origins,” the duke despaired, pulling his hands from hers. “Jasmine, we canna allow her to go off on her own to raise her bairn. There will always be questions. How do we answer those questions? What man will take the lass to wife wiout the answers? We hae said she was in England, in France, and finally wi my mother in Italy. That she hae come home wi Mother is to the good. It gives substance to that lie, but there is nae way we can explain India’s big belly, or the bairn she will hae in the spring. I canna let our lass ruin her life, and I will nae!”
“Then what are we to do?” the duchess of Glenkirk demanded of her husband.
“She must go up to A-Cuil where she will nae be seen once her condition becomes too obvious, and that will be soon. We will make some excuse for her absence. That she is in Edinburgh, perhaps, visiting family. When the bairn is born we will foster it out to some cotter’s wife. Nae at Glenkirk, but perhaps at Sithean or Greyhaven. India is nae to be told where the bairn is. If the birth is hard, we will tell her that the bairn died, and that will be an end of it. Then we will seek a match for her. It is the only solution.”
“Ahh, Jemmie,” his wife said, “you make it all sound so simple, but there are factors you have not considered. How do we explain the loss of India’s maidenhead to this new husband? And how will you get my daughter to give up her child so easily? My father drugged my mother so that he might take her from me, and she never forgot it. India loved her husband. She will never let you take her child from her!”