Several of the women in the church fainted with the recitation of the earl’s tale, and Rowena herself felt bile pushing up into her throat. This, then, was the woman Jasper had bragged to her about killing. It had been no idle boast, as she had fervently prayed it was. Arabella, however, reached up and slapped the earl with all her strength.
As the stain made by her little palm print spread across Tavis Stewart’s face, the earl looked away from Arabella and said scathingly to Jasper Keane, “Will ye let a wench do yer fighting for ye, then, coward?”
An air of expectation hovered over them all as everyone waited to see if Sir Jasper Keane would rise to the earl’s blunt challenge and come out from behind the sanctuary of the church.
Father Anselm spoke once more. “I will not dispute the truth of your words, my son, but Sir Jasper has asked for sanctuary from the church. I cannot, as you well know, refuse him, despite the vileness of the charges you have made against him. I grant that sanctuary, and having granted it, you cannot touch him while he remains within this church, to the peril of your immortal soul.”
Jasper Keane felt the blood flowing within his veins once again now that his safety had been insured. He almost laughed aloud as the earl’s hand worked itself, frustrated, upon the hilt of his sword.
“Tavis!” A sandy-haired young man in the red Murray plaid spoke warningly. “Dinna do it, laddie!”
Arabella rounded fiercely on her bridegroom, unbridled rage pounding in her veins. Her wedding was ruined! And Jasper! The man she was about to give her heart to did nothing except cower behind the priest’s robes. She glared furiously at him. “Surely you will not let this Scots savage insult and slander you, my lord? Accept his challenge, and let us have this matter over and done with, I beg you! I will not have Greyfaire and her people endangered by this man. We want no breach of peace with the Scots, especially on this, our wedding day.”
A small light of admiration lit the earl’s eyes for a brief moment. The girl was loyal, he’d give her that, though it was plain she knew little of the truth of Sir Jasper Keane. She knew her duty to her people, however, and put it above all else. Obviously she was a good chatelaine. He turned his gaze to Sir Jasper. “Well, coward?” he demanded mockingly. “Will ye do battle wi’ me or continue to hide behind yon cleric’s skirts?”
“And when I destroyed you, my lord,” Sir Jasper answered, bold in the security of the church’s protection, “your men would tear me apart. I should be a fool to accept such an offer. Nay, I refuse ye.”
“If you can beat me fairly, sir, I gie ye my word that my clansmen will depart peacefully,” the earl replied.
“I do not believe you, my lord. Who would trust the word of a thieving Scot?” Sir Jasper said insultingly. Then he turned to Father Anselm. “Perform the marriage ceremony, Father. I have kept this lady waiting too long as it is, and would have her for my wife.”
The Earl of Dunmor stepped between the bride and groom with a suddenness that sent the color draining from Jasper Keane’s face, for he thought the Scotsman, ignoring the church, was about to do him a harm. Brief amusement lit the earl’s dark eyes, though his face was grim and his voice icy once more. “I think ye will nae wed wi’ this lass today, coward,” he said quietly. “Ye hae taken my betrothed wife from me, and so I will now take yers from ye!” He put a hard arm about Arabella’s waist and pulled the startled girl to his side. “The bride goes wi’ me, and when ye see fit to accept my challenge, coward, and if ye overcome me in fair battle, then, and only then, may ye hae her back!”
“Nooo!” Rowena cried in a gasping and terrified voice.
“Savage!” Arabella shrieked, and twisting from the earl’s grasp, she kicked him in the shins. “I will not go with you!” Whirling about, she grabbed up a sword from one of the startled clansmen and attacked Tavis Stewart with it.
Surprised, the earl nonetheless managed to defend himself long enough to disarm the girl, who kicked and screamed vigorously, all the while hurling pithy epithets at him. He tossed the short sword back at his embarrassed clansman and ordered the others, “Take this damned spitfire outside and put her on my horse.” He was suddenly overwhelmed by a great desire to laugh, for there certainly was humor in the situation. “Methinks the bride is far more of a man than yon cowering groom,” he mocked Jasper Keane. “Dinna fear, Englishman. I will keep yer hot-tempered little lass safe for ye—if yer brave enough to come after her. I will treat her wi’ far more kindness and respect than ye showed to poor Eufemia Hamilton.”
