FitzWalter sent her a grateful look, and even Lona’s eyes misted as she poured wine into her mistress’s pewter goblet.
“Two months after you left,” Rowan began, “Sir Jasper Keane came back to Greyfaire, my lady. The king’s clerk was here, cataloging everything he could find. He had told us that the king now owned Greyfaire and that you had been sent into exile in France. The lads who came back, however, reassured the people that you and the king were but playing a game. They said that you would come home soon. At first our folk believed it, but then Sir Jasper came.
“At first he pretended to us that Greyfaire was now his by right of past possession, but the king’s priestly clerk told him no and bid him begone. It was then that Sir Jasper and his men went on a rampage and wrecked the inside of the keep. They stripped the king’s clerk, and several of Sir Jasper’s men—led by that devil, Seger—used him most foully before they whipped him like a dog from the castle. I can still hear his howls. The poor fellow’s buttocks were raw and he could not sit without pain for several weeks. We hid him in the caves until he healed well enough to travel. Then we sent him on his way, my lady.
“Sir Jasper, however, left after his men had finished with the poor clerk. We thought ourselves safe, but he was soon back, and he kept coming back. Each time he came, he destroyed a little more of Greyfaire. We never knew when he would strike. He came at all hours of the day and the night. He waited until the harvest was in last autumn, and then he stole it from us. This year he fired the fields each time the crop grew high enough to show promise. We finally stopped planting, my lady. What was the use of it? Sir Jasper destroyed the orchards last spring, just as they were coming into first flower. He drove off the sheep, but for the few you saw that remain. There wasn’t enough food to see our people through the winter, and so many families left after Martinsmas, before the hungry times came. I sent Mother and my little sister to York after Christmas.
“In early summer Sir Jasper and his men came and destroyed the village, or what was left of it. No one was hurt, for those remaining had taken to living in the keep by that time. Since then he has been attempting to break into the keep itself. He has stated that if he cannot have Greyfaire, then he will tear it down stone by stone until nothing remains. We have managed to hold him off so far, my lady, and that is the end of my tale.”
“Did King Henry know of this?” Arabella wondered aloud.
“I think not, my lady, else the king would surely have sent his troops to rout Sir Jasper,” Rowan said innocently.
“I’ve spoken to everyone,” FitzWalter said quietly. “Sir Jasper Keane has become an outlaw, my lady. Although his blackest venom is saved for Greyfaire, he has taken to raiding the helpless throughout the entire Middle Marches; and there seems to be no one strong enough to stop him at the present. Certainly someone in the king’s household knows of this, yet no aid has been sent. Therefore, no help will be sent, for though this matter be important to us, it is of no account to the king, who has greater problems. Sir Jasper, after all, poses no threat to Henry Tudor, my lady.”
Arabella thought for several long minutes. She seemed to be wrestling with herself over something, and then she said, “We must send to Dunmor, FitzWalter. The earl has a long-standing grudge to settle with Sir Jasper Keane. I have no doubt that he would welcome the opportunity to do so.”
“And you, my lady, are the bait to trap Sir Jasper,” FitzWalter said with a chuckle. “‘Tis clever! Aye, ‘tis clever, and it just could work.”
“It must work, FitzWalter, or we shall never again know any peace. I cannot rebuild Greyfaire for Margaret if we are under the constant threat of attack from Sir Jasper Keane.” She turned to Rowan. “You will carry a message to the earl for me, and you will leave as soon as I have written it. Sir Jasper Keane, even if he is aware of my return, has not had time to assemble his men. It is unlikely he will attack us in such foul weather. He thinks he has the leisure of time on his side, for he believes us to be helpless. You must ride quickly, for as soon as the weather turns fair, Sir Jasper will seek to strike out at us as quickly as he can.” Arabella turned to Fergus MacMichael. “I would send you, Fergus, but that I need your good sword arm, and FitzWalter, your experience in battle. Will you stay with us?”
“I will, m’lady,” the young clansman replied, and then he boldly said, “but I would have a boon of ye.”
“I think I know what you would have,” she told him. “‘Tis my Lona to wife, is it not?”
“Aye.”
“You have my permission, but ‘tis FitzWalter who must have the final say, as Lona is his daughter.”
“I’ve no objection,” FitzWalter spoke up, “but let’s free ourselves of Sir Jasper Keane first.”
Lona brought her mistress parchment and pen before she might even ask, and stood by her shoulder reading the words as Arabella wrote them, for she had learned to read with her mistress when they were children.
I have returned to Greyfaire.
Sir Jasper is even now planning to attack the keep.
Margaret is with me.
Arabella Grey of Greyfaire
“You have not asked him for his help at all, my lady,” Lona said, puzzled.
“I do not have to,” Arabella told her, “and, therefore, Tavis Stewart will never be able to say that I did. He will come because of his daughter, who is in danger.”
Lona’s eyes grew round, and then she said bluntly, “‘Tis wicked, you are, my lady! Plain wicked!”
Arabella laughed as she rolled the parchment tightly, and sealing it with wax, pressed her signet ring into it hard. “No, Lona, I am not wicked, but I am proud. If there was any way in which I could remove the sting from Sir Jasper’s tail myself, I should do it, but I cannot do it alone. I need the Earl of Dunmor’s help, and in exchange I give him Sir Jasper Keane, with whom he has had such a long-standing feud. ‘Tis more than fair.”
“Da?” Lona turned to her father for support, but FitzWalter was grinning broadly.
“‘Tis clever whether you like it or not, Lona lass. ‘Tis damned clever, and no one will appreciate that better than the earl himself,” FitzWalter said.
Arabella handed the rolled parchment to Rowan. “Go,” she said, “and remember, Rowan FitzWalter, that the fate of Greyfaire and all who remain here is in your keeping, my lad.”
“I won’t fail you, my lady,” Rowan promised, and hurried from the hall.
“How long do we have?” Arabella asked FitzWalter.
