The Spitfire (54 page)

Arriving in Calais, however, they met with a serious delay. A severe summer storm was rolling in from the channel, and no ships, their own included, would put out to sea before it had run its course. Lord Varden’s agent had arranged for their accommodations in a neat little inn near the harbor called The Wild Rose. Since there were but three guest rooms available at the inn, there would be no others but themselves. The Wild Rose was too small a place to encourage neighborhood traffic, and an extra coin to the landlord ensured their complete privacy. Although Calais was technically an English possession, Arabella knew that she would not be entirely comfortable until they were safely on English soil once more.

After two days the storm had dissipated and the captain of their vessel,
The Maid of Dover,
told them that they would be departing on the next tide early the following morning. With luck they would be in England by the late afternoon. It was at the very moment that the vessel’s captain left them that Adrian Morlaix chose to make his entrance. Anthony Varden drew a sharp breath even as Arabella paled visibly. Both FitzWalter’s and Fergus MacMichael’s hands moved to their swords, but awaiting Lord Varden’s command.

“So,
ma Belle
, I have caught up with you at last,” he said quietly, and he kissed her hand.

“To what purpose, my lord?” Arabella responded coldly, snatching the hand back. “Did I not make myself quite clear in the message that I left behind for you?”

“I would speak with you alone,
ma Belle
,” he told her softly, meaningfully.

“There is nothing you have to say to me, my lord, that Lord Varden cannot hear,” she answered firmly.

“Must our passion be a public thing, then?” he asked her.

“‘Twas you who made it so, my lord, not I,” came the cutting reply.

The Duc de Lambour smiled ruefully. “Touché,
ma Belle
,” he said.

“You have wasted your time, my lord, in following after me,” Arabella said.

“Nay,
ma Belle
, I have not. I would have caught up with you earlier, but that a messenger arrived at Amboise from Normandy for me. My wife has died. She choked upon a fishbone,” the duc said simply and without emotion.

“May God and His blessed Mother Mary assoil her soul, my lord,” Arabella said piously. “I am truly sorry, Adrian.”

“I want you to marry me, Arabella,” was his startling reply.

She was stunned. Never before had he used her Christian name. He had always called her his
Belle. Never Arabella! Belle.

“We can be married secretly, here in Calais, with Tony as our witness. I cannot let you go from me, but I must formally mourn Claude-Marie for a full year. It is her due, as she was the mother of my children,” the duc continued in a matter-of-fact tone.

He had asked her to marry him!
For a moment Arabella thought that she would weep. Had she misjudged Adrian Morlaix? “I cannot marry you, Adrian,” she said finally.

“Then it is true,” was his answer.

“What is true?” she demanded, but in her heart she knew to what he would refer.

“The Duchesse de St. Astier told me in deepest confidence that you and Tony are spies in the pay of England,” Adrian Morlaix said sorrowfully.

Lord Varden laughed heartily. “What a tale,” he said mockingly. “What on earth could that Scots whore possibly think to gain by such a tale? Poor Billancourt! Did you know, Adrian, that our new duchesse is rumored to have serviced every man in King James’ court? A most amazing feat if it is true, and it does appear to be. When she became too troublesome, the king sent her to France. So much for the
Old Alliance!
Let us hope that the St. Astiers’ heirs are indeed of their blood.”

The duc ignored Lord Varden; his blue eyes looked directly at Arabella. “
Are you?”
he said quietly.

Arabella hesitated a moment, and then she said in as quiet a tone, “Aye.” No more. Whatever Adrian Morlaix had done to her, she felt his proposal of marriage entitled him to the truth.

“Why?”

“For Greyfaire,” she said simply.

“For Greyfaire? You betrayed me for a piece of land?” he demanded.

“Oh, Adrian,” Arabella said gently, and she was unable to restrain a small laugh, “I did not betray you. King Henry simply placed me in the French court to watch and to listen. He fears that your King Charles will betray him as the French, indeed, betrayed King Richard several years ago. Did you know that that poor king was of my family? Henry Tudor merely seeks to solidify his place upon his throne. I have not betrayed you.”

“You will tell your king what I told you regarding King Charles’ possible marriage plans, however, won’t you?” The Duc de Lambour looked somewhat aggrieved.

