The Spitfire (18 page)

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 understand 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.

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 bairns,” 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.”