The Spitfire

by Bertrice Small

  Silently she put on the silk shirt and drew the dark wool skirt up over her chemise to fasten it at her narrow waist. Sitting down upon the trunk, she pulled on a pair of knit stockings, but her shoes she stuffed into her skirt pockets so she might move through the castle proper more quietly. Carefully, Arabella braided up her hair, using her tortoiseshell pins to fasten the braids most tightly so that they should not come down and betray her. Finished, she tiptoed back over to her bed and took one of the fine down pillows, tucking it beneath the coverlet so that it would appear to a quick glance that she still slept there. Satisfied with her handiwork, Arabella moved back to the window to see a wider band of pale gray inching up the horizon while the sky above it was now ash-colored.

  It was time! Quietly she slipped from the bedchamber, moving across the narrow space of floor separating her from the hall door. She felt the handle beneath her clammy fingers, and turning it, Arabella drew the door open just wide enough to slip through to the landing beyond. She drew the door shut as quietly as she might and then stood for a long heart-pounding moment listening, but Flora’s snores never wavered in their rhythm. Convinced she had not awakened the servant, Arabella almost flew down the steep staircase to the hallway below.

  Cautiously she looked about, and then seeing no one, swiftly hurried through the castle until she at last reached the small, unobtrusive door that led into the castle’s courtyard. Pulling up her shawl over her head, Arabella slipped out the door and across the courtyard in the half shadow, heading directly for the little postern gate. She could not believe her good fortune in having encountered no one so far. In a short while the entire castle would be stirring with preparations for the wedding.

  Reaching the gate, she slipped the bolt, and the gate opened out with a faint creak that set her heart hammering wildly, for in the silence it sounded uncommonly loud and she was sure someone had heard it. Without a backward glance, however, Arabella boldly stepped through, and slipping on her shoes, hurried across the narrow little earthen dam that stretched across the watery moat. In times of war the dam was broken so that the castle’s only access was its drawbridge.

  Arabella never stopped her forward movement, for she knew that should she hesitate for even a moment, she could draw attention to herself and risk being recognized and recaptured. Above her she could hear the watch upon the walls, but no one cried out an alarm, and Arabella was torn between weeping with joy and shouting her relief.

  Ahead of her she could see the faint beginnings of the sunrise, and so she turned onto the path leading south, which was to her right. If by nightfall the sun had moved to her right hand, then she would know she was still headed directly south. If not she would correct her direction. She did not think she could go too far wrong. Then she began to smile with delight over her success, and took a deep breath of the fresh morning air. It smelled sweet, but then freedom was always sweet!

  In Dunmor’s west tower Flora awakened with the sunrise, as was her custom. For a moment she lay upon her trundle bed as her consciousness restored itself. Then rising up, she drew on her garments, turning for a moment to look at her charge, but the little lassie was still sleeping, snuggled deeply beneath her coverlet. Flora nodded. The girl had looked exhausted last night. She would get a bucket of water to warm before she awoke her new mistress, that the girl might wash before her wedding.

  Hurrying off, she returned a few minutes later, but her charge had not moved. Flora poured the bucket into the open iron kettle hanging over the hearth and encouraged the embers into a strong flame. Smiling, she walked over to the bed to shake the lass from her slumber, and quickly discovered Arabella’s deception. With a shriek, Flora ran from the tower directly to the earl’s apartments, startling the earl’s body servant, Calum, as she came through the door gasping.

  “The lassie is gone! She’s gone, I tell ye! Get the earl, ye fool! Get the earl!”

  Hearing the uproar in his dayroom, Tavis Stewart came from his bedchamber. He was as naked as the day he had been born, but Flora never noticed, so deep was her distress. “The little lassie, my lord! She’s gone!” Flora cried.

  “Gone? Precisely what do ye mean by gone, Flora? Did I nae instruct ye to stay wi’ her at all times?” the earl demanded.

  “I was wi’ her, my lord! I put her to bed last night after ye had spoken wi’ her, but when I awoke at dawn, she was gone!”

  “Ye may be upsetting yerself for naught, good dame,” the earl said in a kinder tone. “It is our wedding day, and she may have been unable to sleep. Go to Mistress Hamilton and see if Arabella Grey is wi’ her. If she is nae there, then ask in the hall if any have seen her this morn.”

