Her blush grew deeper, for even after having been married to this man for over a year, and having cohabited with him for the past eight months, she was still a little shy of him. She was embarrassed that he should know her so intimately that he could be certain of her condition even before she was. It was almost a violation, she thought irritably.
He saw the annoyance springing to life in her eyes, and he quickly said, “I am my mother’s eldest son, and familiar wi’ a woman’s habits when she is first wi’ bairn.’’
“Could you not have waited at least until I told you myself, my lord? I think it indecent that a man should be so aware of a woman’s habits!’’ She could feel her temper beginning to tug at her. “How like a man, so caught up with the superiority of his overweening pride that he would know such things as you do, and further would assume the babe I carry is a son!’’
He wanted to laugh, for she was so like a small and golden-furred spitting kitten in her outrage. “Lovey,” he told her, controlling his amusement, “I love ye, and everything about ye is important to me. Why sometimes I awake in the night and listen to ye breathe to be certain that ye are all right.’’
“I wanted to surprise you,” she pouted, not quite ready to forgive him despite his declaration of love.
“There are many ways in which ye surprise me, madame,” he said softly, and he kissed her once again.
She slipped her arms about his neck and drew him closer to her, pressing the length of her naked body against him. “Take me home, my lord,” she said with double meaning.
“Witch,” he growled into the golden tangle of her hair, feeling little hands seeking him. With a half groan he rolled over onto his back, taking her with him.
Laughing, Arabella caressed his manhood until he was aching with his eagerness to possess her. Shy in many ways with him, he had discovered, to his amazement, that she had no such reticence when it came to the act of love. It was almost as if she were a different person. In time, he suspected, he would be able to teach her certain refinements of passion that many women would not tolerate. Mounting him, Arabella began to ride her husband, gently at first, more wildly as her own passion increased, her head thrown back, her lips slightly parted, her green eyes half veiled.
Reaching up, he grasped her breasts, teasing at the berry nipples, caressing and fondling the silken flesh. He half sat, leaning his head forward to take one of her nipples into his mouth so he might suckle upon it. Gently he bit down on the tender tip and was rewarded by a soft moan of unmistakable pleasure from his wife. He pinched the other nipple equally gently, for pain was not his goal, only an enhancement of desire. He was rewarded when her sweetly tight little sheath contracted about his throbbing manhood, and Arabella shivered violently the beginning of her own fulfillment. Releasing her nipples, he took control of the situation, gently turning her over upon her back and finishing magnificently what she had so gallantly started.
They lay together in the afterward, feeling the heat of not only their mutual passion, but of the new day as well. In the garden of the town house a thrush sang, even as from the front of the house the cries of the flower seller in from the country sounded. “Sweet lavender and Mary’s gold. Roses half a copper penny! Who’ll buy? Flowers! Fresh flowers wi’ the dew yet upon them! Who’ll buy?”
“Jemmie will nae miss us,” the earl finally said, breaking the silence between them. “He canna deny me the right to take ye home when yer quickening wi’ my heir and before it becomes too dangerous for ye to travel. Besides, the city is an unhealthy place for ye, particularly now.”
“Aye,” Arabella agreed, stretching her limbs with contentment. She no longer felt angry with him, for he was really most considerate of her. Then she said, “I cannot wait to see the look upon the face of that alley cat, Sorcha Morton, when she learns I am with child. I do not like the way she eyes you, my lord. As if you were a particularly delectable bit of sweetmeat.’’
“There is nothing between Lady Morton and myself, lovey, but if the truth be known, I dinna like the way my nephew looks upon ye.”
“Are you jealous?’’ she teased him.
“Aye!”
She laughed, pleased. “Jamie is a boy,” she said. “I have a man!”
He was flattered by her quick reply, but still he said, “He may be a lad, but he’s got a man’s hard cock already, and he well knows how to use it, Arabella Stewart. Remember that lest ye ever underestimate him.”
“I shall be safely at Dunmor, my lord,” she said sweetly. “The prince shall be gone from my life, even as Jasper Keane is gone from my life.”
