The lady of Greyfaire started south on a bright, late spring day. She was accompanied by fifteen young men-at-arms, including the dozen Rowan had hidden, and three others who had magically appeared from their own self-imposed exile, being somehow overlooked by Seger during one of his early visits. FitzWalter’s blue eyes had twinkled with amusement at the arrival of these young men, but he had said little, arranging instead for them to be fitted for leather breastplates, inquiring politely if they had enough arrows for their longbows, seeing that they had new swords from the smithy.
Fergus MacMichael arrived the morning of their departure, increasing their number to sixteen. As Lona had confided in her parents her love for the young clansman, no further explanation was necessary, although the Scotsman justified his arrival by saying, “I’ve come to keep a watch over the earl’s bairn.”
FitzWalter had nodded solemnly and agreed. “‘Tis good, and you are welcome amongst us, lad.”
As deeply disappointed as Rowan was, not to be going with them, he was filled with pride at being left in charge of Greyfaire Keep. He listened attentively to his father’s last-minute instructions, nodding, but then as FitzWalter turned to mount his horse, Rowan said, “What if Sir Jasper comes?”
“Bar the gate and deny him entry,” Arabella snapped. “He will not put his foot inside my keep again if I have anything to say about it.”
“What if Seger comes, m’lady?”
“Kill him!” Arabella said sharply. “It will take us several weeks to reach the king, traveling as we will be with my child. If Seger came before we reached his majesty, he could get back to Sir Jasper, and I would lose the element of surprise. I cannot afford to be at any more of a disadvantage than I already am.”
“I hope he comes,” Rowan said.
“Pray he doesn’t, lad,” his father replied. “He won’t be alone, and you might have to kill a friend as well.”
“And the Earl of Dunmor?” Rowan asked, hesitant, but aware it was a sticky predicament which he was being left to handle, and wanting to do it right.
“Give him my compliments,” Arabella added dryly, “and cooperate with him in every way, Rowan. When I return, I want to find Greyfaire as I have left it. Intact and beginning to thrive again. He will want but one thing of you. My daughter. Tell him she is with me, and allow him access to the keep that he may be certain you tell him the truth. Above all, Rowan, be respectful of Tavis Stewart. He is a good man.”
They headed south, traveling at a brisk pace, but one that would not needlessly tire little Margaret. The child was quickly becoming spoilt by the doting attention of all the men about her. Each wanted his turn carrying the little girl, and Margaret spent her days moving delightedly from one friend to another, being sung to, cosseted, and given small treats. The weather was good, and Margaret slept soundly through each night, worn with the fresh air and her adventures.
FitzWalter had carefully planned their trip so that they might spend most of their nights in the guest houses of the various convents, monasteries, and abbeys along their route. Several nights, however, they were forced to camp in the open. If FitzWalter had ever been south of Middleham Castle, he did not volunteer the information, but Arabella trusted him to get them safely to wherever King Henry and his court were currently in residence.
It was the middle of May when they reached Sheen, where the king had come to hunt and enjoy the fine weather. FitzWalter arranged for Arabella, Lona, and Margaret to stay at a nearby convent, explaining to the Mother Superior that his mistress had traveled almost the entire length of England in order to pledge her fealty to the king and confirm her right to the keep of which she was heiress. She was a widow, FitzWalter told the nun, and had little money, but—and here FitzWalter dug deep into his own doublet, finally withdrawing a silver coin—his mistress wanted the convent to have the little she could spare.
“It is good that your mistress acknowledges God’s might and power over us all,” the Mother Superior said. “Our blessed Lord, Himself, has told us we should not store up treasures for ourselves here on earth, for it is the soul which must be cared for above all else. Your mistress, her orphaned child, and her servant are welcome in this house.”
“You told her I was a widow?”Arabella said, surprised.
“Aye,” he answered calmly.”I could hardly tell her the truth, now could I?”
Lona snickered, but was silenced by a look from her mistress.
“Now that I am here,” Arabella admitted, “I do not know how to go about getting an audience with the king.”
“Ask Mother Mary Bede,” FitzWalter said. “I have an idea she will know. She’s a tough but knowing old bird.”
“You have no connections?” the Mother Superior said, surprised.
“Not with this court,” Arabella replied.
The nun raised a questioning eyebrow and fingered her ebony and silver crucifix thoughtfully. She awaited Arabella’s account.
“My father was a cousin of Queen Elizabeth Woodville’s first husband, and my mother was Queen Anne Neville’s cousin and childhood companion. It was King Richard who arranged my marriage,” Arabella explained, building upon FitzWalter’s lie and mixing it with the actual truth, concluding, “My husband was a Scot, and King James has given me a letter of introduction.”
The nun thought a moment and then said, “It is your father’s connections that will help us here, Lady Grey. The king does not like his mother-in-law—and with good reason, I think—but the queen holds a certain fondness for her surviving parent. My brother, who is a priest, serves as the queen’s confessor. We will apply through him to Queen Elizabeth for an audience. If you are clever, my child—and I think you must be to have undertaken such a journey—then it is the young queen who will aid you. You have much in common, being young mothers. Your royal introduction certainly cannot hurt.”
Several days later it was all arranged. Lady Arabella Grey would be received by Queen Elizabeth the following afternoon at Sheen.
“It could not be better,” FitzWalter said. “It is unlikely the queen even knows Sir Jasper, or will come in contact with him. You’ll be able to plead your case in a sympathetic atmosphere.”
“But will the queen be willing to aid me?” Arabella fretted. “What if she does not like me? Women who are breeding are given to strange fancies, and it is said the queen is with child again.”
“Just be yourself,” FitzWalter counseled. “The queen knows what it is like to be stripped of all she holds dear. She will understand your plight better than most, my lady.”
Arabella dressed carefully for her audience with the queen. She had brought but one gown she deemed suitable. It was of a deep blue silk, rather tight fitting, with a long waist and wide shawl collar which was trimmed in a wide band of silver brocade. The low neckline of the gown revealed the shadowy area between her breasts, but was quite modest by most standards. A modest sheer-white lawn veil was held upon her head by a pretty silver circlet. Her hair beneath was braided and looped up at her temples, giving a square effect. About her waist was a girdle of silver links from which fell a small silver crucifix and a pomander ball. She was the picture of a respectable, widowed noblewoman.
