The brothers laughed, and then the young laird said, “I hope that ye do not do all of this for Eufemia’s sake, my lord. I loved my sister, but she was nae worthy of ye.”
The earl grimaced. “Ye should hae told me that the day I came to sue for her hand, Rob, but I dinna blame ye. What I have done today is for my lost honor and not yer sister’s, although I will, in the end, avenge her death. Eufemia had great charm when she chose to exhibit it, and I dinna doubt she wrapped ye about her little finger despite yer aching conscience. Ye were but a lad, alone and wi’ out an older head’s guidance. Ye did yer best, and saving yer younger sisters and little brother was a feat worthy of any man.”
By the time Arabella opened her eyes the following morning, Donald Fleming had long since departed Dunmor Castle and crossed the nearby border over into England. Reaching the vicinity of Greyfaire Keep he noticed that despite the fact the day was at least an hour past the sunrise, and that the morning was fair unlike the previous day, the people seemed slow to rise. His disguise as a peddler rendered him fairly safe, and finally spotting a farmwife drawing water from a well in her yard, he stopped.
“Good morrow to ye, madame,” he said cheerfully. “Might I be troubling ye for a wee drink from yer well?”
“You’re a Scot!” the woman accused, looking him up and down with a hostile air.
“Aye, but dinna hold it against me, m’dear,” Donald said winningly. “Me da came from t’other side of the border, ‘tis true, but me ma, God assoil her, was a good lass from York. I’m a peddler by trade, I am, and me mixed blood allows me the freedom to travel both sides of the border with impunity.” Donald Fleming took a bundle off his horse, and opening it, spread the contents out upon the ground before the farmwife’s eyes to show her an array of threads, laces, silk ribbons in all the colors of the rainbow, small metal cooking utensils, and carefully sealed packets of rare spices. “I’m carrying some fine cambric cotton and a few wee bolts of silk, very rare, if yer of a mind, m’dear, but perhaps while yer thinking about it, ye’ll choose a packet of spice for yer kindness in allowing me and me poor beastie to water ourselves.” He smiled broadly, a trustworthy smile that reached all the way to his blue eyes.
The farmwife looked him over again, but the suspicion was gone from her eyes, to be replaced by a frank admiration for Donald Fleming, who was, with his big frame and auburn hair, as handsome a man as she had ever seen. His good looks, coupled with his easy manner, which just bordered on flirting, immediately lulled the farmwife into a sense of security.
“Well,” she said, offering the bucket to the horse and looking up at Donald coyly, “perhaps a little bit of saffron, if you have any to spare.”
“Only for ye, madame,” Donald replied, respectful, but willing to lead the good woman on in order to obtain the information he needed. “‘Tis late,” he noted, handing her a paper packet of the chosen spice, “and yet yer the first person I’ve seen up and about this morning.”
“Aye,” she answered disapprovingly as she pocketed her gift, “the men are probably all still drunk after yesterday.” She offered Donald a dipperful of cool water, which he accepted gratefully, for he was really thirsty. “We had a fierce mite of excitement yesterday, and ‘tis for certain. The young mistress of Greyfaire Keep, a dear little lass, was to have been wed in the morning. She’s related to our King Richard, you know, and ‘twas he who chose her husband. There’s been no man at the keep these last few years since Lord Henry was killed, and the king wanted a man there to defend it, though if you ask me, FitzWalter, the captain, was capable enough. Well! Didn’t those thieving Scots take the very moment our Lady Arabella stepped into the church to be wed to come raiding! Ach! Such a sweet lassie, our little mistress! Tiny like a fairy’s child, with long hair just like thistledown, the very color of a golden summer’s moon and hanging to her little feet. Stole her away, they did, those Scots! Took her right from the church and rode away with her!” The farmwife wiped her eyes with her apron.
“To hold for ransom, no doubt,” Donald said soothingly. “Her bridegroom will get her back when he pays. ‘Tis an old trick, m’dear, stealing the bride. ‘Tis nae the first time ‘tis happened. When yer new lord opens his purse and pays, the lassie will be back quick as a wink, I’m thinking.”
“Our new lord!Humph!” the farmwife sniffed. She obviously viewed the gentleman in question with great disfavor. “A proper villain he turned out to be, though my husband says I must hold my tongue now, for he’s the new master of Greyfaire, and there’s none who will deny him, even FitzWalter, but Father Anselm was shocked right enough, as were the rest of us!”
“Shocked? Over what, m’dear, and who is yer new master?” Donald asked gently.
“Sir Jasper Keane is his name, my lad, and the Scots had no sooner ridden off with our little mistress than this Sir Jasper turned about and forced poor Lady Rowena to the altar, claiming he could not now wed with Lady Arabella, for even if they got her back, she’d be thoroughly dishonored by the Scots! Ohhh, he’s a wicked one!”
“Who is Lady Rowena?” Donald inquired softly, fascinated by this new turn of events.
