Arabella rubbed her injured wrist for a moment, certain the earl had broken it. Then stepping back a pace, she slapped Tavis Stewart with all her might. “If you did not wish my enmity, my lord, then you should not have stolen me away.”
The earl rocked back on his heels with her blow, astounded that someone so little had such strength. “I should hae let ye wed wi’ yer coward, for ye surely would hae killed him a lot sooner than I’ll hae the chance, lassie,” he said wryly, closing his eyes a moment as the hall began to revolve.
“Sit down, Tavis,” Colin advised, pushing his elder brother back into his chair. “The knife touched nothing vital, but yer going to be weak wi’ loss of yer fine, blue blood.”
Grinning at his younger brother’s words, Donald pressed a goblet of red wine into the earl’s hand, while Gavin began to clean and bind the wound with cloths brought him by the frightened servants.
Meg Hamilton drew Arabella back into her seat and gave her hand a reassuring squeeze. She thought the English girl terribly brave.
“Well, now,” the earl said insultingly, “what the hell am I going to do with this spitfire, since she’s no longer of value to me, or to anyone else for that matter?”
“Yer going to wed wi’ her, brother,” Colin Fleming said quietly.
“Never!” Both the earl and Arabella spoke in unison.
The young priest ignored them. “Ye need a wife, Tavis, and once she’s yers, ye can claim her inheritance, or at least remuneration from the English king for Greyfaire Keep. ‘Twill gie Sir Jasper a bad turn, I’ve nae a doubt. No one yet knows of Sir Jasper and Lady Rowena’s marriage outside of Greyfaire. There hasn’t been time to get word to the king. ‘Twill seem a great insult that ye stole the coward’s bride from the very church itself where he demanded sanctuary, and then brought her back over the border to marry yerself. And, ‘twill make it seem as if Sir Jasper wed wi’ the lassie’s mother in a desperate attempt to steal the girl’s wealth. He’ll be a laughingstock, particularly if ye get our own king to back up yer demands for the girl’s dowry wi’ the English king. Jemmie ‘twould do it for ye.”
“Richard of England will nae gie the rights of an English border keep to a Scot,” the earl said.
“But he might pay ye a forfeit for it. He canna disinherit the lass wi’ out cause, and none of this is her fault. He might hold Greyfaire in trust for yer eldest daughter, provided an English match were made for her while she was in the cradle. She could be sent to be fostered by her betrothed’s family when she was six. There hae been many border matches made over the years. This solution has always been the one used to settle the disputes of ownership and guarantee fealty to the right king.”
“Are ye mad, Colin?” Donald Fleming demanded. “The lass will kill him! She’s already tried twice!”
They all spoke as if she weren’t even in the room, and Arabella could feel her anger seething.
“I’d thought to ask Rob for Mistress Margaret’s hand in marriage since she’s of an age now,” the earl remarked casually. “She’s a gentle and biddable lass.”
“Not so biddable that she’ll wed wi’ ye, Tavis Stewart,” Meg said boldly, surprising even herself with her words. “Besides, I love another, and I’ll wed wi’ no one but him, my lord!”
“What, lassie?” He found himself amused by this situation. “Ye’d hae another to me? Who is this paragon that ye prefer to an earl?”
“Tis the earl’s brother,” Meg said boldly. “Gavin and I love each other, Tavis. Rob approves, and Gavin is to speak to his father as soon as he can.”
The earl laughed, looking over to his red-faced brother, whose adoring look toward Meg Hamilton finished the tale. “I canna interfere wi’ the course of true love,” he said, “and I would nae make an enemy of my brother. I wish ye both happy. ‘Twill be a good match,” he finished graciously.
“So would a match between ye and Arabella Grey,” Colin persisted.
“I’ll not wed him,” Arabella said firmly. “I’d sooner take the veil!”
“The church will nae hae ye wi’ out a dowry, lassie,” the earl replied dryly. “My priestly brother is correct, and as much as the prospect terrifies me, Arabella Grey, a marriage between us would seem the ideal solution. Only a noble husband can regain yer inheritance for ye.”
“I can regain my own inheritance!” Arabella said angrily.
