“Why is there no smoke from the cottages?” Arabella wondered aloud.
“Most of the old women are in the fields and in the orchard, m’lady, while the old men keep watch on the heights. There ain’t no one home in the cottages. The young ‘uns and their mams are out in the fields too. Sir Jasper sends his man Seger once or twice a year to see if any of the young boys left has growed enough to serve him. We tried to hide our lads at first, but Sir Jasper has a list of all the families he sends with Seger. There ain’t no escaping for most.”
“Yet you are still here, Rowan,” Arabella observed.
“Aye, I am,” Rowan said matter-of-factly. “Me dad told Sir Jasper that as I would take his place one day, I should stay and learn all there was to learn about defending Greyfaire. Sir Jasper laughed and replied that he would not argue with my father over one lad, for he valued my father’s loyalty and needed him to defend Greyfaire in his absence. So I don’t have to hide anymore when Seger comes, m’lady.”
Arabella nodded. “I wonder how the other mothers feel about you,” she said quietly.
Rowan had the good grace to flush. “It ain’t easy, m’lady,” he admitted. “No girl will walk out with me, for all have brothers forced into Sir Jasper’s service, but my father does need me, m’lady, and in the beginning—before Seger came with his damned list—I was able to hide several lads. They live in a small cave near the village, for they cannot go home lest they be caught, for we never know when Seger will come.”
“And if he comes while I am at Greyfaire?” Arabella wondered aloud.
“We’ll kill him so he’ll carry no tales,” Rowan said bluntly.
“How many lads are in hiding, Rowan?”
“A full dozen, m’lady.”
“Good! I will need them to guard me when I go south to King Henry’s court.”
“You’re going to court, m’lady? Why?” Rowan asked her.
“Because the king must confirm my rights to Greyfaire, as Sir Jasper seeks my lands for himself,” Arabella told him.
“But you are Greyfaire’s mistress, m’lady!” the young man cried. “You are the last of the Greys.”
“That is true, Rowan, but I have been in Scotland these past years while Sir Jasper has had charge of Greyfaire. What can the king know of me but what Sir Jasper has told him? I do not want Greyfaire for myself, but for my daughter. If the king will allow the line of descent to pass to my daughter, then Greyfaire will have a new beginning. I will ask the king to match Margaret with an English husband so there will never be any doubt as to the loyalty of Greyfaire Keep or its people.”
They had come down off the hill as they talked and ridden through the practically deserted village. Now, as they came out again on the road leading to the castle, the Greyfaire folk saw them and came running from the fields, calling out their welcome. Arabella almost wept aloud, for most of the women, all of whom she remembered well, were altered in appearance. Those who had been inclined to plumpness were hollow-cheeked, and those who had been slender were gaunt. The young had become old, and the old frail and birdlike. Still they smiled and cried warm words of welcome to her.
“The mistress is home!”
“God bless you, Lady Arabella!”
“‘Twill be all right now. The rightful lady of the keep is on the land again.”
“Welcome home, m’lady!”
“Greyfaire has its Grey back. Now the luck will come again!”
FitzWalter came from the keep to greet her, kissing her hand, his eyes filled with tears. “So you’re home,” he said with great understatement.
“Aye, I’m home at last, FitzWalter,” she said, and then smiled at them all. “Thank you for your welcome, good people of Greyfaire. Tomorrow at noon you will all come to the hall, and I will tell you of my adventures and of my plans for the future. Now go to your homes, for the rain is falling harder as each minute passes.” Then turning, she entered the keep.
When night had fallen and Margaret had been settled in a warm, dry bed, Arabella Grey sat in her hall and marveled that she had never before realized how poor a place her home was. It was clean, at least, and she knew that she probably had FitzWalter’s wife Rosamund to thank for that. The stone floors were well-swept, and the rushes and sweet herbs were fresh, but other than the highboard and a few chairs, there was nothing of note when one compared it with the Great Hall of Dunmor Castle, or Stirling, or Linlithgow. Arabella’s sharp eye noted that there were several panes of precious glass missing from two of the four windows. The gaping holes had been stuffed with fabric.