“My lord! My lord!” Rowena Grey fell to her knees before the earl. “Do not, I beg ye, take my child away! She is all I have left since my husband fell in battle after Berwick.”
Tavis Stewart gently raised Rowena to her feet, thinking that she was a very pretty woman, even with the tears running down her cheeks. “I must take her, madame, and ye well know it. Yer brave husband, may God assoil his soul, would understand that, and so, I suspect, do ye deep in yer heart. I will nae harm yer little lass. She is but my hostage, and will be returned to ye unscathed when honor has been satisfied.” The earl then kissed Lady Grey’s hand and turned to depart the church.
“Do you not want the gold candlesticks or the jeweled cross upon the altar, my lord?” Jasper Keane said insultingly, but Tavis Stewart never even paused in his stride as he passed from the church followed by his men.
Within moments the sounds of horses’ hooves rang out, but no one amongst the guests moved until all was finally silent. Then Rowena spoke.
“You will go after Arabella immediately, will you not, Jasper?”
“Why?” he demanded. “I do not need your daughter to have Greyfaire. The king wants it in a man’s hands. Besides, do you think I want the Scotsman’s leavings, my pet? He will have your daughter in his bed and squirming on his lance before the sun sets this day. Tavis Stewart is the finest soldier in Scotland, and although I am good, I could not possibly beat him. To accept his challenge is to seek my own demise. Do you think I am mad? I will not go willingly to my death for the sake of a mere wench.”
“But he promised not to harm her, Jasper! He said we might get her back unscathed,” Rowena sobbed. “She is my child! My only living child!”
As Rowena’s voice rose slightly in her distress, the assembled congregation behind her leaned forward almost to a man in an effort to hear what was going on between the weeping woman and SirJasper Keane. They were doomed to disappointment, for the distance was a little too far. Father Anselm, however, was privy to all, and his kindly visage darkened as Sir Jasper continued harshly on, unthinking of Rowena’s anguish.
“I will give you other children, my pet. If I am not mistaken, though ye strove to hide it from me, you are already ripening with my seed. Will you deny it?” he asked the white-faced woman. “I will not have my son born illegitimate now that I have the choice.”
“And what would you have done, Jasper, if Arabella had not been kidnapped by the Scots?” she demanded of him. “This child would have been born nameless, and you would have had no choice in the matter! Why should you suddenly care now that my daughter is gone?”
“If the babe was a male child, I would have legitimized it, though it could not have inherited Greyfaire if Arabella gave me sons. Now there is no question of that, Rowena, so you will marry me this day, that my claim to Greyfaire be even stronger.”
“I will not!” she cried furiously, surprising even herself in this show of spirit.
“You will,” he said ominously, and turned to the priest. “Father Anselm, you will marry me to this lady now. Waive the bans and perform the ceremony.”
“My son!” The priest was shocked, and felt that most un-Christian of emotions—anger—beginning to rise within his soul. “You cannot do this. It is immoral.”
Sir Jasper Keane smiled his most winning smile. “I must insist, Father Anselm, that you do your duty. The king would be certain that Greyfaire is in loyal hands and protected from the enemy. I can hardly wed with the Lady Arabella
now, can I? I cannot retrieve her without mortal peril to my own life, and for what? The long-lost honor of a Scots whore named Eufemia Hamilton? There is not a man on either side of this border that did not know of Mistress Hamilton’s wildness, but the earl who was so puffed with pride in his own importance that he heard not the rumors. If I cannot wed Arabella Grey, then I must, of necessity, wed Rowena Grey in order that this keep remain safe and loyal to England’s king.”
“But what of the heiress of Greyfaire?” Father Anselm insisted, his love and loyalty to Arabella evident, to Jasper Keane’s annoyance, particularly as there was a low murmur of disapproval from the pews containing the Grey relations.
