The Spitfire (30 page)

“Or heiress,” Arabella said stubbornly, “and if it is a little girl, I will call her Margaret after the queen, God assoil her sweet soul.”

“Ye will nae name her after yer own mother?’’ Lady Margery inquired.

“Nay,” Arabella said shortly.

‘‘Surely ye hae forgiven the poor woman,’’ Margery Fleming said.

“Aye,” Arabella answered, “but I cannot forget what she did when she allowed herself to become involved with Sir Jasper. She was not a bad woman,
belle mere
, but she was a foolish and a silly one, I now realize. She might have refused Sir Jasper. It was her right, but she did not. I should never allow any man to use me so!”

“Pray God ye will never find yerself so vulnerable, my child,’’ Lady Margery told her daughter-in-law.

“A woman is only vulnerable if she allows herself to be,” the young countess answered with all the assurance of her youth and inexperience.

“Everyone is vulnerable at some time in their life, Arabella,’’ Lady Margery said quietly. “Everyone. Man or woman. There is nae crime in it, for it is the way of the world, my dear.”

Arabella shook her head vehemently. “I have been vulnerable to others in the past,
belle mere
, but I will never again allow anyone to dictate to me how I will live my life. I must be my own mistress! Why is it a man may chart not only his own course, but a woman’s as well?”

“Men are the natural rulers of the earth,’’ Lady Fleming said.

“Why?” Arabella demanded.

For once the usually wise lady was at a loss for words, and her daughter and other daughter-in-law looked totally confused by Arabella’s simple question.

“Perhaps because God intended it that way,” Father Colin finally said.

“How do we know that?” Arabella said, totally unfazed by the church’s opinion.

“Because men are naturally wiser than women,” Donald Fleming said, his tone just a trifle belligerent. He was still not over his suspicion of Arabella, and these questions of hers only confirmed his mistrust of her.

“Indeed, Donald? Just why is that so? Because they are bigger than women, or perhaps that temperamental little worm that dangles between your legs leads you to think so? I was not aware that a man’s cock added to his intellect.”

Lord Fleming burst out laughing. Not only did her words amuse him, but the look on his second son’s face was more than comical. Donald, who always had something to say and an opinion on everything, was finally and truly at a loss for words. “Arabella,” he said, when he finally managed to gain a hold on his own humor, “I vow yer more a Scot than ye are English. The women of our race are noted for their outspoken ways, and ye certainly dinna attempt to conceal yer thoughts or yer feelings from us, do ye, lassie?”

“I do not mean to be bold, my lord,” Arabella answered him, “it is just that I do not see why women cannot rule their own lives as men do. Should I not know better than any what is right for me?”

The earl put an arm about his young wife. “It is tradition, madame, that the earls of Dunmor care for all those in their charge. Their wives, however, rule the family and all that concerns it.”

“But it is your word, Tavis, in the end that can supplant mine. It is your will that can overrule mine should you so desire it,” Arabella said passionately. “I would rule my own life!”

“I will never impede ye in that desire, madame,” the earl told her, “unless, of course, yer desires endanger me or mine. In return I would expect the same of ye. I think that is a fair bargain I offer ye. Do ye nae?”

“Aye, my lord, I do,” she answered him, a smile brightening her beautiful features.

“Bah!” Donald Fleming said irritably. “If she were my wife I’d take a stick to her. Ye spoil the wench, Tavis, and she’ll make a fool of ye yet for it!’’

“If I were your wife, Donald Fleming, I would have poisoned your ale long since,” Arabella replied spiritedly, “and any man foolish enough to raise a weapon of any kind to me will find it quickly broken over his head or buried in his heart!”

“Spoken like a true warrior Countess of Dunmor,” said her husband with a grin, and he gave Arabella a hard kiss.

Donald Fleming rolled his eyes with exasperation. His English sister-in-law was the most irritating and strong-willed woman he had ever known. He did not understand why his eldest brother would put up with her. His mother patted his arm comfortingly.

“Dinna fret, laddie,” she said softly. “One day ye’ll meet a lass, and no matter what she does or says, everything about her will be wonderful. ‘Tis love, Donald.”

“If love forces a man to be less than a man,” grumbled Donald, “then I’d just as soon nae find myself in such a state, Mother.”

“Gieing a woman her own way where ‘twill do nae harm is nae being less than a full man, Donald, but ye’ll find that out for yerself one day,’’ Lady Fleming told him with a knowledgeable smile.

