“But Greyfaire is yours, my lord,” the captain said.
“No, it is not,” his master answered. “King Henry has yet to confirm my rights to Greyfaire, and now that that troublesome bitch has come to claim the keep for herself, my claim has been challenged.”
“Surely the king will not award such a strategic keep, even one as small as Greyfaire, to a mere woman, my lord,” Seger soothed.
“Nothing is ever certain when dealing with royalty, you fool!” snapped Sir Jasper. “Remember that lest you lose your head one day by making such an error in judgment.”
“What will you do then, my lord?”
“What I planned to do in the first place, Seger. You will learn the truth of Lady Arabella Grey’s visit to the queen, and then you will tell me. Though I feel it in my bones that the wench has come to usurp my position, it is but idle speculation until proven otherwise. Come and let us bind up my wound. Then you will seek out the answers that I need to my many questions.”
“She cannot hope to prevail against you, my lord,” Seger said with certainty. “She is but a woman.”
“Do not be a bigger fool than you already are, Seger,” his master told him. “The church teaches us that even God could not prevail against a woman, for did Eve not disobey him? Women are dangerous creatures, and you must never forget that.”
“But God punished Eve, my lord.”
“Yet she survived, Seger, and so does her sex. They survive to drive men to madness, but I will not let Arabella Grey best me in this contest of wills. Greyfaire will be mine. There is no way I will let her win.”
Chapter Sixteen
Arabella Grey stood once more before her king. Two days had passed since she had last been at Sheen. She had been brought with much public display through the king’s antechamber, where a roomful of petitioners milled about, awaiting a chance to present their cases before the king or to one of his favorites who could gain his ear. There had been no other women in the throng. As she curtsied low, Arabella wondered if the king would notice that she was wearing the same gown she had worn the other day. They were alone, for the king had dismissed all his servants and advisors.
“Sir Jasper Keane has petitioned me once again to assign the keep at Greyfaire over to him,” the king began.
Arabella remained silent, instinctively knowing that Henry Tudor was not through. Still, her upper teeth worried her lower lip as she wondered what was to come.
“With the peace between Scotland and England, Greyfaire does not really hold the importance it once did. I have investigated the matter carefully, and I can see no reason to give the ancestral home of the Greys to Sir Jasper Keane. He must return to Northby, and those men now in his service who have been impressed from Greyfaire and wish to return home will be told that they may do so.”
Arabella fell to her knees, relief pouring through her. “Thank you, your grace,” she half sobbed.
The king pulled her to her feet. “Get up, madame, you have not heard all I have to say.” He drew her across the room and, after seating himself, indicated that she sit in a chair opposite. “Nothing, madame, is free in this life. Everything has its price, and I will not dissemble by pretending otherwise with you. I will return you your beloved Greyfaire, madame, but only on certain conditions.”
Her face was ablaze with joy. “Anything, Sire!” she told him.
“A poor choice of words, madame,” the king told her dryly. “You leave yourself nothing with which to bargain.”
“But I will do whatever I must to regain Greyfaire,” Arabella told him earnestly.
“Will you indeed?” Henry Tudor said, feeling almost sorry for Lady Grey, who was, he had finally decided, really quite innocent of the world for all her time at the Scots court. Still, that innocence could, and would, be useful to him. He fixed Arabella with a piercing look and said, “You are really a most beautiful woman, madame. There is something about you…something mysterious, and yet there is an artless ingenuousness that charms me. A freshness, a naiveté, for all your marriage and the fact that you are a mother. You are a most alluring little creature.”
Holy Mother, Arabella thought. He wants to lie with me!
Henry Tudor saw the look that quickly crossed her face and was quickly gone. His laughter was brief and harsh. “Put all thoughts of carnality from your mind, madame,” he reassured her. “What little passion flows through my veins I reserve for my queen.”
Arabella flushed, but wisely held her tongue.
“Charming,” the king noted, observing the blush, “and it is just that sort of charm that can be useful. I want you to go to France for me, madame.”
“France!” Such a request had been the furthest thing from her mind.
“France,” the king said.
“But why?” Arabella asked. She didn’t want to go to France. She wanted to go home to Greyfaire!
“Because I need eyes and ears in France, madame. The French would plot against me, and I must know before they even attempt their perfidy what it is that they would do.”
“But, how can I be of help in such an endeavor, your grace? I am a simple country woman. I have no knowledge of politics or court intrigues. Are the French not your friends, Sire? Did they not support your desire to be England’s king?”
“The French did indeed support me, madame, but they supported me because it suited their convenience to do so. As long as Duke Richard and Duke Henry fought over that fine, meaty bone called England, the English were well-occupied and could not cause the French difficulties elsewhere. Now, however, I am England’s king, and now I sit firmly upon my throne. France is once again the enemy, although there is no outright war between us, nor do I expect one. I do, however, need to know if the French will continue to support me, or if they will conspire with my enemies to dethrone me, even as they did your late cousin Richard. I need eyes and ears at the French court. Eyes and ears who will be trusted because it is believed those eyes and ears are my enemy’s. This is no matter for diplomats who spend so much time couching their language in fine terms that no one can understand what it is they are saying. I want you to be my eyes and ears, madame.”
