Chapter Six
Richard, king of England, fell in battle on August 22, 1485, hacked to death by Welsh pikemen who butchered him in a muddy mire after his horse became stuck. Within two hours the battle that had been fought between the Yorkists and the Lancastarians for England’s throne was over, and Henry Tudor, to be called Henry VII, was acclaimed king of England by his jubilant troops. It was the last serious battle in the long and tortuous conflict that had been called the War of the Roses. The white rose of York and the red rose of Lancaster would unite to become the Tudor rose. The new king entered London on September third, welcomed and feted by all.
At Glen Ailean, Arabella wept for the cousin whom she would always remember with fondness. The news had been delivered to her by Tavis Stewart, who brought a copy of the parchment sent Scotland’s king.
“Henry by the grace of God, King of England and of France, Prince of Wales and Lord of Ireland…”
announced to all who would listen that:
“Richard, Duke of Gloucester, lately called King Richard, was slain at a place called Sandeford.”
“They say,” the earl said, “that King Richard might have fled but he would not. He fought with incredible bravery, cutting down the Tudor standard bearer, William Brandon, and sending the Red Dragon pendant into the dust before he himself was killed.” Tavis Stewart did not relate to his young wife of how Richard’s body had been stripped of its armor and dishonored by his enemies. It was an act unworthy of telling.
“It is most kind of you to bring me this news, my lord,” Arabella told him. She had not seen him since their wedding day in June, for Lady Fleming, true to her word, had whisked her new daughter-in-law away from Dunmor Castle. She had spent a long and pleasant summer at Glen Ailean, but until now Tavis Stewart had not been able to find an excuse to visit his bride, and was too proud to simply come, hat in hand, to settle their differences.
“I fear for my mother and for Greyfaire, my lord,” she told him. “What if the new king should hold my mother’s blood against her?”
“I thought perhaps that ye might worry about her, Arabella, and so I sent a man across the border to learn how Lady Rowena is getting on,” the earl told his wife. “Sir Jasper quickly consolidated his own position in regard to Greyfaire by sending his pledge of fealty to King Henry before King Richard’s defeat. There were others more powerful—neighbors of yours, I am told—who also did the same. Sir Jasper excused himself from battle by claiming he was keeping the border safe for England. As to yer mother, she is great wi’ a bairn, due, they say, before year’s end.” Tavis Stewart had considered lying to Arabella, but he knew that such lies were eventually found out.
“But they were only wed in June,” Arabella exclaimed, and then she paled. “Ohhhh!” she whispered as the realization of his words dawned upon her. Then looking up at him, she burst into tears, the knowledge of how great a betrayal bad been perpetrated upon her totally complete.
The earl took his wife into his arms and comforted her, saying, “Dinna weep, lassie, for I canna bear a woman’s tears. Ye know it.”
“I’m not a woman,” Arabella sobbed, her tears soaking through his silk shirt.
Tavis Stewart closed his eyes for a moment, his big hand smoothing Arabella’s beautiful hair. Nay, he thought, she wasn’t a woman yet, nor likely to be soon unless he could make his peace wi’ her. He hadn’t had a woman since the day of their marriage, for he somehow knew that Arabella Grey—Arabella Stewart, he corrected himself mentally with a small grin—would not tolerate infidelity on his part, even if their marriage hadn’t been consummated as of yet. “There, lassie,” he said, “I know it hurts ye, but yer mother was probably lonely, and Sir Jasper has some fame as a seducer of hapless women. At least the bairn will hae a name now, which it should not have, had ye wed wi’ that wicked devil. Think of yer poor mother’s shame, and if she hae any kind of a conscience, she feels guilty even so.”
“I am not angry at my mother,” Arabella told him. “I fear for her, my lord, for it is obvious to me now that Sir Jasper is both cruel and evil.”
“Yer mother will be safe wi’ him, lassie,” the earl told her, although he himself was not certain of his words. “He did nae hae to wed wi’ her to steal Greyfaire from ye, but he did. She is to bear his child, and I am told Sir Jasper does nae have any children of his own. All men want children, lass, and so I believe he will treat the mother of his child wi’ great care.” He liked the feel of her against his chest, Tavis thought, as he held Arabella in an easy embrace.