  Flora scurried off, to return several breathless minutes later. “Mistress Hamilton says she has nae seen Lady Arabella since last night, and no one else has seen her either, my lord,” the serving woman reported. “Mistress Hamilton, however, says that the lassie showed an interest in the postern gate while they were walking about the courtyard yesterday.”

  “The postern gate?” the earl inquired.

  “The servants use it to slip in and out unnoticed when they want to meet wi’ a lover,” Calum said dryly with a knowing grin.

  “Jesu!” The oath exploded from the earl’s mouth, and then he turned to the cringing Flora. “Run to the stables, woman, and have them saddle the gray stallion! I’ll be in the courtyard in five minutes! Calum, help me dress, damnit!”

  Flora flew from the earl’s apartments as if she were being pursued by a pack of wolves. Once in the stables, she urged the groom to speed. By the time the earl came down the main staircase of his dwelling, Flora was waiting, holding his horse herself. “Watch says a servant girl left by the postern gate no more than a half an hour ago, my lord. No one else has left this morning.”

  “Which direction was she headed in?” he demanded, already knowing the answer.

  “South, my lord,” Flora answered with predictability.

  The earl vaulted into his saddle and turned the horse about, pushing him into an instant canter as he headed out across his drawbridge. “Tell Father Colin to be ready to perform the marriage the moment we return,” he called back to the woman.

  “Dinna be harsh wi’ her, my lord,” Flora cried after him. “She’s but a little lass.”

  The earl grimaced at her words and muttered beneath his breath. “She may be wee, but she’s given me more trouble than any six females, I’ll vow. She’ll nae be an easy wife, I’m thinking.” His horse’s hooves now hit the hard dirt road, turning south as his master urged him onward. The earl’s plaid began to blow in the morning breeze.

  It was Arabella’s bad fortune that she was crossing a relatively flat stretch of ground when the earl finally caught her in his sight some long minutes later. Although she had heard him coming, there was simply nowhere for her to hide, and she sincerely wished she might be a bird so that she could fly away. For a brief moment she considered that it might not be him. Hesitantly she turned about to look at the horseman who was fast closing the distance between them. She had known him but three days, but she recognized him immediately, even imagining the grim expression upon the face that she could not yet see plainly. Heart pounding, Arabella began to run, but her legs suddenly felt leaden in her fear. He would surely kill her!

  Tavis Stewart almost laughed aloud, seeing her pick up her skirts to flee him. Then he considered that she had made a fool of him, promising to marry him and all the while planning her escape. He kicked his stallion into a steady gallop, and when he was abreast of his quarry, he leaned from his horse and, lifting her up, threw her none too gently facedown over his saddle before him.

  “Let me go!” Arabella shrieked furiously, kicking and squirming.

  Angrily the earl brought his hand down upon her wriggling backside. “Madame!” he roared. “I have had all I will take of yer duplicity! Be silent now, or as God is my judge, I will strangle ye!”

  The blow shocked Arabella more than it hurt her, for her clothing took the
brunt of the smack. Its effect, however, was to startle her into silence, and she lay quietly, albeit uncomfortably, as he returned them the short distance to Dunmor Castle. As they clattered over the drawbridge, the men-at-arms broke into laughter at the sight of the English girl slung so rudely over their master’s saddle.

  Stopping his mount in the courtyard, the earl slid easily from the animal, turning to yank the girl off the horse. For a moment she reeled giddily as the blood rushed to her head, but then as the dizziness faded, Arabella swung on the earl with a furious fist. Anticipating her action this time, he ducked, and fingers fastening about the nape of her neck, he hustled her into the Great Hall, where Meg Hamilton, her brother Robert, and the earl’s brothers awaited.

  “Sweet Mary!” whispered Meg to her Gavin. “They look as if they would kill each other.”

  “‘Tis a mistake, I tell ye, but he’ll nae listen to anyone,” muttered Donald Fleming darkly.

  “Shut yer mouth!” hissed Gavin as the earl pushed Arabella to the forefront of the little gathering.