Arabella was astounded. “But I am not your majesty’s enemy,” she said. “What could I possibly learn in France that would help your grace?”
“Would you be my enemy if I refused to return Greyfaire to you, madame, and instead awarded it to Sir Jasper Keane?” he demanded.
“But you promised…” she began, her voice a half sob, her heart plummeting.
“Put not your trust in princes or in any child of man,” the king said. “My mother taught me that. She had it from a priest, she said. I think it a fine motto, but do not look so stricken, madame. Hear me out and all will make sense, I promise. Greyfaire is yours. I would be less than the king I am if I did not uphold your rights in this matter. The papers will be drawn making Lady Margaret Stewart your heiress to the keep. This, however, will not be made public. Instead it will be believed that I have denied you the return of your keep. You have no husband. No home. No place in either Scotland or England. You are an outcast thanks to Henry Tudor, and so you will flee to France to join other exiles at the French court. Who will suspect that you are my eyes and my ears under those circumstances, madame?”
“I have no monies with which to travel,” Arabella said, her practical nature reasserting itself.
“You will be provided for, madame, but not on any lavish scale, mind you. Your genteel poverty, along with your beauty, should aid you in attracting suitors. Associate only with those who are powerful and can aid you with their loose talk.”
“My lord, just what is it you are asking me to do?” Arabella was clearly aware that King Henry was not merely suggesting a simple visit to France.
“Whatever you must, madame, to gain your ends,” the king replied bluntly, his eyes meeting hers and never wavering for a moment. They were hard eyes.
“Do you ask me to whore for you?” she demanded softly.
; “No, madame, I ask you to whore for England if you must,” he answered her.
“You are England,” Arabella said quietly.
A slow smile briefly lit the king’s stern features. “So I am, madame, and it is good that you recognize it. I hold the power of life and death over all in this land.”
“For how long must I play this game, your grace?”
“A year at the most. No longer,” he promised her.
“A year!” It sounded more like a hundred years, and she sighed deeply. “My daughter—” she began, but he cut her off.
“Lady Margaret Stewart will remain in England, madame. I will have nothing deterring you in your purpose, and a child would make you vulnerable. She will come to live in the royal nurseries with my son Arthur and the new baby that the queen is to bear in the autumn. She will be quite safe. You cannot send her to Greyfaire, for it will not publicly belong to you any longer. Besides, her father might come galloping over the border seeking her return, madame, and I am certain you do not want that.”
“But how will you explain her presence, your grace?” Arabella asked the king.
“Why, I will say that I have taken pity on the Scots king’s wee niece whose willful mother ran off to France in a vile temper when I refused to grant the silly woman the rights to her family’s keep,” Henry Tudor said with a frosty smile.
“There is no other way?” Arabella said.
“Did you yourself not say anything, madame?”
“But to take my baby from me,” Arabella cried. “‘Tis cruel!”
“Perhaps,” the king agreed, “but ‘twill guarantee me your good behavior, madame. You are hardly likely to betray me while I hold the life of your daughter in my hands.”
“Should I hear anything of note, your grace, how will I communicate it to you?” Pushing her turbulent emotions aside, Arabella was beginning to think of the difficulties and the dangers involved in what the king was demanding of her.
“Lord Anthony Varden will be your contact, madame. Whatever it is that you hear, you will pass on to Lord Varden. He will see that your news reaches England. You can trust him with your life, madame, but God willing, you will not have to do so. Tony Varden is believed to hate me because of a quarrel between his family and my stepfather’s family. He has lived in France for many years, and he is one of my loyalist friends, though none know it.”
“He must be to have given up his estates and his country for your grace,” Arabella said quietly.
“Tony is a second son,” the king replied. “He was destined for the church, but desired it not. The quarrel between us is entirely fabricated. He was with me in Brittany when we decided to try this ploy against the French. Since it has appeared to work, he has remained in France for several years now. He will be your mentor, madame, telling you whatever it is you will need to know. Trust him.”
“It would seem, Sire, that I have no other choice,” Arabella answered the king.
“You have a choice,” Henry Tudor told her. “You may refuse me, madame, without any fear of my ill will.”
“But if I do, your grace, you will not return Greyfaire to me, will you?”
“Come, madame,” the king replied, not truly answering her question, “why so squeamish? You tell me that you can hold your keep in the event of an attack, and I have accepted your word for it. I treat you as I will wager no man has ever treated you…as an equal. I have returned your home to you, and in return I ask that you serve the crown as any man would serve it.”
“Would you ask a man to whore for you, Sire?” Arabella demanded tartly.
“If necessary, madame, aye! Men and women fight with different weapons, a fact of which I am certain you are well aware. Tony Varden has proved a most valuable spy for England. I cannot be certain that some of his information was not gained in pillow talk. You need not compromise yourself, Lady Grey, if you do not choose to, but a man is more apt to confide in a woman he is enamored of than simply a mere acquaintance. Remember, you go to France to be of use to me.” The king reached over and took her chin in his hand. “You really are beautiful, madame. I think there is much a man might dare for you, and though you blush most becomingly at my words, you are nonetheless a woman grown. You have no maidenhead to protect. If the thought of taking a lover is unpleasant to you, madame, and perhaps that is a side of your nature you find distasteful, swallow your qualms and remember what you do you do for England, for Greyfaire, and for your most grateful king.” He loosed his grip upon her chin and smiled his brief smile.
