The Spitfire (12 page)

“But he promised not to harm her, Jasper! He said we might get her back unscathed,” Rowena sobbed. “She is my child! My only living child!”

As Rowena’s voice rose slightly in her distress, the assembled congregation behind her leaned forward almost to a man in an effort to hear what was going on between the weeping woman and SirJasper Keane. They were doomed to disappointment, for the distance was a little too far. Father Anselm, however, was privy to all, and his kindly visage darkened as Sir Jasper continued harshly on, unthinking of Rowena’s anguish.

“I will give you other children, my pet. If I am not mistaken, though ye strove to hide it from me, you are already ripening with my seed. Will you deny it?” he asked the white-faced woman. “I will not have my son born illegitimate now that I have the choice.”

“And what would you have done, Jasper, if Arabella had not been kidnapped by the Scots?” she demanded of him. “This child would have been born nameless, and you would have had no choice in the matter! Why should you suddenly care now that my daughter is gone?”

“If the babe was a male child, I would have legitimized it, though it could not have inherited Greyfaire if Arabella gave me sons. Now there is no question of that, Rowena, so you will marry me this day, that my claim to Greyfaire be even stronger.”

“I will not!” she cried furiously, surprising even herself in this show of spirit.

“You will,”
he said ominously, and turned to the priest. “Father Anselm, you will marry me to this lady now. Waive the bans and perform the ceremony.”

“My son!”
The priest was shocked, and felt that most un-Christian of emotions—anger—beginning to rise within his soul. “You cannot do this. It is immoral.”

Sir Jasper Keane smiled his most winning smile. “I must insist, Father Anselm, that you do your duty. The king would be certain that Greyfaire is in loyal hands and protected from the enemy. I can hardly wed with the Lady Arabella now, can I? I cannot retrieve her without mortal peril to my own life, and for what? The long-lost honor of a Scots whore named Eufemia Hamilton? There is not a man on either side of this border that did not know of Mistress Hamilton’s wildness, but the earl who was so puffed with pride in his own importance that he heard not the rumors. If I cannot wed Arabella Grey, then I must, of necessity, wed Rowena Grey in order that this keep remain safe and loyal to England’s king.”

“But what of the heiress of Greyfaire?” Father Anselm insisted, his love and loyalty to Arabella evident, to Jasper Keane’s annoyance, particularly as there was a low murmur of disapproval from the pews containing the Grey relations.

“Arabella Grey is lost to us,” Sir Jasper said in a firm, even voice, easily heard by all within the little church. “If, by chance, she should return, she will be a dishonored woman, and I will not accept her as my wife. We were not betrothed, Father, and you well know it. Our arrangement was made by the king for the safety of this keep, but never was it formalized. Now perform the ceremony between myself and Rowena Grey or I will send my captain, Seger, to find a priest who will. If you force me to such an act, I will banish you from Greyfaire forever! Think of the scandal, and think of the :ady Rowena, who will bear my child before year’s end, good father.”

“You leave me no choice, my lord,” the priest said bitterly. “It is obvious to me that you are not the man I believed you to be.”

Sir Jasper Keane laughed aloud, and it was an unpleasant sound. “I do not leave you a choice, do I?” he said, smirking. Then he turned to the assembled guests and told them, “You have come for a wedding, and by the rood, my friends, you shall have one! Begin the ceremony, Father,” and taking Rowena’s hand firmly in his, he half dragged her to the double
prie-dieu
and pushed her to her knees. “We are going to be very happy, my pet,” he told the softly weeping woman, and then he chuckled, but Rowena did not hear him.

This, she thought bleakly, was the final punishment for her lust. When Arabella found out, she would never forgive her. Her daughter was as lost to her as if the Scots had slain the girl this day instead of carrying her off. And she, Rowena, was condemned to live in hell with the devil himself for the rest of her natural life. And what of the child who even now ripened and grew beneath her heart? Would he be like his father? Pray God, no! Better he be born dead!

Chapter Four

A
rabella Grey sat stony-faced atop the Earl of Dunmor’s big, gray stallion. Her captor, who was mounted behind her, kept one arm lightly about her while guiding his horse with his other hand, a feat at which he seemed quite adept. Arabella kept her head carefully turned so that she should not have to look at him. She was tired and not just a little frightened, although she showed none of these emotions, nor would she show them to the enemy, for the Scots were England’s enemy. She would not quickly forget that they had killed her father.