“Arabella Grey is lost to us,” Sir Jasper said in a firm, even voice, easily heard by all within the little church. “If, by chance, she should return, she will be a dishonored woman, and I will not accept her as my wife. We were not betrothed, Father, and you well know it. Our arrangement was made by the king for the safety of this keep, but never was it formalized. Now perform the ceremony between myself and Rowena Grey or I will send my captain, Seger, to find a priest who will. If you force me to such an act, I will banish you from Greyfaire forever! Think of the scandal, and think of the :ady Rowena, who will bear my child before year’s end, good father.”
“You leave me no choice, my lord,” the priest said bitterly. “It is obvious to me that you are not the man I believed you to be.”
Sir Jasper Keane laughed aloud, and it was an unpleasant sound. “I do not leave you a choice, do I?” he said, smirking. Then he turned to the assembled guests and told them, “You have come for a wedding, and by the rood, my friends, you shall have one! Begin the ceremony, Father,” and taking Rowena’s hand firmly in his, he half dragged her to the double prie-dieu and pushed her to her knees. “We are going to be very happy, my pet,” he told the softly weeping woman, and then he chuckled, but Rowena did not hear him.
This, she thought bleakly, was the final punishment for her lust. When Arabella found out, she would never forgive her. Her daughter was as lost to her as if the Scots had slain the girl this day instead of carrying her off. And she, Rowena, was condemned to live in hell with the devil himself for the rest of her natural life. And what of the child who even now ripened and grew beneath her heart? Would he be like his father? Pray God, no! Better he be born dead!
Chapter Four
Arabella Grey sat stony-faced atop the Earl of Dunmor’s big, gray stallion. Her captor, who was mounted behind her, kept one arm lightly about her while guiding his horse with his other hand, a feat at which he seemed quite adept. Arabella kept her head carefully turned so that she should not have to look at him. She was tired and not just a little frightened, although she showed none of these emotions, nor would she show them to the enemy, for the Scots were England’s enemy. She would not quickly forget that they had killed her father.
Arabella was angry, but not so much at the earl, for though she was but a woman and therefore assumed to be ignorant, she knew enough of the code of honor to understand that Tavis Stewart had done the only thing that he might have done under the circumstances. Arabella found, not greatly to her surprise, for she was a practical girl, that her anger was directed more toward Jasper Keane for having caused this impossible situation.
It was with a harsh and dawning cognizance that Arabella realized she believed her captor’s version of events past. Why she believed this stranger she could not fathom, but there was something so innately moral and honest about the Earl of Dunmor, something that caused her to trust him, and distrust Sir Jasper about whom she had already had doubts. Doubts she had so resolutely tried to deny. She almost squirmed with annoyance remembering her girlish ravings of this morning, when she had declared to her mother that she loved Jasper Keane. How could she have loved a coward? A man who would not satisfy a debt of honor in single combat. Not that she would admit her error to this hawk-browed Scot.
What a fool she had been! Oh, she had heard the rumors about him, but for the sake of imagined love she had been willing to overlook the gossip that had swirled about him. Had not Father Anselm assured her that all Jasper needed was a virtuous wife? She wondered now if the old priest had known the truth of Jasper Keane, or if, innocent like her, he had merely hoped for the best. Murder. Sir Jasper Keane had murdered a helpless woman. No matter that the earl himself admitted that the lady was no better than she ought to be. Murder was a heinous crime, particularly the murder of a woman or a child.
And like a lamb to the slaughter she had tripped down the aisle of Greyfaire church less than an hour ago, eager to wed with Sir Jasper Keane. Would he have murdered her too, had she not pleased him? What of her poor mother, left to the mercy of the man? And would Sir Jasper come after her? Well, she certainly did not intend marrying him now! As soon as she returned to Greyfaire she intended going to cousin Richard herself and exposing Sir Jasper Keane for the blackguard that he was!
