The Spitfire

by Bertrice Small

  Their marriage was celebrated on the sixteenth day of May, 1469. Rowena was given a dowry by her powerful relative that consisted of ten pieces of silver and five pieces of gold, a white mare with its saddle and bridle, and two fine oak chests bound in iron. The first chest contained all the linens she had been embroidering over the past year in anticipation of her new status as a wife, a pound bag of salt, a set of six silver spoons, and a bag containing four sticks of cinnamon, two nutmegs, and a half pound of peppercorns. The second chest held her clothing, two bolts of fabric, and the little jewelry she had inherited from her late mother, as well as a small strand of freshwater pearls given her as a wedding gift by the earl and his wife. It was not the dowry of an earl’s daughter, but neither was it a dowry of which she need be ashamed. She came to Henry a well-propertied woman able, despite her youth, to command his respect by not only her important connections, but by her possessions as well.

  But now Henry was dead, and to protect her child from the lasciviousness of SirJasper Keane, she must yield her body to him. There was no one left to protect her, and so she must protect Arabella. She would have never imagined, long ago in the happy childhood she shared with her cousin Anne at Warwick and Middleham castles, that it would in the end all come to this. She sighed deeply, and then her ears, sharp with years of practice, heard his footsteps outside her door. Rowena half closed her eyes and feigned sleep.

  Jasper Keane entered her bedchamber quietly, yet there was nothing stealthy in his coming. He came as a husband might come into his wife’s rooms, with a certainty of the warm welcome awaiting him. From beneath her eyelids she watched as he removed his clothing, not even realizing her breathing had become shallow as his body, every bit as attractive as his face, was revealed to her. Long legs, a long slim torso, a well-furred chest, the hair strangely darker than that upon his head. Having lain his garments neatly where he might regain them quickly, Jasper Keane walked over to the edge of the bed, and drawing back the coverlet, pulled Rowena to her feet. Her blue eyes flew open with surprise as his hand hooked itself into the rounded neck of her shift and, with a quick motion, ripped it in twain, carelessly tossing the two halves aside.

  “In future, my pet,” he said in a pleasant, low voice, “you will sleep as God fashioned you. I prefer it.” Then, without further preamble, he kissed her a long, hard kiss, finally releasing her to say, “You kiss like a girl, Rowena. Open your mouth so I may have your tongue.” Obedient, she complied and he sucked her tongue into his mouth, even as his fingers cupped and kneaded her buttocks, drawing her tightly against him.

  Her head swam as familiar sensations, newly awakened, surfaced, and her knees seemed to turn to jelly beneath her. It had never been quite so intense with Henry, she thought, moaning as he broke off the kiss and, lifting her up, began to lick her skin. She threw her head back, the veins in her throat straining in her effort to remain quiet, lest her cries of pleasure bring the entire keep awake. His broad tongue slid over the taut skin, moving on to the softer flesh of her breasts.

  He laughed aloud as her whole body first stiffened and then shuddered as she attained her first crisis. Her pretty head fell forward upon her chest, even as he sat down upon the edge of the bed, cradling her within his arms. His fingers probed her, and finding evidence of her passion, he smiled broadly. “You are a passionate little piece, my pet,” he approved. Then he turned her over so that she lay face down across his knees, and stared with delight upon her pretty, rounded posteriors. Still bemused, Rowena came quickly to herself as his hard hand smacked down upon the tender flesh. “Ohhhh!” she cried, startled.

  “Be discreet, my pet,” he warned her. “We do not wish to share our interlude with anyone else. Put your hand in your mouth if you must.” And he commenced to rain a series of stinging blows upon her helpless bottom while she whimpered and squirmed beneath his punishing hand, his other hand firmly upon her slender neck. When the globe of her skin had turned a deep, burnished pink and he could feel a heat rising from it, he reached beneath her to ascertain her condition, and smiled at the sticky wetness his fingers encountered.

