Arriving in Calais, however, they met with a serious delay. A severe summer storm was rolling in from the channel, and no ships, their own included, would put out to sea before it had run its course. Lord Varden’s agent had arranged for their accommodations in a neat little inn near the harbor called The Wild Rose. Since there were but three guest rooms available at the inn, there would be no others but themselves. The Wild Rose was too small a place to encourage neighborhood traffic, and an extra coin to the landlord ensured their complete privacy. Although Calais was technically an English possession, Arabella knew that she would not be entirely comfortable until they were safely on English soil once more.
After two days the storm had dissipated and the captain of their vessel,The Maid of Dover,told them that they would be departing on the next tide early the following morning. With luck they would be in England by the late afternoon. It was at the very moment that the vessel’s captain left them that Adrian Morlaix chose to make his entrance. Anthony Varden drew a sharp breath even as Arabella paled visibly. Both FitzWalter’s and Fergus MacMichael’s hands moved to their swords, but awaiting Lord Varden’s command.
“So,ma Belle, I have caught up with you at last,” he said quietly, and he kissed her hand.
“To what purpose, my lord?” Arabella responded coldly, snatching the hand back. “Did I not make myself quite clear in the message that I left behind for you?”
“I would speak with you alone,ma Belle,” he told her softly, meaningfully.
“There is nothing you have to say to me, my lord, that Lord Varden cannot hear,” she answered firmly.
“Must our passion be a public thing, then?” he asked her.
“‘Twas you who made it so, my lord, not I,” came the cutting reply.
The Duc de Lambour smiled ruefully. “Touché,ma Belle,” he said.
“You have wasted your time, my lord, in following after me,” Arabella said.
“Nay,ma Belle, I have not. I would have caught up with you earlier, but that a messenger arrived at Amboise from Normandy for me. My wife has died. She choked upon a fishbone,” the duc said simply and without emotion.
“May God and His blessed Mother Mary assoil her soul, my lord,” Arabella said piously. “I am truly sorry, Adrian.”
“I want you to marry me, Arabella,” was his startling reply.
She was stunned. Never before had he used her Christian name. He had always called her hisBelle. Never Arabella! Belle.
“We can be married secretly, here in Calais, with Tony as our witness. I cannot let you go from me, but I must formally mourn Claude-Marie for a full year. It is her due, as she was the mother of my children,” the duc continued in a matter-of-fact tone.
He had asked her to marry him!For a moment Arabella thought that she would weep. Had she misjudged Adrian Morlaix? “I cannot marry you, Adrian,” she said finally.
“Then it is true,” was his answer.
“What is true?” she demanded, but in her heart she knew to what he would refer.
“The Duchesse de St. Astier told me in deepest confidence that you and Tony are spies in the pay of England,” Adrian Morlaix said sorrowfully.
Lord Varden laughed heartily. “What a tale,” he said mockingly. “What on earth could that Scots whore possibly think to gain by such a tale? Poor Billancourt! Did you know, Adrian, that our new duchesse is rumored to have serviced every man in King James’ court? A most amazing feat if it is true, and it does appear to be. When she became too troublesome, the king sent her to France. So much for theOld Alliance!Let us hope that the St. Astiers’ heirs are indeed of their blood.”
The duc ignored Lord Varden; his blue eyes looked directly at Arabella. “Are you?”he said quietly.
Arabella hesitated a moment, and then she said in as quiet a tone, “Aye.” No more. Whatever Adrian Morlaix had done to her, she felt his proposal of marriage entitled him to the truth.
“Why?”
“For Greyfaire,” she said simply.
“For Greyfaire? You betrayed me for a piece of land?” he demanded.
“Oh, Adrian,” Arabella said gently, and she was unable to restrain a small laugh, “I did not betray you. King Henry simply placed me in the French court to watch and to listen. He fears that your King Charles will betray him as the French, indeed, betrayed King Richard several years ago. Did you know that that poor king was of my family? Henry Tudor merely seeks to solidify his place upon his throne. I have not betrayed you.”
“You will tell your king what I told you regarding King Charles’ possible marriage plans, however, won’t you?” The Duc de Lambour looked somewhat aggrieved.
“Aye, ‘tis a very sensitive piece of information,” Arabella replied reasonably. “You could hardly expect me to withhold such a trump card from my king? ‘Tis the only really interesting bit of knowledge I have obtained during my stay in France. It will, nonetheless, regain me my home and the custody of my child, who has languished this past year in the royal nurseries. I would do anything that I had to do for my wee Margaret,and for Greyfaire.Indeed, my lord, I have, haven’t I?” Arabella’s light green eyes never left his gaze as she spoke.
“I love you,” he said.
“No,” she replied, “you do not, though I think you believe that you do. Had you really loved me, you could never have shared me with your half brother. You claim you wanted me to feel perfect passion, but had you loved me, Adrian, you would have sought yourself to find a means by which I might have shared that passion with you. You would not have treated me like a whore, but then I cannot really blame you entirely for that, can I, my lord? By becoming your mistress, I played the whore, and obviously I played it quite well. ‘Tis a rather startling side to my character I think I should rather have not known about, but ‘tis over now.