Arabella found herself loath to pull away from the comfort of his arms. “Do you have children, my lord?” she asked him.
“Aye,” he said honestly, and her head shot up, the green eyes half curious, half shocked. “I am a grown man, lassie, and I enjoy women,” he admitted honestly. “There are several bairns attributed to me, and I hae seen no reason to deny them, since Stewarts tend to hae a certain look about them. I hae had no woman to my bed, however, since the day we were wed, Arabella Stewart, though my needs hae not lessened over these past few months.”
“I do not know you, my lord,” she said low. “I…I…cannot.”
“I am a patient man, Arabella Stewart, but ye will nae leam to know me if ye remain here at Glen Ailean wi’ my mother,” he said, his dark eyes twinkling. “What’s done is done. Can we nae make a new beginning, my wee English spitfire?”
Arabella sighed deeply. She was beginning to really like this big man who was her husband. She realized now that she had never liked Sir Jasper Keane. She had never felt anything for Sir Jasper. He was the king’s choice for her husband, and she had simply accepted it blindly with the certainty of youth that she would live happily ever after. Still, the thought of riding off back to Dunmor with the earl was a little frightening. She drew a deep breath and said, “I would welcome a new beginning, my lord, but I would also prefer remaining here with your mother until we know each other a bit better. Would you really mind that, sir? Dunmor is not far, though one might think it so, this being the first time I have seen you since our marriage,” she finished with a little twinkle in her own eyes.
He chuckled, delighted by her small scold. “Can it be that ye hae missed me, lassie?”
“Oh, aye, my lord, I have indeed missed you, and I have missed being hauled all over the borders upside down on your fine horse, and having my clothing destroyed, and living in a cramped and chilly tower as well,” Arabella told him mischievously.
The earl burst into good-natured laughter. “Lassie, ye’ll nae be easy on me, will ye?”
Arabella considered, and then said more seriously, “I shall always speak the truth to ye, my lord.”
“My name is Tavis, lassie, and it would please me to hae ye call me my name.”
“Tavis James Michael,” she answered him. “James for your father, your mother says, and Michael because she liked the name and could not decide between the two. Your grandfather settled the matter by having you baptized Tavis James Michael, Lady Margery says,” Arabella told him. She pulled away from him now, suddenly shy.
He caught her hand and pulled her back. They had been standing in his stepfather’s library, and now the earl drew Arabella over to the large windows and, opening them up, stepped over the sill, lifting her out with him. “Walk wi’ me in my mother’s garden,” he said. “The day is fair and yet warm. What else has my mother told ye of me?”
“That you were a proud boy, even as you are a proud man,” Arabella said. “That sometimes you are thoughtless, but never with malice, she says, for you have a kind heart. You are hard on your enemies, but you can also be forgiving. You are loyal to your family and to your friends, and good to your people. Lady Margery says you are a fine soldier as well.”
“My mother, it seems, has said a great deal about me,” he noted.
“Your mother would have us mend our differences, Tavis,” Arabella chuckled once again. “She is eager for grandchildren.”
“I can but imagine our ba
irns,” he said softly, stopping to draw her into the circle of his arms once again. “Hot-tempered little lads, and tiny spitfire wenches wi’ their mother’s pale gold hair. Lassie, I must kiss ye,” he finished in a rush, and tipping her face up, he met her surprised lips with his.
“Ohhhh,” she whispered, tasting the texture of his mouth and deciding she liked it. Arabella’s arms slipped up about his neck, clinging to him as the pressure from his lips increased upon hers.
Sweet, sweet! She tasted so sweet, he thought, unexpectedly and sharply aware of the new fullness in her breasts as she pressed herself against him. Then without warning her lips opened beneath his, and he was unable to prevent his tongue from insinuating itself into her mouth to find hers. She shuddered with that first contact, her arms tightening even more about his neck in her budding passion.
