The Spitfire (21 page)

“‘Twas the Earl of Dunmor who stole our lady away, and ‘tis said he wed her himself to replace the bride that Sir Jasper killed,” FitzWalter replied. “Take Lona to Dunmor Castle, for if Lady Arabella isn’t there, they will know where she is. Say Lona is her body servant, escaped Greyfaire with the news of Lady Arabella’s mother. It should be safe to leave your sister then and return home, but use your judgment, Rowan, in that matter.”

“How do we get the horses without being caught, Da?”

FitzWalter smiled. “I’ve taken horses from Greyfaire many a time, my lad. One wall of the stable is an outer wall of the keep, and there’s a small door in it just big enough to slip a horse through. It’s well hidden from the outside, and none has ever found it over the years, for if they did, Greyfaire would not be safe. John, the stableman, sleeps sound, and even if he did wake, he’d say nothing. He hopes to marry your aunt Elsbeth and won’t want to get in bad with me. I’ll take care of it, my bairns.” He chuckled at his children’s surprised faces. “There’s much you don’t know,” he told them. “Now, Lona, dress warm. As many petticoats as you’ve got, and stockings as well. ‘Twill be a cold, wet ride. Best you both seek your beds, for you’ll need all your strength tomorrow.”

His children gone, FitzWalter sat by the fire, accepting a wooden goblet of cider from his wife, who then sat by his knee.

“What will happen now, husband?” she asked him.

“I don’t know, though I expect Sir Jasper will sue the king for possession of Greyfaire and seek another wife as quickly as possible. That is why I’m sending Lona to Lady Arabella. She is the last of the Greys, and if I know her as I think I do, she will not easily relinquish her lands to Sir Jasper Keane. She will fight him for them.”

“But can she regain Greyfaire, husband? She has wed with a Scot,” Rosamund said.

“I do not know, wife, for I am not privy to such matters concerning the nobility, but I do not want Sir Jasper Keane as my master, and so I will do whatever I can in my own small way to oust him. If Lady Arabella is content to be only the Earl of Dunmor’s wife, then I can do nothing more, but I believe that if she knows her mother is dead in childbirth, Lady Arabella will seek to avenge her, even as her husband seeks to avenge his own honor in the matter of Eufemia Hamilton.”

“But what will happen to us, to our family,” fretted Rosamund, “if Sir Jasper learns that you seek to betray him?”

“I will do nothing more than I have told you, wife,” FitzWalter replied. “I will get word to Lady Arabella, no more. Who will know I have done it? Lona will be gone and Rowan safely back. Besides, does not Lady Arabella have the right to know of her mother’s death that she might pray for the poor lady’s soul?”

Rosamund nodded slowly. “You are right, husband,” she said, and believed the words even as she spoke them. FitzWalter had never done anything to endanger his family, and she knew he would not risk their safety even now.

“Come to bed,” FitzWalter told her, and when they were settled comfortably together, he calmed her fears while using her vigorously to their mutual satisfaction. He left her sleeping, a soft smile upon her face, an hour or more before the dawn. Slipping silently through the night, he climbed the hill to the keep, and using the only key to the secret stable door, FitzWalter let himself into the keep.

Once inside he stopped and listened. From the loft above came the lusty snores of John, the stableman, coupled with a more delicate wheeze that indicated to FitzWalter that John had a woman with him. Elsbeth, the captain considered, for the stableman loved her deeply. Hearing the whimper of a small baby, FitzWalter knew he was right, for Elsbeth would not leave her child, being a good mother. He had best hurry, for his nephew was beginning to awaken with hunger, and that meant Elsbeth would awaken also to feed her son. Best she know nothing.

He moved instinctively to the proper stalls, saddling first the gelding and then Lady Arabella’s little mare. The horses were alert to him, but still sleepy enough to be silent. Quickly he led them to the rear of the building and through the secret door. Holding the reins of both animals in one hand, he turned and relocked the door behind him. Then he led the horses quietly down the hill to his cottage, the darkness hiding them from the sleepy watch upon the walls.

Inside the house he found Rosamund already awake, ladling oat porridge into trenchers of yesterday’s bread for her son and daughter. The siblings ate quickly, washing down their meal with a shared wooden goblet of brown ale. Both understood the need for haste, for they must be away from Greyfaire long before first light, lest anyone see them. When they had finished, Rosamund pressed a small basket into her son’s hand. “For the journey,” she said, and then turned to Lona. “I don’t know if we’ll ever meet again, daughter,” she began seriously, “but remember all I have taught you, trust in God, and be loyal to Lady Arabella.” She then hugged Lona awkwardly, finishing, “Christ and His blessed Mother watch over you, my child. Get word to me whenever you can.”