“What happened to the windows?” she asked FitzWalter, whom she had invited to eat with her.
“Sir Jasper’s men, the ones he brought with him on his last visit, are a rough lot,” came the dry answer.
“Glass is costly,” Arabella grumbled aloud.
“Have you any gold?” FitzWalter queried her.
“I possess very little coin, and what I have I must keep for my trip south,” she answered him.
“Jewelry then,” FitzWalter persisted.
“I brought nothing with me that belonged to the earl,” she said quietly.
“You brought his daughter,” FitzWalter said, “and if you think he’ll not come after her, you’re sadly mistaken.”
“Margaret is my child too,” Arabella reminded him sharply. “Besides, Tavis is in the north on King James’ business. It will be several weeks before he returns south, and I will be long gone with my daughter before then. When he comes to Greyfaire—and I believe he will—you will tell him the truth. That I have gone to King Henry to regain my rights and that of Lady Margaret Stewart.”
“You didn’t have to divorce him to do any of this,” FitzWalter said. “I know the man stole you away, but Lona says you love him. If you love him, then why divorce him?”
Had he been anyone else, she would have dismissed him from her table, not to mention her service, but he was FitzWalter, the man she had known her entire life. Greyfaire’s loyal captain. Loyal to the keep. Loyal to the Greys. He had remained steadfast to both despite Sir Jasper Keane. FitzWalter would not settle for any less than the truth, and she would not give him any less.
“In order to obtain King James’ aid, it was necessary for me to yield myself to him in the fullest sense,” Arabella said. “I divorced Tavis Stewart that I might not shame him with my conduct by placing the horns of a cuckold upon his head.”
To her surprise, FitzWalter nodded and said, “Aye, then you did the right thing, m’lady. No Grey would act with dishonor. Your father would be proud of you.”
“I hope you will tell the earl that when he comes raging over the hills in a month or two,” Arabella said with a small attempt at humor.
“I won’t be here,” FitzWalter said. “Rowan will tell him, for I am going with you.”
“But Greyfaire is your responsibility,” Arabella said.
“Aye, it is,” FitzWalter agreed, “but Greyfaire is safe in my son’s hands, and there is peace between England and Scotland, m’lady. You, however, are the last of the Greys, and you should not travel without the protection of someone in authority. There is no one else with whom I would entrust your safety, and there is no one here at Greyfaire with the experience I have.”
Arabella thought carefully for a few long moments, and then she said, “Aye, you will come with me, FitzWalter, for I do need you. It is not my safety alone that must be protected, but my daughter’s as well. If the king will reaffirm my right to Greyfaire, then Margaret becomes its heiress.”
“Not if, m’lady,” FitzWalter said, “but when.”
She flashed him a bright smile at his words. “Aye,” she told him, “you are correct, FitzWalter. When!”
“What will you tell the people tomorrow?” he asked her.
“The truth,” she answered. “That I must go south in order to regain what is mine. That when I do I will bring their sons home. At least those who wish to come, for there will be some who do not.”
He nodded. “Aye. A few will have taken to soldiering and will find life here too dull for them. If they survive their youth, however, they’ll come home again one day and be glad of the peace here.”
“I will need more than peace to rebuild Greyfaire’s prosperity,” Arabella said thoughtfully.
“You need a rich husband,” FitzWalter said bluntly.
Arabella laughed. “Nay, my old friend, no more husbands for me!”
“Perhaps he’ll take you back,” FitzWalter ventured.
“I do not want him back,” Arabella said fiercely. “He claimed to love me, and yet he could not do this one little thing for me. No time was ever the right time to aid me in recovering Greyfaire. My home meant nothing to him, though it meant the world to me. How could he love me and not understand that? I do not need Tavis Stewart. I have Greyfaire, and I have my daughter.”
FitzWalter said nothing more. It was no use arguing with her. Arabella had always been stubborn. Until she regained her rights to the keep, it would do no good to tell her that the orchards had to be replanted, and that sheep would make a good cash crop if they could just find the coin with which to accomplish these miracles. Greyfaire had never been the most prosperous place, but never before had they had such hard times, and that was part of the difficulty. The times were changing. This peace with Scotland portended an end to Greyfaire’s value as England’s first warning beacon. Certainly there would be small outbreaks of hostilities between the two nations in future, but FitzWalter still sensed a change.
