Elizabeth Meredith was a plainspoken girl. She was not interested in a great name or in serving the court. Her passion was for Friarsgate, even more so than her mother’s had been. For Rosamund there had been no choice. Elizabeth, however, had chosen to take on the manor’s many responsibilities. There had to be one man at court to whom a girl like Elizabeth Meredith would seem a great blessing. She was beautiful. She was wealthy. She was intelligent.
And there was the ant in the jam pot. Elizabeth was clever and intuitive. She knew everything there was to know about Friarsgate. She was not going to easily share her autonomy with anyone. Rosamund had been that way, but Owein had understood, and she had gradually shared her rule with him. Elizabeth was a creature of a different stripe. Lord Cambridge sighed. He feared that they had waited too long to find Elizabeth a husband. And if they had, what was to happen to Friarsgate?
The storm was the last one of the winter season. The days were growing longer, and the sun warmer. It melted the snow that had so recently fallen, and the snows beneath it. Sheets of white slid from the roofs, sometimes catching a passerby unawares. The meltoff ran in little runnels off the edges and corners of the barns. The lambs shyly ventured out into the bright day, hiding within the shadows of their mams, but then growing bolder with each passing hour.
“Which breed do you like best?” Elizabeth asked Baen as they walked across the muddy enclosure one afternoon.
“I think the cheviots, although the Shropshires are handsome enough beasts,” he told her.
“I will sell you some of each,” she said. “It cannot hurt your endeavor to have several different breeds to go with your black-faced Highlands.” The mud squished beneath her boots, and Elizabeth sighed.
“Why do they insist you go to court?” he asked suddenly.
“Because it is the place my mother found my father, and my sisters their husbands,” Elizabeth answered him. “My mother was a child when she went, and her match was arranged with my father because it was good for the king. Fortunately my parents adored each other. She had been wed twice previously: at three to a cousin who died of a childhood complaint, and then at six to an elderly knight who taught her how to control her own destiny before he succumbed.”
“Why was she Friarsgate’s heiress?” he inquired.
“Her family perished and she alone was left,” Elizabeth explained.
“And your sisters?”
“Philippa visited the court at ten. She was invited to return at twelve to serve the queen. After that it was all she wanted. Uncle Thomas found her a husband when the boy she thought to wed preferred a churchly life instead. And Banon found her Neville at court. His family had dragged him there to hopefully gain a place in the royal household. Instead he saw Banon, and was lost. She is Uncle Thomas’s heiress, and rules over Otterly like a queen bee. That is why he had been so delighted to winter with me. Banon’s brood of daughters drive him mad.” Elizabeth laughed. “They say I must be wed so that Friarsgate may have another generation of heirs or heiresses. I have no time for a husband, let alone children. But to court I will be dragged, and they will find a husband for me, I fear. My sister, the countess, will already be looking for just the right man,” Elizabeth finished with a grimace.
He laughed, but then he said, “They are right, you know. This is a fine manor that you possess, Elizabeth Meredith, and you love it dearly. But like each generation that lives upon this earth, ours will one day pass away. Then who will care for Friarsgate?”
“I know,” she admitted, “but the thought of having some perfumed fool for a husband does not please me.”
“Are either of your brothers-in-law perfumed fools?” he asked her.
“Nay, but then Crispin manages his own estates, and Philippa is happy to let him do it, for it allows her time at court to see to the future of their children. And Robert Neville is more than content to allow Banon to control Otterly. He prefers hunting and fishing; and Banon makes his life such an easy one I think he has no idea she is wearing his breeks.”
“Is that the kind of man you want?” he said quietly.
“I think I could share Friarsgate with a husband, but he would have to love it as much as I do,” Elizabeth noted thoughtfully. “And he would have to understand that I know my lands, and I know how to buy and sell at no loss to Friarsgate. I do not believe that there is a man like that out there in the world, but I will go to court because it will please my family that I am being cooperative and doing what they want of me. But I will marry no man who cannot share my burden with me, or who wants that burden all for himself,” she said firmly.
“What of love?” he wondered.
“Love?” Elizabeth looked surprised at his query.
“Do you not want to love the man you wed, Elizabeth Meredith?” Baen MacColl asked her. He was leaning against the fence of the sheepfold as he spoke, his gray eyes perusing her face carefully.