Arabella did not really understand what was happening to her, but it all seemed quite natural nonetheless. Hazily she remembered back to the first time he had kissed her, and recalled that she had also found herself bereft of reason then too. Did kissing a man always produce such a delicious, if disconcerting effect? When she opened her mouth in an attempt to breathe, and his tongue caressed hers, the result was riveting, to say the least. Emotions she had never before felt, and certainly did not understand, overwhelmed her, forcing her to cling more tightly to his neck.
It had to stop. In a moment he was going to lay her down upon the slope of the garden and take everything she was so unwittingly and innocently offering him. Not that it would not be pleasant for them both, for he would see it was, but what if she felt regret afterward? Her curiosity and inexperience urged her onward to a fate she didn’t even know existed. His experience warned him against accepting her offer. He wanted her totally at peace within her own self that the time was propitious for their union. With a sigh, Tavis Stewart broke off their embrace, aching at the hurt in her eyes. “Lassie, lassie,” he murmured, caressing her upturned face with a gentle finger, “I am tempted to ask ye for more, but I willna. Nae yet, though ye would tempt a saint, Arabella Stewart.”
The way he almost crooned her name sent a little shiver of delight down her spine. “Why not yet, Tavis?” she asked him honestly.
“I want ye to know me better and be content,” he replied.
She nodded. “Then, too, there is the matter of Greyfaire, my lord. When will ye regain it for me? It is all I can offer you, though it be just a little keep. Still, the pasture land is good, and we’ve a fine orchard.”
“Yer new English king will nae be ready quite yet to settle such a dispute, lassie,” he told her. “There are still little pockets of resistance to him which he must overcome, and then there is his coronation to be scheduled, the opening of Parliament, and his marriage to Princess Elizabeth of York. Greyfaire is important to ye, I know, but ‘tis a little affair to Henry Tudor.”
Arabella found herself in a quandary. She did not wish to renew her quarrel with Tavis Stewart, especially just when she was trying to make peace with this big man to whom she was, for better or for worse, married. “I know that Greyfaire is a small matter in the politics of England, my lord, but the longer Sir Jasper Keane holds it, the harder, I think, it will be for us to dislodge him. Sooner or later you will kill him, of course, but should my mother bear him a son, it is possible the new king will favor that child over me by virtue of his male sex. That a stranger should hold lands that have belonged to the Greys for so many years is unthinkable. For now there is peace between England and Scotland, and I am told that several troops of young Scotsmen fought with King Henry against King Richard. Surely this is a good time for you to sue King Henry for the return of my lands.”
“Ye must trust me in this matter, Arabella,” Tavis Stewart said. “This winter I shall take ye to court to meet my brother, King James. We will tell him of yer plight and let Jemmie sue King Henry for ye. Such a request coming from one king to another will carry more weight than should either ye or I sue the English king. Ye understand, however, that England may refuse even Jemmie, or they may demand Greyfaire be held for our first daughter, whom they will betroth to a husband of the English king’s choice. That child will be sent to England to be fostered by her husband’s family at an early age in order that she be more English than Scots, and hae no divided loyalties in the event of war between our countries. Or England may simply pay ye what they feel yer lands are worth and end the matter that way. Ye will nae be allowed to live at Greyfaire again, lovey. Yer the Countess of Dunmor now and related to Scotland’s king.”
Never to go home to Greyfaire again? Arabella’s eyes welled with tears. Until this moment she had not realized how very much she had really lost—and none of it through her own doing. She was suddenly angry. Angry that all that was important in her life, that was of consequence or of relevance to her happiness, was being or had been decided for her by someone else, usually a man. It wasn’t fair! She wanted to control her own life, a somewhat radical thought, she knew. Her sweet mother would be horrified by such an idea. Father Anselm would tell her that women were bound by tradition and God’s law to be subservient to men, but that didn’t mean, Arabella decided, that she had to like it.
“What is it, lassie?” the earl asked her. “Ye look like a wee thundercloud.”
A sharp reply sprang to her lips, but Arabella bit it back, suddenly realizing that to behave in such a manner was childish. Her entire life was not her husband’s fault…only these last few months concerned him. She had to take charge of her own fate. No one else had the right, but a direct assault upon Tavis Stewart would earn her nothing. “I am angered,” she said honestly, “by the fact my ancestral home is in the hands of a stranger who may be more successful at pressing his claim to it than I.”
