“Aye,” Margery Fleming said softly. “If he kisses her like his father used to kiss me…” She sighed gustily, her eyes overflowing with memories of a time past.
Lord Fleming had accepted long ago the fact that the father of his wife’s eldest child would always hold a special place in her heart. It was rare she even mentioned King James II. He felt no jealousy, for Margery had not even been his wife then, nor promised to him, and since their marriage she had been faithful and true. “However Tavis kisses, my dear,” he replied quietly, “it is obviously pleasing to Arabella, for she seems loath to cease their pleasant sport. I wonder if we should not emulate our children, Margery,” and Lord Fleming turned his wife about, giving her a warmly passionate kiss.
“Ohh, Ian!” she cried, blushing rosily with delight. “How naughty ye are!”
“Why should the young hae all the fun?” he demanded.
“I dinna ever say they should,” she replied coyly, and taking his hand in hers, Lady Fleming led her husband into her bedchamber, smiling.
Chapter Seven
Rowena Keane lay writhing with the agony of her birth pangs. She did not remember the process ever taking so long or being so painful. Her travail had begun two days ago, and now on the night of November thirtieth she knew that both her life and her labor were fast coming to an end. Father Anselm, bless him, had remained by her side for all these many hours. She had already made her full confession and received absolution. She had but two regrets. That she would not live to see her daughter again to tell her how much she loved her, and to beg Arabella’s forgiveness; and the fact that she would not live to raise this new child, if in fact the child should live.
Arabella.Her beloved daughter. How angry Jasper had been when he learned that the girl was alive, and the wife of the Earl of Dunmor. It was said that the Scotsman had stolen Jasper Keane’s bride with the express purpose of replacing his own, who had been murdered by Sir Jasper himself. Rowena was no longer surprised by anything that was said about her husband, and gossip, if nothing else, had a way of finding its way to Greyfaire. She had wanted to communicate with Arabella, but Jasper had forbidden the priest to write to the girl. Scotland was the enemy, he said pompously. The wench had made her bed, and now must lie in it, and if she regretted it, which she certainly must, that was unfortunate. There would be no sympathy or succor for her at Greyfaire or from any of Greyfaire’s inhabitants. It astounded Rowena, simple as she was, that Jasper could so easily forget that poor Arabella was in Scotland because of his actions, and through no fault of her own. Still, now as she felt her life’s force ebbing away with her effort to birth her child, Rowena knew she could not leave this earth without warning Arabella of the danger involved in treating with Sir Jasper Keane. It was surely too late to ask for her daughter’s forgiveness.
“Tell…Arabella…” she ground out painfully, trying to form her thoughts, but distracted by another contraction. Still she would not be denied, for this was too important. “Tell Arabella…not to trust Jasper…for he is…evil!” she gasped, triumphant in her small success.
“Lady, there is nothing I shall withhold from Greyfaire’s rightful mistress,” the priest assured her, “and none here with us now will deny you your dying wishes either,” he concluded sternly, his glance taking in Elsbeth and the village midwife.
Elsbeth burst into tears and knelt by her mistress’s bedside, half sobbing. “I’ll be faithful, m’lady, I swear it!” she promised.
The priest nodded, satisfied. The midwife, he knew, would say nothing, for like others who belonged to Greyfaire, she was unhappy with Sir Jasper Keane’s tenure but helpless to do anything about it. Her silence was a small blow against this false lord. Elsbeth, however, was a different matter. Three months earlier she had delivered a healthy son whose father would not marry her in order to give the boy a name. Elsbeth had been devastated, for she had firmly believed that Seger would wed with her. Her devastation turned to anger when she learned that her lover had a wife, or so he claimed, in the vicinity of Northby. He also had several other children, Elsbeth consequently learned to her mortification, by several other women. She believed him when he told her these things, for already he had turned his attentions to another of Greyfaire’s gullible young girls. Still, there was always the chance, the priest thought, that in order to curry favor with her former lover, Elsbeth might reveal the secrets of the birthing chamber.
“If you betray the Lady Rowena, girl,” he warned Elsbeth, “I’ll deny you the sacraments, and your family as well. Remember what misery and shame your illicit passion has brought you…and brought this poor lady as well,” he finished, lowering his voice at his last thought.
“The child is being born now,” the midwife said dourly.
A feeble cry sounded, and the priest crossed himself in thanksgiving for the birth.
“’Tis a wee boy,” the midwife said, “but he’ll not live long, for he already has the look of death about him.”
“Thank…God!” Rowena Keane whispered, and they all understood her meaning.
“Go and fetch Sir Jasper, girl,” Father Anselm ordered Elsbeth. “Say nothing more than his wife has been delivered of a son.”
Elsbeth nodded and fled the room. “Give…him to…me,” Rowena said weakly. The midwife had finished cleaning the baby of the evidence of his hard birth, and now she wrapped the child in swaddling clothes and gave him to his mother.
Rowena weakly cradled her son, her soft blue eyes filling with tears. “Poor baby,” she said low.
The door to the bedchamber was flung rudely open and Jasper Keane strode into the room. “Where is my son?” he demanded loudly. “Give me the boy!” He was half drunk, and stumbled as he came across the room.
Rowena nodded to the midwife, who took the baby from her and handed him to his father.
Jasper Keane looked down at his son’s wizened features for a long moment and then, staring directly at the priest, he asked, “Will he live?”
“I think not, my lord,” Father Anselm replied. “He should be baptized immediately.”
Jasper Keane nodded. “Call him Henry,” he said, handing the baby to Elsbeth.
“What, my lord?” Rowena struggled into a half-seated stance, and with the last of her strength, mocked her husband. “NotRichard,after he who gave you all of this good fortune? Where is your gratitude?”
Sir Jasper walked to his wife’s bedside and looked down at her. “Even with death beginning to lurk within your eyes, sweet Row, you are still a beauty,” he noted. “Nay, the boy will be called Henry that the king knows my loyalty. As for Richard, aye, I owe him a small debt for Greyfaire, but after I have properly mourned you and our Henry, sweet Row, I shall take another wife, and the Greys of Greyfaire will be but a memory, if indeed they are remembered, even as Duke Richard. I intend founding a dynasty. I shall build a large church here in my village upon the site of the church that now stands. You and our son shall have your part in my dynasty, for I shall see you eventually entombed in the family vault there. The first of many,” he finished with a chuckle.
Rowena gave a sharp bark of laughter at these words. “You will end your days…alone, Jasper,” she said, falling back upon her pillows. “All alone…and sooner than later.” Her eyes closed and her breathing grew labored for a time.
Fascinated, Jasper Keane watched his wife in her death throes. As death approached her, Rowena seemed to have more courage and strength than he had ever known her to have. She had always been so meek and pliant. She was certainly the loveliest woman he had ever possessed, and an excellent bed partner. He had to admit to himself that he would miss her, despite her inability to give him a healthy son. Then once again her blue eyes opened, and Jasper Keane felt the blood in his veins freeze and the hair upon the nape of his neck prickle with apprehension.
Rowena stared directly at Jasper Keane and in a hollow voice said, “You will never have Greyfaire, Jasper.” There was a long pause, and finally she continued, “You…are curst!” Then the life fled from her eyes.
