Chapter Fifteen
Arabella Grey came back to Greyfaire almost four years after she had left it. It was April, and her white mare nickered softly as her equine memory was triggered by some familiar sight or scent. They stood on the crest of a hill overlooking the keep, and Arabella suddenly thought that it all looked so forlorn and shabby. Though the day was chilly and the air damp with impending rain, no smoke came from the cottages in the village below. She shivered with a sense of imminent doom.
“You are certain, Rowan, that Sir Jasper is not in residence?” she demanded of FitzWalter’s son for what was probably the sixth time that day.
“Nay, m’lady, he ain’t there. He hasn’t been at Greyfaire in months. If he had come, me dad would have sent word.”
“Let us go down then,” Arabella said, and turning, called to Lona, astride a brown gelding with little Margaret. “Come on, Lona. We’re almost home now.”
They began their descent down the hill even as the first spatterings of rain began to hit them.
“Why is there no smoke from the cottages?” Arabella wondered aloud.
“Most of the old women are in the fields and in the orchard, m’lady, while the old men keep watch on the heights. There ain’t no one home in the cottages. The young ‘uns and their mams are out in the fields too. Sir Jasper sends his man Seger once or twice a year to see if any of the young boys left has growed enough to serve him. We tried to hide our lads at first, but Sir Jasper has a list of all the families he sends with Seger. There ain’t no escaping for most.”
“Yet you are still here, Rowan,” Arabella observed.
“Aye, I am,” Rowan said matter-of-factly. “Me dad told Sir Jasper that as I would take his place one day, I should stay and learn all there was to learn about defending Greyfaire. Sir Jasper laughed and replied that he would not argue with my father over one lad, for he valued my father’s loyalty and needed him to defend Greyfaire in his absence. So I don’t have to hide anymore when Seger comes, m’lady.”
Arabella nodded. “I wonder how the other mothers feel about you,” she said quietly.
Rowan had the good grace to flush. “It ain’t easy, m’lady,” he admitted. “No girl will walk out with me, for all have brothers forced into Sir Jasper’s service, but my father does need me, m’lady, and in the beginning—before Seger came with his damned list—I was able to hide several lads. They live in a small cave near the village, for they cannot go home lest they be caught, for we never know when Seger will come.”
“And if he comes while I am at Greyfaire?” Arabella wondered aloud.
“We’ll kill him so he’ll carry no tales,” Rowan said bluntly.
“How many lads are in hiding, Rowan?”
“A full dozen, m’lady.”
“Good! I will need them to guard me when I go south to King Henry’s court.”
“You’re going to court, m’lady? Why?” Rowan asked her.
“Because the king must confirm my rights to Greyfaire, as Sir Jasper seeks my lands for himself,” Arabella told him.
“But you are Greyfaire’s mistress, m’lady!” the young man cried. “You are the last of the Greys.”
“That is true, Rowan, but I have been in Scotland these past years while Sir Jasper has had charge of Greyfaire. What can the king know of me but what Sir Jasper has told him? I do not want Greyfaire for myself, but for my daughter. If the king will allow the line of descent to pass to my daughter, then Greyfaire will have a new beginning. I will ask the king to match Margaret with an English husband so there will never be any doubt as to the loyalty of Greyfaire Keep or its people.”
They had come down off the hill as they talked and ridden through the practically deserted village. Now, as they came out again on the road leading to the castle, the Greyfaire folk saw them and came running from the fields, calling out their welcome. Arabella almost wept aloud, for most of the women, all of whom she remembered well, were altered in appearance. Those who had been inclined to plumpness were hollow-cheeked, and those who had been slender were gaunt. The young had become old, and the old frail and birdlike. Still they smiled and cried warm words of welcome to her.
“The mistress is home!”
“God bless you, Lady Arabella!”
“‘Twill be all right now. The rightful lady of the keep is on the land again.”
“Welcome home, m’lady!”
“Greyfaire has its Grey back. Now the luck will come again!”
FitzWalter came from the keep to greet her, kissing her hand, his eyes filled with tears. “So you’re home,” he said with great understatement.
“Aye, I’m home at last, FitzWalter,” she said, and then smiled at them all. “Thank you for your welcome, good people of Greyfaire. Tomorrow at noon you will all come to the hall, and I will tell you of my adventures and of my plans for the future. Now go to your homes, for the rain is falling harder as each minute passes.” Then turning, she entered the keep.
When night had fallen and Margaret had been settled in a warm, dry bed, Arabella Grey sat in her hall and marveled that she had never before realized how poor a place her home was. It was clean, at least, and she knew that she probably had FitzWalter’s wife Rosamund to thank for that. The stone floors were well-swept, and the rushes and sweet herbs were fresh, but other than the highboard and a few chairs, there was nothing of note when one compared it with the Great Hall of Dunmor Castle, or Stirling, or Linlithgow. Arabella’s sharp eye noted that there were several panes of precious glass missing from two of the four windows. The gaping holes had been stuffed with fabric.