“Aye, ‘tis a very sensitive piece of information,” Arabella replied reasonably. “You could hardly expect me to withhold such a trump card from my king? ‘Tis the only really interesting bit of knowledge I have obtained during my stay in France. It will, nonetheless, regain me my home and the custody of my child, who has languished this past year in the royal nurseries. I would do anything that I had to do for my wee Margaret,
and for Greyfaire.
Indeed, my lord, I have, haven’t I?” Arabella’s light green eyes never left his gaze as she spoke.

“I love you,” he said.

“No,” she replied, “you do not, though I think you believe that you do. Had you really loved me, you could never have shared me with your half brother. You claim you wanted me to feel perfect passion, but had you loved me, Adrian, you would have sought yourself to find a means by which I might have shared that passion with you. You would not have treated me like a whore, but then I cannot really blame you entirely for that, can I, my lord? By becoming your mistress, I played the whore, and obviously I played it quite well. ‘Tis a rather startling side to my character I think I should rather have not known about, but ‘tis over now.

“I intend returning to England, to my home in the north, and neither you or anyone else will stop me! I shall never again venture far from Greyfaire, I assure you. I shall live a quiet, indeed, a most circumspect life, raising my child to be the new mistress of Greyfaire, and raising her little betrothed husband to both respect and husband not only my daughter, but her estate as well.”

The Duc de Lambour looked grieved. “Will you not be lonely,
ma Belle
?” he asked her sadly. “You speak of your child and of your Greyfaire, but you say nothing of love.”

Arabella laughed bitterly
“Love?”
she said scornfully. “By love, my lord, I assume you mean that illusion that is alleged to exist between men and women. There is no such thing except in children’s tales, and in the overly romantic songs that are sung by minstrels who wish to please their masters, and the gullible women whom those masters desire to seduce. I have been the recipient of men’s love in the past, my lord duc, and I far prefer the solitary life to such a life.”

“Let me prove you wrong, Arabella,” he begged her. “I know that my conduct several days ago was inexcusable, but if you can find it in your heart to forgive me,
ma Belle
, I will devote the rest of my life to expiating my sins against you. I love you as I have never before loved any woman!”

“Did you tell your poor Claude-Marie that, Adrian, before you incarcerated her at your chateau in Normandy? That you loved her as no other? Before you cut her off from your life, using her only as a brood mare to sire your heirs upon? Good manners bids me thank you for your proposal of marriage, and indeed I do, for I know you mean that proposal to be an honorable one. Common sense and hard experience tells me that my answer to you now is as it was before.
No!
Do not waste your time appealing to my heart, Adrian. I do not have one.”

“
Mon Dieu
!” he groaned. “You are cruel,
chérie
!”

“And you are kind, monseigneur?”
she asked him. “When I bid you
adieu
in my letter several days ago, Adrian, I was kind. As kind as I dare be, for men are never really kind to the women they profess to care for, I have found.”

“Then there is no hope for us at all,
ma Belle
?”

“None,”
she answered him firmly.

“Come, Adrian,
mon ami
,” Lord Varden said kindly. He wished to draw the duc’s attention away from Arabella before the duc’s disappointment turned to anger and thoughts of revenge. Adrian Morlaix was a most proud man. “Come and share a carafe of wine with me. You have ridden hard and far, I know. You will need strong evidence to refute the Duchesse de St. Astier’s charges against us, should she speak publicly and indiscreetly. You certainly want to retain your friendship with the king.”

“I will not be guilty of treason,” the duc said stubbornly, but he allowed Lord Varden to lead him to a table in the inn’s taproom in whose entry they had been standing.

“There is no treason involved,
mon ami
,” Anthony Varden said soothingly. “A bit of pillow talk that may or may not come to anything; and no one knows that it was said. Certainly you may easily silence the viperous tongue of Madame Marie-Claire by an intimate knowledge of her past, which I am certain Arabella will be pleased to pass on to you. As for Lady Grey’s and my disappearance, you can simply say we returned to Paris. That you were able to trace us that far, but after that you lost our trail, that Barbe, Lady Grey’s cook, told you we might be going to Hainault or Cleves, she wasn’t certain. Say that Arabella fought over what you considered a trifle, and then she left you in a pique. Say I accompanied her because I am her friend and was bored. That because she amused you better than any other mistress you have ever had, you sought to bring her back, but alas, you could not find her. Ho hum,
mes amis
! Soon, another delectable creature will come along to keep you happy, and in the meantime you must go into mourning for Claude-Marie. In a year you will seek a new wife,
n’est-ce pas?”