“I think not, lassie,” the earl said quietly.
“There are others who would have me,” she told him.
“Perhaps,” Tavis Stewart agreed. “As long as they did not incur yer fierce temper, spitfire, they would be dazzled, for yer surely fair to look upon, Arabella Grey.”
She flushed, confused. She did not know if he were giving her an honest compliment, remarking upon her general beauty, or if he was referring to his untimely entry into her little tower the previous evening.
“In order to find yerself a proper husband,” he continued, “ye must return to England and plead yer case before yer king. Surely ye do not propose to travel alone? How will ye pay yer way along the road? SirJasper has wed wi’ yer mother to hae Greyfaire Keep. He believes he does hae it now. Yer return would threaten his position. I believe he would not hesitate to permanently remove such a threat. He’s murdered one woman that we already know of, lassie. Do ye think the fact that ye are his wife’s child would protect ye? He wants Greyfaire, and if he must, he’ll kill ye to get it. Ye need a husband who is willing to defend not only yer person, but yer rights as well. What Englishman will defend ye against the king’s chosen man, Arabella Grey?” he finished. He had seen her blush, and for a brief moment his heart had softened toward her, even as his shoulder ached with the pain of her attack. Poor, wee lass. She really had no choice, and now neither had he.
“I’ll not wed with ye, my lord, if I die for it, and there is no way you can force me to your will,” Arabella said icily. Then she stood up and stalked from the hall.
Meg rose quickly to her feet, and with a curtsy to the gentlemen, hurried after her friend.
“She is angry, and rightly so,” Colin Fleming said. “Let her go, Tavis. Once she has slept on it, she will see the wisdom in it. I’ll waive the banns and marry you to her tomorrow.”
“Yer mad, all of ye,” Donald said. “The lass has twice tried to kill ye, and yer going to force her to the altar? Yer stark raving daft, Tavis Stewart!”
“I will try and reason wi’ her once again on the morrow,” the earl said. “She is a lass well-versed in her obligations, and she’ll wed me if for no other reason than to save her people from Sir Jasper. I dislike admitting it, but none of this would hae happened had I not stolen her away in my anger against Sir Jasper Keane, but when I saw that exquisite girl standing there in her wedding finery, and realized that within hours that devil would have her in his bed and at his mercy, I could nae leave her to wed him. I owe Arabella Grey the protection of my name as well as my sword.”
“The whole fault lies wi’ my sister, Eufemia,” Robert Hamilton said drunkenly. “‘Tis I who should wed Lady Grey. If Eufemia had nae been the whore she was, none of this would hae happened.” He hiccupped twice, and then sliding slowly out of his chair, he fell asleep beneath the table.
“Poor laddie,” the earl said. “He still feels guilty over this matter. Still, once he’s back at Culcairn, he’ll get his feet under him again.”
“When will the house be rebuilt?” Gavin Fleming said.
“The Hamiltons will return home by summer’s end,” the earl told him.
“How old is Rob now?” Colin asked. “Culcairn is rich in lands, and wi’ a fine new house he’ll be a good catch. Has he chosen a bride yet?”
The earl chuckled. Colin was more like their mother than any of her other sons. “Rob is almost sixteen, and I believe Mother is just waiting until he returns home to propose a match between him and Ailis,” he told Colin.
“Best we approach him sooner than that,” the priest said wisely. “He’s restless, I can see, and i
f we can make the match, they could be wed before year’s end. There will be others who will appreciate Culcairn’s fine acreage, Tavis, and if ye canna have a Hamilton to wife yerself, then ‘tis best we gie Rob a Fleming to wed, and secure yer flank.”
“And rid the laddie of his thoughts of Lady Arabella Grey,” Gavin laughed.
“The lass would eat him alive,” Donald Fleming said grimly.
“I’m tougher meat,” the earl said quietly.
“Aye, and she’s twice tried to carve ye up,” was the quick reply. “The next time she could be successful.”
“I think ye worry needlessly, Donald,” the priest said.
“And I think yer solution is too pat, Colin. We hae no guarantee that Tavis will be able to regain Greyfaire or its worth in gold. The lass has no dowry.”