Arabella stayed at Greyfaire just long enough to reassure her people that all would be well. She explained to them as best she could the difficulty of her situation, but most could not quite grasp her plight. All they knew was that Arabella was the Grey of Greyfaire, and therefore the right must be on her side. She was forced to leave it at that. The weather had turned fair, and the fields were suddenly lush and green with the promise of a good harvest this year. The orchards were flowering, and where trees had been taken down due to blight, the earth had been first scorched with fire to cleanse it and then laced with steaming manure to enrich it before the new seedlings had been placed carefully in the ground. They were now being tenderly cared for by several women and two elderly men.
The lady of Greyfaire started south on a bright, late spring day. She was accompanied by fifteen young men-at-arms, including the dozen Rowan had hidden, and three others who had magically appeared from their own self-imposed exile, being somehow overlooked by Seger during one of his early visits. FitzWalter’s blue eyes had twinkled with amusement at the arrival of these young men, but he had said little, arranging instead for them to be fitted for leather breastplates, inquiring politely if they had enough arrows for their longbows, seeing that they had new swords from the smithy.
Fergus MacMichael arrived the morning of their departure, increasing their number to sixteen. As Lona had confided in her parents her love for the young clansman, no further explanation was necessary, although the Scotsman justified his arrival by saying, “I’ve come to keep a watch over the earl’s bairn.”
FitzWalter had nodded solemnly and agreed. “‘Tis good, and you are welcome amongst us, lad.”
As deeply disappointed as Rowan was, not to be going with them, he was filled with pride at being left in charge of Greyfaire Keep. He listened attentively to his father’s last-minute instructions, nodding, but then as FitzWalter turned to mount his horse, Rowan said, “What if Sir Jasper comes?”
“Bar the gate and deny him entry,” Arabella snapped. “He will not put his foot inside my keep again if I have anything to say about it.”
“What if Seger comes, m’lady?”
“Kill him!” Arabella said sharply. “It will take us several weeks to reach the king, traveling as we will be with my child. If Seger came before we reached his majesty, he could get back to Sir Jasper, and I would lose the element of surprise. I cannot afford to be at any more of a disadvantage than I already am.”
“I hope he comes,” Rowan said.
“Pray he doesn’t, lad,” his father replied. “He won’t be alone, and you might have to kill a friend as well.”
“And the Earl of Dunmor?” Rowan asked, hesitant, but aware it was a sticky predicament which he was being left to handle, and wanting to do it right.
“Give him my compliments,” Arabella added dryly, “and cooperate with him in every way, Rowan. When I return, I want to find Greyfaire as I have left it. Intact and beginning to thrive again. He will want but one thing of you. My daughter. Tell him she is with me, and allow him access to the keep that he may be certain you tell him the truth. Above all, Rowan, be respectful of Tavis Stewart. He is a good man.”
They headed south, traveling at a brisk pace, but one that would not needlessly tire little Margaret. The child was quickly becoming spoilt by the doting attention of all the men about her. Each wanted his turn carrying the little girl, and Margaret spent her days moving delightedly from one friend to another, being sung to, cosseted, and given small treats. The weather was good, and Margaret slept soundly through each night, worn with the fresh air and her adventures.
FitzWalter had carefully planned their trip so that they might spend most of their nights in the guest houses of the various convents, monasteries, and abbeys along their route. Several nights, however, they were forced to camp in the open. If FitzWalter had ever been south of Middleham Castle, he did not volunteer the information, but Arabella trusted him to get them safely to wherever King Henry and his court were currently in residence.
It was the middle of May when they reached Sheen, where the king had come to hunt and enjoy the fine weather. FitzWalter arranged for Arabella, Lona, and Margaret to stay at a nearby convent, explaining to the Mother Superior that his mistress had traveled almost the entire length of England in order to pledge her fealty to the king and confirm her right to the keep of which she was heiress. She was a widow, FitzWalter told the nun, and had little money, but—and here FitzWalter dug deep into his own doublet, finally withdrawing a silver coin—his mistress wanted the convent to have the little she could spare.
