“Aye, and perhaps tonight she will come home wi’ me to Dunmor. We made a bargain several months back, and I dinna think she will renege on it.”
“What does she want of ye?” Mary Stewart Hamilton said matter-of-factly.
He grimaced. “She wants her home back, Mary. She wants Greyfaire Keep back in her hands, though she understands she canna live there herself, as she is my wife. She wants it for our eldest daughter, whom she is willing to allow the English king to betroth to someone of his own choosing, but she’ll nae be happy until Sir Jasper Keane is sent packing and Greyfaire is back in her hands again.”
The princess considered a moment, and then she said, “Well, ‘tis the lass’s dowry, Tavis. I can understand her position. Ye’ll simply have to get it back for her, and considering all ye’ve done for Jemmie over the years, he should help ye. When are ye going to court?”
“After Twelfth Night,” he told her.
“Speak to Margaret first,” his sister counseled. “She’ll help ye. Remember the fuss over her dowry?”
“Jemmie was wise to accept the Shetlands and the Orkneys in lieu of King Christian’s gold. The gold would hae been long gone, but those islands will remain forever a part of Scotland,” the earl noted.
“Aye,” his sister told him, “land is better, and understanding that, surely ye understand Arabella’s point wi’ regard to Greyfaire.”
“I ne’er said I dinna understand it, Mary, but I dinna know if I can regain Greyfaire. I will try, and I know that Jemmie will help me, but this whole matter rests upon the whim of an English king. I canna predict what he will do.”
“Surely yer wife understands that,” Princess Mary said.
“Arabella understands only what pleases her, Mary. She’s a fierce spitfire, my wee wife.”
“I nae thought I’d see the day when Tavis Stewart would dance a jig to a little English pipe,” his sister said, and giving him a quick kiss on the cheek, she moved away to join her husband.
Why was it, the earl considered, that all women had the sting of the bee in their power? He could actually feel the smart of irritation his sister’s words had caused him, although he couldn’t quite pinpoint the pain. Then he felt a gentle touch upon his arm, and looking down, saw his wife.
“You look like a thundercloud, my lord,” she said.
“My sister Mary can be waspish,” he said.
“Your mother introduced us earlier, and I found the princess to be most charming,” Arabella said sweetly. “Perhaps she but told you something you did not wish to hear.” She took his hand. “Come, my lord, it is time to put the bride and groom to bed.”
“Yer the only bride I wish to put to bed, madame,” he said low.
“My lord!”She blushed furiously.
“Ye promised, lass. Ye said ye would come home wi’ me to Dunmor after Rob and Ailis were wed.” His dark eyes held her prisoner, and Arabella, half frightened, turned away as if she would flee him. His hands fell upon her shoulders and he drew her back against him, his lips brushing softly against her hair. “Lassie, I want ye,” he crooned.
“What of love?” she whispered. Her heart was hammering and she was finding it difficult to breathe.
“Damn, lass, can ye nae see that I’ve fallen in love wi’ ye? I spend more time here than I do at Dunmor just to be wi’ ye. There are those who would laugh themselves to tears to see Tavis Stewart, the Earl of Dunmor, holding embroidery threads between his two hands that his wife might wind them. Only a man in love is that foolish.”
She laughed softly. “You have been most patient about my threads, my lord.”
“I hae been most patient about everything, lassie,” he answered her, his words heavy with meaning.
“I am afraid,” she said quietly.
“Aye, most maidens are,” he acknowledged.
“Your mother told Ailis there is pain,” Arabella said.
“The first time, when the maidenhead is pierced,” he agreed, “but yer a brave lass, I know, and ye can swallow yer fear.” His hands slipped down to encircle her waist, and his lips pressed soft kisses along the side of her face. One hand moved up to cup her right breast.
“My lord!” she gasped softly. “The others will see!”
His fingers gently crushed her breast a moment, and he murmured softly in her ear, “What matter, lass? They will simply say that the Earl of Dunmor is mad wi’ love for his beautiful little wife.”
For a brief moment Arabella closed her eyes and allowed the delicious sensations her husband’s proximity was giving her to engulf her entire being. “I do not know if I love you,” she finally managed to say, her lips and her brain somehow coordinating the words together.