The king acceded to their wishes to return home to Dunmor, though he would not see either of them, so deeply did he mourn his Margaret. He remained for most of the time within his own apartments, praying for his late wife’s soul and generally ignoring the business of his realm. A treaty for a solid peace with England was being negotiated between the two countries in London, and James III was little needed elsewhere. There was no army to lead against the age-old enemy, and if there was discontent among the Scots nobility, it was, for the time being, set aside out of respect for the late queen.
The Earl and Countess of Dunmor came home to the border country on a bright mid-August day. They had been away eight months. The Flemings of Glen Ailean were there to greet them, both Ailis and Meg plump and close to delivering their first children. Happily, Arabella confided her suspicions to them all. Her mother-in-law, after asking her several pertinent questions and discussing Arabella’s habits with Flora and Lona, confirmed her son’s verdict. In the early spring of the new year, Dunmor would have an heir.
“Or heiress,” Arabella said stubbornly, “and if it is a little girl, I will call her Margaret after the queen, God assoil her sweet soul.”
“Ye will nae name her after yer own mother?’’ Lady Margery inquired.
“Nay,” Arabella said shortly.
‘‘Surely ye hae forgiven the poor woman,’’ Margery Fleming said.
“Aye,” Arabella answered, “but I cannot forget what she did when she allowed herself to become involved with Sir Jasper. She was not a bad woman, belle mere, but she was a foolish and a silly one, I now realize. She might have refused Sir Jasper. It was her right, but she did not. I should never allow any man to use me so!”
“Pray God ye will never find yerself so vulnerable, my child,’’ Lady Margery told her daughter-in-law.
“A woman is only vulnerable if she allows herself to be,” the young countess answered with all the assurance of her youth and inexperience.
“Everyone is vulnerable at some time in their life, Arabella,’’ Lady Margery said quietly. “Everyone. Man or woman. There is nae crime in it, for it is the way of the world, my dear.”
Arabella shook her head vehemently. “I have been vulnerable to others in the past, belle mere, but I will never again allow anyone to dictate to me how I will live my life. I must be my own mistress! Why is it a man may chart not only his own course, but a woman’s as well?”
“Men are the natural rulers of the earth,’’ Lady Fleming said.
“Why?” Arabella demanded.
For once the usually wise lady was at a loss for words, and her daughter and other daughter-in-law looked totally confused by Arabella’s simple question.
“Perhaps because God intended it that way,” Father Colin finally said.
“How do we know that?” Arabella said, totally unfazed by the church’s opinion.
“Because men are naturally wiser than women,” Donald Fleming said, his tone just a trifle belligerent. He was still not over his suspicion of Arabella, and these questions of hers only confirmed his mistrust of her.
“Indeed, Donald? Just why is that so? Because they are bigger than women, or perhaps that temperamental little worm that dangles between your legs leads you to think so? I was not aware that a man’s cock added to his intellect.”
Lord Fleming burst out laughing. Not only did her words amuse him, but the look on
his second son’s face was more than comical. Donald, who always had something to say and an opinion on everything, was finally and truly at a loss for words. “Arabella,” he said, when he finally managed to gain a hold on his own humor, “I vow yer more a Scot than ye are English. The women of our race are noted for their outspoken ways, and ye certainly dinna attempt to conceal yer thoughts or yer feelings from us, do ye, lassie?”
“I do not mean to be bold, my lord,” Arabella answered him, “it is just that I do not see why women cannot rule their own lives as men do. Should I not know better than any what is right for me?”
The earl put an arm about his young wife. “It is tradition, madame, that the earls of Dunmor care for all those in their charge. Their wives, however, rule the family and all that concerns it.”
“But it is your word, Tavis, in the end that can supplant mine. It is your will that can overrule mine should you so desire it,” Arabella said passionately. “I would rule my own life!”
“I will never impede ye in that desire, madame,” the earl told her, “unless, of course, yer desires endanger me or mine. In return I would expect the same of ye. I think that is a fair bargain I offer ye. Do ye nae?”
