He chuckled again. “I wonder if Jasper Keane knew just what it was he was getting in you,” Tavis Stewart remarked. “It will take more of a man than he is to handle ye, lassie. Yer more woman, I’m thinking, than he could have ever managed.”
“Handled? Managed?My lord, you make a woman sound like a disobedient animal to be properly trained. A good wife is a man’s helpmate, though she be but the weaker vessel. She is not a possession to be handled and managed!” Arabella retorted angrily.
“Indeed, madame?” he gently mocked her. “Where did a little English lass get such bold ideas? Certainly not from yer gentle mother, who looks as if she would fear her own shadow. These ideas are more suited to a Scotswoman than a weak bit of a lassie from the other side of the border,” he teased.
“You great buffoon of a Scot!” she fumed. “What could you possibly know of the English that was truth?”
Before the earl might reply, however, the young man who had earlier cautioned the earl within the church rode up next to them. “Tavis, why not let us take the lass on to Mother at Glen Ailean?” he said. “She’ll hae companions in Ailis and the two Hamilton lasses to help her while away the hours until her release.”
“Nay, Colin,” the earl said. “Dunmor is impregnable to attack, and I would have the lassie where I know she is safe. Arabella Grey, this is my half brother, Father Colin Fleming. If ye fear for the lass’s virtue, Colin, I will put her in yer charge. No one can then say that I mistreated her, for ye will guard her vigilantly. The English will nae disbelieve a priest, for the church wipes away all nationalistic boundaries, does it not, little brother?”
“You are a priest?” Arabella said, surprised, looking at the young man in his plaid. There was nothing to distinguish him from any of the other borderers.
“I am, my lady,” was the quiet reply.
“And you arehisbrother?’
“Aye.” Colin Fleming grinned lopsidedly at the tone of her voice.
“Then why do you wear different plaids?” Arabella asked pointedly.
“Because I am a Fleming, my Lady Arabella, while my eldest brother is a Stewart.”
“Eldest brother? There are more of you?”
The young priest chuckled, a warm sound filled with genuine humor. “I am the youngest. The others are Gavin and Donald Fleming, and we have a little sister near to your age as well.”
“You are the children of your mother’s second marriage?” If she was going to be forced to remain in Scotland for any length of time, and it appeared that she was, Arabella thought it would be best to sort out the family relationships at the start.
“We are the children of our mother’sonlymarriage, my lady,” Colin Fleming said, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “Tavis’ father was King James II, our mother’s distant cousin. The Stewarts are a close and loving family, as those of us who are not Stewarts well know.”
“You’re a bastard?”It was out before she could stop herself.
The earl, however, laughed.“A royal bastard,lass, which makes all the difference in the world here in Scotland. The Stewarts, a loving clan, as Colin points out, are gracious wi’ their favors. When my mother’s only brother died wi’ out legitimate heirs of his own, my father made me my maternal grandfather’s heir, which is how I came into my earldom.”
“Then you are King James III’s half brother,” Arabella said, astounded.
“Aye, though Jemmie be my elder by some six years; and in answer to that unspoken question I see quivering on yer lips, my half brother and I are on the most cordial of terms. I barely remember my father, however, as he managed to get himself killed before my third birthday,” the earl told her, and again there was a hint of laughter in his voice. “Jemmie’s mother, Queen Mary, was a kind and devout lady who never held my birth against me, and who was always a friend to my own mother, who, though she loved the king, was somewhat embarrassed to find herselfenceintewith his child. She had the good sense not to flaunt herself at court, but rather asked the queen’s pardon, and thereby gained her undying friendship.”
Seeing her shock, Colin Fleming spoke up in an attempt to turn the subject away. Lady Arabella Grey had obviously lived a most sheltered life. “Ye’ll be quite safe and comfortable at Dunmor, my lady,” he told her. “‘Tis a fine castle, and our mother lives nearby.”
“She dinna need cosseting, little brother,” the earl said, chuckling. “She’s a wee spitfire, our little English captive, are ye not, lassie?”
“Go to hell, my lord,” Arabella snapped angrily. She was tired, sore, and hungry. “I despise you for what you have done to me this day!”
“Lassie, I’ve done little to ye but save ye from a bad marriage,” Tavis Stewart replied. “Ye owe me yer thanks, nae yer anger.”
“You expect gratitude from me? You are daft, my lord!” Arabella said angrily.
Tavis Stewart said nothing further on the matter. The girl was young and inexperienced. She obviously had no knowledge of the vicious beast Sir Jasper Keane really was. Some day she would realize that she had been fortunate to escape him, but for now the earl knew he was wise to place her in his priestly brother’s charge. Arabella Grey would remain his honored captive until Sir Jasper either accepted his challenge or Jemmie Stewart ordered her returned to her family for an appropriate remuneration to be paid both to himself and to the Hamiltons in the matter of Mistress Eufemia Hamilton’s death. There would be time enough to kill the Englishman, for he was unlikely to change his ways, and would eventually find himself another border mistress. When he did, the Earl of Dunmor would know, and he would trap the English fox that he might send him to eternal damnation.
Arabella had let her gaze wander to Dunmor Castle. It was not as big a castle as Middleham and other large fortresses she had seen when she and her mother had gone south almost two years ago. It was certainly larger than Greyfaire, and from the weathered darkening of its stone, which was covered with gray-green lichen, it was surely as old as Greyfaire. It was a squared building with four towers, one at each corner of the structure. Upon the crenellated tops of the walls she could see men-at-arms, alert to any danger, pacing. As they began their climb up the hill upon which Dunmor was perched, Arabella saw that there was also a water moat about the castle.
“Where does the water for the moat come from, Father Colin?” she asked the kilt-clad priest.
“There is an underground spring within the castle courtyard, which is why Dunmor has always been so impregnable to attack, my lady. Tavis’ maternal ancestor cleverly diverted that spring into two streams. One provides freshwater for the castle’s inhabitants, and the other keeps the moat well filled. Since the mouths of both channels are within the castle, neither can be dammed by an enemy.”
The drawbridge to Dunmore lay open to the visitors, for the earl was recognized and expected. They clattered across it into the castle courtyard. There were many open-mouthed stares directed toward the girl with the beautiful, flowing mane of pale gold gossamer hair who sat so regally in her silver gown before the earl upon his saddle. Arabella held her head high and refused to lower her glance. Let them all see how a brave Englishwoman behaved before her captors.