  “Perform the marriage ceremony, Colin,” the earl ordered his youngest brother.

  “Nay, Tavis, I will not do it until ye and Arabella have both cooled yer tempers,” the priest said. “Yer to go to opposite ends of the hall and calm yerselves. I will nae wed ye for at least an hour. Meg, keep Arabella company, and I will come to ye in a few minutes to hear yer confession, for marriage is a sacrament, and ye should enter into it honestly shriven.”

  “Colin,” the earl growled warningly, but he stopped when the priest held up his hand.

  “Be warned, Tavis, I serve God first, and man second,” Colin Fleming said quietly. “Now on yer knees, or I swear I will order yer excommunication, brother mine.”

  Sudden laughter lit the earl’s eyes. He was not so filled with pride that he did not see the humor of the situation. He was the Stewart of Dunmor, the head of his entire family. Even his stepfather deferred to his judgment, yet here he was, in the twinkling of an eye, made painfully aware of his own mortality, and by his little brother to boot. Tavis Stewart knelt meekly before the priest.

  At the other end of the hall Arabella grumbled to Meg about the earl’s high-handed treatment, and Meg, somewhat astounded by the English girl’s ferocious anger, listened quietly. Colin came, and in his capacity as a priest spoke with Arabella, hearing her confession, but failing to cool her anger. Finally the hour was up, and the priest led the English girl back down the hall to where the earl awaited her.

  “Perform the marriage ceremony now, Colin,” the earl said, repeating his words of an hour before.

  “Am I to be wed like this?” Arabella demanded, outraged. “In these rags?”

  “I’ll nae let ye out of my sight again until we’re man and wife,” Tavis Stewart said grimly, feeling his own anger beginning to rise once more. “If it would please ye, however, I’ll hae Flora bring yer wedding gown, and ye can change here in the hall.”

  Her green eyes narrowed dangerously. “I will never wear that accurst garment again!” she said vehemently. “But neither will I wed ye dressed like this!”

  “Then ye’ll wed me in yer shift, madame, but wed me ye will, for I’ll hae no more shilly-shallying about it!” he told her furiously.

  “Wed ye in my shift?” Arabella’s voice rose to a shriek. “Never!”

  “Then, by God, ye’ll wed me wi’ out, Arabella Grey!” the earl raged at her, and before any of them might stop him, Tavis Stewart had torn the clothing from Arabella’s slender form, leaving her naked for all to see.

  Meg’s hand flew to her mouth in shock and she gasped.

  “Holy Mother!” Gavin half whispered, though both Donald and Colin were struck dumb by their elder brother’s actions.

  For a moment Arabella was stunned, unable to believe what had happened. Her instinct was to run and hide, but then it occurred to her that to do so would indicate weakness on her part. She would not let Tavis Stewart defeat her. A slow, proud smile lit her features and she stood straight. Then lifting her arms up, she undid her pale golden hair from its braids, handing the tortoiseshell pins to Meg. Arabella’s hair swirled about her like a silken veil as she said, “Since I am yet a virgin, my lord, it is my right to wear my hair unbound to my wedding.” Her voice was clear and firm.

  He nodded, her elegant actions having returned him to his senses. He was more than surprised by his own behavior, but there was no help for it now. To apologize or back down would be to show a lack of strength on his part, and he would be master in his own house. “It is yer right, indeed, as ye are a virgin, Arabella Grey,” he answered her gravely. Then he turned to the priest. “I believe we are ready to begin, Colin.”

  To his credit, Colin Fleming did not falter as he spoke the words of the marriage ceremony. He had never wed a couple before where the bride was naked, but he knew of no clerical impediment against it. His beautiful, well-modulated voice, intoning in perfect church Latin, never wavered in its recitation. It was not easy. He remembered the teasing Donald had given him only recently regarding women, and although he had done his share of coupling with the lasses before he had taken God’s path, he had never before seen a woman totally naked. Arabella Grey was undeniably beautiful, and the priest suddenly understood for the very first time the true nature of Adam’s temptation.