“Aye, my lord, I do,” she answered him, a smile brightening her beautiful features.
“Bah!” Donald Fleming said irritably. “If she were my wife I’d take a stick to her. Ye spoil the wench, Tavis, and she’ll make a fool of ye yet for it!’’
“If I were your wife, Donald Fleming, I would have poisoned your ale long since,” Arabella replied spiritedly, “and any man foolish enough to raise a weapon of any kind to me will find it quickly broken over his head or buried in his heart!”
“Spoken like a true warrior Countess of Dunmor,” said her husband with a grin, and he gave Arabella a hard kiss.
Donald Fleming rolled his eyes with exasperation. His English sister-in-law was the most irritating and strong-willed woman he had ever known. He did not understand why his eldest brother would put up with her. His mother patted his arm comfortingly.
“Dinna fret, laddie,” she said softly. “One day ye’ll meet a lass, and no matter what she does or says, everything about her will be wonderful. ‘Tis love, Donald.”
“If love forces a man to be less than a man,” grumbled Donald, “then I’d just as soon nae find myself in such a state, Mother.”
“Gieing a woman her own way where ‘twill do nae harm is nae being less than a full man, Donald, but ye’ll find that out for yerself one day,’’ Lady Fleming told him with a knowledgeable smile.
“I don’t know who would want to wed with Donald,” Arabella told her husband in a low tone. “He’s like a great, clumsy, ill-tempered old dog.’’
“He hae good qualities too, lassie,” the earl said.
To Arabella’s surprise, one of her brother-in-law’s good qualities was soon more than apparent, for Meg and Ailis delivered their babies within a few days of each other in late September, and Donald Fleming found himself rendered helpless with love for the two infants, both of whom were boys. The big man was fascinated by the babies, and his rough features softened as he looked upon them. Arabella would even swear that there were tears in his eyes as he cradled his sister’s son at the boy’s christening, where he stood as the lad’s godfather.
Lona, too, was intrigued with the new babies, taking every moment she might steal when they were about to coo at them, and cuddle them. At first Arabella was surprised, for Lona, coming from a large family, had never before evinced such an interest in children. Then, suddenly, it occurred to her that her childhood friend might be in love. Yet Lona had confided nothing to her, and surely she would have, Arabella thought. Still…the Countess of Dunmor decided to keep a close watch upon her young servant. Indeed, she felt it her duty, for she could not allow FitzWalter’s daughter to be seduced while in her care!
Arabella’s patience was finally rewarded at Martinsmas when she saw the young clansman called Fergus helping the blushing Lona to carry a basket of apples into the hall. Fergus! Of course, she thought with a smile. He was always hanging about them when he was not at his duties. As they sat in the hall one evening listening to the piper, Arabella spoke softly to her husband.
“The young man who first brought Lona and her brother to us, Fergus? What can you tell me of him, my lord?”
The earl thought for a moment, and then as his eyes lit with remembrance he said, “Fergus MacMichael. A good lad wi’ a good future. A man-at-arms, but he’ll be a captain one day, I think.”
“Has he a wife?”
The earl considered her query a minute, and then shook his head. “Nay.” Then he looked at his own wife. “Why this curiosity, lassie?”
“I think Lona casts her eyes in his direction, and he seems to be amenable. I would be certain he does not dishonor her, or break her tender heart, my lord. Lona is not simply my servant, but my friend.”
“I’ll speak wi’ the lad, madame, and be certain he is free to court Lona,” the earl promised his wife.
On the following morning Fergus MacMichael found himself called into his lord’s presence, and Tavis Stewart wasted no time in coming to the point.
“Would ye court the lass who serves my wife, laddie?”
The young man flushed, but his gaze never wavered from that of his lord’s. “Aye, my lord, I would.”
“Yer free to?”
“Aye, my lord.”
“Then ye hae my permission, and that of my lady’s, but ye’ll nae seduce Lona, or shame her.”
“Nay, my lord, never!”
“Then we understand each other,” the earl said, dismissing his clansman.