“I don’t know who would want to wed with Donald,” Arabella told her husband in a low tone. “He’s like a great, clumsy, ill-tempered old dog.’’

“He hae good qualities too, lassie,” the earl said.

To Arabella’s surprise, one of her brother-in-law’s good qualities was soon more than apparent, for Meg and Ailis delivered their babies within a few days of each other in late September, and Donald Fleming found himself rendered helpless with love for the two infants, both of whom were boys. The big man was fascinated by the babies, and his rough features softened as he looked upon them. Arabella would even swear that there were tears in his eyes as he cradled his sister’s son at the boy’s christening, where he stood as the lad’s godfather.

Lona, too, was intrigued with the new babies, taking every moment she might steal when they were about to coo at them, and cuddle them. At first Arabella was surprised, for Lona, coming from a large family, had never before evinced such an interest in children. Then, suddenly, it occurred to her that her childhood friend might be in love. Yet Lona had confided nothing to her, and surely she would have, Arabella thought. Still…the Countess of Dunmor decided to keep a close watch upon her young servant. Indeed, she felt it her duty, for she could not allow FitzWalter’s daughter to be seduced while in her care!

Arabella’s patience was finally rewarded at Martinsmas when she saw the young clansman called Fergus helping the blushing Lona to carry a basket of apples into the hall.
Fergus!
Of course, she thought with a smile. He was always hanging about them when he was not at his duties. As they sat in the hall one evening listening to the piper, Arabella spoke softly to her husband.

“The young man who first brought Lona and her brother to us, Fergus? What can you tell me of him, my lord?”

The earl thought for a moment, and then as his eyes lit with remembrance he said, “Fergus MacMichael. A good lad wi’ a good future. A man-at-arms, but he’ll be a captain one day, I think.”

“Has he a wife?”

The earl considered her query a minute, and then shook his head. “Nay.” Then he looked at his own wife. “Why this curiosity, lassie?”

“I think Lona casts her eyes in his direction, and he seems to be amenable. I would be certain he does not dishonor her, or break her tender heart, my lord. Lona is not simply my servant, but my friend.”

“I’ll speak wi’ the lad, madame, and be certain he is free to court Lona,” the earl promised his wife.

On the following morning Fergus MacMichael found himself called into his lord’s presence, and Tavis Stewart wasted no time in coming to the point.

“Would ye court the lass who serves my wife, laddie?”

The young man flushed, but his gaze never wavered from that of his lord’s. “Aye, my lord, I would.”

“Yer free to?”

“Aye, my lord.”

“Then ye hae my permission, and that of my lady’s, but ye’ll nae seduce Lona, or shame her.”

“Nay, my lord, never!”

“Then we understand each other,” the earl said, dismissing his clansman.

Tavis Stewart reported the conversation to his wife that night as they cuddled with each other in their bed. “I hope he’ll make yer Lona as happy as ye’ve made me, Arabella Stewart,” he murmured softly, kissing her brow.

And the very next day Lona came blushingly to her mistress saying, “I have a suitor, ‘Bella!’’ Her eyes were bright with her happiness. “I didn’t dare to hope he would ever see me in
that
way, but he has!”

“Would it be that handsome young clansman, Fergus MacMichael?” Arabella teased Lona.

“How did you know?!”

“Oh,” Arabella said offhandedly, “I’ve seen the way he looks at you these past months, Lona, and so I asked my husband to be certain that his intentions toward you were honorable. I am assured they are.” She chuckled, and then added mischievously, “But not too honorable!”

Lona giggled, confiding in her mistress and friend, “He’s got quick hands, ‘Bella, and a sweet kiss, I vow.”

“And will you wed him if he asks?”

“Perhaps,” Lona smiled, “but first I would be courted a bit by the man. Ohhh, ‘Bella, he has the bluest eyes!”

The winter came, and with it a strange calm settled over Scotland. The king still mourned his wife, but the queen was now dead six months, and those who negotiated peace in England also seriously considered Elizabeth Woodville as a possible replacement for Margaret of Denmark. Tidbits of news always reached Dunmor first, for messengers returning from England always stopped at the castle. The king’s half brother was known for his loyalty and his hospitality. Archibald Douglas, whose border castle of Hermitage was not too far distant, found to his irritation that he was not considered as generous a host. He was forced to visit Dunmor in order to learn what was happening firsthand, for he found that secondhand gossip was usually unreliable.

