Jasper Keane then set about to once again court the heiress of Greyfaire Keep. Confused by his sudden kindness, Arabella began to question her former judgment, yet still in the back of her mind a tiny dark doubt lingered and refused to be dispelled. In a flash of understanding she began to comprehend how his reputation with the ladies had grown so mightily. He was charm itself when he chose to be, which seemed to be most of the time these days. She tried to put the last year in true perspective. Only once had he been unkind.
Of course women would be attracted to this handsome lordling. It was easy to see how his legend might have grown as a ladies’ man. Arabella was young, but she knew enough about gossip to know that most of it could be discounted, however savory. Other than his one cruelty, his behavior toward her had always been most circumspect. Not once had he attempted to steal a kiss from her lips, or approach her in any way but a most courteous manner—but for the one cruelty. Why did that keep weighing on her so?
It was quite obvious to everyone that Sir Jasper Keane was every bit as fine a gentleman as her own dear father, God assoil him, and her own mother appeared content with the match. In fact, Arabella had not seen Rowena so complacent since her father had died. Jasper had even, in her hearing, assured Rowena that he expected her to remain at Greyfaire after their marriage. She could, he said, have the Dower House, and there would be no need for her to remarry. He was happy to provide for her. That was most thoughtful, Arabella considered. They were all really quite fortunate inthe king’s choice, and it was time she stopped behaving like the child she claimed she no longer was. It was time, Arabella decided, to make peace with her future. If Jasper made no further slip in his behavior, then she would accept him for her husband. She would force that nagging little uncertainty from her mind. Wisely, however, she kept these thoughts to herself.
Throughout the autumn of 1484 and the winter of 1485, Sir Jasper Keane courted Arabella Grey with charm, and guarded both his tongue and his actions. Toward her mother he was publicly kind and polite. Privately, his passion for Rowena did not abate, and he kept her well satisfied. Their liaison would continue after his marriage, when she would take up residence in the Dower House. Arabella need never know, he soothed his mistress, and they would all be quite content. He no longer brought up the possibility of sharing the two women simultaneously, for he had forced Rowena into that situation the previous summer with great disappointment. Still, he thought with a smile upon his handsome face, there were other compensations.
Arabella’s thirteenth birthday on March twenty-ninth was barely remembered, for word had come several days prior that Queen Anne had died at the palace of Westminster on the sixteenth day of the month and had been buried in the abbey of the same name. Rowena’s sorrow was greater than anyone else’s at Greyfaire, for she and the queen had been as close as sisters. For almost two weeks a mere word could send her into fits of weeping.
The queen’s death galvanized Sir Jasper into action. Only once since he had come to Greyfaire Keep had he left it for any period of time, and within that time frame there had been no serious border disputes, only sporadic raiding back and forth on both sides. Now he knew if he was to learn precisely the true state of affairs in England, he must go south to visit friends and acquaintances, perhaps to the court itself. A mistake at this point in time could be fatal. He could not rely on gossip. FitzWalter could be trusted to defend the keep, and Jasper Keane considered himself fortunate to have inherited such a good captain.
“Why must you go?” Rowena wailed the night before his departure. “What if the Scots come?”
“Rowena,” he explained patiently,“your Dickonis in serious danger of losing his throne to Henry Tudor. I may have to choose sides now, but before I do, I must learn which of these men has the better chance of winning. The king, or the pretender. Our very existence depends upon my choice. Can you understand that, my pet, or is it all too much for your foolish little brain to comprehend?”
“I am not so silly, Jasper,” she answered him, “that I do not see you contemplate breaking your oath of loyalty to the king. Why would you betray Richard when he has lifted you up from the ashes of Northby and given you Greyfaire? Is this how a gentleman repays his good lord?”
He nodded slowly. Sometimes Rowena surprised even him with an astute observation. “There is a strong possibility that the king may not be able to retain his throne, sweet Row. Too much controversy swirls about him, and has since the death of his brother, King Edward, several years ago. Now his wife is dead, and he has no direct heir of his own body. The rumor about his lust for his niece is not pleasing to the commons, and his refusal to show the people his little nephews gives proof to the tale that they are dead.”
“They are not dead!” she cried. “They are at Middleham. Dickon took them there himself in the summer of his coronation. We spent a good part of our childhood there, and it is Dickon’s favorite home. He wanted the boys to be raised there secretly in safety, where they could have good country air and not be a magnet for every malcontent.”
Here was an interesting piece of information, Sir Jasper thought. “How do you know this, sweet Row?” he queried her gently.