“I suppose it would be nice to love the man I wed. My sisters certainly love their husbands, but neither has the responsibilities I do. I must choose the man who will be best for Friarsgate, if indeed there is such a man,” Elizabeth said.
Baen MacColl reached out and took her heart-shaped face in his two big hands. Then, leaning forward, he kissed her lips slowly and tenderly.
Elizabeth’s eyes widened with surprise, and she pulled back. “Why did you do that?” she demanded to know.
“You’ve never been kissed before,” he replied by way of an answer.
“Nay, I haven’t. But you still haven’t answered my question, Baen.”
“It seemed to me at that moment that you needed to be kissed,” he told her. “You are very serious in your devotion to your duty, Elizabeth Meredith. Have you ever in all of your life had fun?”
“Fun is for children,” she answered him.
“You had better learn how to kiss if you are going into society,” he advised.
“And you are volunteering to be my instructor,” she snapped.
“I am told I kiss well, and you obviously have a great deal to learn about kissing,” he said with a grin.
“What’s wrong with the way I kiss?” she insisted upon knowing.
“When I kissed you your lips were just there,” he said. “They did not kiss back or offer me anything other than flesh.”
“Perhaps I didn’t want to be kissed,” she said, blushing to her annoyance.
“All girls want to be kissed.” He chuckled. “Shall we try again?”
“No!”
“You’re afraid,” he taunted her.
“Nay, I’m not!” she insisted. “I simply don’t wish to be seen kissing a virtual stranger in the middle of my sheepfold. What would my shepherds say, Baen MacColl?”
“Of course,” he agreed, to her surprise. “We’ll continue our lessons this evening in the hall, when your uncle has gone to his bed.”
“We will not!” Elizabeth told him. “Like all Scots you are far too bold.”
“If you don’t learn how to kiss properly before you go to court the gentlemen will make fun of you,” he said to her.
“A respectable maid is not experienced in matters of the flesh,” Elizabeth told him primly.
“A lass of your age should know how to kiss,” he said. “If you don’t kiss me in the hall tonight I shall know you are a coward, Elizabeth Meredith.” His gray eyes were serious as they gazed on her.
“Oh, very well!” Elizabeth said impatiently. “But only one more kiss to prove my courage, and then no more,” she told him, turning and hurrying back to the house.
Chapter 3
But after the evening meal had been served, Elizabeth slipped quietly from the hall and went to her bedchamber. She was certainly not going to engage in kissing games with her Scots visitor. He was a bold fellow. Too bold! And his lips on hers, even briefly, had been disturbing. Kissing, it would seem, was an intimate thing, and Elizabeth Meredith was not certain she was ready to share herself with a man. Well, you had better get used to the
idea, the voice in her head said impatiently. No man is going to want a wife who doesn’t kiss and cuddle. She debated returning to the hall, but did not.
Rising earlier than usual the next morning, Elizabeth dressed and hurried down to the hall. But for a few sleepy servants it was empty, but seeing their mistress the servants brought a trencher of hot oat cereal, placing it before her. A goblet of cider was poured. Elizabeth ate slowly, her mind busy with all she had to do today. She sliced cheese from the half-wheel on the table before her, placing it atop a thick, warm slice of bread that she had already buttered. The butter was melting and running down her fingers. She licked them. Finished, she went to sit by the fire for a few minutes before beginning her rounds.
“Coward!”
She jumped at the word whispered in her ear and, turning, found herself looking up at Baen MacColl. Then, before she might react, he kissed her lips, and she gasped with surprise. “Rogue!” she managed to say.
“Soften your mouth, lass, and then kiss me back,” he replied, drawing her up and into the circle of his embrace. “You have lips that were made for kissing, Elizabeth Meredith, and I never could resist sweet lips.”
His mouth descended on hers now with obvious and serious intent. The arms about her tightened. She felt herself relaxing against him, her mouth working against his.
“That’s it, lass,” he encouraged her.
What was she doing? She felt weak and drained of all energy. The pressure of lips on lips was intoxicating. She sighed, and then to her surprise he released her, gently settling her back into her chair again. “How dare you!” Elizabeth managed to say, and she felt a flush coloring her cheeks.