“Why, she’s Lady Arabella’s mother. ‘Tis a scandal, it is, whatever my husband says!” the farmwife cried indignantly, her two-and-a-half chins quivering with her outrage. “‘Tis said poor Lady Rowena wept all through the wedding ceremony, so distraught was she.”
Donald pretended to be puzzled, and the truth was that he was puzzled. He needed further answers to unspoken questions he now voiced to the farmwife. “How could Sir Jasper wed with this other lady if he was betrothed to yer Lady Arabella? How could yer priest dare to marry to them? The marriage would be invalid under such circumstances as a prior commitment. Why, ‘twas a similiar situation that brought King Richard to the throne instead of his nephews.”
“Sir Jasper was not betrothed to Lady Arabella,” the farm-wife said knowledgeably. “The king sent him to be her husband, but the choice was to be hers, for our dead queen loved the girl and did not want her unhappy should she dislike Sir Jasper. He seemed such a fine gentleman,” the farmwife sobbed, wiping her eyes with her apron, “but now I do not know what will happen to our little mistress.”
“Ach,” Donald sympathized, “‘tis a terrible tale. This Sir Jasper of yers would nae appear to be such a fine gentleman as he pretended. Poor lassie. Well, I must be on me way.” He began packing up his goods.
“I’ll take a bit of black thread,” the farmwife said, now that she had unburdened herself and had a good gossip, “and perhaps a scarlet ribbon for my youngest daughter, who is to be wed come Michaelmas, and I could use a knife for my kitchen, if you’ve one with a good, strong handle.”
Donald dutifully extracted the required items, haggling spiritedly with the farmwife over the price, finally accepting the copper coin, the small cheese, and a newly baked cottage loaf she offered in exchange. Replacing the pack upon his horse, he mounted the animal, and with a broad smile, thanked his hostess again for the water.
“Why don’t you go up the hill to the keep,” she suggested to him helpfully. “The new lord may be in a benevolent mood after his wedding night and might buy some of that silk of yours for Lady Rowena.”
“Perhaps I will, and thank ye for the thought,” Donald answered her, and set his horse in the proper direction. Once out of sight, however, he turned back and circled around, heading for the border. He had considered going to Greyfaire, but then he remembered that he had been in the forefront of his brother’s attack on the church yesterday. He might be recognized by Sir Jasper or one of his retainers. His features were not disguised, and he had nothing with him with which to alter them suitably. Besides, he had more than enough information for his brother. The English fox had outflanked his Scots pursuer once again, and Tavis Stewart was not going to be pleased.
Chapter Five
“Ye’ve been neatly checkmated, Tavis,” said Donald Fleming to his eldest brother as he finished the story of his morning’s adventure. It was early evening, and in the Great Hall of Dunmor Castle the sun sent bright rays of clear light across the stone floor. “Sir Jasper Keane has got Greyfaire Keep in his clutches, and the girl is useless to ye now.”
Seated next to the earl, Arabella’s pale skin grew even paler with her shock. “It is not true!” she whispered hoarsely. “You are lying to me! Jasper could not have wed my mother. ‘Tis absurd!”
“Donald would nae lie to ye, lassie,” Colin Fleming said gently. “He’s a roughneck and bit of a braggart, but he’s nae a liar.” The young priest wished with all his heart that his mother had not returned to Glen Ailean this afternoon, but she had, taking his sister Ailis and Mary Hamilton with her. Tavis would not release Arabella Grey into her custody, for the house at Glen Ailean could not be defended as easily as Dunmor. The earl feared that Sir Jasper would learn of Arabella’s whereabouts, thereby endangering the Flemings. At least he had allowed Meg to remain for Arabella’s company, but still, Colin thought, he would send to his mother for advice.
“I thought he loved me,” Arabella said, puzzled, “at least a little. I thought I loved him, until he proved to be a coward. Greyfaire is mine, not my mother’s. He cannot have Greyfaire by simply marrying my mother. The king will not allow it! Ohh, poor Mama!” Her eyes filled with tears, but whether they were for her own loss or her mother’s plight, Arabella knew not.
“Yer king wanted Greyfaire in a man’s hands,” the priest said with calm logic. “He has many difficulties at this time. If Sir Jasper tells him that ye were stolen by the Scots and killed, that he wed yer mother to protect the king’s border, yer king will believe it. He has nae time right now to check the veracity of Sir Jasper’s words. Yer king will gie Greyfaire to Sir Jasper Keane under the circumstances, and there is naught ye can do, lassie.”
“What will become of me?” Arabella demanded, her voice rising in intensity. “Without Greyfaire I have nothing.I am nothing! ‘Tis my dowry, and all the lands and goods that belong to it are a part of me as well. If Sir Jasper has stolen all that away from me, what will happen to me?” Then suddenly her green eyes flashed furiously and she rounded on the earl. “This is all your doing, you bastard Scot! You have ruined my life with your damned bravado and your prattle about honor!What of my honor!I am sick unto death of my fate being planned by others!” And grabbing up the earl’s dirk, which lay upon the table, for he had been cutting cheese with it, Arabella attacked him.