“It is good that your mistress acknowledges God’s might and power over us all,” the Mother Superior said. “Our blessed Lord, Himself, has told us we should not store up treasures for ourselves here on earth, for it is the soul which must be cared for above all else. Your mistress, her orphaned child, and her servant are welcome in this house.”
“You told her I was a widow?” Arabella said, surprised.
“Aye,” he answered calmly.”I could hardly tell her the truth, now could I?”
Lona snickered, but was silenced by a look from her mistress.
“Now that I am here,” Arabella admitted, “I do not know how to go about getting an audience with the king.”
“Ask Mother Mary Bede,” FitzWalter said. “I have an idea she will know. She’s a tough but knowing old bird.”
“You have no connections?” the Mother Superior said, surprised.
“Not with this court,” Arabella replied.
The nun raised a questioning eyebrow and fingered her ebony and silver crucifix thoughtfully. She awaited Arabella’s account.
“My father was a cousin of Queen Elizabeth Woodville’s first husband, and my mother was Queen Anne Neville’s cousin and childhood companion. It was King Richard who arranged my marriage,” Arabella explained, building upon FitzWalter’s lie and mixing it with the actual truth, concluding, “My husband was a Scot, and King James has given me a letter of introduction.”
The nun thought a moment and then said, “It is your father’s connections that will help us here, Lady Grey. The king does not like his mother-in-law—and with good reason, I think—but the queen holds a certain fondness for her surviving parent. My brother, who is a priest, serves as the queen’s confessor. We will apply through him to Queen Elizabeth for an audience. If you are clever, my child—and I think you must be to have undertaken such a journey—then it is the young queen
who will aid you. You have much in common, being young mothers. Your royal introduction certainly cannot hurt.”
Several days later it was all arranged. Lady Arabella Grey would be received by Queen Elizabeth the following afternoon at Sheen.
“It could not be better,” FitzWalter said. “It is unlikely the queen even knows Sir Jasper, or will come in contact with him. You’ll be able to plead your case in a sympathetic atmosphere.”
“But will the queen be willing to aid me?” Arabella fretted. “What if she does not like me? Women who are breeding are given to strange fancies, and it is said the queen is with child again.”
“Just be yourself,” FitzWalter counseled. “The queen knows what it is like to be stripped of all she holds dear. She will understand your plight better than most, my lady.”
Arabella dressed carefully for her audience with the queen. She had brought but one gown she deemed suitable. It was of a deep blue silk, rather tight fitting, with a long waist and wide shawl collar which was trimmed in a wide band of silver brocade. The low neckline of the gown revealed the shadowy area between her breasts, but was quite modest by most standards. A modest sheer-white lawn veil was held upon her head by a pretty silver circlet. Her hair beneath was braided and looped up at her temples, giving a square effect. About her waist was a girdle of silver links from which fell a small silver crucifix and a pomander ball. She was the picture of a respectable, widowed noblewoman.
“Leave the child with me,” Mother Mary Bede instructed Arabella. “She may play in the kitchens, where there are new kittens, and Sister Mary Grace is baking honey cakes.”
Although Arabella was worried that Margaret might be frightened without her, the little girl put her hand trustingly into that of the gaunt nun and trotted off.
“Well, that’s one less worry,” said Lona, who was accompanying her mistress to court.
The horses had been combed and curried, and their coats glistened as they rode slowly down the road to Sheen. The king and his family inresidence, the road was a busy one this day, with much going to and fro. There were those who provisioned the king and court, carrying or driving their wares. There were merchants hoping to gain favor. There were courtiers, and hangers-on and their servants. There were soldiers. Lena’s eyes were wide and curious, her head swiveling every which way at some new sight, but Arabella rode, eyes straight ahead, refusing to be distracted, considering for the hundredth time just how she should approach the queen. To her surprise, it turned out to be far easier than she had anticipated.
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