The Spitfire

by Bertrice Small

  “You surprise me, mignon,” he admitted frankly. “I know that you are not your mother, but such wisdom from one so young is perhaps a bit frightening. I salute you, wife!” He bent and brushed her lips lightly with his.

  Immediately Arabella flushed with confusion and not just a little pleasure. She was suddenly very aware of him in a way she had never been before. The very air about them was charged with an excitement she had never experienced until now. Suddenly she was very curious to know exactly what it was that Jasper did with other ladies that made his reputation as a great lover such a legend. She found herself longing for their wedding day, their wedding night, even though she knew little of what was involved. She had attempted to question Rowena, but her mother’s answer, given with a strangely flushed face, had been brief and not particularly informative.

  “It is too soon for you to ask me such questions, Arabella,” Rowena had said sharply. “I shall explain everything that you need to know just before you go to your marriage bed. I am disturbed that you would ask me such things now, for it bespeaks a lack of chastity on your part.”

  Arabella was not put off by her mother’s harsh and unfair words. “Is it like the dogs in the hall, Mama? When the males mount the bitches?” she persisted. “Come, Mama, what difference does it make when you tell me? I would digest your words at my leisure in the event that I must ask you further questions. You know how I dislike being at a disadvantage. I would not have Jasper think badly of me, or that I am an ignorant country girl.”

  “A bride should most certainly be ignorant of what transpires between a man and a woman, Arabella! I am shocked by your attitude,” Rowena said irritably. Then she arose from her place by the fire and left the hall, her skirts swishing with a strangely angry sound.

  Arabella watched her go, wondering what on earth she had ever said to distress her mother so. Then she shrugged. Rowena was probably nervous about the wedding, but then so too was she. Rowena at least knew what being married was all about. She did not. Oh, she knew how to run her household, for Rowena had been certain her knowledge there was complete, but that wasn’t all to it. She had spoken to Father Anselm on the matter, but the dear old priest was full of vague platitudes about a woman’s duty toward her husband. But what of love? Where did that come into it? Her mother had learned to love her father. Would she learn to love Jasper? What exactly was love?

  The next few days were filled with activity as Greyfaire Keep prepared for the nuptials of its heiress. Rowena spent most of her time in the kitchens overseeing the menu for the feast to follow the ceremony, though there would be few guests because of their isolation and the suddenness of the wedding. The wedding gown was quickly fashioned. Arabella was busily engaged seeing to the decorations in the Great Hall, as well as those in the church, which was situated in the little village that clustered at the foot of the castle hill.

  Rowena was relieved that her activities prevented her from seeing much of her daughter. It meant she might avoid Arabella’s probing questions about the relations between a man and a woman. Thinking of Jasper and her child together filled her with impotent and unhappy distress. It wasn’t fair. It just wasn’t fair! She was still young and beautiful. Why should she not be the bride? She had to talk to Jasper. There were other things he must consider before he was irrevocably bound by this marriage.

  Jasper Keane contemplated his bride-to-be in the hall the night before their wedding. Over the last months he had become acutely aware of how very innocent Arabella really was, and he was not only astounded, but delighted by this knowledge. He certainly expected Arabella’s maidenhead to be firmly lodged and totally intact, but the fact that she was so totally virginal in her person, particularly as she was so outspoken a girl, surprised him. He had broken a few maidenheads in his time, of course, but the girls involved were worldly wise, with lips used to kissing and breasts well fondled. It excited him to think of a female totally without carnal knowledge. When he lay with Row later he would instruct her to tell his bride nothing of a man and a woman. He would teach Arabella everything she needed to know. She would be without inhibitions, and she would please him as no woman ever had.

  He looked down at the girl next to him, and taking her hand, smiled down into her face. “I have a small gift for you, mignon,” he told her, and reaching into a pouch that hung from his side, he drew forth a delicate gold chain from which hung a thistle carved from a single piece of pale violet quartz crystal which was banded in gold.

  Her eyes grew bright with her pleasure as she took it from him and slipped it over her head. “It is beautiful, Jasper! Thank you. I shall cherish it always.”

