“Rowan says our two youngest sisters, Eba and Annie, have died,” Lona said sadly. “‘Twas the spotting sickness.”
“I must do something,” Arabella said desperately.
“M’lady, you could do nothing about the spotting sickness,” Lona said with perfect logic. “That was God’s will, and as for the canker in the orchard, no one can prevent canker in the fruit trees.”
“Without a Grey,” Arabella said solemnly, “Greyfaire has lost its luck. I must get it back!”
“What must ye get back, sweetheart?” the king demanded, entering Arabella’s bedchamber unannounced.
Lona’s eyes widened with surprise, but she kept her wits about her and curtsied prettily to the king. He grinned mischievously, and taking a small gold ring from his pinkie, dropped it down Lona’s bodice. Lona gave a little shriek of surprise and then blushed scarlet.
The king chuckled and said, “Yer dismissed, lassie,” and gently shoved her out the door, closing it firmly behind Lona before Arabella might protest.
The Countess of Dunmor eyed her sovereign warily. “My lord,” she said coolly, nodding her head in greeting.
“Madame,” he replied, eyeing her dishabille, for Arabella was attired in her petticoats and underbodice. Her beautiful pale gold hair was unbound and spread across the floor by her feet.
There was a long silence between them as Arabella waited for the king to state the purpose of his visit, and finally when he did not, she said, “Why are you here, my lord? You know that my husband is in the north treating with the Gordons on your behalf.”
“Aye, but I have had news from England in response to the request my late father made to King Henry for ye,” James Stewart said. “Henry Tudor is reluctant to return Greyfaire Keep to ye in light of yer marriage to my uncle. Sir Jasper Keane has entreated him for the property, but the English king has not yet made a decision in that direction either. He writes to us that he will consider the possibility of assigning Greyfaire Keep over to Lady Margaret Stewart, daughter of Arabella Grey and Tavis Stewart, provided that he has the final say in a choice of a husband for your daughter. He then goes on to say that though he hae made no decision in the matter, the thought of a minority heiress possessing such a strategic piece of land disturbs him, and he wonders if Sir Jasper might not be a better choice.”
“No.” Arabella’s voice was strangled. “Not Jasper Keane! Never! I will kill him myself before I allow that man to possess Greyfaire!”
“What choice hae ye in the matter, Arabella?” the king said.
“I can go to England!” she cried.“I must!”The Countess of Dunmor began to pace her bedchamber. “If I could but speak with King Henry, I could make him understand the situation. I could tell him of Jasper Keane’s perfidy toward me and toward my poor mother, may God assoil her sweet soul. Surely Henry Tudor is an honorable man, and if I can but gain an audience with him, I can explain it all to him far better than anyone can explain it in a letter.”
“How will ye gain an audience with him?” James Stewart asked, fascinated by her determination. Until this minute he had only seen Arabella in terms of an adorable young woman whom he wished to possess. He was intrigued by this new side of her.
“You will write to King Henry, my lord,” she answered him, “and I will carry the message to him personally.”
“And what will I say, sweetheart?” he asked her, amused.
“You will ask your fellow king to give me an audience,” Arabella said with great simplicity. “He will hardly refuse me when the request comes from his fellow monarch, and I am standing there before him.”
James Stewart burst out laughing. He did not know which amused him more. Her audaciousness or the indignant expression she was now wearing upon her beautiful face.
“Do not dare to laugh at me!” Arabella said angrily, stamping her foot at him. “There is absolutely nothing funny or foolish about my plan.”
“Nay, sweetheart,” the king said, putting his own emotions firmly under control, “there is, indeed, nothing funny or foolish about ye, but what makes ye think I will help ye?”
“But why, my lord, would you refuse me? My daughter is your own cousin, Sire. Having Margaret the heiress of such a strategic place on the English side of the border could hardly be detrimental to Scotland.”
James Stewart crossed the room to where Arabella stood and drew her tightly to his side. Her fragrance assailed his nostrils, making him almost dizzy with his rising desire. “Once, Arabella Stewart, I told ye there would come a day when ye wanted a favor from me. Do ye remember that?”
“A-Aye,” she said softly.
“And do ye remember also the price for that favor, sweetheart?” The king’s hand crept up her torso to cup a small, perfect breast.
Arabella resisted the urge to pull away from him and slap his face. Instead she stood very still and said, “I remember, my lord.”
“And are ye willing to pay the price for my aid, ‘Bella,” he murmured, his lips moving down the side of her neck to her shoulder.
“Please, my lord,” Arabella said. “You are my husband’s nephew, and he is your friend. Surely you would not extract such a price from me.”
“Indeed, madame, I would, for like ye, I am determined to have what I desire, and as ye desire the return of yer home, I desire ye.”
“Is there no other way, my lord?” she pleaded with him. “Is there nothing else I might give you that would satisfy such a debt between us? I love Tavis Stewart.”
