The Earl of Angus felt another strong cramp gripping his bowels and groaned piteously. “Ye hae poisoned me,” he repeated.
“And again, my lord, I tell you nay,” Arabella replied. “I have merely purged you,” she finished sweetly.
“Purgedme?” In the interval between his belly grips her words penetrated his brain.“Ye purged me?”His words rang with indignation.
“Aye, my lord, I purged ye,” Arabella said. “My mother, may God assoil her sweet soul, taught me that when a man is filled with an unhealthy choler, it is best to purge him of it. You, my lord, needed purging, and so I have done just that. I would suggest, however, my lord, that you make your excuses to their majesties, for you will shortly need the necessary.”
A spasm attesting to the truth of her words passed over the Earl of Angus’ handsome face, which was now dappled with beads of sweat. “Madame,” he gasped, “I would offer ye my sword but that I do nae wear it in the royal presence. I surrender to ye, Arabella Stewart, for I would rather hae ye as a friend than an enemy.” His face grew almost green then, and with a hasty bow to the king and queen, the Earl of Angus fled the room even as it erupted with laughter over his unfortunate plight.
“I dinna think Archie will trouble ye any longer,” the king remarked wryly.
“Nor do I, Sire,” Arabella answered him.
“‘Twas really very naughty of ye, my dear,” the queen chided the Countess of Dunmor mildly.
“It shall not happen again, your majesty,’’ Arabella promised Queen Margaret solemnly.
The queen burst into a fit of the giggles.
“Ahh, Uncle, what fun it must be to be married to my aunt,’’ Prince James said, joining them. “‘Twas a splendid trick, madame!”
“I thought you liked the Earl of Angus,” Arabella remarked to the prince.
“I do,” came the reply, “which is why I know that when he has recovered from the gripes to his bowels, no one will appreciate this jest more than Archibald Douglas himself.”
“‘Tis nae the proper behavior for a Countess of Dunmor,’’ Tavis Stewart grumbled.
“I did not ask to be your wife, my lord,” Arabella said sharply. “‘Twas you, if you will remember, who stole me away from my home and forced me to the altar.”
“Thereby saving ye from Sir Jasper Keane,” Tavis Stewart said, for lack of anything better to say, for he could not deny her words. “Perhaps I should hae left ye to wed wi’ him, for my revenge would hae been complete by now. Ye would hae killed the bastard before a year of wedded bliss had run its course.”
“Then you had best beware, sir, had you not? We have not been wed a year yet,” Arabella mocked him, her eyes narrowing catlike.
He grinned suddenly, feeling the excitement rising between them. “Perhaps I shall kill ye first, lovey,” and his voice became almost a whisper, “for I surely know how.”
She laughed softly, and it was as if they were completely alone. “Aye, my lord,” she agreed with him, “you know well how to bring mea petite morte.”
The passion between them now was almost visible, and the prince felt a stab of serious envy. Though Arabella had made it quite plain she would not betray her husband’s honor, Jamie Stewart’s desire for the Countess of Dunmor had not lessened a whit. He would have her one day, he vowed. He did not know how, but he would have her. Queen Margaret, though she remained silent, was more than aware of her son’s reputation. She saw the lust in her eldest child’s face and was concerned.
“Your majesties,” the Earl of Dunmor said, bowing to his half brother and sister-in-law, “may my wife and I have yer permission to withdraw from the royal presence?”
The king and queen nodded in unison, and as the earl and his countess departed, Margaret of Denmark said, “He is so very much in love with her, I feel almost sorry for him.’’
“Why, Mother?” demanded Prince James.
“No man, or woman for that matter,” the queen said softly, “should love another person so deeply. When ye love that much, ye are more often than not doomed to disappointment because ye make yer lover someone or something he isn’t. Eventually ye realize it, and then ye must come to terms with that disappointment, Jamie.”
“It seems a small price to pay, Mother,” the prince said wisely, “for the pleasure that love brings.”
“I speak of love, my son, but ye speak of something entirely different,’’ the queen told him, and then she ruffled his red hair. “‘Tis not important, laddie mine. Ye’ll go yer own way in any case.”
“Is that nae how it should be, Mother?” he asked her with a smile.
“Aye,” she told him, returning the smile, her eyes straying beyond him to Tavis and Arabella, who were just now departing the Great Hall of Stirling Castle.
“Yer a wicked, wild wench,” the earl told his wife as they hurried to gain their coach. “I hope that Angus does indeed think yer jest a good one, for I dinna need a feud upon my hands right now.”
They entered their vehicle, and no sooner had the door been shut upon them than Arabella slid into his arms, her face raised to his, her lips soft and inviting. “Let’s go back to Dunmor,” she murmured against his mouth, setting the hair upon the back of his neck a-prickle. “I sense winter about to strike us a fierce blow, and I would be happiest locked away from the world with you, my lord.” She kissed him a long, sweet kiss.