“Dickon told me so himself when we visited him after Neddie’s investiture as Prince of Wales,” she answered.
“Perhaps he lied to you,” Sir Jasper suggested.
“Dickon never lies!” she told him indignantly. “I cannot tell you how many beatings he got when we were children because he would not lie, even to protect himself from the littlest offense. No, if he told me Edward and Richard are at Middleham, then they are there.”
It was possible, Sir Jasper thought as he kissed her absently. It was worthy of Richard, who had a too kind heart. Having sat in the seat of power, however, even the king, who was an ethical man, would not be able to give it all up. He would not reveal his nephews’ existence in order to protect his position, for Richard loved England above all else. Two contestants for the throne was bad enough, but Henry, like himself, was a grown man. Richard would believe he had a far better chance of retaining his throne against Henry Tudor than he would have against Elizabeth Woodville’s sons. Besides, it was entirely possible that Henry Tudor, squeamish as his reputation claimed he was, might harm the boys. Richard would keep their whereabouts a secret no matter what, in order to protect his nephews.
“I must still go south,” he told Rowena, “and learn the truth of this situation.”
He rode forth from Greyfaire Keep in the first week of April. He visited York and went as far south as London. The situation was volatile at best. People changed sides daily, and no one could really be sure of what would happen. Only one thing was certain, Sir Jasper decided. There would be an invasion this summer. He began his return north, stopping at Nottingham, where the king was in residence, but for some reason he did not go to court. Nothing he had learned had aided him in deciding what to do. His fealty was to Richard, but he did not want to be placed in the position of having to reaffirm that fealty.
When war came, he would have to make his decision. He laughed ruefully to himself. Rowena and Arabella feared for Greyfaire, but whichever man won, Richard or Henry, they and Greyfaire would be safe, for the keep belonged to Arabella, and a woman could not fight. If he declared for Richard and Richard lost, SirJasper decided, he would lose Greyfaire. If he declared for Henry and Henry lost, he would lose Greyfaire. There was, Jasper Keane finally decided, only one way to protect himself without losing everything. He must return to Greyfaire, marry Arabella immediately in order to safeguard his claim to Greyfaire, and then avoid declaring for either combatant.
If Richard won and demanded an explanation, he would say that he but sought to protect England’s back door in the event the Scots took the opportunity to invade while the king was busy defending his realm from the pretender. He could not be faulted for that. If Henry Tudor won, the same explanation would suffice, particularly if he stressed his loyalty to England first. Sir Jasper Keane knew he was not important enough for either combatant to spend a great deal of time bothering with, and the information he possessed about the whereabouts of Edward IV’s two young sons should certainly ingratiate him with Henry Tudor and dispel any doubts a new king might have regarding his loyalty.Yes!That was the path he would take, and he would lose nothing by it. His decision made, Sir Jasper Keane and his captain, Seger, spurred their horses northward.
“She is too young yet,” Rowena protested his determination when he told her of it. “She is only thirteen!”
“Girls have been wed younger, sweet Row. It is not unusual. Thirteen is an average age for marriage,” Sir Jasper reasoned with his mistress.
“She is too young,” Rowena insisted stubbornly.
“You were thirteen when you married SirHenry,” Jasper Keane said. “It was your thirteenth birthday, you told me.”
“And I bore a stillborn before I was even fourteen, my lord, and another son eleven months later who lived but a short time,” Rowena said. “I was too young, and so is Arabella!”
“Henry Tudor’s mother bore him before she was fourteen,” he told her. “Plenty of women Arabella’s age marry and have children without ill effects. Are you trying to tell me that her monthly woman’s flow isnotupon her? That she cannot yet conceive and bear children?”
She considered lying to him. She needed time to think. There were things he had to know, things he must consider before he wed with her daughter. Then she saw the look in his eye and knew that he already knew the answer to his questions. Once he told her that he would kill her if she ever defied him again. She had believed him then, and she knew now that nothing had changed. “Arabella is fit to be a wife in every sense of the word, my lord,” she told him truthfully, and Sir Jasper Keane smiled, well pleased.
“Good! Then have Father Anselm quickly cry the bans, sweet Row, for on the first day of June I shall take your daughter to wife,” and he smiled at her again, “in every sense of the word, my lady,” he concluded, laughing when she blanched at his none-too-subtle meaning.
“You are vile!” she whispered, near to weeping.
“You are jealous,” he chuckled, enjoying her pain. “Will you tell Arabella or shall I?”