  “Wear it tomorrow, mignon. It would please me to see you in your wedding finery with this little jewel nestling between your pretty breasts.” He bent so only she might hear his bold words. “I long to caress those sweet fruits, mignon.” Then he dropped a kiss upon her shoulder. “How I hunger for the morrow when you will truly be mine!”

  Arabella colored with his words. “My lord,” she said, “you should not speak to me so.”

  “Why, mignon, you are to be my wife, and a husband may speak so to his spouse,” he told her. “Once we are wed I shall not simply speak of love. Do you not long for my arms as much as I long to hold you in them, Arabella? Do you know how difficult it becomes with each passing day as you grow in beauty before my very eyes, not to kiss or caress you? Not to love you as I so very much want to do?”

  “I know naught of love, my lord,” she answered him. “It is not seemly, my mother says, for a girl to know such things before her marriage, although I think it foolish to be that ignorant.” Arabella’s heart was skipping beats within her chest. Jasper was being more attentive to her than he had ever been. Was it possible he was in love with her?

  “Your mother is wise, mignon,” he purred low, his warm breath soft in her ear. “A husband should indeed be the only font of knowledge a wife has. It is he who should tutor her in all that would please him.”

  For all her excitement over her marriage, Arabella slept well that night. The first day of June dawned unusually warm for the north. The mists cloaked the surrounding hillsides and draped themselves over the keep’s towers. The sun, a blur of mother of pearl, struggled to assert itself through the thick fog, but so far had not been successful. The wedding ceremony was to be solemnized early so that the rest of the day might be spent in celebration of the event, Greyfaire’s people having been excused from their labors today.

  Rowena, overseeing her daughter’s bath and other preparations, looked exhausted. There was a mark upon her bared left shoulder that resembled a bite, but of course that could not be. The tawny orange of her gown, usually a most flattering color for Rowena with her rich gold hair, somehow looked all wrong today against her pale skin with those purple-black circles beneath her blue eyes. Lady Grey, considered by all who knew her to be a pretty woman, was definitely not at her best this morning.

  She had left his bed to come to her only child. Left after a night of incredible passion and savagery that should have turned her against this man who was to wed her daughter. She could not dissuade him from marrying Arabella, though God knows she had tried. As wicked as Jasper Keane was, she loved him. She knew that he did not love her, but perhaps, just perhaps, he would love Arabella, and then her sacrifice would not be for naught. It would be for Arabella, even as everything she had done had been for the girl. Aye, Jasper was a wicked and cruel man, but if he loved Arabella, then mayhap he would not be wicked and cruel to her.

  “How beautiful you are,” she said quietly to her daughter when at last the girl was dressed in all her nuptial finery. “You are so much like your father. If only he might be here today to see you.”

  “Am I really beautiful, Mama? Do you think that Jasper will think it? He has, after all, been to court and seen so many really lovely women.”

  “None as fair as you, my daughter,” Rowena said sincerely, a great sadness overwhelming her as she spoke, though she knew not
why.

  “I think I love him, Mama, and I would be the most beautiful woman in the world for him!” the bride enthused.

  “Arabella, you know nothing of love,” Rowena said. “You are flattered by Jasper’s attentions and delighted that he is so fair to look upon, but that is not love. In your secret heart you know it. But come to my pier glass and see for yourself.”

  “I do love him, Mama! I do!” Arabella cried earnestly, even half believing it herself.

  “Perhaps,” Rowena answered, “or perhaps you but think you do. It does not matter which. He is to be your husband whether you love him or not. If believing you love him makes it easier for you, then believe it. But be warned, Arabella, never give yourself so wholly to a man that when you finally discover he is but a mere mortal and fallible as we all are, it breaks your heart and spirit. You must be strong to be a woman. Your strength must be beyond that of all others if you are to survive. Remember that, and remember that I love you!” Then giving her child a kiss upon her cheek, Rowena left her for a few moments to her own thoughts.

  Arabella Grey was surprised. In her entire lifetime she had never heard her mother speak so profoundly. Rowena had always reminded her of a pretty, fluffy kitten, or a bright, darting butterfly. Charming, beautiful, sweet, and sometimes even amusing, but with little of a serious nature to recommend her. It startled Arabella to think that perhaps she did not really know her mother at all, or else perhaps it was just the excitement of today that made her feel that way. Rowena, undoubtedly, was moved to bestow upon her daughter some words of wisdom before her marriage, and indeed, her mother’s words had given Arabella pause for thought. How strange. She had never before thought Rowena wise.