  He placed her face down upon the bed, and mounting her, entered her woman’s passage from the rear, his hips finding the perfect rhythm. To his delight, she immediately pulled herself to her knees and her own hips thrust back at him. “Very good, my pet,” he purred in her ear. “Very, very good!” he continued to approve as, lifting her carefully, he slowly turned her about onto her back, and holding her legs apart, probed her deeply.

  She was dying, Rowena thought, and she deserved to die for this betrayal of Arabella that was so heavenly. She had no right to enjoy his lascivious attentions so greatly, but she was enjoying them. Enjoying them more than she had ever enjoyed making love with Henry, and she had always enjoyed making love with her late husband. Jasper Keane, however, was a master of passion, and if she must protect her dearest child from him, Rowena considered, what was wrong with enjoying this pleasure? She had not initiated this erotic bout. She was not to blame. Why should she be punished for it? Her nails dug into the muscles of his shoulders, and he thrust almost brutally.

  “Aye, my little pet,” he growled softly, “claw me, for I do not mind your marks upon me.”

  She barely heard his words, nor did she remember very clearly the rest of that night of fiery and tumultuous desire. In the early minutes before the dawn she awoke to find herself alone amid the tremendous tangle of bedclothes. Though replete with satisfaction, her body ached, particularly her woman’s passage, which had been so long denied a mate. Jasper’s manhood was larger than Henry’s had been, but she had seemed to have no trouble accommodating him.

  Rowena longed to remain abed, for she was drained of energy. He had used her vigorously throughout the night, his great lance never seeming to flag or grow tired, and now as she lay exhausted, he was already up and gone. Reluctantly she arose from her bed and straightened the bedclothes so that Elsbeth and the other maids would not be suspicious. Then she took the two shredded halves of her shift and laid them on the barely glowing coals of her fire, watching as the fire sprang to life, adding a log that any evidence of her shameful behavior be fully eradicated. She would indeed sleep naked from now on, for she could not afford to lose any more of her undergarments.

  Taking an earthenware pitcher of water from a corner of the little fireplace, she poured the warmed liquid into her basin and scrubbed herself clean with a small cloth. Then taking a clean shift from her storage trunk, she quickly dressed herself and sat down to do her hair, brushing the floor-length wheaten-blonde hair free of tangles, braiding it and winding the braids atop her head to be pinned securely. She had just finished when Elsbeth entered the room.

  “M’lady! Forgive me for being tardy, but I fear I overslept,” the woman said.

  “Is it late?” Rowena asked.

  “Nay, m’lady, not the hour,” came the reply.

  “I awoke early,” Rowena said, “and so I decided not to await you. There is no harm done, Elsbeth. Is anyone else up and in the hall, girl?”

  “Sir Jasper and his man, Seger,” Elsbeth said, avoiding her mistress’s gaze, but Rowena did not notice, for she was hoping her own guilt did not show upon her face.

  “I must first go to see how my daughter does,” she said almost to herself, and hurried from the chamber.

  Arabella was, of course, fine, rarely being ill and having little toleration for the state. She was already up, and Lona was helping her to braid her own hair.

  “I want Lona for my servant, Mama,” she said by way of a greeting. Her light green eyes challenged her mother to refuse.

  “I think that would be an excellent idea,” Rowena agreed. “I am certain that Rosamund can spare one of her daughters from the laundry, and I must agree you will need someone other than old Nurse Ora to look after your needs. After all, you are to be married in two years, but Ora, I know, persists in treating you like a child. We shall retire her to her cottage until you have your own children fo
r her to look after. Lona can learn from her aunt Elsbeth what she must know to care for a lady properly.”

  “Ohh, thank you, m’lady Rowena!” Lona cried, delighted, and even Arabella smiled, pleased with her victory.

  In late April there came word that little Prince Edward had died at Middleham on the ninth day of the month. Rowena longed to go to her cousin Anne and comfort her, but Jasper Keane would not allow it. His sly innuendos regarding Arabella’s fate should she leave him for even a short time frightened as well as angered her, for she knew he was once again prowling the borders like a tomcat.

  “Then let Arabella go, my lord, for I cannot bear the thought of my cousin, the queen, believing we do not care.”