Tavis Stewart reported the conversation to his wife that night as they cuddled with each other in their bed. “I hope he’ll make yer Lona as happy as ye’ve made me, Arabella Stewart,” he murmured softly, kissing her brow.
And the very next day Lona came blushingly to her mistress saying, “I have a suitor, ‘Bella!’’ Her eyes were bright with her happiness. “I didn’t dare to hope he would ever see me in that way, but he has!”
“Would it be that handsome young clansman, Fergus MacMichael?” Arabella teased Lona.
“How did you know?!”
“Oh,” Arabella said offhandedly, “I’ve seen the way he looks at you these past months, Lona, and so I asked my husband to be certain that his intentions toward you were honorable. I am assured they are.” She chuckled, and then added mischievously, “But not too honorable!”
Lona giggled, confiding in her mistress and friend, “He’s got quick hands, ‘Bella, and a sweet kiss, I vow.”
“And will you wed him if he asks?”
“Perhaps,” Lona smiled, “but first I would be courted a bit by the man. Ohhh, ‘Bella, he has the bluest eyes!”
The winter came, and with it a strange calm settled over Scotland. The king still mourned his wife, but the queen was now dead six months, and those who negotiated peace in England also seriously considered Elizabeth Woodville as a possible replacement for Margaret of Denmark. Tidbits of news always reached Dunmor first, for messengers returning from England always stopped at the castle. The king’s half brother was known for his loyalty and his hospitality. Archibald Douglas, whose border castle of Hermitage was not too far distant, found to his irritation that he was not considered as generous a host. He was forced to visit Dunmor in order to learn what was happening firsthand, for he found that secondhand gossip was usually unreliable.
“Elizabeth Woodville would destroy yer brother,” he told Tavis Stewart one night as he enjoyed the earl’s fine wine in the Great Hall of Dunmor Castle. “They say she’s a woman of great passions. Not at all to Jemmie’s taste, though perhaps Jamie would enjoy her favors.”
“I hae nae doubt that Henry Tudor would like to rid himself of his mother-in-law,” Tavis said, chuckling. “She is a most troublesome jade, I hear, and I dinna think his own mother, Lady Margaret Beaufort, considers her wi’ much kindness either. The negotiato
rs play wi’ each other, Archie, and ye know it even as I do. ‘Tis peace that is the main order of business between our countries. I dinna think forcing poor Jemmie to the altar wi’ that English harpie would lead us to a lasting peace.”
“But it might lead yer brother into a good fight wi’ the English,” the Earl of Angus laughed.
“There will be nae match between the king and that particular lady,’’ Tavis Stewart said quietly. “The peace treaty is ready for signing, and Henry Tudor has other troubles to worry about that take precedence over Elizabeth Woodville.”
“The lad in Ireland,” Archibald Douglas said.
“There’s talk of crowning him in Dublin,” Tavis Stewart said. “That canna set well wi’ the Tudor.”
“He’s got an heir now in Prince Arthur,” Angus said.
“Aye, but there are still some diehard Yorkists who would choose a boy prince of York over a Lancastrian king,” the Earl of Dunmor answered him.
“But the lad is an imposter, or so Henry Tudor says. Why, only recently I hear he dragged the poor little Plantagenet out from the Tower to display.’’ The Earl of Angus thought a moment and then said, “If, of course, the little laddie is the real York prince. Mayhap this boy in Ireland is the real York heir.”
“It makes no difference to Scotland,” Tavis Stewart said. “Let the English fight amongst themselves and leave us in peace.”
“Or to gain back Berwick,” Angus said slyly.
“Will ye nae ever cease singing that tune, Archie?”
“My lord!”
The earl looked to see Lona. “Aye, lass, what is it?”
“My mistress bade me come and tell you that the babe will shortly be born,” Lona said excitedly.
Tavis Stewart leapt to his feet. “Is she all right, lass? Does she nae need me?” He didn’t know which way to turn, to Angus’ amusement, for Archibald Douglas had never thought to see the Earl of Dunmor so at loose ends, and all over a bairn to boot.
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