  Gavin and Donald Fleming spent the ceremony looking everywhere in the hall but at the bridal couple. Gavin felt quite guilty that his glimpse of Arabella had set his own pulses raging, particularly as his own sweet Meg was even now by his side, holding his hand so trustingly. Donald considered that perhaps his elder brother’s marriage was not quite the mistake he believed after all.

  Most marriages were between strangers, and the best one could hope for was a pretty woman with a ripe body. Arabella Grey certainly qualified, and he could almost feel her firm, cone-shaped breasts nestling in the palms of his hands right now. The plump pink mont between her slender, rounded thighs was a most tempting sight. He could but imagine delving between those thighs, and thanked heaven that his kilt covered his rising lust, for he would not have offended Tavis for the world. He should never have coveted his new sister-in-law for even the briefest moment had not her lovely charms been so generously displayed.

  Next to Donald stood Robert Hamilton, who was suffering the effects of too much wine last night. He had spent the early morning retching his guts out and now, his legs weak, his skin pale and clammy, he was in no mood to appreciate the sight before him. He wished for only one of three things. A clear head, a settled belly, or a quick and merciful death.

  “Ye will both kneel for the blessing,” Colin Fleming finally instructed the bridal couple, and they knelt. Colin made the sign of the cross over the pair, saying as he did, “In nomine Patris, et Filii et Spiritus Sancti. Amen.” There was a pause and Colin said, “Yer wed now, Tavis.”

  “My lord earl!”

  They all turned to see Margery Fleming striding into the hall. Her hair was disheveled from an obviously hasty ride, and none of her four sons could ever remember seeing her so angry. Reaching the wedding party, Lady Fleming removed her cloak and put it around Arabella’s shoulders. Then she turned to Tavis Stewart.

  “Good morrow, Mother,” he said calmly, experience having taught him the folly of arguing with her.

  “When,” Lady Fleming demanded of her oldest son, “did I ever teach ye to abuse women, or perhaps ye think yer rank entitles ye to such behavior? I am appalled that ye would mistreat this poor child in such a fashion.”

  “This poor child, as ye mistakenly refer to her, Mother, has twice taken a knife to me. This morning, knowing full well that I intended marrying her, she attempted to escape Dunmor, and when I brought her back, she attempted to hit me. I would hardly call making this virago the Countess of Dunmor mistreating her. I hae given her a better name than her own king would have.”

  Lady Fleming was secretly delighted that her son had finally taken a wife, but there was much she did not unde
rstand about the situation. Before his mother might consider further, the earl enlightened her as to the events that had led up to his wedding. She listened quietly, but when he had finished, she looked between her son and Arabella and said, “Tavis, I dinna know if I can forgie ye yer behavior here today, and I wonder if yer wife can. I am taking Arabella home wi’ me to Glen Ailean, and I will hear no talk of any danger she might be in, for Sir Jasper Keane is too busy consolidating his own position at Greyfaire to be bothered wi’ this wee lassie. And if he were of a mind to come after her, who will tell him where she is? If I take her now before the rest of the castle is awake and stirring, few will even know where she has gone.”

  “Arabella is my wife, Mother, and I will nae hae her living anywhere but Dunmor,” the earl replied.

  “Indeed, my lord?” Margery Fleming drew herself up to her full height. She was a most formidable sight. “I would remind ye, my son, that I know all yer weaknesses as well as yer strengths. I gave ye life, and there are but two people upon the face of this earth whom ye must respect and obey wi’ out question. Yer brother, the king, and me! Yer countess comes wi’ me. You are welcome to visit us at Glen Ailean once Arabella’s anger cools. Ye might consider courting yer wife, my son. If I am to hae grandchildren of ye, she should see that ye hae a softer, kinder side to ye than ye hae shown her. Now step aside, Tavis Stewart, or as God is my witness, I’ll knock ye down!” Lady Fleming put a protective arm about her daughter-in-law.

  “Mother!” The earl was chagrined.

  “Stand aside, Tavis!” she repeated.

  “Arabella!”

  “She’ll nae speak wi’ ye, my lord,” his mother said. “Come, Margaret Hamilton, ye canna remain here wi’ these rough men. If ye’ve clothing ye might share wi’ poor Arabella, we can be on our way. I’m taking Flora too, Tavis.” And she walked regally from the hall with her two charges.