  He considered her request and then, to her surprise, acquiesced. “Aye, let the king see our sympathy and loyalties are with him in his time of sorrow. Besides,” he grinned, pinching one of her nipples fondly, “you are far more entertaining these days than my little bride-to-be. While she is gone we shall ride the hills together and visit some of my pretty little friends. We shall have a ménage a trois, my pet. I enjoy being entertained by two women at a time. Once Arabella and I are wed and I have broken her to my bridle, you will join us in our bedsport, Rowena. Will you not enjoy that, or will it make you jealous to share my favors?”

  “My lord! You forget yourself! I will never partake in such a vile debauchery,” she cried, shocked.

  He laughed. “Ah Row, sweet Row. You will do precisely as you are told, because if you do not, I have the means by which to make you suffer as you have never suffered before.” He tipped her face to his and kissed her lightly. “You know that in your heart, my pet, do you not?”

  And she did. She had known almost from the first night that this was a terrible and dangerous man. She knew, but she was also aware that the king was not knowledgeable of Sir Jasper Keane’s dark soul. Richard was a noble and decent man with a good heart, but she could not go to him and expose Jasper Keane, for to reveal the true nature of Sir Jasper was to reveal her own shame.

  “Arabella must start tomorrow,” she said quietly, pretending not to have been frightened by his implied threats.

  “I shall arrange a suitable escort, my pet,” he replied, knowing she feared him now and would do whatever she had to in order to protect her child. For now it contented him to leave the child alone, although of late he had noticed her little breasts beginning to bud quite prettily beneath her bodice. A tasty dish was best savored over time, he thought.

  Arabella was gone several weeks, most of her time spent traveling back and forth between Greyfaire and her royal cousins. The queen, she reported upon her return, was inconsolable at the loss of her only child.

  “Ahh, Mama,” she said. “It would break your heart. Poor cousin Anne weeps constantly. Neddie’s death has fair destroyed her.”

  “But was she glad to see you, Arabella?” demanded Sir Jasper. “I hope your presence was not an additional pain to her, lest she think ill of us all.”

  “Nay, my lord,” Arabella said a trifle stiffly. “My cousin, the queen, was happy for the company. She said I reminded her of better times and took away some of her sadness.”

  “I am glad for that,” Rowena said softly, “but what of the king? He must be as devastated by little Edward’s death as is poor Anne.”

  “He is, Mama,” Arabella replied. “Sometimes he does not even hear what is being said to him. His heart and the queen’s have been broken, especially as the physicians say cousin Anne can have no more children. There are some who say the queen will die of her sorrow.”

  “Then the king can take a younger, more fertile wife,” remarked Sir Jasper.

  Arabella rounded on him. “My lord! Where is your heart, or is it true as I have heard, that you have none?”

  Jasper Keane was momentarily stunned by her words, which were both sharp and knowing. He stared at the girl, seeing her as he had not seen her before. True, she was Row’s daughter, but her outburst made it more than clear she was more her father’s daughter. Henry Grey, a man who had doted upon his sweet and helpless wife, was also a man with a famous temper. Arabella had obviously inherited that temper.

  “What, poppet?” he said in a bantering tone, for Sir Jasper had decided not to be angry with her. He rather liked this new and fiery disposition she was showing. Row’s meekness was pleasant, but it was also dull. “Have you been listening to gossip, Arabella? I would have thought better of you,” he mocked.

  “In gossip there is always some grain of truth,” she answered him tartly, “but we are not speaking of my behavior, sir. We speak of yours. My cousin, the queen, suffers greatly her loss. Neddie was her only surviving child, and she birthed him at great risk to herself. Perhaps you did not know that, for men are not interested in such things, I am told. She has striven over the years to make him strong and healthy, which is why he lived at Middleham, away from the court, the crush of crowds and possible contagion. If, my lord, you can have no sympathy for the pain she is feeling now, and the greater pain the king feels, at least have the decency to be silent, lest your words be repeated and heard by your enemies, who would use them against you. Since you are to be my husband and the lord of Greyfaire Keep, such indiscretion on your part endangers not only you, but me and mine as well,” Arabella concluded furiously.

