“Would ye nae love me, lass, if I were a humble man?” he asked.
“There is not a humble bone in your body, Tavis Stewart,” she told him bluntly. “It is not within the nature of the Stewarts to be humble, particularly falsely so. A humble man would not have aspired to my hand. Indeed, he would not have even dared to entertain thoughts of me. I love you, and you, by God’s grace, are the Earl of Dunmor. Earls live in fine castles, and that is where we had best hurry lest the drawbridge be raised against us!” Arabella stood up, and putting her skirt on, fastened its tapes even as she slipped into her slippers.
“Honest to a fault,” he said. “Yer nae a woman to dissemble, are ye, lovey?”
“Nay, I am not. A woman who is not honest with her husband is a fool, my lord, as is a husband who is not honest with his wife.” Bending, she picked up his kilts and handed them to him.
The earl dressed himself quickly, and then taking his wife’s hand, they strolled back to the castle; not noticing the men-at-arms guarding Dunmor’s entry, who grinned at each other knowingly as they passed. It was a good summer that year. The harvest looked as if it would be fruitful. There was peace upon the border, and Scotland’s new king was loved by all of his people.
Chapter Fourteen
They had spent Christmas at Dunmor. The Earl and Countess of Dunmor had hosted their entire family, which seemed to be growing by leaps and bounds. Both Ailis and Meg had two children, and Ailis admitted to be ripening with a third already. Donald Fleming had fallen in love at long last. She was the well-loved bastard daughter of the new Earl of Bothwell, Patrick Hepburn, who, upon learning of his child’s warm feelings toward her bluff suitor, had offered her a dowry consisting of a small estate with a fine stone house upon it, and all the coins she might grasp in her two hands from her father’s treasury chest.
The girl, whose name was Ellen, was a clever creature. She coated her hands with glue in order that whatever she touched might stick to them, and rather than being angry with her, Patrick Hepburn was amused that this child of his, so casually begotten upon one of his clansmen’s sisters, should prove so quick-witted. It reflected well upon him, he decided, to have so canny a daughter, but then he had always loved her, for she was a particularly winning girl. The wedding was to be held in the spring, after Easter.
Margery Fleming sat at her son’s highboard looking out over the hall with particular pleasure. Five grandchildren already, a sixth upon the way, and the last of her children to be married shortly, with the hope of more grandchildren to come. She had never felt more at peace in her entire life, or more content, but for one small problem. She turned to Arabella and said hopefully, “Can we hope ye’ll hae a son for Dunmor in the new year, my dear?”
Arabella smiled. “We can always hope,belle mere,” she answered, “but, of course, I also hope for the return of Greyfaire in the new year too.”
“There hae been no word from the English king, then?” Lady Margery asked.
Arabella shook her head in the negative. “Tavis and I are going to court just before Twelfth Night. There may be a message awaiting us that has been overlooked in the transition between King James and his late father, may God assoil Jemmie Stewart’s good soul. I hope so,belle mere! Greyfaire is in a sad state right now. Sir Jasper is with King Henry’s court and has neglected the keep, the village, the land, and my people. Lona’s brother comes over the border every now and then to bring me word, and I send back what encouragement I can and all the coin I can spare. Their harvest was no better than ours last year, and there is hunger at Greyfaire too.”
Lady Margery pondered a moment, but she knew that she must ask. “What if King Henry VII will not return Greyfaire to ye, Arabella?”
“He must!I will go to England if I have to, but I will regain Greyfaire,belle mere, for our Margaret!” Arabella answered her mother-in-law passionately. “Jasper Keane will not have it! Not while I have breath in my body!”
Lady Margery could see that her eldest son’s wife was determined, and she wondered if Tavis realized how determined Arabella really was. She suspected he did not quite understand the young woman’s deep feelings in the matter, and she worried that her son’s lack of comprehension could lead to a serious rift between the two. She decided to speak with Tavis about Arabella’s strong determination regarding the return of Greyfaire, but before she could find the right moment in which to approach her son, the Earl of Dunmor and his countess were off to court. Disappointed, Lady Margery resolved to broach the subject on their return if nothing was resolved by then.
