The Spitfire Page 5

  Rowena Neville Grey had a pretty face. He liked her round and trusting light blue eyes. He particularly liked her full and pouting lips. It was a voluptuous mouth which he did not doubt would be skilled at kissing. Did she have other skills at which her lips were equally as deft? If she did not, he would soon teach her. The thought of that sensual mouth expertly mastering him was almost more than he could bear. He wanted her. He would have her. He had waited long enough. The question of how to persuade Rowena to overcome her scruples was something he must ponder, and then the answer became crystal clear.

  Arabella! His little bride-to-be was the answer. He would threaten to debauch the girl, who was the apple of her mother’s eye, if Lady Rowena did not yield herself to him. The lady, already struggling against her own lustful nature, could surrender herself to him with a clear conscience and the belief that she was protecting her daughter. He almost laughed aloud at his own cleverness. He would accost her this very day, and tonight he would enter her bed, wipe away her few guilty tears, and she would be his for as long as it amused him.

  And suddenly, as if he had called her, she was at his side, smiling hesitantly. “Good morrow, my lord. Was the porridge more to your liking this morning?”

  “Aye,” he answered her. “Where is Arabella? I have not seen her yet today.”

  “She has taken a chill, and I have told her she must remain in her bed this day. It is rare she is ill.”

  “Come,” he said, standing up. “Let us go and see her. I’m certain our company will cheer her up.”

  “My lord, she is in her shift. I do not think it proper that you see her in her shift,” Rowena protested nervously.

  He took her by the shoulders and looked down into her face. He could feel her quivering beneath his fingers, and he smiled a slow smile. “Arabella is to be my wife, sweet Row. Soon enough I will see her both in and out of her shift. There is no lack of propriety here. Will you not be with me?” Then taking her hand, he practically dragged her off to Arabella’s chamber, which was located on the floor above the hall.

  FitzWalter’s young daughter, Lona, sat upon the bed, playing a game with pebbles with Arabella. Looking up at him, they both began to giggle, and Sir Jasper playfully threw himself on the bed between them. Lona shrieked a sound that was almost kittenish, and he reached out to tickle her ribs. Lona squirmed and wiggled, her laughter rising even as Arabella threw herself upon them.

  “No! No! Lona is the most ticklish girl in the world, my lord. Have mercy!” Arabella cried.

  For a moment he ceased his frolic, and then turning his gaze on her, he said, “And are you ticklish, Arabella, ma petite?”

  “Nay!”

  “Liar!” he retorted, and before she might escape him, his fingers reached out to find her.

  “Ohhhhh!” Arabella gasped, laughing wildly, tears coming to her eyes. “Stop! Stop!” And she writhed desperately to escape, her shift riding up to display her naked legs and bottom.

  “Arabella!” Rowena’s voice was shocked, but her shock was more due to the fact that Sir Jasper’s hands seemed to be everyere upon her daughter’s body. They skimmed lightly over her barely-forming breasts, brushed casually over the girl’s belly and lower. “Arabella! Sir Jasper! Stop it this minute. Lona! Get off the bed this instant and pull down your skirts!” She dragged the little girl onto her feet and then reached out for Sir Jasper.

  At the touch of her hand upon his shoulder, he immediately ceased his frolic with Arabella and, turning, looked full into her face as he said, “If our life together is to be so happy, I regret the necessity of our waiting to celebrate this marriage.” He stood up, giving Arabella a pat upon her bottom even as he drew the negligent shift back down to a more respectable level.

  “My lord!” Rowena said angrily. “Arabella is ill and must stay quiet. I cannot allow this outrageous rollicking. Lona! Go to your mother and help her with the laundry.” With a sudden chastened look, Lona curtsied to her mistress and scampered from the room.

  Rowena took her daughter’s rosary beads from the girl’s bedside table, saying as she did so, “Say your beads, Arabella. It will calm you and hopefully restore you to a more obedient spirit.” She handed the rosary to her daughter. “Come, my lord. We will leave Arabella to her meditations.”

  “I wish we were wed now too,” Arabella said defiantly to her mother. “Then I should be my own mistress here at Greyfaire!”

  “Apologize to your mama, ma petite,” Sir Jasper said quietly. “She thinks only of your good.”

