Her Ladyship of Dunmor
Chapter Nine
“Tavis! Welcome, man! Welcome!” Scotland’s king stepped across the floor to meet his half brother, enfolding him in a warm embrace. He was a handsome man, with his French mother’s olive skin, dark hair, and fine, dark eyes. Stepping back from his younger but taller brother, he said, “And this wee lassie is yer countess, is she?”
“Aye, Jemmie, she is,” the earl said, and drew his wife proudly forward. “This is Arabella Stewart.”
The Countess of Dunmor curtsied to the king, her deep blue velvet skirts puddling prettily about her as she dipped her knee.
James Stewart took her hand and raised her up, smiling as he did so. “Welcome to ye, my lady of Dunmor. Yer a far lovelier lass than rny brother deserves.”
Arabella blushed prettily. “Thank you, Sire,” she said, “but I find I am most content with the marriage I have made.”
The king chuckled. “Yer outspoken, lass, just like a good Scots woman, for all ye were born and raised on the other side of the border. Come now, for this is nae a formal court, I fear. Ye will want to meet the queen, of course, and my heir, Jamie.’’ He led her to the dais where Queen Margaret sat and made the introductions.
Arabella curtsied again.
“Why, my dear, how fair ye are,” the queen said in kindly tones. “Come and sit by my side that I may know more of ye.”
At the queen’s command a small upholstered stool was brought and set beside the queen’s chair.
“Sit down, my lady of Dunmor,” Margaret of Denmark said, and when Arabella had settled herself, the queen continued. “I was sorry to learn of yer recent sorrow. I know how very sad I was when my mother died. Like you, I was far from home and did not learn of it for several months. I will remember yer mother in the Mass, of course.”
“Thank you, madame,” Arabella said. “I am grateful for your prayers for my mother. When I think of her wed to that awful man, however, I think perhaps it is best she is dead and with my father, who loved her above all women. Besides, Sir Jasper but married her in an attempt to steal Greyfaire from me, but I will not let him do it!”
“Greyfaire is yer childhood home?” the queen inquired.
“Aye, madame, but more important, it is my inheritance, for I am the last of the Greys of Greyfaire. It is my dowry as well. Without it I come to my husband worse off than a shepherd’s daughter. Sir Jasper Keane was chosen as a husband for me by King Richard, who was wed to my mother’s cousin, Anne Neville. King Richard was a good man, but he was not aware of Sir Jasper’s wicked reputation, for from the moment of his ascension to England’s throne, he had all the difficulties he could manage simply in order to retain his ordained place.”
“My husband says he was the best of the Plantagenets,” Queen Margaret remarked, “but continue with yer tale, my lady of Dunmor.”
“There is little more to it, madame. Unbeknownst to King Richard, to me, and to my mother, Sir Jasper Keane had murdered Eufemia Hamilton, who was my lord’s betrothed wife. Tavis desired revenge.’’
The queen’s blue eyes sparkled. “I understood that he kidnapped ye from the church on yer wedding day. Is it true?”
Arabella laughed. “Aye, he did. He arrived just as Father Anselm was beginning the service, and he offered to meet Sir Jasper in single combat. That craven, however, hid behind the priest’s skirts and demanded sanctuary of the church. So Tavis stole me away and wed with me himself two days after. I’d heard by then that Sir Jasper had forced Father Anselm to marry him to my mother even as Tavis rode over the border with me.’’
“She died in childbirth, I understand,” the queen said.
“Aye,” Arabella answered, not certain just how much of the truth the queen actually knew, but in an effort to protect Rowena’s reputation, she said, “My mother was not a good breeder, madame. She lost several children by my father. I am her only surviving offspring.” Arabella’s eyes filled with tears. “I shall never forgive Jasper Keane! It is not, you realize, that I do not believe that Tavis is the better man, for I do; but had Sir Jasper accepted my husband’s challenge, my mother might have been saved from him. If he had beaten Tavis, he would have wed with me. If he had lost, he would have been dead and my mother alive this day!”
The queen, who knew that Rowena Grey had been several months gone with child before her hasty and scandalous marriage, reached out and patted Arabella’s shoulder. Her gallant effort to protect her dead parent, even if her reasoning was faulty, was touching. Queen Margaret approved of her ladyship of Dunmor’s filial loyalty. “I do not attempt to understand God’s will, my dear,” she said, “and oft times I find it difficult to even accept it, but accept it we must as good daughters of Holy Mother Church. Our gracious Lord has given ye a new family, my lady, and with God’s blessing ye will bear children of yer own. They will never take yer mother’s place in yer heart, but ye can best serve her memory by raising them well as she raised ye.’’
“And as ye raised me, little mother!”
“Jamie!”
A tall and extremely handsome boy had joined them. He had a quick and winning smile that reached all the way to his bright blue eyes. His hair, unlike his dark-haired father and his blonde mother, was bright auburn red.
“My lady of Dunmor,” he said, catching Arabella’s hand in his and raising it to his lips, which lingered perhaps a trifle longer than they should have. His eyes held hers in thrall for a moment, and Arabella was shocked by the raw sensuality she saw lurking within their depths. Prince James was a boy, a lad no older than herself, yet his boldness bespoke a man, and a man of far more experience than even she, a married woman, had. Arabella disengaged her hand with as little fuss as she could, but though the boy’s face was a mask of polite charm, those wicked blue eyes told her that he had read her very thoughts.
The queen, however, did not seem to notice, and her tone was almost doting as she said, “Jamie, yer a naughty laddie! Will ye not at least wait for me to properly introduce her ladyship, yer new aunt, to you? Arabella, my dear, this is our eldest son and Scotland’s heir, James, whom we call Jamie. Make yer bow, ye wicked scamp!” his mother scolded lovingly, and when he had, she said, “Jamie, yer uncle Tavis’ bride, Lady Arabella.”
Arabella arose from her stool and curtsied to the future king, blushing furiously as he took the opportunity to look boldly down her bodice.
“Madame,” the prince said in proper tones, “yer presence at my father’s court makes it a far fairer place. Welcome.’’
“I thank you sir,” Arabella said politely.