  Arabella turned her eyes to the pier glass to gaze upon her image once again. The glass was one of the castle’s most precious possessions, having been brought back to England by a Grey ancestor who had fought in the Holy Land and passed through Venice on his way home to England. Her wedding gown was the most beautiful garment that she had ever possessed, or she believed she would ever possess. Both skirt and bodice were of cloth of silver, embroidered with gold threads and small pearls. It was rather tight-fitting, with a long waist, long, close-fitted sleeves banded in ermine, a wide shawl collar of rich, soft ermine, and a low vee-neck which offered a tempting view of her breasts. A delicate gold tussoire hung from the jeweled girdle holding up her long skirt. On her feet she wore a pair of round-toed sollerets, fashioned from soft, gilded kidskin.

  Her hands were free of rings, as she would receive her wedding band, but she had worn Jasper’s lovely chain, and a small jeweled rosary also hung from her girdle. Her elderly nurse had brushed her beautiful hair out so that it hung to her ankles, a gossamer cloud of pale-golden silver gilt. She looked very grown up, she thought, and yet at the same time she looked so very young. Suddenly she was afraid. What was she doing? She was about to marry a man she wasn’t even certain she wanted to marry.

  “Come, dearie,” the old nurse said, breaking into her thoughts. “‘Tis time to go to the church. Yer fine laddie will be awaiting ye.”

  Arabella swallowed back her nerves. It was all right. Everything was perfectly all right. She was going to marry Sir Jasper Keane, a man she could certainly learn to love. They would live a happy life together. They would have many children. Oh, yes! She wanted children. Jasper was everything she had ever dreamed of in a man. It would be a good life.

  The keep seemed empty as they passed out into the courtyard. It was only a short walk over the drawbridge, down the hill to the church. Arabella found herself relieved to see Jasper waiting to escort her. His eyes widened with approval as he saw her, and a small sigh of relief escaped her lips. The servants and all of her people were lining their path. They called out their good wishes as she passed with Jasper. They were not invited into the small church, for it would not have been able to contain them all, but having seen the bride in her wedding finery and the groom in his scarlet robes, they were content to return to their tasks until the feasting began, for Lady Rowena had promised there would be cakes and ale for all.

  It was a strange sort of day, for the mists had still not lifted by the time they arrived at the church where the invited guests had assembled. Inside the stone structure the air was damp, but the flickering candles upon the altar threw a hazy golden light over all. The stone altar was laid with a fine embroidered linen cloth upon which sat a beautiful jeweled cross and a pair of golden candlesticks. As they neared the altar where Father Anselm stood arrayed in his finest gold and white robes, Arabella could suddenly smell the white roses that had been brought in to decorate the church. The white roses of York. In the oaken pews that flanked the church’s single aisle were some Grey relations of her father’s—elderly souls, for the most part—a few male friends of SirJasper’s, and the castle servants who were the most privileged of Greyfaire folk. Arabella and her bridegroom knelt before the priest upon a velvet-cushioned double prie-dieu. Behind them Arabella could hear Rowena softly sobbing.

  For a moment all was silence, and then raising his hand to bless all, Father Anselm intoned, “In nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti. Amen.”

  “Amen,” echoed the congregation, but some, sharper-eared than others, thought they heard the sound of horses’ hooves beneath the sound of their own voices.

  Father Anselm placed his hands upon the bowed heads of the kneeling couple, and suddenly there was no mistaking the tramp of uninvited booted feet upon the stone porch outside. As the male guests arose to their feet in alarm, the double doors to the church were burst asunder by armed and kilted clansmen who poured into the holy place, blocking all possible routes of escape, successfully imprisoning the wedding guests, none of whom were armed. To have come armed to a wedding would have been considered an offense to the laws of hospitality. The men in the wedding party remained silent, but there were small cries of alarm from the women. Then all was silent. This was, after all, the border, and they were used to such raids.