  Arabella’s lower lip quivered mutinously, but then she said, “Pardon, Mama.”

  Rowena flew across the room and, bending down, hugged her daughter. “You are forgiven, my darling, but now rest. I know how very much you dislike being ill.” She kissed her child upon herforehead and then led Sir Jasper from the bedchamber. Once again in the keep’s hall, Sir Jasper turned to Rowena and said, “Arabella will be twelve at the end of March, will she not?”

  “Aye, my lord,” Rowena said, giving him a goblet of wine as he stood by the fire.

  “Plenty of girls are married at twelve, lady. I will not truly be master here at Greyfaire until I am your daughter’s husband.”

  “None here have denied you, my lord, and both the king and the queen have said the wedding may not take place until Arabella is fourteen, or more.”

  “But if you asked them to allow the marriage now, I doubt that they would gainsay you,” he said. “I have needs, madame, if I may be blunt with you.”

  “Needs?” For a moment she was puzzled, and then Rowena’s cheeks flamed.

  He shrugged his shoulders. “I am a man, madame. If I do not have a wife with whom to satisfy these needs, I must find another. Sooner or later word of my nocturnal roamings will reach your daughter’s ears. She will be hurt, and she will be angry. Virgins like Arabella, raised gently, do not understand the darker nature of a man. I regret my weakness, sweet Row, but what can I do?”

  “Could you not take a mistress, my lord? Many men do,” she said.

  “Whether I visit one woman or a dozen, my comings and my goings would still be commented upon,” he said. “I can see but one solution. I must wed your daughter in the spring.”

  “No!”

  He saw the agony in her eyes, and suddenly he decided that the idea must come from her own lips and hers alone. “What other choice have I, sweet Row? For months I have kept my desires in check and at bay, but even as winter draws to a close and the sap begins to rise in the trees, so my passions begin to rise once more.”

  Rowena swallowed hard. “My daughter is still a child, my lord, and not yet ready for childbearing.”

  “She can still be a wife in the fullest sense,” he said with meaning.

  “She is not ready for such things, my lord. I fear that you could injure her, though certainly you would not hurt her deliberately, I know. What can I say to you that will convince you not to force this marriage?” Rowena’s pretty face was a mask of motherly concern and fear. She could not help wringing her hands with her worry.

  He took one of those hands, and turning it palm up, planted a kiss upon the fragrant flesh. Then their eyes met, even as he said softly, “What other choice have I, sweet Row?”

  She knew. She knew what she must do to save her child from what would amount to virtual rape. This, then, was to be her punishment for her lustful and wicked thoughts. She would become Sir Jasper Keane’s whore that Arabella might be spared his needs until she was old enough to serve them herself as his wife. So great was Rowena’s shame and her guilt that she could bring herself to say nothing more but one word, “Tonight,” before she turned away from him, pulling her hand from his grasp and walking from the hall.

  The log in the fireplace cracked and collapsed into a heap of orange coals.

  “Masterfully done, my lord,” came the soft hiss of congratulation.

  “You move like a cat, Seger,” Jasper Keane said, never turning. “I never know when you are there, but discretion,
my friend, is called for in this matter. I do not want the heiress running to her royal cousins, lest I lose this plum.”

  “I would not harm your lordship,” Seger replied. “Even I, ignorant wretch that I am, understand the delicacy of the situation. The keep folk love their ladies. It would never do for them to think you were hurting them.”

  “Cleverly said, Seger,” Sir Jasper told his man, “but one day, I think, that clever tongue of yours will be your downfall.”

  “Until that time I but live to serve your lordship,” Seger answered, and Sir Jasper Keane laughed at his boldness. “I have, in anticipation of your lordship’s direction, already seduced the lady Rowena’s personal serving maid, who lives in terror that her mistress discover her loose ways. You need not fear any indiscretion on her part, my lord,” the captain finished with a toothy grin.

  “There is no one like you, Seger,” said his master admiringly.

  “No, my lord,” came the agreeable reply.