“Nay, Donald, Colin is right,” the earl told his middle brother. “I dinna need a dowry, should it come to that, but I do need a wife to replace the one Sir Jasper murdered. What better choice than the lass the Englishman was to have wed? If we put it out, the gossip will say I came raiding for the express purpose of stealing his bride to replace the one he stole from me. ‘Twill seem a good revenge, and ‘tis a good solution!”
“And what of the king?” Donald said. “Ye know ye need his permission to wed, as yer his half brother.”
“James has already given me permission to wed,” the earl replied.
“He gave ye permission to wed wi’ Mistress Hamilton, not some distant cousin of the English king,” Donald said stubbornly.
“There is nae time for me to sue James for permission anew, Donald. When Sir Jasper learns, and he will, that Arabella is well and healthy, he may decide to solve his problem by sending an assassin after her. I can better protect her as my wife, and Jemmie will understand when I explain the situation to him. Jesu, Donald, do I need the lass’s death on my conscience?”
“So it’s settled? Ye’ll wed the little English lass?” Donald said. “I canna change yer mind?”
“Nay, ye canna, and aye, I’ll take the girl to wife in the morning.” Tavis Stewart stood up. “And now, brothers, I’ll bid ye a good night,” he said, and departed his hall. Behind him the three remained at the highboard drinking and arguing the merits of the matter, unaware that the earl was at this very minute climbing the steps to the west tower.
“I would speak wi’ Arabella Grey,” he told Flora, who answered his knock. “Wait below.”
Flora curtsied, and closing the door behind her, hurried off down the stairs.
The earl walked into the little bedchamber and seated himself upon her bed. Wide-eyed, Arabella clutched the bedcovers to her chest.
“Get out!” she squeaked.
He took one of her hands in his, and smiling, said, “‘Tis a little bit of a hand, but it delivers a mighty blow, Arabella.” Then he kissed her hand, and Arabella felt a tingle race up her spine. “Ye know ye must go willingly to the altar, lassie,” Tavis Stewart said quietly. “Both yer honor and mine demand it. I dinna believe ye ever really loved Sir Jasper Keane, but he is lost to ye now. We find ourselves in a situation neither of us expected, lassie; but let us make the best of it. I will be a good husband to ye, and ye will lack for nothing, I promise ye.”
“I have no other choice now, my lord,” Arabella said, hating the weakness that caused a tear to slide down her cheek. It seemed to her that she was more tired now than she had been yesterday evening.
“Ahh, lassie,” he said, feeling unaccountably moved by that single tear. “Dinna weep. Ye would break my heart, and I am nae a cruel man.” Reaching out, the earl brushed the little tear away with his finger.
Arabella’s green eyes widened at the gentle touch. She would not have thought this big man with his fierce dark brows, set in a face whose angles and planes made it seem harsh, had a soft side. Her lips parted with her surprise, for that simple touch was sending further ripples down her backbone.
Whatever happened, Tavis Stewart thought to himself, he had to have a kiss of her. He was astounded with himself, but she was totally delectable, and he could not resist. Leaning forward, his hand cupped her little pointed chin tenderly and his mouth touched hers.
He was going to kiss her! She knew it, and yet she could not resist him as his lips touched her. She had never been kissed. Not even by Jasper. With an instinct as old as woman herself, Arabella’s lips softened beneath his mouth. The kiss deepened, and she only realized it when she fell back upon her pillows, feeling the down give beneath her even as the passion suddenly ignited between them began to mount in its intensity.
What was happening to her? Arabella thought fuzzily. This man was her enemy, for all she must wed him, and yet she was wantonly accepting his advances. She had never thought about kissing Jasper Keane, but neither did she consider refusing Tavis Stewart. What was the matter with her? Marshaling every ounce of self-discipline she possessed, Arabella pushed the earl away, sputtering angrily, her hands slapping at him. “Villain! How dare you!”