“Elizabeth Woodville would destroy yer brother,” he told Tavis Stewart one night as he enjoyed the earl’s fine wine in the Great Hall of Dunmor Castle. “They say she’s a woman of great passions. Not at all to Jemmie’s taste, though perhaps Jamie would enjoy her favors.”

“I hae nae doubt that Henry Tudor would like to rid himself of his mother-in-law,” Tavis said, chuckling. “She is a most troublesome jade, I hear, and I dinna think his own mother, Lady Margaret Beaufort, considers her wi’ much kindness either. The negotiators play wi’ each other, Archie, and ye know it even as I do. ‘Tis peace that is the main order of business between our countries. I dinna think forcing poor Jemmie to the altar wi’ that English harpie would lead us to a lasting peace.”

“But it might lead yer brother into a good fight wi’ the English,” the Earl of Angus laughed.

“There will be nae match between the king and that particular lady,’’ Tavis Stewart said quietly. “The peace treaty is ready for signing, and Henry Tudor has other troubles to worry about that take precedence over Elizabeth Woodville.”

“The lad in Ireland,” Archibald Douglas said.

“There’s talk of crowning him in Dublin,” Tavis Stewart said. “That canna set well wi’ the Tudor.”

“He’s got an heir now in Prince Arthur,” Angus said.

“Aye, but there are still some diehard Yorkists who would choose a boy prince of York over a Lancastrian king,” the Earl of Dunmor answered him.

“But the lad is an imposter, or so Henry Tudor says. Why, only recently I hear he dragged the poor little Plantagenet out from the Tower to display.’’ The Earl of Angus thought a moment and then said, “If, of course, the little laddie is the
real
York prince. Mayhap this boy in Ireland is the real York heir.”

“It makes no difference to Scotland,” Tavis Stewart said. “Let the English fight amongst themselves and leave us in peace.”

“Or to gain back Berwick,” Angus said slyly.

“Will ye nae ever cease singing that tune, Archie?”

“My lord!”

The earl looked to see Lona. “Aye, lass, what is it?”

“My mistress bade me come and tell you that the babe will shortly be born,” Lona said excitedly.

Tavis Stewart leapt to his feet. “Is she all right, lass? Does she nae need me?” He didn’t know which way to turn, to Angus’ amusement, for Archibald Douglas had never thought to see the Earl of Dunmor so at loose ends, and all over a bairn to boot.

“I do not think she would mind if you sat by her side, my lord.”

“My mother!”

“Her ladyship has already sent for Lady Fleming,” Lona replied.

“A priest!” the earl cried.

“God’s foot, man, yer wife isna dying, and the bairn will nae need christening until he’s born,” Angus said good-naturedly. “Go on to yer woman, Tavis. I dinna mind my own company as long as yer fine wine holds out.”

Lona had already departed the hall, and the earl hurried after her. When he reached Arabella’s apartments he was met by Flora, who said matter-of-factly, “Yer mam will nae get here in time, my lord, for never hae I seen a bairn so eager to be born than this one. Why, one moment yer lady was sitting quietly wi’ her embroidery hoop, and in the next minute she was laboring to bring forth the bairn.”

“Flora!”
Arabella’s voice sounded stridently.

“I’m here, my lamb,’’ the older woman said soothingly, “and here’s the cause of all yer troubles himself.’’

Arabella was half seated in a birthing chair, her legs spread and raised upon two wooden runners. Her beautiful face was flushed, her brow dappled with beads of perspiration, yet she smiled when she saw her husband. “Ohh, Tavis! The babe is coming! Before the night is out we shall have our child!’’

“More before the hour’s out,” Flora muttered beneath her breath as the earl bent to kiss his wife.

Tavis Stewart heard the serving woman’s words and he grinned. “‘Tis the first day of spring, lovey, though the winds are yet cold and from the north. I think it is a good omen that our first son be born upon the first day of spring.”

“Spring is a young girl,” Arabella said. “The king told me that when we were at court last year.” Then as a spasm passed over her face, she groaned deeply.

“That’s it, my lamb,” Flora encouraged her mistress, and then she glanced up at Lona. “Are the blankets warming, lass?’’

“Aye! I’m ready,” Lona said brightly.

“Lovey, is there much pain?” the earl fretted, and Flora rolled her eyes back in her head.