The Spitfire (7 page)

Taking an earthenware pitcher of water from a corner of the little fireplace, she poured the warmed liquid into her basin and scrubbed herself clean with a small cloth. Then taking a clean shift from her storage trunk, she quickly dressed herself and sat down to do her hair, brushing the floor-length wheaten-blonde hair free of tangles, braiding it and winding the braids atop her head to be pinned securely. She had just finished when Elsbeth entered the room.

“M’lady! Forgive me for being tardy, but I fear I overslept,” the woman said.

“Is it late?” Rowena asked.

“Nay, m’lady, not the hour,” came the reply.

“I awoke early,” Rowena said, “and so I decided not to await you. There is no harm done, Elsbeth. Is anyone else up and in the hall, girl?”

“Sir Jasper and his man, Seger,” Elsbeth said, avoiding her mistress’s gaze, but Rowena did not notice, for she was hoping her own guilt did not show upon her face.

“I must first go to see how my daughter does,” she said almost to herself, and hurried from the chamber.

Arabella was, of course, fine, rarely being ill and having little toleration for the state. She was already up, and Lona was helping her to braid her own hair.

“I want Lona for my servant, Mama,” she said by way of a greeting. Her light green eyes challenged her mother to refuse.

“I think that would be an excellent idea,” Rowena agreed. “I am certain that Rosamund can spare one of her daughters from the laundry, and I must agree you will need someone other than old Nurse Ora to look after your needs. After all, you are to be married in two years, but Ora, I know, persists in treating you like a child. We shall retire her to her cottage until you have your own children for her to look after. Lona can learn from her aunt Elsbeth what she must know to care for a lady properly.”

“Ohh, thank you, m’lady Rowena!” Lona cried, delighted, and even Arabella smiled, pleased with her victory.

In late April there came word that little Prince Edward had died at Middleham on the ninth day of the month. Rowena longed to go to her cousin Anne and comfort her, but Jasper Keane would not allow it. His sly innuendos regarding Arabella’s fate should she leave him for even a short time frightened as well as angered her, for she knew he was once again prowling the borders like a tomcat.

“Then let Arabella go, my lord, for I cannot bear the thought of my cousin, the queen, believing we do not care.”

He considered her request and then, to her surprise, acquiesced. “Aye, let the king see our sympathy and loyalties are with him in his time of sorrow. Besides,” he grinned, pinching one of her nipples fondly, “you are far more entertaining these days than my little bride-to-be. While she is gone we shall ride the hills together and visit some of my pretty little friends. We shall have a ménage a trois, my pet. I enjoy being entertained by two women at a time. Once Arabella and I are wed and I have broken her to my bridle, you will join us in our bedsport, Rowena. Will you not enjoy that, or will it make you jealous to share my favors?”

“My lord!
You forget yourself! I will never partake in such a vile debauchery,” she cried, shocked.

He laughed. “Ah Row, sweet Row. You will do precisely as you are told, because if you do not, I have the means by which to make you suffer as you have never suffered before.” He tipped her face to his and kissed her lightly. “You know that in your heart, my pet, do you not?”

And she did. She had known almost from the first night that this was a terrible and dangerous man. She knew, but she was also aware that the king was not knowledgeable of Sir Jasper Keane’s dark soul. Richard was a noble and decent man with a good heart, but she could not go to him and expose Jasper Keane, for to reveal the true nature of Sir Jasper was to reveal her own shame.

“Arabella must start tomorrow,” she said quietly, pretending not to have been frightened by his implied threats.

“I shall arrange a suitable escort, my pet,” he replied, knowing she feared him now and would do whatever she had to in order to protect her child. For now it contented him to leave the child alone, although of late he had noticed her little breasts beginning to bud quite prettily beneath her bodice. A tasty dish was best savored over time, he thought.

Arabella was gone several weeks, most of her time spent traveling back and forth between Greyfaire and her royal cousins. The queen, she reported upon her return, was inconsolable at the loss of her only child.

“Ahh, Mama,” she said. “It would break your heart. Poor cousin Anne weeps constantly. Neddie’s death has fair destroyed her.”

“But was she glad to see you, Arabella?” demanded Sir Jasper. “I hope your presence was not an additional pain to her, lest she think ill of us all.”