Arabella was angry, but not so much at the earl, for though she was but a woman and therefore assumed to be ignorant, she knew enough of the code of honor to understand that Tavis Stewart had done the only thing that he might have done under the circumstances. Arabella found, not greatly to her surprise, for she was a practical girl, that her anger was directed more toward Jasper Keane for having caused this impossible situation.

It was with a harsh and dawning cognizance that Arabella realized she believed her captor’s version of events past. Why she believed this stranger she could not fathom, but there was something so innately moral and honest about the Earl of Dunmor, something that caused her to trust him, and distrust Sir Jasper about whom she had already had doubts. Doubts she had so resolutely tried to deny. She almost squirmed with annoyance remembering her girlish ravings of this morning, when she had declared to her mother that she loved Jasper Keane. How could she have loved a coward? A man who would not satisfy a debt of honor in single combat. Not that she would admit her error to this hawk-browed Scot.

What a fool she had been! Oh, she had heard the rumors about him, but for the sake of imagined love she had been willing to overlook the gossip that had swirled about him. Had not Father Anselm assured her that all Jasper needed was a virtuous wife? She wondered now if the old priest had known the truth of Jasper Keane, or if, innocent like her, he had merely hoped for the best.
Murder.
Sir Jasper Keane had murdered a helpless woman. No matter that the earl himself admitted that the lady was no better than she ought to be. Murder was a heinous crime, particularly the murder of a woman or a child.

And like a lamb to the slaughter she had tripped down the aisle of Greyfaire church less than an hour ago, eager to wed with Sir Jasper Keane. Would he have murdered her too, had she not pleased him? What of her poor mother, left to the mercy of the man? And would Sir Jasper come after her? Well, she certainly did not intend marrying him now! As soon as she returned to Greyfaire she intended going to cousin Richard herself and exposing Sir Jasper Keane for the blackguard that he was!

They rode relentlessly on, crossing over the Cheviot Hills, which were clothed in the green of their summer mantle. The day, however, remained mist-filled despite the smoky sun, which could not quite burn away the fog. The dampness seemed to eat through her beautiful gown, chilling her to the bone. They stopped once, and the earl told her most bluntly that if she needed to relieve herself she must do so now behind the nearest bush. Arabella blushed to the roots of her pale gold hair, for no man had ever spoken to her of such a private function, but she grimly followed his instructions, for she knew that this was no time for outraged modesty. If he said that she would not get another chance, then she believed him. She was both hungry and thirsty. Because of the early hour of the wedding with its Mass, she had not yet broken her fast. She had seen some of the clansmen chewing on oat cakes they had drawn from their pouches, and drinking from flasks as they rode along, but no one had offered her either food or drink.

As if he were reading her mind, the earl said in a kindly tone, “We will soon be at Dunmor, lassie, and I’ll wager there’s a joint already on the spit roasting for supper. Are ye hungry?”

“I’d sooner starve than eat a morsel of your food!” Arabella lied hotly.

“I doubt ye’ll eat much in any case, for that yer a wee bit of a wench,” the earl noted, ignoring her obvious anger. “We’ll have to see if we can fatten ye up, lassie.”

“Are you so thick-headed, my lord, that you do not understand me? I will starve myself before I accept your hospitality!” Arabella hissed furiously at him.

“If ye starve yerself, lassie, ye’ll not have the strength to fight wi’ me,
or
to revenge yerself on Sir Jasper,” he said calmly.

“Why on earth would I want to revenge myself on Sir Jasper?” Arabella said sweetly, the lie almost choking her. “I love him, and he will kill you when he comes to rescue me. On reflection, perhaps you are right. I should accept your hospitality so I am alive and well to see the horrible death you will die at Sir Jasper’s hands!”

Tavis Stewart found it impossible to restrain his laughter, and it burst forth, echoing across the hillsides, much to his captive’s outrage. Turning, she glared up at him as he wheezed with mirth. “Lassie, yer Sir Jasper has nae the courage to come after ye, nor has he the skill to win in a fair fight wi’ me, for I am a better swordsman than most. Why do ye think he refused my challenge this day? I expect ye’ll be my guest for some time.”