The earl was not so bemused by the sweetness of the kiss that he had not realized it was her first kiss, no matter how agreeably she had accepted his lips, or now how volubly she protested the action. He caught her hands in his, and with maddening charm, kissed them. “I think, lassie, that I would dare far more were ye nae so sweetly innocent. Ye will wed me, won’t ye?” and he smiled as she nodded, albeit reluctantly. “Then I will leave ye now, for if I stay longer there are those who will believe I have had yer maidenhead of ye. Yer old enough to wed, Arabella Grey, but I dinna think yer experienced enough to be a wife yet. Sleep well, lassie,” and he arose from the bedside.
“I would have love!” Arabella cried to him. “I do not even know ye, my lord.”
“Ye did nae know Sir Jasper either, lassie,” Tavis Stewart said.
“Nay, I did not,” Arabella agreed, “and see what kind of a villain he turned out to be!”
“Touché, lassie.” The earl chuckled, grinning ruefully. He continued, “But I promise ye I hae no such skeletons in my cupboard.” Then he was gone out the door.
Flora returned, smiling broadly. “They say in the hall that yer to wed wi’ the master on the morrow, m’lady.”
“Aye,” Arabella said thoughtfully.
“Thank God!” Floraexclaimed with a broad smile, and then she pulled her trundle from beneath Arabella’s bed.
The serving woman was quickly asleep, but Arabella lay awake for a time. She had gone wandering about the castle with Meg this afternoon, and her friend, with a giggle, had pointed out a little-used postern gate nestled into the walls of the castle courtyard which was used by the servants to sneak out and meet their lovers. The gate was rarely locked.
Arabella had been given that day a light woolen skirt, a silk shirt, and a plaid shawl to replace her own gown, which was far too elegant for daily life at Dunmor. In a few days, she had been told, she would have a more suitable wardrobe made for her. Her simple clothing and her knowledge of the postern gate would aid her in her escape. She had not intended attempting an escape so soon, but the earl’s determination to marry her in the morning left her with no other alternative.
If she braided up her long hair and used her shawl to hide her features, she just might be able to escape the notice of the guards upon the wall. She would appear to be just another serving girl, slipping out in the early morn for a quick assignation before she took up her duties for the day. A servant taking advantage of the excitement generated by the earl’s wedding. All she had to do was not allow herself to sleep too deeply despite her weariness.
Arabella dozed on and off throughout the long hours of the night, forcing herself back to consciousness whenever her body was tempted to relax into deep sleep. It would take her longer to walk back across the border to Greyfaire than it had taken to ride across the Cheviot hills, but if she could just have the benefit of an early start before they discovered her gone, she might hide from the Scots whenever she heard their horses. They would seek to recapture her,
she knew, but the advantage would be hers!
She had a score to settle with Sir Jasper Keane. The man was a damned fool if he thought she would allow him to take Greyfaire away from her by marrying her mother; and his talk of her “dishonoring” was just that. Talk. And even if the earl and his entire troop of borderers had raped her in sight of the keep’s walls, it still did not change the fact that it was she, Arabella Grey, who was the heiress to Greyfaire. King Richard had sent Jasper Keane to wed with her, not her mother. It was hardly her fault, Arabella considered, that she had been carried off by the Scots, but it was certainly SirJasper’s problem that instead of rallying the keep and following after the Scots to rescue her, he had turned coward and attempted to steal her inheritance by marrying Lady Rowena before the Scots were barely over the hill with their captive. It had been Jasper Keane who had first called her a spitfire, but he didn’t know the half of it. She would give him a dressing-down the likes of which he had probably never had in his entire life. Cousin Richard was going to learn just how loyal his parfait knight actually was. It was obvious that Sir Jasper had more an eye for his own good than for the king’s good. A man like that was no asset to a border keep as strategic as Greyfaire, and Arabella intended telling the king so. She was not frightened by the earl’s thought that Jasper Keane might do her harm should she return to Greyfaire now. He wouldn’t dare!
Anxious for the morning, Arabella slipped quietly from her bed and across the room to peep out the narrow little casement. Behind her Flora snored lustily, and Arabella thought that a troop of horses could not awaken the sleeping servant before her accustomed sunrise hour. Peering through the window, Arabella saw that though the top of the sky was yet black as pitch, the edges of the horizon were beginning to grow gray with the coming day. Arabella slowly crept across the chamber and lifted the lid on the storage trunk, pulling her few garments out.
The Spitfire Page 14