  Blessed Mary! How her conscience assailed her, but what else could she do, Rowena thought as she went through the familiar routine of her day. She was only a woman. A helpless woman. Dickon and Anne were so far away, and outside the keep a blizzard was raging, and she simply didn’t know what else she could do. It wasn’t as if she were a virgin. She well knew what it was to have a man impale her on his lance. Henry might have been many years her senior, but he had always been a vigorous lover, and she had enjoyed his attentions. Too much! Did the church not teach that the sole reason for the coupling of a man and a woman was for the procreation of good Christian children? Nothing was said about pleasure, but it was pleasurable, and she had missed it.

  Henry, of course, had been the only man she had ever known. Were men different in their lovemaking? She felt an anticipatory thrill of excitement race down her spine, and she bit her lip with her vexation. She was betraying her own child! What kind of a wretched creature was she that she could look forward to breaking faith with her own daughter? He was so handsome, yet as attracted as she was to him, she would have never allowed him her bed but for their conversation this morning. He had not said it aloud, but she had well understood his meaning. He had intended ravishing Arabella even before their marriage was celebrated, in order to satisfy his manly desires.

  Pray God and His blessed Mother that she could please Sir Jasper Keane, that she could sate his lusts. How else could she protect her child? Surely God would forgive her? She would not, however, confess her indiscretion to dear Father Anselm until Arabella was happily wed. How could he understand the position in which she found herself? He would counsel her to seek grace in prayer, and he would lecture Sir Jasper sternly; but Sir Jasper would not listen, Rowena knew. He would force Arabella to his bed, and it could kill her child to have her innocence breached so soon. No. She would bear this burden silently and alone. Was it not, after all, a woman’s lot to bend like the flowers of the field before a wind?

  Lona had waited until Sir Jasper and Lady Rowena had departed, and then hurried back into Arabella’s bedchamber. “Ahh, ‘Bella,” she sighed gustily, “you are so fortunate! He is the most handsome of men. I shall probably be matched with old Rad’s sniveling grandson, the bag of bones with the long, pointed nose that always drips.”

  “He is beautiful to look upon, I will grant you,” Arabella said, pulling her friend down to sit once more upon the bed. “Yet there is something…”

  “What, you goose? Sir Jasper is perfect, although I will allow that I do not like his captain, Seger,” Lona said.

  “You only say that because Sir Jasper might have given Seger your father’s position,” Arabella returned.

  “Nay,” Lona said, her dark brown braids shaking vigorously, her blue eyes serious. “Seger almost slithers like a snake, and I have seen him with my aunt Elsbeth on several occasions. They were kissing, and once I saw his hand up her skirt, yet in the hall he ignores her. It is as if he does not even know her.”

  “Perhaps I should speak to my mother,” Arabella considered aloud. “After all, your aunt does serve her. Mayhap I will speak to Sir Jasper, for Seger is his man.”

  “I do not think it would be wise, ‘Bella. Perhaps it was nothing more than a quick kiss and a cuddle. Lads and lasses are apt to do such things. Then, too, Sir Jasper might think we feared Seger, which would not reflect well upon my father. My aunt is grown, and if she were having difficulties, she would go to your mother, I am certain, but she will thank neither of us if we interfere and tell tales on her. I should not have spoken to you at all.”

  “Oh, Lona, we are friends, and have been since our infancy,” Arabella reassured the other girl.

  “But you will wed Sir Jasper in two years, ‘Bella, and then you will be the Lady of Greyfaire Keep. You will change, but I will not. I will always be Lona, one of FitzWalter’s lasses.”

  “You will be Lona, the Lady Arabella’s personal maidservant, you goose! You will have every bit as much stature as your mother and father, and you do not have to wed with old Rad’s bony grandson if you do not wish it. As my personal servant and my friend, you will have your pick of the handsomest lads around. I promise you!” Arabella said generously.

  “As long as I don’t have to wed with spindleshanks,” giggled Lona. Then she grew serious again. “Am I really to be your maid, ‘Bella?”

  “Aye, if I say it,” Arabella said, “and I do.”

  “And you really do like Sir Jasper, don’t you?” Lona asked.

  “My cousin, the queen, says that beauty does not always mean goodness in a person,” Arabella said slowly. “I have heard whispers that Sir Jasper is a man for the ladies. They say he cuts quite a swath on both sides of the border.”

  Lena’s blue eyes grew round. “Who told you such a thing?” she demanded indignantly.

  “Is it true?”

  “I would not know, ‘Bella.”