“Then why did you kidnap me, my lord?” she demanded.

“Yer Sir Jasper gave me no other choice, lassie, but dinna fear. I expect yer pretty mother will appeal to yer king, who will appeal to my king, and all will be well in the end for ye. I will have to catch yer Sir Jasper another way, but if ye marry him ye’ll be a widow sooner than ye’ll be a mother, I promise ye.”

“Sir Jasper will come for me,” Arabella said with more conviction than she actually had. “He must, for he cannot have Greyfaire without me.” She did not bother to tell the earl of her decision to unmask Jasper Keane and his perfidy to King Richard. Another husband would be found for her to help defend Greyfaire, but this time she would insist the king allow her to choose. She was tired of having her entire life ruled by men. It might suit her mother, but it did not suit her!

“So he canna have yer inheritance wi’ out ye, eh lassie?” the earl said thoughtfully. “Perhaps his greed will overcome his good sense and he will come after ye. Who made the match between ye? Yer mother?”

“No,” Arabella said proudly. “The king himself. The late queen was my mother’s cousin. Mama was fostered by the Earl of Warwick, and Queen Anne was like her sister.”

“Yer king did well by Sir Jasper, lassie. He will want to keep yer Greyfaire, for he has no other home now.”

“You are mistaken, my lord,” Arabella said. “Sir Jasper is the master of Northby Hall, though it is currently in ruins.”

“
I know,” the earl told her, “but it was a poor place scarcely worth the burning.”

“You burnt Sir Jasper’s home?”
She was secretly glad.

“Aye,” the earl replied. “In retribution for Culcairn House. ‘Twas fair.”

Arabella was silent, but she agreed with him. She had been as shocked as any by the earl’s tale of rapine and violence. She realized that Tavis Stewart would not have come over the border after Jasper Keane had he not been certain. He had witnesses in the surviving Hamilton family. She had quickly ascertained by his manner, his horse, the handsome chieftain’s ring upon his finger, and the deference with which his men treated him, that the Earl of Dunmor was a great nobleman. Why would a man of his stature want to pick a fight with Sir Jasper unless it was justified? He would not.

“Ahhh, lassie, look! There is Dunmor,” the earl said, pointing ahead to where a small castle sprang from a distant hillside. “Ye’ll be sore with the long, hard ride we’ve had this day.”

“Savage,” she snarled at him, “have you no delicacy at all?” She struggled about on her precarious perch to slap him, and he laughed again, skillfully managing his dancing stallion, all the while avoiding her blows.

“What a little spitfire ye are, lassie,” he said, and chuckled, not in the least offended. “There must be some Scot in ye, I’m thinking. Grey is a Scot’s name as well as an English one, and the border Greys are a sect of the Stewarts, ye know. Perhaps we are related, lassie.”

“I’d sooner be related to a donkey than to you, my lord!” she replied spiritedly.

He chuckled again. “I wonder if Jasper Keane knew just what it was he was getting in you,” Tavis Stewart remarked. “It will take more of a man than he is to handle ye, lassie. Yer more woman, I’m thinking, than he could have ever managed.”

“Handled? Managed?
My lord, you make a woman sound like a disobedient animal to be properly trained. A good wife is a man’s helpmate, though she be but the weaker vessel. She is not a possession to be handled and managed!” Arabella retorted angrily.

“Indeed, madame?” he gently mocked her. “Where did a little English lass get such bold ideas? Certainly not from yer gentle mother, who looks as if she would fear her own shadow. These ideas are more suited to a Scotswoman than a weak bit of a lassie from the other side of the border,” he teased.

“You great buffoon of a Scot!” she fumed. “What could you possibly know of the English that was truth?”

Before the earl might reply, however, the young man who had earlier cautioned the earl within the church rode up next to them. “Tavis, why not let us take the lass on to Mother at Glen Ailean?” he said. “She’ll hae companions in Ailis and the two Hamilton lasses to help her while away the hours until her release.”

“Nay, Colin,” the earl said. “Dunmor is impregnable to attack, and I would have the lassie where I know she is safe. Arabella Grey, this is my half brother, Father Colin Fleming. If ye fear for the lass’s virtue, Colin, I will put her in yer charge. No one can then say that I mistreated her, for ye will guard her vigilantly. The English will nae disbelieve a priest, for the church wipes away all nationalistic boundaries, does it not, little brother?”