“Nay, my lord,” Arabella said a trifle stiffly. “My cousin, the queen, was happy for the company. She said I reminded her of better times and took away some of her sadness.”

“I am glad for that,” Rowena said softly, “but what of the king? He must be as devastated by little Edward’s death as is poor Anne.”

“He is, Mama,” Arabella replied. “Sometimes he does not even hear what is being said to him. His heart and the queen’s have been broken, especially as the physicians say cousin Anne can have no more children. There are some who say the queen will die of her sorrow.”

“Then the king can take a younger, more fertile wife,” remarked Sir Jasper.

Arabella rounded on him.
“My lord!
Where is your heart, or is it true as I have heard, that you have none?”

Jasper Keane was momentarily stunned by her words, which were both sharp and knowing. He stared at the girl, seeing her as he had not seen her before. True, she was Row’s daughter, but her outburst made it more than clear she was more her father’s daughter. Henry Grey, a man who had doted upon his sweet and helpless wife, was also a man with a famous temper. Arabella had obviously inherited that temper.

“What, poppet?” he said in a bantering tone, for Sir Jasper had decided not to be angry with her. He rather liked this new and fiery disposition she was showing. Row’s meekness was pleasant, but it was also dull. “Have you been listening to gossip, Arabella? I would have thought better of you,” he mocked.

“In gossip there is always some grain of truth,” she answered him tartly, “but we are not speaking of my behavior, sir. We speak of yours. My cousin, the queen, suffers greatly her loss. Neddie was her only surviving child, and she birthed him at great risk to herself. Perhaps you did not know that, for men are not interested in such things, I am told. She has striven over the years to make him strong and healthy, which is why he lived at Middleham, away from the court, the crush of crowds and possible contagion. If, my lord, you can have no sympathy for the pain she is feeling now, and the greater pain the king feels, at least have the decency to be silent, lest your words be repeated and heard by your enemies, who would use them against you. Since you are to be my husband and the lord of Greyfaire Keep, such indiscretion on your part endangers not only you, but me and mine as well,” Arabella concluded furiously.

“You and yours?”
he said softly, his irritation rising just slightly.

“Aye, my lord. Greyfaire is mine, and you become its true lord
only
when you become my husband,” Arabella reminded him.

“Arabella!
You must be more biddable,” Lady Rowena wailed nervously. “Must she not be more biddable, Father Anselm?” The despairing mother turned to the keep’s priest, who also sat with them at the highboard.

Father Anselm, who had come to Greyfaire in the year of Arabella Grey’s birth, hid a smile. He knew the mistress of the keep far better than anyone else, even her own mother. His gray eyes twinkled as the hapless Rowena chattered on nervously.

“We need Sir Jasper, my darling! We need a man to hold Greyfaire for the king!”

Arabella snorted. “I am the Grey of Greyfaire, Mama. I am perfectly capable, with FitzWalter’s help, of holding this keep for the king, though I doubt there will be a need for it soon. The Scots may swarm over the border at regular intervals, but the worst they do is drive off the livestock, take whatever of value that is not nailed down, and steal the pretty girls away. Then our English borderers reciprocate in kind.
This keep is impregnable.
Father said it, and he would know. Besides, we are not a tempting target on our little, lonely, out-of-the-way hill. We are hardly a great castle.”

“Greyfaire is small, my lady, but hardly as unimportant as you try to convince yourself,” the priest said quietly. “It has great strategic value to the land south of it, as it is usually the first to know of a Scots invasion. This little castle is built upon the walls of a Roman fort. If you would go to the cellars you would see the evidence for yourself of my words. This site has always been of value to someone.”

“That is why the king arranged this marriage for you with Sir Jasper,” Rowena said. “You must have a husband, Arabella!”

“My marriage is not to be celebrated for two years, Mama,” Arabella replied irritably. “Until then I am sole mistress of
Greyfaire,
and women have held castles against invasion in the past. If I must, then I assure you I will.”

“Women holding castles in siege more often than not had strong families behind them, and husbands as well,” Father Anselm noted in a reasonable tone. He knew to annoy Arabella was to incur her undying enmity. Young girls her age were given to moods.