  “But you have heard the rumors too, have you not, Lona?”

  “The old women will gossip, ‘Bella, and they best like to gossip about a handsome man or a pretty woman. Have not most of the men on both sides of the border poached in forbidden waters?”

  “The man I marry must be true to me, Lona. Never did I know my father to stray from my mother’s side, and I will have the same respect from my husband.”

  “You are not wed yet, ‘Bella,” Lona reminded her friend. “Sir Jasper is a grown man and may dally hither and yon before your marriage. You have not the right to chastise him for it, at least not until after you are wed!”

  “If I ever find that he has betrayed me with another, Lona, I shall take a knife and cut his black heart from his chest!” Arabella said fiercely.

  “Has Sir Jasper seen your evil temper yet, ‘Bella?” Lona teased. “Beware, lest you frighten him away!”

  The day seemed to go quickly, and soon it was evening. In her bedchamber with its little corner fireplace, Lady Rowena stepped from her tub to be toweled dry by her maidservant, Elsbeth. In the pier glass, the wedding gift of her late husband, she stared self-consciously at herself with a critical eye. Childbearing had not destroyed her body, for only two of her four children had come to term; a boy they had named Henry, who had not survived his first year, and Arabella, whom she had been carrying when he died. Guiltily she turned her eyes away from the mirror. She was wicked. Wicked!

  “Which gown, m’lady?” Elsbeth inquired.

  “My head aches,” Rowena complained. “I do not think I shall go down to the hall this night. I will get into bed and sleep.”

  “Shall I have Maida mix a potion, m’lady?”

  “Nay. I shall not need it,” Rowena replied. “I have been fretted about Arabella all day, but a night’s sleep should cure me.”

  Elsbeth slipped a simple shift over her mistress’s head, and opening the bed, helped her lady into it, tucking the coverlet about her. “I will bid you a good night then, m’lady,” she said. “When I have had my meal, I shall return.”

  “Wait.” Rowena forced her voice to a
more normal level. “I shall not need you again tonight, Elsbeth. You may sleep at home if you like, or in the hall.”

  “Thank you, m’lady!” Elsbeth was delighted. An evening off meant she might lure Seger into another tryst. She curtsied and hurried from the bedchamber.

  She had a lad, Rowena thought, not fooled. I wonder who he is. It did not matter. She was FitzWalter’s youngest sister-in-law, and he would see that any difficulties were smoothed over so that Elsbeth could have her happiness. But what of my happiness? Rowena thought. Oh, Henry, why did you go and leave me? Did I not beg you not to go off that summer’s morning? I knew you would not come back that day. Somehow I knew. I am all alone, and I must whore in order to protect our child. It is not fair, and it would not have happened if you had but listened to me! A small tear of self-pity rolled down her face.

  Rowena Neville Grey had only vague memories of her parents, Edmund Neville and Catherine Talbot. They had died of plague when she was four, and her paternal grandparents with whom they lived, being elderly, had brought her to the family’s head, Richard Neville, the great Earl of Warwick, to foster. She had been raised by his countess along with his daughters, Isabel and Anne. She had been treated with loving kindness by all but Isabel Neville, who was over-proud and given to meanness. Had Lady Isabel singled Rowena out, it might have been different, but her ill-temper was reserved for none in particular. It was generously spread amongst all her siblings.

  That the great earl, called the Kingmaker by his contemporaries, bothered to find a husband for his unimportant relative and to dower her was a kindness, Rowena knew. She might have spent her life an unpaid servant once she had left her childhood behind and her more important companions had been wed into other great houses. Instead, she had been informed upon her twelfth birthday that she would be married on her thirteenth birthday to Sir Henry Grey, Baron Greyfaire, the holder of a crucially placed keep along the English border with Scotland. Sir Henry needed a wife, and King Edward wished to make friends where he could. His predecessor was somehow managing to give him difficulty even from the Tower of London, where he was imprisoned. King Henry VI had, following his defeat to Edward IV, taken refuge in Scotland, and for over three years until his capture given his former subjects a great deal of trouble. Edward needed his borders secure, and so his sometime ally, the Kingmaker, who had aided him in gaining his throne, supplied the necessary bride in the person of his young relation and ward, for by this time Rowena’s grandparents had died.