  “My sons! My sons!” Father Anselm spoke up. “Why have you come armed into God’s house, and on this particularly joyous occasion?” The priest was a small man, but he had a commanding voice when he chose to use it. He had spent his life on this border, and he recognized the plaid that most of these borderers were wearing as Ancient Stewart, although there were several men in the Murray tartan. It did not bode well, for the Stewarts were the royal family, and he could not possibly think what they wanted with unimportant little Greyfaire unless an invasion was imminent. The keep and its people were relatively safe from everyday raiding.

  The clansmen filling the aisle parted as if in response to a silent command. A tall gentleman wearing the crest badge of a chieftain came forward to face the priest. “I am Tavis Stewart, the Earl of Dunmor,” he said in a strong voice heard by all in the church. “I have come for only one thing, holy father. That man!” A long, elegant finger pointed at Sir Jasper Keane. “That cowardly dog who now stands before ye in his wedding finery is mine! I thank God that I have at least saved yon innocent maid from the terrible fate of being his wife. Gie me Jasper Keane, and I will leave Greyfaire in peace.”

  It was generously said, for everyone within the sound of Tavis Stewart’s voice knew he might take Sir Jasper, slay all within the church, and pull Greyfaire to bits, stone by stone, if he so chose. The guests were frankly curious as to what Sir Jasper had done to bring down the wrath of the Royal Stewarts.

  “My son,” Father Anselm replied. “Ye seek to do murder, for I see it in your eyes. I cannot turn this man over to you under such circumstances. ‘Twould make me every bit as guilty as you will be should I allow you to commit such a folly. Whatever ill will may be between you two gentlemen, can we not reason together?”

  “This devil is guilty of murder himself, holy father,” the earl replied. “Does not the Bible say that they who live by the sword are fated to die by the sword? I would meet Sir Jasper in single combat.”

  “Tell me what he had don
e, my son, that has earned him such a fierce enmity on your part,” the priest said quietly.

  “He has wantonly murdered the Lady Eufemia Hamilton, my betrothed wife, holy father. For that act I will have his miserable life!” The earl looked hard-eyed at Jasper Keane, who now stood, dragging Arabella to her feet with him. “He came over the border fifteen months ago to Culcairn House, where he foully murdered Lady Hamilton. Then he fired Culcairn and drove off the young laird’s livestock. The lad managed to escape and take his two younger sisters and little brother to safety.”

  “Sanctuary!” The strangled cry rang throughout the small church. “I beg sanctuary of the church, Father Anselm!” cried Sir Jasper Keane.

  Rowena pushed forward through the kilted men to put comforting arms about her daughter. Arabella, however, shook her mother off. Rowena paled with fear as her only child placed herself squarely before the Earl of Dunmor and, looking up at him, shouted angrily.

  “How dare you, sir! How dare you break into my home, and interrupt my wedding?! You are naught but a filthy Scots liar! A low border bandit! Begone this instant! I am the king’s cousin, and I will have royal justice from Richard if you trifle with me further!”

  For a moment no one even dared to breathe, and then the Earl of Dunmor said in an icy voice, “Madame, I have killed men for fewer words than ye have just now uttered. Did ye not hear what I said, or are ye too daft to comprehend my tale?” He looked down on her and thought she was a pretty wench, even if she was stupid enough to be besotted by his enemy.

  “I do not believe you,” Arabella answered him rudely. “Sir Jasper is every bit the parfait and gentle knight. He would not murder a woman, my lord.” Then her voice softened. “You are but grief-stricken for your lady, I can see.”

  “Grief has nothing to do with it, madame,” the earl answered coldly. “Yon coward has besmirched the honor of the Stewarts of Dunmor by his cruel act. My betrothed, I have learned, was his most willing mistress. This gentle knight of yours refused to wed wi’ her, but he wanted her to come wi’ him to England. When she refused, yer parfait knight raided her home, and when he had finished amusing himself wi’ Eufemia, madame, he gave her to his men for their sport. When all had been taken from her that could be taken, Sir Jasper’s men threw her battered and ravished body into the fire of Culcairn House, where she perished, if she was not already dead, which I pray she was.”