“’Tis natural ye would feel that way, Arabella,” the earl told her.
“Promise me that you will do everything to regain Greyfaire for me, my lord,” Arabella said. “I do not want royal gold. I want my border keep.”
“I dinna need the gold, though that be a somewhat sacrilegious statement for a good Scotsman to make,” he told her with some humor. “But it will nae be easy, Arabella Stewart. I will do my best for ye, I swear it.”
“I am satisfied that you will, my lord,” she answered him, but in her heart she knew that should he fail, she would not let it rest at that.
He smiled at her, and Arabella suddenly realized that it was the first time she had ever seen Tavis Stewart smile. She had seen him laugh, but never had his mouth stretched wide to show her a top row of square white teeth. “Yer such a solemn little puss, Arabella Stewart,” he said. “I like ye, lass.”
“‘Tis fortunate you do, my lord,” she replied with spirit, “since you are bound to me in marriage.”
He chuckled. “Shall I court ye, lovey? Ye can scarce call our acquaintance to date a courtship.”
Now it was Arabella’s turn to chuckle. “Nay, my lord, you have certainly not courted me the way I ever imagined a maid should be courted. Rather you have waged a rough wooing of my person. I think I should like it if you courted me properly.”
“And how long is this courting to last?”
“If you please me, Tavis Stewart, then I shall go home to Dunmor with you after your sister’s wedding on December fifth,” Arabella told him. There was a long moment of silence, and then she said, “You have not asked me what will happen if you do not please me, my lord.”
“I dinna need to know,” he said softly, “for I shall please ye well, my little English spitfire.” And he tipped her chin up with his fingers and touched her mouth once again with his. “I have never wooed a woman properly, Arabella Stewart, but ye will hae nae cause for complaint, I promise ye.”
Would his kiss always send that delicious little ripple down her backbone? Arabella wondered. She hoped so! And when he took her hand in his big paw and led her through his mother’s gardens, all rational thoughts seemed to drift away. They did not speak now, and, indeed, there seemed no need to speak. The S
eptember day was fair and the air yet warm. Above a bed of Michaelmas daisies several fat bumblebees hovered, their gossamer wings beating the air and, by some miracle, holding up their plump black and yellow bodies.
“When will you go to court?” Arabella finally asked, breaking the silence.
“Not until after Twelfth Night,” the earl replied. “I would take ye wi’ me, lassie. Both Jemmie and his queen are anxious to meet ye. The hunting is too good now for me to leave Dunmor, particularly since my brother doesna need me.”
“I have heard it said that your king is not well liked among his nobility,” Arabella noted. “Why is that? You seem to hold him in great affection, and I do not think you would feel that way if he were not a good man, Tavis.”
The earl sighed. “James is a man of peace in an age that esteems militaristic values and all that goes with it. He despises violence and all martial pastimes, but even so, he might have redeemed himself in the eyes of the nobility if he at least sat a horse well, but alas, he doesna. If the truth be known, my brother is afraid of horses. He is most like his mother, Marie of Gueldres, who was the niece of Burgundy’s duke, Philip the Good. She was raised at the Burgundian court, and was a lady of great wit, intellect, and piety. Jemmie even favors her with his olive skin, dark eyes and hair, and though he has always been a handsome man, he has a foreign look to him which has nae endeared him to many.
“He had two younger brothers, Alexander, Duke of Albany, and John, Earl of Mar. Both were Stewarts in face and form, and totally narrow Scots in their thinking. Several years ago they were arrested upon suspicion of treason, and God knows, Albany aspired to the throne. Mar died in prison, but Albany escaped to France, where the French king arranged an aristocratic marriage for him but would nae help him overthrow Jemmie, so Albany crossed the channel to England. Yer King Edward was more man willing to meddle in a business that was nae his own. He publicly recognized Jemmie’s brother as King Alexander IV of Scotland and sent his brother, Duke Richard, with an army to invade Scotland.”
The Spitfire Page 16