James IV kept a merry court. For lack of a queen, he had asked his aunt, Margaret Stewart, to come to court and oversee the many noble young ladies who were flocking there in search of husbands. Princess Margaret Stewart was a tall, gaunt woman in her mid-thirties, with the long, straight Stewart nose. She had been convent-bred, but was far too independent of nature to become a nun. Her brother, King James III, had invited her to court when she was just past twenty, in hopes of snaring a husband for her before her small beauty failed entirely, but the princess had no wish to marry. She was a well-educated, highly intelligent woman with a passion for music, mathematics, and astrology. She had little patience for her brother’s earls, half of whom could not even speak Scots English, and most of whom were totally ignorant in learning. Although he adored her, her brother was finally relieved to accede to her request to remain a maiden lady, and he installed her in a fine house on Castle Hill in Edinburgh from which she held her own court of sorts.
Now Princess Margaret, in answer to her kingly nephew’s plea, came to Linlithgow, riding upon her white mare and followed by several ox-drawn carts containing her belongings, as well as her train of personal servants. If there was anxiety at her coming amongst the young noblewomen, Margaret Stewart soon dispelled it, for she was a woman of great wit and originality. She might expect proper behavior of the women at court, but she was certainly not a prude. Although she had enjoyed independence and solitude for most of her life, the king’s aunt found she was ready for a change. The young people of the court were fascinated by her, for Margaret Stewart was unique amongst her sex. She was a free woman, and she answered to none regarding her behavior. Still, she was devout and mannerly, for all her intellect.
Her apartments became a gathering place for young and old alike, and her rooms were as interesting as the princess herself was, for they were crammed with all manner of things that she had collected over the years, and many other things which had simply taken her fancy. The “Royal Aunt”, as she was fondly called, seemed not to mind that her quarters were as cluttered and as messy as a magpie’s nest with all her possessions. They were warm, inviting rooms whose very disorder seemed to encourage everyone who entered them to discussion.
Arabella particularly enjoyed being a part of the Royal Aunt’s group, for women were encouraged to speak their minds before her. One afternoon they were discussing a particular point regarding morality when the young Countess of Dunmor spoke up, saying to the gentleman who had been expounding his view, “You infer, sir, that only men need be concerned with honor. Women, also, have honor.”
“I think ye confuse honor wi’ virtue, madame,” came the reply.
“And I think you, sir, are a pompous ass!” Arabella retorted as the room erupted into giggles.
“Gie us an example of a woman’s honor as opposed to virtue, my dear,” said the Princess Margaret.
“Of course, madame,” Arabella said. “My own circumstances are a perfect case in point. I came to Scotland due to an affair of honor between the gentleman King Richard had chosen for me to wed and the Earl of Dunmor. Their quarrel had nothing to do with me, and yet the honor of my family,my honor,was compromised when Tavis Stewart stole me away and wed me. Now my home, Greyfaire, which I inherited upon my father’s death, is in the hands of my enemy. The honor of the Greys of Greyfaire, of whom I am the last surviving member, will continue to have a stain upon it until my home is restored to me. My husband has promised to do this for me.”
“Hah!” scoffed the gentleman Arabella had mocked. “How can a Scotsman reclaim an English border keep? He canna, madame, and what will ye do when he finally admits to ye that he canna?”
“Why, to satisfy honor,” Princess Margaret teased, “the Countess of Dunmor would hae nae choice but to divorce her husband.”
There was more laughter at this solution, and one pretty young woman said pertly, “If ye decide to divorce him, madame, I would be the first to know.”
“Nay,” said another woman. “Tell me! Tavis Stewart is the bonniest gentleman I’ve ever seen.”
“And, I’ve heard,” spoke up a third lady, “a magnificent lover. Is that true, my lady of Dunmor?”
Arabella blushed prettily, but before she could extricate herself from the situation, the princess said with mock severity, “Ladies, ladies! These discussions are meant to be intellectually elevating,” and then she adroitly changed the subject, to Arabella’s great relief.
The Earl and Countess of Dunmor entered into the frivolity of the court. Arabella possessed her soul of patience regarding Greyfaire until the month of April had begun. Neither Tavis nor the king had said anything to her regarding the matter, and it was now close to four years since she had left her home. Rowan FitzWalter had only recently contacted his sister Lona, and Lona had passed on to Arabella the news that Greyfaire was in a sorry state. Sir Jasper had taken all the able-bodied young men with him to court, impressing boys as young as twelve into his military troop, that he might influence the king. Rowan had only escaped because his father, forewarned, had sent him out hunting that day. Half the trees in the orchards had come down with acanker, and if not already dead, were dying. The village and the keep had both suffered from epidemics of white throat, the spotting sickness, and the sweating sickness. There wasn’t a family that had not lost either a child, an elder, or a parent.