“You are a priest?” Arabella said, surprised, looking at the young man in his plaid. There was nothing to distinguish him from any of the other borderers.

“I am, my lady,” was the quiet reply.

“And you are
his
brother?’

“Aye.” Colin Fleming grinned lopsidedly at the tone of her voice.

“Then why do you wear different plaids?” Arabella asked pointedly.

“Because I am a Fleming, my Lady Arabella, while my eldest brother is a Stewart.”

“Eldest brother? There are more of you?”

The young priest chuckled, a warm sound filled with genuine humor. “I am the youngest. The others are Gavin and Donald Fleming, and we have a little sister near to your age as well.”

“You are the children of your mother’s second marriage?” If she was going to be forced to remain in Scotland for any length of time, and it appeared that she was, Arabella thought it would be best to sort out the family relationships at the start.

“We are the children of our mother’s
only
marriage, my lady,” Colin Fleming said, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “Tavis’ father was King James II, our mother’s distant cousin. The Stewarts are a close and loving family, as those of us who are not Stewarts well know.”

“You’re a bastard?”
It was out before she could stop herself.

The earl, however, laughed.
“A royal bastard,
lass, which makes all the difference in the world here in Scotland. The Stewarts, a loving clan, as Colin points out, are gracious wi’ their favors. When my mother’s only brother died wi’ out legitimate heirs of his own, my father made me my maternal grandfather’s heir, which is how I came into my earldom.”

“Then you are King James III’s half brother,” Arabella said, astounded.

“Aye, though Jemmie be my elder by some six years; and in answer to that unspoken question I see quivering on yer lips, my half brother and I are on the most cordial of terms. I barely remember my father, however, as he managed to get himself killed before my third birthday,” the earl told her, and again there was a hint of laughter in his voice. “Jemmie’s mother, Queen Mary, was a kind and devout lady who never held my birth against me, and who was always a friend to my own mother, who, though she loved the king, was somewhat embarrassed to find herself
enceinte
with his child. She had the good sense not to flaunt herself at court, but rather asked the queen’s pardon, and thereby gained her undying friendship.”

Seeing her shock, Colin Fleming spoke up in an attempt to turn the subject away. Lady Arabella Grey had obviously lived a most sheltered life. “Ye’ll be quite safe and comfortable at Dunmor, my lady,” he told her. “‘Tis a fine castle, and our mother lives nearby.”

“She dinna need cosseting, little brother,” the earl said, chuckling. “She’s a wee spitfire, our little English captive, are ye not, lassie?”

“Go to hell, my lord,” Arabella snapped angrily. She was tired, sore, and hungry. “I despise you for what you have done to me this day!”

“Lassie, I’ve done little to ye but save ye from a bad marriage,” Tavis Stewart replied. “Ye owe me yer thanks, nae yer anger.”

“You expect gratitude from me? You are daft, my lord!” Arabella said angrily.

Tavis Stewart said nothing further on the matter. The girl was young and inexperienced. She obviously had no knowledge of the vicious beast Sir Jasper Keane really was. Some day she would realize that she had been fortunate to escape him, but for now the earl knew he was wise to place her in his priestly brother’s charge. Arabella Grey would remain his honored captive until Sir Jasper either accepted his challenge or Jemmie Stewart ordered her returned to her family for an appropriate remuneration to be paid both to himself and to the Hamiltons in the matter of Mistress Eufemia Hamilton’s death. There would be time enough to kill the Englishman, for he was unlikely to change his ways, and would eventually find himself another border mistress. When he did, the Earl of Dunmor would know, and he would trap the English fox that he might send him to eternal damnation.

Arabella had let her gaze wander to Dunmor Castle. It was not as big a castle as Middleham and other large fortresses she had seen when she and her mother had gone south almost two years ago. It was certainly larger than Greyfaire, and from the weathered darkening of its stone, which was covered with gray-green lichen, it was surely as old as Greyfaire. It was a squared building with four towers, one at each corner of the structure. Upon the crenellated tops of the walls she could see men-at-arms, alert to any danger, pacing. As they began their climb up the hill upon which Dunmor was perched, Arabella saw that there was also a water moat about the castle.