“A year at the most? You swear it?” The thought of leaving Margaret behind for a year was unbearable.
“At most,” he promised her, and sensing her concern, continued, “Lady Margaret will be cared for with kindliness, I assure you. If it will set your heart at ease, I will confide in the queen that you are not the heartless creature you appear, but in truth a gallant and brave Englishwoman who has gone to France to valiantly serve her country in thanks for our generosity toward her. I will explain that the child had been left behind for her own safety, and indeed, that is the truth.”
“Your majesty is most thoughtful,” Arabella said with wry understatement. “How will I contact Lord Varden? Will it not seem odd if I seek him out?”
“Tony will seek you out. One exile aiding a beautiful countrywoman will appear most natural to the French, who brazenly claim to appreciate womankind far more than other races,” the king told her.
“And how will we begin this charade, Sire?” There was little left to discuss, Arabella realized.
“You will run weeping from my closet, madame, cursing my name as you flee through my crowded antechamber which, at this moment, is filled to overflowing with every petitioner, gossip, and sycophant at court. Sir Jasper Keane is undoubtedly there himself right now. I have sent for him to tell him that he may not have Greyfaire, but that the crown has decided to confiscate it. I will then give your Greyfaire men the choice of staying with Sir Jasper or returning home under royal protection. It will take little time for word to travel, madame, as to the cause of your distress. Though disappointed himself, Sir Jasper, I suspect, will ease his own great dissatisfaction by spreading his version of these events and blackening your good name.”
“My daughter? How will Margaret find her way into the royal nursery?” Arabella was still concerned.
“I shall have the queen send one of her women to St. Mary’s-in-the-Fields late this afternoon to fetch the child and smuggle her into Sheen.”
“So soon?”
“You leave for France tomorrow, madame. I want you gone quickly before one of the more gallant members of my court, moved by your beautiful face, pities your plight and attempts to petition me on your behalf. I will give Sir Jasper several days to gloat, even while he is publicly complaining that I would not give him Greyfaire. The French have spies in my court, and the story will be in France perhaps even before you are, legitimizing your arrival at King Charles’ court. Sir Jasper tells me that you are called the ‘Spitfire’ because of your quick temper. Your behavior will, therefore, seem quite in character.”
There was no escape, Arabella realized, from King Henry’s will. If she wanted Greyfaire back, then she must go to France. The king had said it plainly. Without Greyfaire she was homeless. How could she care for Margaret under such circumstances? “I have not lied to your grace when I said I am virtually penniless,” she told him. “I have but two silver pieces and half a dozen copper coins left to my name. If I am to depart on the morrow, I will need monies now. You have spoken bluntly to me. Now I would be plain with you. I do not mean to give offense, my lord, but it is said that you are close with a coin. You tell me you cannot be lavish with your support, and yet you expect me to travel to France, join the French court, and attract important men that I may gain information useful to England. How am I to attract them, Sire, without funds? I have no monies and no clothing. Frenchwomen are known for their elegance of garment. I will be a drab English sparrow, lost in a court o
f radiant peacocks. If I am to be a fine jewel to tempt your enemies, your grace, then you must fit me into a proper setting,” Arabella concluded, looking directly at the king.
“Hmmmmm,” Henry Tudor considered, “I had not thought of that, madame, but do you tell me you have no garments but those you wear?”
“I brought but one dress suitable for your court, Sire, when I journeyed from the north. My other gowns are barely suitable for traveling.”
“Why is that, madame? Was your husband not generous with you?” The king looked thoughtful. “Scotsmen are rumored to be penurious.”
“Tavis Stewart was most generous, your grace, but as I divorced him, I did not think it right I take anything but the barest essentials. I left the bulk of my wardrobe and jewels at Dunmor, bringing only this one good gown and the oldest of my garments.”
Henry Tudor was astounded. Women, his wife and mother excepted, were a greedy and rapacious lot, he knew, and yet here was this radiant beauty claiming otherwise. Once again he felt a small twinge of guilt in his treatment of Lady Grey, but he thrust it away, for a man could not be a strong king if he allowed a nagging conscience to overrule his good sense. “You must not appear wealthy, madame, for then the question will arise from whence your wealth comes,” the king considered. “Still, you must have decent clothing, I will admit. As I must confide in the queen regarding your child, I shall have to seek her aid in this matter as well.”
“I shall need clothing for my maid as well, your grace,” Arabella said, feeling braver now. “Lona must come with me, for no lady of quality, even a poor one, would travel without her servant. I will take several of my own men-at-arms too. I cannot travel unprotected in a foreign land. My own people will never betray me. I need, however, to confide in them the true purpose of my trip to France if I am to retain their loyalty. They are simple men, and they have borne much for my sake. I cannot strain that trust further and keep their unswerving support. Their lips will stay sealed if I ask it.”
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