“You make it sound all so inconsequential, Tony,” the duc grumbled as he downed his first goblet of wine and then held out the goblet for more.

“It is all inconsequential, Adrian,” Lord Varden replied, “and by your casual attitude you will make this seem nothing more than a trifle, an amusement. Remember, you have your children to think about, Adrian, particularly your two sons. You do want them to have the king’s favor, do you not? Think of them first and foremost. Not of yourself and your personal disappointment.” He refilled the duc’s goblet and beckoned Arabella, who seated herself at their table. “Why don’t you tell the duc the Duchesse de St. Astier’s history, Arabella?” Lord Varden suggested. “Before he is too drunk to absorb it all, for we are both going to get quite drunk tonight, Adrian, aren’t we? For old time’s sake, eh?”

A small smile touched the duc’s lips. “
Oui, mon ami
, we are going to get very drunk,” he agreed, and Arabella began her tale of Sorcha Morton.

When she had finished, the duc was already beginning to be in his cups, and at a little nod from Lord Varden, she arose and slipped from the room. In the night she heard them singing bawdy songs in the room below her chamber, and she giggled to herself in the darkness. Tony was going to have a terrible head in the morning, bless him.

Lona woke her before dawn. “His lordship says we’re to hurry, my lady. The tide turns in less than an hour.”

Arabella rose and began to quickly dress. “How is Lord Varden?” she inquired anxiously.

“Perky as a courting wren,” Lona replied.

“But how could he spend the night drinking with the duc and not be ill?” Arabella wondered aloud.

Lona chuckled. “I asked him the same thing, my lady, for I heard them singing too. Do you know what he told me? That after the first gobletful of wine, he kept refilling his cup with well-watered wine. He drank one goblet to the duc’s three. By the way, he and me da put the duc to bed in Lord Varden’s room. The innkeeper has instructions to treat the poor man with tender loving care when he awakens, for he’ll have a sore head to be sure. Lord Varden has paid the bill for all, including the duc’s men who are lodged in the stables with our own fellows.”

Arabella could not help but smile at Lona’s explanation. Tony really was a wonder, considering the circumstances. “Get me some bread and cheese,” she said to Lona, “and some fruit as well, and we’ll need some for the voyage too! I’m starving! It must be the sea air.”

They sailed from Calais before the sun had risen, and with the sun came a brisk breeze from the southeast that sent their ship scudding across the English Channel to land them at Dover before the sunset. Arabella wept unashamedly to be back in England, and even Lord Varden’s eyes were suspiciously moist with emotion, for he had not been in England in almost ten years.

“We’ll overnight in Dover,” Tony told her and sent his men to find a respectable inn for Arabella.

“And tomorrow?” she asked him.

“We’ll depart for Sheen, for the king will certainly be there and no other place at this time of year. He always spends Midsummer’s Eve at Sheen. At least he has in the years since he has been king.”

“Can we start early?” Arabella asked him.

“Before dawn, if you wish, my dear,” Lord Varden told her, and they did. He had already dispatched a rider ahead, that King Henry know of their coming and be prepared to see them. He could see that Arabella had but two thoughts in her head. To be reunited with her little daughter, and to return north to Greyfaire as quickly as possible. Anthony Varden could not blame her for wanting to put the past year behind her. He would have told her of the deep admiration he felt for her had he not been afraid of her scorn. She was, he believed, a very brave woman. Her bitterness was but a defense behind which she hid the heart she claimed to be missing.

They arrived at Sheen, putting up at a nearby inn and finding that one of the king’s servants was already awaiting them.

“His majesty will see you at ten o’clock tomorrow morning,” they were told. “His majesty wishes Lady Grey to know that her daughter is in excellent health and spirits, and most anxious to be reunited with her mother.” The king’s servant bowed, and without another word, departed.