Margaret’s little body was covered in a great red rash. She burned with fever and complained that her eyes hurt her. They cut her dark curls so that her hair would not sap her waning strength, but it was all to no avail. Lady Margaret Stewart died in her weeping mother’s arms just two weeks after her fourth birthday.
In her immediate grief Arabella tried to throw herself from Greyfaire’s battlements, but was prevented from doing so by Tavis Stewart. She then fell into a stupor from which she could not be roused for several days, by which time her child was buried next to her maternal grandmother in Greyfaire’s churchyard.
The earl mourned, although to a slightly lesser degree, the death of his only legitimate child. It was not that he had not loved wee Maggie, for he had, but in truth he had hardly known her as Arabella had taken her away from Dunmor before her second birthday. He would always remember the dark-haired and winning little girl he had come to know these past few months; but he and Arabella would have other children. Other sons and daughters. In the meantime his chief fears were for the woman he loved.
“We must take her back to Dunmor,” Lady Margery insisted. “This wee keep of hers is a damned pesthole, Tavis. Why, I wouldn’t be surprised at all to see the plague breaking out here before long. I can nurse her better at Dunmor.”
“Nay,” the earl replied. “She will never forgive me if I take her from Greyfaire now. She must want to come wi’ me of her own free will, Mam.”
“She’s grief-stricken, Tavis,” Lady Margery replied impatiently. “She dinna know what she wants, poor lassie. Ye canna know the pain a woman feels when she loses her bairn.”
“Ye must trust me in this matter, Mam,” he told his mother. “I hae nae known Arabella all these years nae to understand her. I want her back, but I’ll nae get her back if I take her away from Greyfaire against her will again. She must gie up this dream of hers, nae because she hae failed, or because a woman canna make such a dream come true, but because she can honestly face the fact that Greyfaire is gone. It hae nae been an easy burden she hae been shouldering—being the last of the Greys—and she has nae to be ashamed of, Mam. No man could have done better. If I am patient, she will come to accept of her own free will that the battle is lost. And when she can face that loss, she will come home. I dinna care how long it takes. I will be here for Arabella because I love her. Together we will mourn our daughter’s loss, and together we will rebuild our lives.”
“Yer a damned romantic fool,” his mother said tenderly. “A foolish, romantic Stewart! I only hope that Arabella Grey, when she comes to this great understanding, will also appreciate what a good man she hae in ye.” Lady Margery gave her son a hard hug and a motherly kiss. “I’m going home, Tavis. There is nothing more here that I can do for either ye or for poor, wee Arabella. God bless ye both, and for heaven’s sakes, man, remember Dunmor! Ye canna linger here forever!”
When he had seen her safely off, he returned to Arabella’s chamber to find her awake at long last. She was very pale and there were huge, dark circles beneath her light green eyes. Sitting upon the edge of her bed, he took her little hand in his, kissed it and said, “How do ye feel, lovey?”
“Is Margaret really dead, Tavis? Or was it simply a bad dream?” she asked him anxiously, and she shivered, though the day was warm.
“Our wee bairn is dead, lovey,” he told her as gently as he might, and worried to himself that her hand was so icy cold. “There was nae help for it, ye know. Mam said we did everything that we could. Many bairns survive the Spotting Sickness wi’ little discomfort, and others, like Maggie, are struck down so badly that there is simply nothing that can be done for them.”
She nodded sadly and a single tear rolled down her cheek. “She was such a little girl,” Arabella said helplessly. “Did you see how much she looked like you, Tavis? But for her eyes. Maggie had my mother’s lovely blue eyes.”
“We buried her next to yer mother, lovey. I thought ye would like it,” he told her gently, and climbing into bed next to her, he took her into the warm comfort of his arms.
Arabella closed her eyes wearily and tears streamed from beneath her lashes down her face. “I missed a whole year of her life, Tavis,” she whispered tragically.“A whole year!King Henry would not let me have her with me in France.”
“He was right, lovey,” the earl told the grieving mother. “‘Twas too dangerous.”
“I did it all for her, Tavis. So she might have Greyfaire. So she might be an heiress in her own right and beholden to none.”
“I know,” he said.
“Now there is nothing left,” Arabella said sadly. “Greyfaire is gone and our daughter is gone.” She laughed suddenly. A harsh and terrible sound. “It wasallfor nothing, Tavis. I destroyed our life together, and I sold my body that I might regain Greyfaire for Margaret. Now I have neither. It is surely God’s judgment upon me for my overweening pride and my many other sins.” She sighed deeply. “Perhaps Father Anselm was right when he told me so long ago that women should be meek and humble, and trust themselves to their men.”
Tavis Stewart burst out laughing at this last. He simply couldn’t help it. “Arabella Grey,” he said finally. “Yer tired, and yer badly worn wi’ yer grief; but I dinna believe for one moment that ye think ye should be either meek or humble. God’s teeth, lassie! Ye dinna know the meaning of either word, but I would nae be displeased if ye would entrust yerself to me again.”
“What?”She shook off his arms and, turning her head, looked directly at him. She was not sure that she shouldn’t be very angry at him for laughing at her, and she was certainly not sure that she fully understood him. “What do you mean,” she demanded suspiciously, “‘entrust myself to you’?”
“Arabella Grey,” he said tenderly, “will ye be my wife again? I love ye, and I always hae loved ye. I think that ye hae always loved me too.”
“Aye,” she said simply. The time for dissemblance between them was long past. She did love him, and whatever anger she may have felt toward him was long gone. That he would want to renew their life together was most tempting.
“Then will ye marry me, lassie? Will ye be my wee English wife once more?”
“I was the Duc de Lambour’s mistress,” she told him honestly. There must be no secrets between them. Nothing that might ever separate them again.
“I know,” he said quietly.
“And it matters not at all to you, Tavis?” she probed skillfully.
“The Duc de Lambour’s English mistress was nae my wife,” he replied. “Nor was the bold English wench who spent three days wi’ my nephew, Jamie,” the earl told her calmly.
She was thunderstruck.“You…you knew?”she gasped, and her pale skin grew pink with her blush.
“Aye, I knew,” he said. “Nae at first, mind ye, but Donald, in a nasty mood, suggested it, and though I denied it, it set me to thinking. Why did Jamie help ye? Oh, he’s a good lad, but nae known for his charity. Ye made some damned unholy bargain wi’ the laddie. It was then that I understood, lovey. I understood why ye hae divorced me. That ye nae bring shame upon my name. Was that nae the reason, Arabella? And I knew then that ye truly loved me, lassie. Loved me even as I love ye.”
“I could not have told you, Tavis,” she admitted frankly. “Not that I feared what you might say, for I did not, but I could not drive a wedge between you and your king. Poor Jamie has few souls he can really trust, and you, my darling, have ever been loyal. ‘Tis one of the things I love you for, Tavis Stewart. Your sense of honor.”