It was in that instant that Lona realized precisely what was happening, and for a brief moment tears threatened to overflow her bright eyes. Then, however, she considered the wonderful adventure she was about to begin, and the fact that if Lady Arabella took her into her service, she would be a servant to a countess. None of her family had ever risen that high! Giving her mother a quick kiss, she said, “And God keep you safe too, Mother. Farewell!”

“’Twill rain within the hour,” FitzWalter warned his son, and Rosamund took her own fine heavy wool shawl and put it over her daughter’s head. Then together she and her husband escorted their children outside and watched as they rode away.

“Will they be safe?” she asked her husband.

“Aye, they’ve nothing to steal but the horses, and Rowan is quick-witted enough if stopped to claim protection of the Earl of Dunmor’s wife. Besides, the wild weather we’ll soon have will keep most all to their shelters this day.”

They stood watching as the darkness swallowed up both horses, and soon they could not even hear the gentle clop of the animals’ hooves. FitzWalter smiled, satisfied. Dawn would not break for more than an hour yet, and it would be a dark dawn this day. He felt the first splash of rain upon his grizzled cheek, and taking his wife’s hand, led her back into the cottage. He pushed her down upon their bed and loosened his clothing. The small danger of removing the two horses from the keep’s stable was beginning to drain from him, and this relaxation of tension always made him as randy as a young billy goat. Rosamund smiled into his face and raised her chemise for him. FitzWalter chuckled, for he knew that they were both thinking the same thing. That there was time for a little more pleasure before the day’s duties began. Age, he decided, had its compensations.

Outside the cottage the rain had begun to fall in earnest, and reaching the crest of the first hill beyond Greyfaire, Lona pulled her mother’s shawl tightly about her, softly cursing the weather. Just ahead of her Rowan grinned, hearing his sister’s words. He hadn’t known she was familiar with such colorful phrases. After all, she was a girl. He pulled his own rough wool cape about him and hunched his head into his shoulders. It wasn’t going to be an easy day, and he had a long way to go before he’d see his home and a warm bed again.

They rode on, and night became day. The rain fell in silvery sheets out of a gray sky, never lessening in its intensity as the hours crawled by. They rode without speaking, Lona following behind her brother, who prayed silently to himself that his father’s directions were accurate. Although there were no signs or other indications, Rowan knew suddenly, as if there had been, exactly when they crossed over into Scotland.

“We’re on t’other side, Lona,” he told her. “Shouldn’t be too much farther,” and, indeed, in less than two hours’ time the walls of Dunmor Castle rose up before them.

Wearily they trotted over the open drawbridge, the horses sensing the possibility of a dry shelter. They were not stopped until they had passed through the portcullis into the castle courtyard. Rowan slid easily from the gelding to meet the curious gaze of the man-at-arms who came forth to greet him.

“Well, well, what hae we here?” the clansman demanded.

“I’m Rowan, FitzWalter’s son, come from Greyfaire with Lady Arabella’s body servant and word of my lady’s mother.”

“The earl and his wife are at Glen Ailean for the wedding of his lordship’s sister in three days’ time,” came the reply.

“Is it far?” Rowan asked. “And can you direct me?”

“Three miles, nae more,” the clansman said. “Let me get my captain’s permission and I’d take ye myself.”

Lona sneezed, and then she sneezed several times again.

“Why, the lassie is soaked clean through,” the man-at-arms said, looking closely at the girl. “Would ye nae like to take her inside the castle for some broth before I take ye on?”

“No,” Lona said, settling the matter herself, “but I thank you, sir. I must get to my mistress as quickly as possible, for the news I carry is of great importance.”

The man hurried off, and Rowan said, concerned, “We could stop for a bit, Lona, if you want.”

The girl shook her head. “‘Tis already almost midday, Rowan, and ‘tis growing colder. This rain will be snow by nightfall, and it grows dark early, being December. You must return to Grayfaire lest you be discovered missing. ‘Twould make Seger suspicious, and then he’d begin poking about. If he does, he’ll find me gone, and my lady’s mare as well. Da would have a difficult time explaining that to Sir Jasper, and though he professes to be content to allow Da to remain the Captain of Greyfaire Keep, Seger covets his authority and his place. Now that poor Lady Rowena is dead and there are no more Greys at Greyfaire, who knows what will happen. Times are not good, brother, and I don’t want our father to lose his place, and our family their home. Sir Jasper has no kindness in his soul.”

