“Indeed, Flora, and how do ye know this?” the earl inquired.
“All the common people know it, my lord. Has it nae always been like this?”
Her words gave Tavis Stewart food for thought, and upon reflection he realized the truth of those words. His nephew was almost grown, and if not fully mature, was certainly old enough to be successfully used against his father, though not old enough to rule alone without strong guidance. The Earl of Dunmor knew from where that guidance would come. It would come from Archibald Douglas, from the Homes, from the Hepburns of Hailes and other border families. It would become necessary to choose sides, Tavis Stewart knew, if an attempt was made to overthrow his half brother. And what would he do? He didn’t honestly know at this moment.
He contemplated going after his wife, but then realized chasing after Arabella would make him look foolish, and she had probably considered that very fact when she decided to seek out the king herself. He was angry at her for going, and at the same time he worried about her reception at court. Since his sister-in-law had died, the court had been very much, and quite exclusively, a man’s world. Would Arabella, sheltered and so unversed in such a world, be able to cope?
Arabella, however, by her very inexperience, had contended quite well. She had traveled up to the capital city with only Lona and a troop of her husband’s clansmen for protection in her train. She had gone immediately to Edinburgh Castle and sought an audience with her brother-in-law, who, for lack of anything else to do, was delighted to see a friendly face.
“Arabella, lass,” the king said, beaming at her as she curtsied to him. “Where is my brother? Hae he nae come wi’ ye?”
“Tavis is hunting wolves, my liege,” Arabella said sweetly, “and I have come up to Edinburgh alone to beg a favor of your majesty.”
“I am deeply fond of Tavis Stewart,” the king replied, “and I would nae do anything that would displease him, lass, even for ye. Yer not at odds wi’ him in this matter ye would raise wi’ me, are ye?”
“Nay, Sire,” Arabella said. “My husband and I are in complete agreement regarding this matter, but Tavis feels that we should not disturb your majesty at this time. I, on the other hand, feel that the matter, though important to us, will be such a slight thing in your majesty’s eyes that you cannot possibly be disquieted by it. So I have come to Edinburgh to beg a boon of you, Sire.”
“ Wi’ out yer husband’s knowledge, madame?” the king gently inquired.
“I left him a note, Sire,” Arabella said innocently.
The king burst into guffaws of genuine amusement. In the months since his wife’s death he had not found anything so humorous. “She left him a note,” he cackled, poking his favorite, John Ramsey, the Earl of Bothwell, in the ribs. “Why, I’ll wager even now my brother is spurring his horse for Edinburgh! Hee! Hee!”
“Indeed, my lord,” Ramsey of Balmain replied in a bored tone.
“Well, lassie,” the king finally said, regaining control of his emotions, “what is it that ye want of me?”
“You know the story, Sire, of how my husband abducted me from my home. If the truth be known, I have not been unhappy with my marriage, despite its unorthodox beginnings, but I was, Sire, the heiress of Greyfaire Keep. I am the last of the Greys of Greyfaire, and although Tavis has never complained, I brought him no dowry, for Greyfaire was my dowry. When my lord stole me away, the man I was to have wed married my mother instead. She died in childbed several months later, and now, I am told, this man is petitioning King Henry for possession of Greyfaire Keep. It is neither his right nor his heritage. He is a wicked man.
“I would have my home back, your majesty. Oh, I know I can never again really possess Greyfaire, for I am wed to a Scot and King Henry is no fool to give an English border keep to a Scots earl, but if my daughter Margaret might have Greyfaire, I should rest content. I would allow King Henry to match my child with a bridegroom of his own choosing, and I should send my daughter into that bridegroom’s house to be fostered after her sixth birthday. Greyfaire Keep would then remain in the hands of a descendant of the Greys, which is as it should be, your majesty. Will you not intercede with King Henry for your niece, my lord? Surely he will listen to you, for I am of little importance myself.” Arabella looked up trustingly into the king’s eyes.
“Och, lassie,” Jemmie Stewart replied, “‘tis indeed a slight request in the scheme of the world, but I can see how important it is to ye that ye would come through late winter weather to see me and ask my aid. Of course I will gie ye that aid! King Henry will see the advantage to such a match, even as I do. Having the current King of Scotland’s niece and the future King of Scotland’s first cousin in his power canna be but a pleasant thought to him. I approve of an English marriage. If I can but negotiate a match for myself and my lads, I will regain Berwick back as part of the bargain. What think ye of that, lassie?”
“Ye will surely silence Bell the Cat, my lord, if you do.” Arabella chuckled. “What will he complain about then, I wonder?”
“I’m certain he will think of something,” Ramsey of Balmain interjected sharply. He was dressed in garments striped yellow and black, and Arabella thought how very much the slender man resembled a wasp.
“I think not, my lord,” she replied. “Rather he will be surprised to learn that diplomacy is every bit as successful as war, and far less damaging to both property, not to mention life and limb.” She turned to the king. “You will write to King Henry, my lord?”
“Aye, lassie, I will, and this very day, I promise ye. Where are ye staying?”
“At the house on the High Street, Sire. I will but remain the night, and then I must hurry home, for I have left Maggie with a wet-nurse, and she has never before been without me.”
“Stay wi’in the castle, Arabella, until I hae had my secretary make a copy of the letter I will dictate to him for ye. Then ye may take it back to Dunmor to show my brother that ye didna anger me by yer innocent request. Tell me, lass, is yer bairn named in honor of my own Margaret?”
“Aye, my lord, she is.” Arabella answered simply. Jemmie Stewart nodded silently, and then with a slight wave of his hand, indicated that she might leave him.
Arabella curtsied to the king, and dismissed, backed from the room. In the antechamber she found herself face to face with the prince. He had grown even taller in the months since she had last seen him, and although she knew him to be somewhat younger than she was, he had all the appearance of a grown man now.
His eyes raked her boldly. “Madame, it is good to see ye back at court.” He swept her a bow, catching her small hand up in his and kissing it.
“My lord,” she said politely, and disengaged her hand from his, to his open amusement.
“How long will ye be staying, my lady of Dunmor? I hae missed seeing yer lovely face.”
She ignored the compliment. “I return home tomorrow, my lord.”
“So soon?” His look was one of disappointment, and then he said, “My uncle is nae wi’ ye?”
