The Spitfire (19 page)

“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 September 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.”

“That was the summer my father was killed,” Arabella said. “I never really understood it. I remember the summons coming from the king and my mother begging him not to go. My father laughed and said ‘twas no more than a border skirmish, for all King Edward was involved. He said the Scots king would not allow himself to be so easily unseated by a younger brother, that King Edward supported the usurper merely to annoy Scotland, relations between our two countries had not been going well.”

“Nay, they hadna,” the earl replied. “Jemmie marched south to meet the challenge to his throne. Unfortunately he took with him a group of his favorites, none of whom excelled particularly in the warlike arts, some of whom did excel in the arts, and all of whom were most cordially disliked by the nobility. Robert Cochrane, who was the architect of the Great Hall at Stirling Castle, was my brother’s chief favorite. He was a pompous, overbearing man, lacking in humor and hated by most who knew him. Jemmie chose Cochrane to be his Master of the Artillery over a number of eminently well-qualified men. It was like putting a light to gunpowder.

“We were camped at Lauder when the Earl of Angus and his troop of other nobles seized Cochrane and five others and hung them over Lauder Bridge. The rumors of these creatures of Jemmie’s, and the king himself, had so revolted Angus and his party that, unaware of Albany’s full treason against James—for Alexander Stewart had secretly sworn his and Scotland’s fealty to England—they had decided to replace James wi’ his younger brother. They forced the king to witness the execution of his friends, and then escorted him back to Edinburgh.”

“Were you with him? Why did you not help him?” Arabella demanded.

“I did,” the earl told her. “When my half brother Alexander had gone to England, I sent one of my own Dunmor Stewart clansmen to join up with his party. While Angus was bringing Jemmie back to Edinburgh a prisoner, I rode for the borders and met up wi’ my clansman, who had stolen a document which clearly detailed Albany’s perfidy. We brought it to the capital, and when Albany arrived there at the reception that had originally been planned to welcome him as Scotland’s new king, he found a far different reception than he had anticipated.

“Angus, who is a basically decent man, was shocked that, in his passion to rule, Alexander Stewart would betray his country into England’s hands. Albany was forced to reconcile his differences with Jemmie, who remained king, and Duke Richard returned to England. Yer King Edward’s only gain was the town of Berwick, which Duke Richard had captured wi’ Albany’s assistance before they arrived in Edinburgh,” said Tavis Stewart.

“And where my father was killed,” Arabella answered quietly. “Where is the Duke of Albany today, my lord?”

“Dead, lass. Jemmie tried to win his brother’s loyalty by giving him a wee bit of power as Lieutenant of the Kingdom, but Albany was, the following year, discovered once again in treasonable intrigues. When he fled to England, he learned that his former sponsor, King Edward, was dead, and Duke Richard was now King Richard. Richard had no time for Albany, and so he moved on to France. Last year he invaded Scotland wi’ another long-exiled rebel, the Earl of Douglas. They were defeated at Lochmaben. Douglas was captured and imprisoned. Albany fled back to France, where he was killed in a tournament this spring.”

“And so your king is no longer threatened by his enemies,” Arabella said.

“Kings always hae enemies, lassie,” the earl remarked dryly. “Most kings are faulted for going to war, but my brother is faulted for working so assiduously to keep the peace between Scotland and England. His nobility do nae understand him, for they do nae wish to change, but the world around us is changing.”

“You love King James, I can see,” Arabella noted. “Are you alike at all? You must be, that you can understand him so well.”

Tavis Stewart laughed. “My love for Jemmie began when I was but a wee lad. As I hae told ye, his mother was most kind to my own mother despite the difficulty of their positions. Although my father was killed when I was three, Queen Marie nae forgot that I was his son. Jemmie was nine when our father died, and his mother brought him to Roxburgh, showing him to her late husband’s armies and exhorting them to victory that they would do honor to King James II’s memory. She had her way, for the Scots successfully stormed Roxburgh and took it. Several days later my brother Jemmie was crowned at Kelso Abbey.

“Jemmie, however, was still a child, and child kings can be dangerous, for many wish to rule through them. Yer King Edward formed an alliance wi’ the Earl of Douglas and the Lord of the Isles that would hae partitioned Scotland between them. They intended to rule as vassals of England. My brother’s government avoided that danger by refuting their Lancastrian interests and signing a truce wi’ yer king. For a time we hae peace here in Scotland.

“When Jemmie was twelve his mother died. It was a great loss for us all, for the queen’s loyalty to her son and to Scotland could not be circumvented. Still, Jemmie had Bishop Kennedy of St. Andrew’s to advise him, and the bishop, too, was loyal as the queen had been, but he died two years after the queen. I was only eight years old then, but I remember my mother and stepfather speaking of the dangers involved, for Jemmie was only fourteen.”

