“But you promised…” she began, her voice a half sob, her heart plummeting.
“Put not your trust in princes or in any child of man,” the king said. “My mother taught me that. She had it from a priest, she said. I think it a fine motto, but do not look so stricken, madame. Hear me out and all will make sense, I promise. Greyfaire is yours. I would be less than the king I am if I did not uphold your rights in this matter. The papers will be drawn making Lady Margaret Stewart your heiress to the keep. This, however, will not be made public. Instead it will be believed that I have denied you the return of your keep. You have no husband. No home. No place in either Scotland or England. You are an outcast thanks to Henry Tudor, and so you will flee to France to join other exiles at the French court. Who will suspect that you are my eyes and my ears under those circumstances, madame?”
“I have no monies with which to travel,” Arabella said, her practical nature reasserting itself.
“You will be provided for, madame, but not on any lavish scale, mind you. Your genteel poverty, along with your beauty, should aid you in attracting suitors. Associate only with those who are powerful and can aid you with their loose talk.”
“My lord, just what is it you are asking me to do?” Arabella was clearly aware that King Henry was not merely suggesting a simple visit to France.
“Whatever you must, madame, to gain your ends,” the king replied bluntly, his eyes meeting hers and never wavering for a moment. They were hard eyes.
“Do you ask me to whore for you?” she demanded softly.
“No, madame, I ask you to whore for England if you must,” he answered her.
“You are England,” Arabella said quietly.
A slow smile briefly lit the king’s stern features. “So I am, madame, and it is good that you recognize it. I hold the power of life and death over all in this land.”
“For how long must I play this game, your grace?”
“A year at the most. No longer,” he promised her.
“A year!”It sounded more like a hundred years, and she sighed deeply. “My daughter—” she began, but he cut her off.
“Lady Margaret Stewart will remain in England, madame. I will have nothing deterring you in your purpose, and a child would make you vulnerable. She will come to live in the royal nurseries with my son Arthur and the new baby that the queen is to bear in the autumn. She will be quite safe. You cannot send her to Greyfaire, for it will not publicly belong to you any longer. Besides, her father might come galloping over the border seeking her return, madame, and I am certain you do not want that.”
“But how will you explain her presence, your grace?” Arabella asked the king.
“Why, I will say that I have taken pity on the Scots king’s wee niece whose willful mother ran off to France in a vile temper when I refused to grant the silly woman the rights to her family’s keep,” Henry Tudor said with a frosty smile.
“There is no other way?” Arabella said.
“Did you yourself not sayanything,madame?”
“But to take my baby from me,” Arabella cried. “‘Tis cruel!”
“Perhaps,” the king agreed, “but ‘twill guarantee me your good behavior, madame. You are hardly likely to betray me while I hold the life of your daughter in my hands.”
“Should I hear anything of note, your grace, how will I communicate it to you?” Pushing her turbulent emotions aside, Arabella was beginning to think of the difficulties and the dangers involved in what the king was demanding of her.
“Lord Anthony Varden will be your contact, madame. Whatever it is that you hear, you will pass on to Lord Varden. He will see that your news reaches England. You can trust him with your life, madame, but God willing, you will not have to do so. Tony Varden is believed to hate me because of a quarrel between his family and my stepfather’s family. He has lived in France for many years, and he is one of my loyalist friends, though none know it.”
“He must be to have given up his estates and his country for your grace,” Arabella said quietly.
“Tony is a second son,” the king replied. “He was destined for the church, but desired it not. The quarrel between us is entirely fabricated. He was with me in Brittany when we decided to try this ploy against the French. Since it has appeared to work, he has remained in France for several years now. He will be your mentor, madame, telling you whatever it is you will need to know. Trust him.”
“It would seem, Sire, that I have no other choice,” Arabella answered the king.
“You have a choice,” Henry Tudor told her. “You may refuse me, madame, without any fear of my ill will.”
“But if I do, your grace, you will not return Greyfaire to me, will you?”
“Come, madame,” the king replied, not truly answering her question, “why so squeamish? You tell me that you can hold your keep in the event of an attack, and I have accepted your word for it. I treat you as I will wager no man has ever treated you…as an equal. I have returned your home to you, and in return I ask that you serve the crown as any man would serve it.”
“Would you ask a man to whore for you, Sire?” Arabella demanded tartly.
“If necessary, madame, aye! Men and women fight with different weapons, a fact of which I am certain you are well aware. Tony Varden has proved a most valuable spy for England. I cannot be certain that some of his information was not gained in pillow talk. You need not compromise yourself, Lady Grey, if you do not choose to, but a man is more apt to confide in a woman he is enamored of than simply a mere acquaintance. Remember, you go to France to be of use to me.” The king reached over and took her chin in his hand. “You really are beautiful, madame. I think there is much a man might dare for you, and though you blush most becomingly at my words, you are nonetheless a woman grown. You have no maidenhead to protect. If the thought of taking a lover is unpleasant to you, madame, and perhaps that is a side of your nature you find distasteful, swallow your qualms and remember what you do you do for England, for Greyfaire, and for your most grateful king.” He loosed his grip upon her chin and smiled his brief smile.
