“A week,” he told her.
“You cannot keep such a secret for a week,” she said, tears springing into her light green eyes.
He considered her words and realized that she was correct, though the knowledge annoyed him. It was not a secret that could be long kept. “Three days, then,” he said grudgingly, “but nae here at Linlithgow. I’ve a small hunting lodge in the borders. We’ll go there.”
“No!” she cried. “You are the king. You cannot simply run off tohuntas you did when you were a prince. You will be missed! As king you cannot go alone, and even the loyalist servant will gossip. My identity will become known. Do not pretend you want anything else of me other than my body, my lord, and that being so, are not the nights enough? You must surely know—for the first day we came to Linlithgow, I discovered it—that there is a secret passage from this room leading to another room within the palace.”
“Nay,” he said, surprised. “I didna know. Show me, madame!”
Arabella moved across the bedchamber to the fireplace wall, and pressing a corner of the paneling, she stepped back as a small door swung open. Taking a candlestick from the table, the king stepped through into the passage and moved forward. Within a moment the flickering candle disappeared from sight. She stood awaiting his return, and for the first time since this encounter with James Stewart had begun, Arabella felt herself overwhelmed by a great sadness.
What in the name of God was she doing? She loved her husband. Loved him with every fiber of her being. They had a child, but of course it was really Margaret for whom she was doing this, she told herself. Greyfaire would be inherited by Lady Margaret Stewart, for she would never marry again, Arabella decided. With FitzWalter’s help she would hold the keep for England until the day her daughter married. Then, as Rowena had once planned, she would go to the Dower House to live out her old age. A tear slipped down her face.What was she doing?Angrily she brushed it away, wishing at the same time that she could rid herself of her doubts as easily.
The king popped back into her view and exited the passage saying, “It leads to a small library next to my apartments! I can go there to ‘read’, asking that I not be disturbed, and no one shall know that I am really wi’ ye. ‘Tis perfect!” He grinned, pleased. “I shall come to ye tonight, sweetheart!”
“Nay, you will not, my lord!” she told him. “Not until the archbishop assures me that I have my divorce. I will not lie with you until I do, lest I compromisemyhonor.”
He was disappointed, for the anticipation of possessing this lovely woman for whom he had hungered for so long was great, but he also knew how fragile her state of mind was. She could change that mind at any moment should he press her, and he did not want her to do so. If he felt any guilt at the wrong he was doing to his uncle, James Stewart had not yet begun to contemplate that, for he was driven by but one thing—his need for Arabella. “I understand, madame,” he said gravely, and then bowing formally to her, he left her chambers.
When she was certain that he was gone, Arabella put her head in her hands and wept. Again she was assailed by doubts, by the wisdom, or lack of wisdom, of what she was doing. Was Greyfaire really that important to her? It was naught but a little stone keep on the English side of the border. Dunmor Castle was far grander, and she had grown to love it too. Yet Greyfaire was her ancestral home, and she had been a Grey far longer than she had been a Stewart. If it had been anyone other than Jasper Keane, she might have been able to let it go, but she could not relinquish her hold on Greyfaire thathemight have it. He was not worthy of Greyfaire, that debaucher of women, that murderer of innocents. She had to regain her rights to Greyfaire. She had to regain it for Margaret.
Tavis had sworn to help her, and yet he had not. There was always something that took precedence for him over her problems. It was not that he didn’t care, for Arabella was certain her husband did care, but like most men, he put his own concerns above those of his wife. She had waited four years for him to act in her behalf, and yet he had never been able to find the time to do so. She had gone to King James III herself, and even that had not stirred him to action on her part. She had no other choice. She needed the king’s help, and Jamie would not give it to her unless she gave him her body in return.
Arabella sighed deeply. And when she had regained Greyfaire, what then? A life of loneliness lay before her, for Tavis would certainly never forgive her. He would remarry, and some other woman’s son would be Dunmor’s heir. She could never love another man. Arabella maintained no illusions about the king. James Stewart, as young as he was, had a great appetite for women. If the rumors were true, and she certainly had no reason to doubt them, he was a vigorous and tireless lover. He was, at this moment in time, actively seeking a mistress. She knew should she aspire to the position, it could be hers.
Poor James, Arabella thought. He was not a bad man, but he was certainly a thoughtless one. He had not, she was certain, considered for even the briefest moment Tavis’ feelings should he learn that his nephew had seduced her. Yet he would be a good king, for unlike his late father, James IV was a decisive young man. He saw what he wanted and he took it, as she certainly could attest. The court poet, William Dunbar, had recently written an amusing satire regarding one of the king’s amorous seductions. Jamie was pictured as a fox, while Master Dunbar had portrayed the lady as a lamb.
The fox was neither ragged nor lean,
A lustier reynard was never seen:
He was long tailed and large withal.
The silly ewe-lamb was much too small
to answer “nay” when he said “yea.”
Good luck to her, whatever befall!
She didn’t flee him, strange to say.
The court had laughed for several weeks over the poem, and even the lady involved was able to see the good-natured humor in her predicament. At least there would be no poetry about the king’s seduction of the Countess of Dunmor. With God’s good luck, no one would know.
“M’lady?” Lona was standing by her side. “The king said I might come in, m’lady.” The girl shifted nervously, suddenly more aware than she had ever before been in her life of the differences between herself and her childhood friend.
“Oh, Lona,” Arabella said, looking up, the evidence of tears quite plain upon her face, “do not look so frightened. It’s all right.”
Lona hesitated, and then bravely she said, slipping back into the familiar address of their childhood, “No, it ain’t, ‘Bella. You’ve been crying, and you aren’t one for easy tears. We’ve been friends since the cradle, and I know I’m just your servant, and you’re a fine lady and all, but I know you better than any living, and it ain’t all right. If you don’t want to tell me, then that’s another matter, but don’t tell me it’s all right when I can see it ain’t!”
It was probably the longest speech Lona had made in her entire life. It came from her heart, and Arabella knew that she could confide in Lona without fear. “No, it really isn’t all right, Lona,” she told her servant. “I am going to divorce the earl.”
“What?”Lena’s face registered her total astonishment. “‘Bella, you can’t!”
“I must,” Arabella answered, and then she went on to explain the situation to Lona.
“That’s just plain daft,” Lona said matter-of-factly when her mistress had finished with her explanations. “Listen, m’lady, we’ll just sneak out of Linlithgow tonight, and no one, especially the king, will be the wiser. He don’t dare to pursue you openly.”
“Go to the door, Lona, and open it,” Arabella instructed her servant, and when Lona obeyed, flinging the door wide, she found her way firmly blocked by two guardsmen.