“Were they afraid that you might lose Dunmor?” Arabella asked.

“Nay, I think not, for Dunmor has always been a Stewart stronghold, and Ian Fleming was holding it in my name at the time, and he was loyal beyond question. I think they simply feared a civil war which might hae encouraged England to invade us despite the truce between us. The Boyd family, however, settled everything for us all. They seized the young king at Linlithgow and brought him to Edinburgh. Sir Alexander Boyd was Jemmie’s military tutor and the governor of Edinburgh Castle, where Jemmie was now housed. God, how he hates the place, even today!

“Lord Boyd of Kilmarnock, the other conspirator, sent to my stepfather, Lord Fleming, saying that I was to be brought up to Edinburgh to keep my elder sibling company. By that time the Boyds had supreme power and there was nae refusing them. Lord Boyd had married his son to Jemmie’s sister, Princess Mary. I stayed wi’ my brother for several years until the Boyds made a match for him wi’ Princess Margaret of Denmark. After the wedding, Jemmie sent me home to Dunmor, saying that he now intended to assert his own royal authority over those who had ruled in his name.

“I was very angry wi’ him when he told me, for I wanted to stay and fight the Boyds wi’ him, but he would nae let me. ‘Ye’ve kept me company, laddie, these past few years,’ he told me, ‘and good company ye hae been, for all yer still a child. I couldna live wi’ such grand memories as we hae if I let anything happen to ye.’ So I went home to Dunmor wi’ my memories of a kindly elder brother who taught me that a man need nae be cruel in order to be a real man. I returned to Dunmor wi’ an appreciation of music and the arts, for Jemmie loves these things best. I learned that a man may esteem and value beauty wi’ out losing his manhood.”

“And what happened to the Boyds?” Arabella was enjoying her husband’s tale.

“Sir Alexander was executed, and Lord Boyd fled Scotland wi’ his son to live in exile. They were presumptuous to have seized the king in his youth. When they did they took the chance that they would pay such a penalty for their audaciousness, as indeed they did pay.”

“So there has been a happily ever after for your brother, my lord, hasn’t there?” Arabella said.

“Lassie,” the earl said, lifting his wife up to set her upon a low wall, that he might look at her, “until the Royal Stewarts totally control their nobility, no Scots king will ever hae a happy reign. My brother’s greatest loves, after his children, are music and architecture. He is well-informed regarding European painting, and even commissioned Master Hugo van der Goes to make an altarpiece for him which contains portraits of himself and Queen Margaret upon several of the panels. He collects classical manuscripts, and has encouraged our poets to their finest works. The beautiful coinage we hae here in Scotland is a result of Jemmie’s influence and patronage.” The earl grinned ruefully. “He’s nae a man easily understood by his earls and clansmen. They find it easier to dislike him because he is different than they are. They will nae take the time to know or understand him, and since Cochrane and his ilk were hung, Jemmie will make no concessions to them or to his public in the matter of favorites. The current favorite is young John Ramsay of Balmain.”

“What does the queen think of all of this?” Arabella was curious, for she had never heard that King James’ marriage was not a happy one.

“Queen Margaret is the kindest, gentlest woman I have ever known,” Tavis Stewart said feelingly. “She has loved and supported Jemmie from the first moment she laid eyes upon him, and he, in turn, has loved and respected her as well. Whatever limits or weaknesses my brother may hae, his wife hae stood by him through it all. She is goodness beyond belief, lassie. Jemmie knows this and hae never abused her in any way for it, nor taken advantage of her sweetness.”

“How complex a man your brother sounds,” Arabella said. “I have known few people outside of Greyfaire, except for cousin Richard and Sir Jasper Keane, but then neither of them was what they seemed.”

He nodded and was pleased by her words, for it indicated to him that although Arabella might not be very educated—though few women really were—at least she had a good intellect and could learn. He had married her in haste in an effort to gain revenge upon another, and in doing so, he realized now that he had to accept her for what she was. It was a relief to know she was capable of change. Then Tavis Stewart considered the uncomfortable possibility that his young wife most certainly had similar thoughts about him. He wondered what her conclusions were as he lifted her from the garden wall to continue their stroll.

From the windows of her private apartments Lady Margery Heming watched her eldest son and his wife as they walked and talked amongst her flowers. She smiled, well-pleased, and her husband—who had many times seen that smile—chuckled as, coming to her side, he slipped an arm about her comfortable waist. She looked up at him, her eyes bright with satisfaction. “I’ll hae a grandchild from those two by this time next year,” she said with certainty.