“And knowing the kind of man this duc is, ye would send one of our fine lasses to him for the sake of the Old Alliance? I canna believe it of ye, Jamie,” Tavis Stewart said sternly.
“Dinna fret yerself, Uncle, dinna fret, but hear me out. I hae, as ye are undoubtedly aware, been lately taken by Mistress Meg Drummond, and I would pursue her wi’ vigor, but for one thing. There is a lady, known to me in the past, who would force herself back into my life. She will nae accept that we are quit, and indeed, Uncle, we hae been quit for several years now, but my kingly rank seems to encourage the lady onward.
“She is of good family, mind ye, but a thorn in my side. The French regent requests a wife for her half-mad duke. I need a far-distant husband for this troublesome jade. The solution is obvious, Uncle. My lady subject dare nae refuse my wishes. ‘Tis providential, is it nae?”
The Earl of Dunmor arose from his own chair by the fire, and going to the sideboard, poured them both drams of the king’s own whiskey. Returning to his place, he handed his nephew one of the goblets. “And just who is the ‘lady’ ye would unburden yerself of, Jamie?” he demanded, and then swallowed his whiskey.
“Sorcha Morton,”the king said, bursting into laughter as his uncle choked on the potent liquid that had but slid halfway down his throat.
The earl’s face grew red with his effort to force the whiskey back down, and when he had finally succeeded, he said, gasping, his eyes watering with his efforts,“Sorcha Morton!God’s bones, Jamie! Ye’ll nae make her go, and even if ye did, she’d nae be anything but trouble. She’ll destroy the Old Alliance in a month! Are ye a madman?”
James Stewart restrained his laughter, for he could see that his uncle was truly concerned. “Dinna fret, Uncle,” he repeated. “‘Tis all right. Lady Morton is eager to go. The thought of a rich French duke has proven irresistible to her. Her prospects here in Scotland are dismal. Sorcha, ye see, hae no funds, nor any hope of funds. Angus is quit of her, for she is too difficult for him to stomach any longer. She hae slept her way through my court, and there are none who would retain her services, for she is an unpleasant woman at best. She canna bring herself to enter the marriage market of the merchant class because she is too proud of her lineage. What is left for her? That is why she attempted to insinuate herself back into my favor, but I certainly dinna want her either. I was contemplating what in the name of God I could do wi’ her when I received the regent’s message.
“I immediately wrote Madame Anne that I had the perfect candidate, a beautiful widow of the Douglas family, childless, for her husband was elderly, but of fertile stock. The regent expressed her approval as well as her delight. They were formally betrothed over a month ago. I am supplying Sorcha wi’ a small trousseau and an honor guard which ye will be in charge of, Tavis. Ye sail from Leeds in two days’ time. Yer to escort Lady Morton to her bridegroom, and ye will witness the marriage before ye are free to pursue yer own interests. I want to be certain she is firmly wed.”
“And does the blushing bride know of her bridegroom’s wee infirmity, Jamie?” the earl asked his nephew.
“Aye,” came the surprising reply, “she does. As much as I would hae liked to send Sorcha away to face that little surprise alone, I feared her reaction. So I told her, but it doesna matter to her. She says if she can get wi’ child, the bairn is likely to be sound as this difficulty dinna strike consecutive generations. ‘Tis really all she cares about now. Having a home and a family. She’ll rule her poor duc wi’ an iron hand.”
“That she would sell herself for such a thing shames me as a Scot,” the earl said coldly.
“Dinna be so harsh in yer judgments, Uncle,” the king counseled him. “Sorcha Morton does what she must to survive. So do we all.”
“‘Tis different for us,” the earl said.
“Nay,” the king told him, “‘tis no different, Uncle.”
Tavis Stewart stared gloomily into the fireplace. Whatever his nephew said, Lady Morton had sold herself to the highest bidder.And what of Arabella?a voice inside his head asked. What has she had to do in order to survive? In order to regain Greyfaire?And ‘tis all yer fault, whatever it might be, the voice in his head concluded.
“This is the last thing I’ll do for ye, Jamie,” the earl said grimly. “I’ve gotten Glenkirk for ye, and helped ye to calm yer wild highland lords, but after I escort this noble bawd to France, we are quit! I would win my wife back, and a fine impression I will make arriving in France wi’ Sorcha Morton in tow. Knowing that wench, she will spend the entire journey attempting to compromise me!”
The king laughed, but then grew sober as his uncle said, “What does yer source at the French court say of Arabella, Jamie, and dinna tell me ye dinna know because I’ll call ye a liar if ye do. Ye asked. Of that I’m certain.”
James Stewart wrestled with his conscience. He didn’t want to hurt his uncle, but Tavis was going to learn the truth sooner or later. Perhaps it would be best if he knew and could spend his journey growing used to the idea, possibly even deciding upon a suitable course of action to follow, if indeed there was one. “The rumor, Uncle, is that Arabella is the Duc de Lambour’s mistress,” he finally said. “It is a recent thing, I am informed, although he has pursued her most relentlessly.”
The earl nodded stonily but said nothing.
“I thought to see that she win at cards whenever she played, in order that she hae enough monies, Uncle,” the king said in a clumsy effort to soften the blow, “but she rarely plays, for she canna afford it. She is careful wi’ her funds, and obviously has none to waste. She lives, I am told, in a wee house that she rents in a little village outside of Paris. She hae her maidservant and some men-at-arms wi’ her from her home. She lives simply. Though it is said the duc would buy her a hotel of her own, she will nae accept it. She insists upon her independence. A novel idea, is it nae?”
Tavis Stewart was forced to smile. “Aye, ‘tis novel,” he agreed, “but nae for Arabella.”
“I know ye love her, Uncle, but she’s a strong woman,” the king said. “Ye think because she is small of stature that she canna survive wi’ out ye, but yer wrong.”
“I know she can survive wi’ out me, Jamie,” the earl told his nephew. “She is a strong, independent woman, and has already proved her capability, but I dinna want her to hae to survive wi’ out me, Jamie. Can ye understand that? I dinna think so, laddie, for ye’ve never loved a woman. Oh, ye’ve made love to them, but hae ye really loved one?”
“Had ye asked me that question a month ago, Uncle, I should hae had to tell ye nay, but now that I know my sweet Meg, ‘tis different than before,” the king admitted. “The thought of being wi’ out her is nae to be borne. I canna imagine how I could hae been happy before I met her.”
The earl nodded.”Then perhaps ye do know how I feel about my wee spitfire, Jamie.” Tavis Stewart grinned wryly at the king. “Very well, laddie, I will escort the ‘blushing bride’ to France for ye,” he said, “but warn Lady Morton that I’ll nae be irritated by her bad behavior. She’s to conduct herself properly, or the French duc over the water will be a widower before he’s a bridegroom, I swear it!”
The king laughed, saying, “I will tell Sorcha that she must be good, but I can nae guarantee she will, Uncle.”
Strangely, however, Lady Sorcha Morton was a model of propriety during the whole of the journey. She was more subdued than at any time since Tavis had known her. Frankly curious, he joined her in her coach just before they reached Paris. Lady Morton rode alone, for she preferred it that way. Her female servants had their own vehicle.
“Jamie must hae lectured you sternly,” he teased her, and Sorcha Morton smiled.
“He did nae hae to, Tavis. I dare nae jeopardize this marriage. It is, I think, the last chance I shall ever have, and who knows, I may even be happy.”
“Hae ye fallen so low then, Sorcha, that ye would wed a man who sometimes thinks he’s a hound?” he asked her, regretting the unkind words even as he spoke them, remembering his conversation with the king, and Arabella’s own difficult position.