“I am but two months past my twelfth birthday,” Arabella said in a quieter manner. “After my fourteenth birthday, Sir Jasper and I will wed. He is the husband chosen for me by my king, and I have sworn my fealty to King Richard. Like my father before me, I shall not break my oath.”

“Nor would I expect it of you, poppet,” Sir Jasper said softly, pleased. The little wench had definite possibilities. She became more interesting with each passing day, and perhaps he would learn to like pale gold hair after all.

The argument was over, but Rowena, unable to realize the subtleties of the situation, nattered on heedlessly. “You are a female, Arabella! A mere female, and women are weak of spirit. Is that not so, Father Anselm?”

At the moment her thoughtless words fell upon his ears, the priest found himself closer to murder than he had ever been in his life. How could the Lady Rowena be so harebrained and rash as to arouse her daughter’s ire just when he had managed to calm Arabella? What was worse the silly woman had unknowingly boxed him in, for he could not deny her words without coming into direct conflict with his religion. Forced to promulgate the teaching of the church, he nodded dourly, although he did not believe for one minute that Arabella Grey was a weak vessel. Most women, perhaps, but not all, and certainly not this young girl. “The church teaches us, my daughter, that the female of the species is indeed the weaker vessel in some respects, but she is strong in others, else God would not have given her the heavy burden of bearing children. St. Paul teaches that women should be obedient to their husbands, and I know that when Arabella weds with Sir Jasper, she will be a good wife to him, even as you were a good wife to Sir Henry. I think that you worry needlessly.”

“Indeed you do, Mama,” Arabella said. “I will do my duty, for I am, above all else, my father’s daughter, and my father laid down his life for England in doing his duty. I am not my brother, but I am a Grey. I can do no less.”

“Yes, yes, of course,” Lady Rowena fluttered nervously.

Jasper Keane forced down a chuckle. Aye, Arabella was indeed becoming more interesting as each minute passed. “Why, sweet Row,” he murmured, “it would seem you have birthed a spitfire in this child of yours. I do not know that I should not be taken aback by this turn.”

“Would you have me be weak as water, my lord?” Arabella snapped. “What kind of children should I give you then? I have ever been accustomed to speaking my mind, and I shall not change.”

He laughed aloud and nodded his handsome blond head. “Aye, a hot-tempered spitfire. I think I shall enjoy taming you, Arabella Grey.”

The priest was too innocent of matters between men and women to hear the implied threat in his voice, but Rowena heard it. Arabella, however, also innocent, looked at her future husband and said boldly, “And just how shall you tame me, my lord?”

“Why, with sweet songs, and soft words, and pretty gifts,” he said with a charming smile, for it amused him at the moment to play the gallant.

“Indeed, sir?”‘ Arabella’s young heart fluttered at this sudden attention, for until this moment he had treated her as he might have treated a child.

Sir Jasper saw her confusion and the softening of her attitude. Reaching over, he took her hand in his and kissed it lingeringly. “I shall never be able to repay the king for the great kindness he has done me by bestowing upon me such an exquisite bride…even if she is a spitfire who shall undoubtedly give me a great deal of trouble.”

Unaware of how to respond to his wooing, Arabella giggled girlishly, and Rowena felt the worm of jealousy turn sharply in her heart.

“You are too extravagant with your compliments to my daughter, my lord,” she said sharply. “I would not have her over-proud.”

“Pretty words do not fool me, Mama,” Arabella said, aggravated that her mother had spoiled such a lovely moment, “but those same words are still pleasant to hear.”

The girl was not stupid, Sir Jasper considered again, as he had in the past. Innocent, yes, but not stupid. He had seen her green eyes widen at his compliment, seen the blush that stained her pale cheeks pink. “A man is bound to spoil a beautiful wife,” he said simply.

Afterward, in her own chamber, Arabella considered Sir Jasper once again as she had considered him in the past. He was handsome, he was kind to both her and her mother, FitzWalter respected him, and he certainly knew how to speak prettily to a woman. What more was there to a man than that? In many ways he appeared to be like her own late father, and yet…there was something that she could not quite put her finger upon that niggled at her. Some unknown voice that seemed to shriek a warning, but what was it warning her of, or of whom was it warning her? Or was it merely her overstimulated imagination? In a sense she was resentful of Sir Jasper’s coming, for once he became her husband and her lord, it would be he who became the possessor of Greyfaire, not she.