They rode relentlessly on, crossing over the Cheviot Hills, which were clothed in the green of their summer mantle. The day, however, remained mist-filled despite the smoky sun, which could not quite burn away the fog. The dampness seemed to eat through her beautiful gown, chilling her to the bone. They stopped once, and the earl told her most bluntly that if she needed to relieve herself she must do so now behind the nearest bush. Arabella blushed to the roots of her pale gold hair, for no man had ever spoken to her of such a private function, but she grimly followed his instructions, for she knew that this was no time for outraged modesty. If he said that she would not get another chance, then she believed him. She was both hungry and thirsty. Because of the early hour of the wedding with its Mass, she had not yet broken her fast. She had seen some of the clansmen chewing on oat cakes they had drawn from their pouches, and drinking from flasks as they rode along, but no one had offered her either food or drink.
As if he were reading her mind, the earl said in a kindly tone, “We will soon be at Dunmor, lassie, and I’ll wager there’s a joint already on the spit roasting for supper. Are ye hungry?”
“I’d sooner starve than eat a morsel of your food!” Arabella lied hotly.
“I doubt ye’ll eat much in any case, for that yer a wee bit of a wench,” the earl noted, ignoring her obvious anger. “We’ll have to see if we can fatten ye up, lassie.”
“Are you so thick-headed, my lord, that you do not understand me? I will starve myself before I accept your hospitality!” Arabella hissed furiously at him.
“If ye starve yerself, lassie, ye’ll not have the strength to fight wi’ me, or to revenge yerself on Sir Jasper,” he said calmly.
“Why on earth would I want to revenge myself on Sir Jasper?” Arabella said sweetly, the lie almost choking her. “I love him, and he will kill you when he comes to rescue me. On reflection, perhaps you are right. I should accept your hospitality so I am alive and well to see the horrible death you will die at Sir Jasper’s hands!”
Tavis Stewart found it impossible to restrain his laughter, and it burst forth, echoing across the hillsides, much to his captive’s outrage. Turning, she glared up at him as he wheezed with mirth. “Lassie, yer Sir Jasper has nae the courage to come after ye, nor has he the skill to win in a fair fight wi’ me, for I am a better swordsman than most. Why do ye think he refused my challenge this day? I expect ye’ll be my guest for some time.”
“Then why did you kidnap me, my lord?” she demanded.
“Yer Sir Jasper gave me no other choice, lassie, but dinna fear. I expect yer pretty mother will appeal to yer king, who will appeal to my king, and all will be well in the end for ye. I will have to catch yer Sir Jasper another way, but if ye marry him ye’ll be a widow sooner than ye’ll be a mother, I promise ye.”
“Sir Jasper will come for me,” Arabella said with more conviction than she actually had. “He must, for he cannot have Greyfaire without me.” She did not bother to tell the earl of her decision to unmask Jasper Keane and his perfidy to King Richard. Another husband would be found
for her to help defend Greyfaire, but this time she would insist the king allow her to choose. She was tired of having her entire life ruled by men. It might suit her mother, but it did not suit her!
“So he canna have yer inheritance wi’ out ye, eh lassie?” the earl said thoughtfully. “Perhaps his greed will overcome his good sense and he will come after ye. Who made the match between ye? Yer mother?”
“No,” Arabella said proudly. “The king himself. The late queen was my mother’s cousin. Mama was fostered by the Earl of Warwick, and Queen Anne was like her sister.”
“Yer king did well by Sir Jasper, lassie. He will want to keep yer Greyfaire, for he has no other home now.”
“You are mistaken, my lord,” Arabella said. “Sir Jasper is the master of Northby Hall, though it is currently in ruins.”
“I know,” the earl told her, “but it was a poor place scarcely worth the burning.”
“You burnt Sir Jasper’s home?” She was secretly glad.
“Aye,” the earl replied. “In retribution for Culcairn House. ‘Twas fair.”
Arabella was silent, but she agreed with him. She had been as shocked as any by the earl’s tale of rapine and violence. She realized that Tavis Stewart would not have come over the border after Jasper Keane had he not been certain. He had witnesses in the surviving Hamilton family. She had quickly ascertained by his manner, his horse, the handsome chieftain’s ring upon his finger, and the deference with which his men treated him, that the Earl of Dunmor was a great nobleman. Why would a man of his stature want to pick a fight with Sir Jasper unless it was justified? He would not.
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