  “You and yours?” he said softly, his irritation rising just slightly.

  “Aye, my lord. Greyfaire is mine, and you become its true lord only when you become my husband,” Arabella reminded him.

  “Arabella! You must be more biddable,” Lady Rowena wailed nervously. “Must she not be more biddable, Father Anselm?” The despairing mother turned to the keep’s priest, who also sat with them at the highboard.

  Father Anselm, who had come to Greyfaire in the year of Arabella Grey’s birth, hid a smile. He knew the mistress of the keep far better than anyone else, even her own mother. His gray eyes twinkled as the hapless Rowena chattered on nervously.

  “We need Sir Jasper, my darling! We need a man to hold Greyfaire for the king!”

  Arabella snorted. “I am the Grey of Greyfaire, Mama. I am perfectly capable, with FitzWalter’s help, of holding this keep for the king, though I doubt there will be a need for it soon. The Scots may swarm over the border at regular intervals, but the worst they do is drive off the livestock, take whatever of value that is not nailed down, and steal the pretty girls away. Then our English borderers reciprocate in kind. This keep is impregnable. Father said it, and he would know. Besides, we are not a tempting target on our little, lonely, out-of-the-way hill. We are hardly a great castle.”

  “Greyfaire is small, my lady, but hardly as unimportant as you try to convince yourself,” the priest said quietly. “It has great strategic value to the land south of it, as it is usually the first to know of a Scots invasion. This little castle is built upon the walls of a Roman fort. If you would go to the cellars you would see the evidence for yourself of my words. This site has always been of value to someone.”

  “That is why the king arranged this marriage for you with Sir Jasper,” Rowena said. “You must have a husband, Arabella!”

  “My marriage is not to be celebrated for two years, Mama,” Arabella replied irritably. “Until then I am sole mistress of Greyfaire, and women have held castles against invasion in the past. If I must, then I assure you I will.”

  “Women holding castles in siege more often than not had strong families behind them, and husbands as well,” Father Anselm noted in a reasonable tone. He knew to annoy Arabella was to incur her undying enmity. Young girls her age were given to moods.

  “I am but two months past my twelfth birthday,” Arabella said in a quieter manner. “After my fourteenth birthday, Sir Jasper and I will wed. He is the husband chosen for me by my king, and I have sworn my fealty to King Richard. Like my father before me, I shall not break my oath.”

  “Nor would I expect it of you, poppet,” Sir Jasper said softly, pleased. The little wench had definite pos
sibilities. She became more interesting with each passing day, and perhaps he would learn to like pale gold hair after all.

  The argument was over, but Rowena, unable to realize the subtleties of the situation, nattered on heedlessly. “You are a female, Arabella! A mere female, and women are weak of spirit. Is that not so, Father Anselm?”

  At the moment her thoughtless words fell upon his ears, the priest found himself closer to murder than he had ever been in his life. How could the Lady Rowena be so harebrained and rash as to arouse her daughter’s ire just when he had managed to calm Arabella? What was worse the silly woman had unknowingly boxed him in, for he could not deny her words without coming into direct conflict with his religion. Forced to promulgate the teaching of the church, he nodded dourly, although he did not believe for one minute that Arabella Grey was a weak vessel. Most women, perhaps, but not all, and certainly not this young girl. “The church teaches us, my daughter, that the female of the species is indeed the weaker vessel in some respects, but she is strong in others, else God would not have given her the heavy burden of bearing children. St. Paul teaches that women should be obedient to their husbands, and I know that when Arabella weds with Sir Jasper, she will be a good wife to him, even as you were a good wife to Sir Henry. I think that you worry needlessly.”

  “Indeed you do, Mama,” Arabella said. “I will do my duty, for I am, above all else, my father’s daughter, and my father laid down his life for England in doing his duty. I am not my brother, but I am a Grey. I can do no less.”