“My honor hae been offended by ye, Archibald Douglas, but in turn I hae been well defended by the Countess of Dunmor. I consider this matter closed now. Do ye both understand me?”
Arabella curtsied prettily. “Aye, my liege,” she said, smiling.
“Aye!” the Earl of Angus growled shortly. In truth he was relieved, for the king had actually extricated him from an extremely tricky situation. The damned spitfire had challenged him, laughable as it was, and then he had been totally confused as to how he would answer her. A man certainly couldn’t meet a woman in martial combat, yet how could he have walked away without seeming a coward? He looked at the Earl of Dunmor and muttered, “Ye hae best take a stick to yer countess, Tavis, lest ye one day find her wearing yer kilt.”
The remark stung, but Tavis Stewart smiled engagingly and said, “She would look fetching in a kilt, Angus, for her legs are prettier than ye could imagine.”
His remark had the effect of breaking the tension that had enveloped the room, and there was relieved laughter. The queen nodded to her Irish minstrel, and he began to play a merry tune upon his lute.
“We would beg yer leave to depart, Jemmie,” the Earl of Dunmor said to his half brother, and the king nodded, his dark eyes twinkling.
“Dinna be hard on Arabella,” he said low to Tavis Stewart. “She hae given me the best entertainment I hae had in many a month. I approve her loyalty, but more important, brother, she is as quick-witted as she is quick-tongued. These are nae bad traits, even in a woman.”
Before the earl might answer the king, Arabella quickly said, “If I have offended you, Sire, I beg your pardon. I allowed my dislike for the Earl of Angus to overcome my good sense and my good manners.” Though her words were soft, the Countess of Dunmor did not look in the least contrite.
“I will admit to liking a quieter evening, madame,” the king said, “but ye did gie us a grand amusement.”
“‘Twill nae happen again, Jemmie,” Tavis Stewart said quietly, and with a bow, escorted his wife from the Great Hall of Stirling Castle.
Outside a coach awaited them, for the weather had turned bitterly cold and the riding was harsh. They entered the coach and it moved off down the hill. Arabella sat silently, waiting for her husband to speak. She had not missed the edge in his voice when he had promised the king that she would not have another outburst. The wind blew through the joints of the coach and she shivered, drawing the fur-lined cloak about her.
“Angus is right,” Tavis Stewart said. “I ought to beat ye.”
“You would not!” she answered him, shocked.
“Nay, but I should,” he replied. “God’s bones, madame! Ye speak with fervor against violence upon the border, and then ye most violently assault poor Archibald Douglas wi’ yer fists!”
“He insulted the king!’’
“Jemmie is more than capable of handling Angus and his ilk, lovey. He hae spent his life wi’ men like that.”
“Archibald Douglas is the most arrogant man I have ever met!” Arabella fumed.
“Nay, lovey, he is not,” Tavis Stewart replied. “Oh, he is proud. All the Douglases are proud, but he loves Scotland, and he is loyal.”
“To whom, I wonder?” Arabella said.
“Dinna ever ‘wonder’ that aloud in public,” her husband warned her. “Angus wants what is best for Scotland, Arabella. Nothing more.”
“And what is best for Scotland, my lord? I am not a fool. I know there are those who would set the prince above his father. If civil war should come, Tavis Stewart, who will you support? Your half brother who is king? Or your nephew who will one day be king? What is actually best for Scotland? Another minority? Who will rule then?”
They were hard questions that his wife put to him, and the Earl of Dunmor did not have the answers. There were other considerations as well. England, always a thorn in the paw of the lion in the north, as Scotland was known, was currently undergoing serious dynastic changes. What it would all mean for Scotland was uncertain. Henry Tudor, despite his astounding victory over Richard III at Bosworth, was not yet entirely secure upon the throne he had usurped, despite his recent marriage to Elizabeth of York. The new queen’s brothers were presumed dead, and Henry claimed to have the last Plantagenet heir under lock and key within the Tower.
Still, there had been disquieting rumors from Ireland. It was being said that young Edward Neville, the boy Earl of Warwick, was safely in the custody of the great Earl of Kildare, that the boy in the Tower was an imposter. Gerald Fitzgerald, the eighth Earl of Kildare, was the Lord Deputy of Ireland. A member of the most powerful Anglo-Norman family in Ireland, he controlled more of that land than any other Irishman had controlled since the last great High King, Brian Boru. Would he back the boy in his charge against the new Tudor dynasty? Was that boy in fact the legitimate Earl of Warwick, or an imposter, as some were already claiming? No. England was not yet safe from civil strife.
The Earl of Dunmor could see his elder half brother’s point in the argument. England needed no outside troubles, and it was a good time to make a peace with the English. On the other hand, it could also be a good time to strike out at the English, who, busy with their other difficulties, would be helpless to defend themselves…or would they? Whatever else the English were, they were good fighters, Tavis Stewart allowed with a small grimace.
They remained at court, and Arabella managed not to engage the Earl of Angus in battle, although it was not easy. Archibald Douglas, recovered from his initial shock at being challenged by a woman, suddenly saw the humor in the whole situation and took great delight in teasing the Countess of Dunmor. The entire court watched, eagerly waiting for the next explosion.
“He will not leave me be,” Arabella said to the king one day. “I have promised Tavis that I will not again display my temper before you, Sire, and I am a woman of my word.”
“Ye must think of another way to stop him then, lassie,’’ the king told her. “I am certain if ye think on it, ye will find a way.”
“And your majesty would not object?” Arabella said. “I know that this earl is a powerful man and important to your majesty’s cause.”
The king chuckled. “Angus is loyal to Scotland first, lassie, but that doesna mean he is loyal to me.’’
“But you are Scotland, Sire!” Arabella cried.