He considered her words and thought her wise for a girl. He was a bit abashed at himself, for he would have never thought that his father could be in danger. His father had always seemed so all-powerful to Rowan. Yet Lona’s words made good sense, so when the clansman returned to say he might escort them to Glen Ailean, Rowan thanked him and they continued immediately upon their way.

Cheviot Court, Lord Fleming’s house at Glen Ailean, was in a proper uproar that day, for the bride had discovered a blemish upon her cheek that sent her into a fit of tears, for she was certain it would not be gone by her wedding day. It was into the midst of this confusion that FitzWalter’s children arrived. Arabella, coming down the main staircase of the house, saw them standing in the reception room, Lona sneezing once again, and fell upon them with a shriek of joy. The clansman grinned, pleased at having served the new countess, whom few had really seen yet, as she had been living here at Glen Ailean.

“Lona! Rowan! How is it you are here? What of my mother? What of
Greyfaire?
Speak! Speak!”

Lona sneezed again.

“Ohh, dear,” Arabella said, “you are soaked, both of you, poor things!” She turned to the clansman.”Will you take Rowan to the kitchens that he may dry out, please? Lona, come with me!”

“Mistress…Lady Arabella,” Rowan said. “I cannot stay. Da took the horses from the keep by stealth, and I must get the gelding back before ‘tis discovered missing. Lona has brought you your own mare, which Da says is to remain.”

“You cannot leave until you are dry, Rowan,” Arabella said firmly. “Go to the kitchens and I will find other garments for you while you eat. Your horse will need a rest as well. ‘Tis a bad day to be out.”

“‘Tis good advice, lad,” said the earl, entering the reception room, for he had learned of the new arrivals. “Fergus, take the boy to the kitchens, and then stable his horse properly.”

“Aye, m’lord!” the clansman answered, and men he smiled half shyly at Lona. “I hope ye’ve nae caught the ague, mistress,” he told her, and then turning abruptly, he escorted Rowan out.

Lona felt a blush suffuse her already hot cheeks. The young clansman was certainly a handsome fellow. She might learn to like this dank, cold gray land after all.

“Arabella, go to my mother and tell her of yer servant’s arrival,” the earl said. “The lass will need a hot bath and dry clothes herself. Let me gie her a wee dram of whiskey to warm herself, and then I will take her to the kitchens to bid her brother farewell before I send her along to ye.”

Arabella flashed her husband a warm smile, pleased at his kindness toward Lona and Rowan. Then she hurried off.

The earl turned to Lona, even as he poured her a small whiskey. “The news, lass?”

“Lady Rowena is dead, my lord. In childbirth. The boy with her.” She took the proffered dram and gulped it down, gasping suddenly as it hit her stomach like a fireball and spread heat throughout her veins. “By our Lady! ‘Tis powerful drink, my lord!”

Tavis Stewart laughed. “Aye, lassie, that it is,” he agreed with her. “Finish yer story though, lest my wife return.”

Lona nodded. “My father is FitzWalter, the Captain of Greyfaire Keep, my lord. He cannot openly oppose Sir Jasper Keane for fear of endangering my mother and our family, but his loyalty is with the Greys of Greyfaire. He wanted Lady Arabella to know of her mother’s death. He says Sir Jasper will move quickly to consolidate his position.”

“Aye, he will,” the earl remarked. “I know I would if I were in his place. And ye, lass? What of ye? Yer father sent ye to Dunmor for safety’s sake, I imagine. Yer a pretty wench, and Sir Jasper, as we all know, has a roving eye.”

Lona blushed and a small giggle escaped her, but then she caught herself. “My aunt Elsbeth was Lady Rowena’s personal servant, my lord, and I was being trained to serve Lady Arabella. My father did, indeed, send me from Greyfaire for safety, but he could just as easily have married me off, for I had offers. I prefer, however, to enter my lady’s service, if she will have me.”

Tavis Stewart had spent the last three months courting his hot-tempered English bride, who was still his wife in name only after six months of marriage. Though he was just beginning to admit it to himself, he was falling in love with Arabella. He wanted her at Dunmor, and he wanted her in his bed. He knew all about FitzWalter, his wife Rosamund, Rowan, Lona and all their siblings, for Arabella had told him everything of her life. His wife had missed Lona, and pretending that he would “allow” her to remain with Arabella could just possibly win this game of courtship that they had been playing this whole long autumn.