Baen MacColl laughed softly, and knelt before her so he might look into her face. “Did you really hate it?” he asked her, taking her small hand in his big one.
Looking into his gray eyes made her almost giddy. “Well, no, but . . .” Elizabeth began, desperately attempting to gain some measure of control over herself, for she had obviously lost all sense of proportion. The hand holding hers pulsed with warmth.
“Then you enjoyed it,” he replied. The gray eyes twinkled wickedly.
“You had no right to kiss me!” Elizabeth said indignantly. What else was there to say in defense of herself? To her mortification she had kissed him back.
“No, I didn’t,” he answered calmly, “but I did.”
“Do you always do just what you want?” she demanded. Her lips were tingling with the memory of his mouth on hers.
“Nay, I don’t, but I found myself unable to resist you,” he said with absolute and ingenuous charm. “You are very beautiful, Elizabeth Meredith,” Baen told her, reaching up to caress the line of her jaw with the knuckle of his forefinger.
“Was I better this time?” she queried him.
“Much better,” he told her with a grin.
“Good! Then we don’t have to kiss again,” she said in a firm tone. “Now I know how to kiss should the spirit move me to kiss, sir.”
Standing up, he burst out laughing. “Do you think that is all there is to it?”
“What more could there possibly be, sir?”
“There is cuddling,” he murmured seductively.
“Sit down at the board, and the servants will bring you your breakfast, Baen MacColl,” Elizabeth instructed him. “We have much to do this day. As for cuddling, put it from your mind. The kissing was bold enough, and I am no fool. More kissing leads to cuddling, and cuddling leads to coupling. I will not permit my virtue to be tampered with by any man, let alone a villainous Scots Highlander. Send Albert for me when you are ready to ride,” she said, and then, rising from her chair, she left the hall.
Baen MacColl grinned after her, and then sat down at the high board to break his fast. What the hell was the matter with him? Why was he behaving like such a fool? The girl was an heiress, and not for the likes of him. Still, he had wanted to touch her blond hair. It would be soft, and it was clean. She was clean, smelling of clover and freshly scythed grass. He had grown dizzy those few moments he had held her. He dug his spoon into the trencher of hot oats. He had to control himself, he thought grimly.
From his place in the shadows, Thomas Bolton had watched the scene between Elizabeth and Baen play out. He had considered at one point that he might have to intervene, but Elizabeth had obviously been quite capable of managing the randy young Scot without his help. The knowledge pleased Lord Cambridge greatly, for she would undoubtedly be forced to defuse similar situations at court in defense of her honor. He was delighted to find she was not easily flustered by a gentleman’s attention. Not that Baen MacColl was a gentleman. Elizabeth had been right: He was a bold man.
“Good morning, dear boy!” Thomas Bolton pretended to have just entered the hall. “You slept well? I find these quiet winter nights quite conducive to slumber, don’t you?” He waved away a servant. “No! No! I have already eaten.” Then, turning back to the Scot, he asked, “And what plans has my adorable girl for you today, sir?”
“I believe we are to ride out to inspect some flocks in the far meadows,” Baen answered the older man. “Would you ride with us, my lord?”
“God’s boots, dear boy, nay! I know these late-winter days as the spring approaches. The sun may shine warm on one’s back, but the damp cuts into your very bones. Riding in such weather is not for a man of my years,” Lord Cambridge declared vehemently.
“Yet you will ride south in the rain,” Baen MacColl said.
“Do not remind me, dear boy,” Thomas Bolton replied with a shudder. “Only for Rosamund or her daughters would I make what is sure to be a most uncomfortable journey. However, at journey’s end we shall arrive at court for the month of May, which is always delightful. May is the king’s favorite month. Every day is a celebration filled with games and amusements and feasting. We will be at Greenwich, which is beautiful. You have never been south, have you, dear boy?”
“Friarsgate is as far south as I have ever been,” Baen MacColl answered.
“Master MacColl, the mistress has said you are to meet her at the kennels immediately,” Albert said as he came upon the two men.
“The kennels?” Lord Cambridge looked curious.
“Elizabeth has said I am to have one of the Shetland pups. I suppose she wants me to see it,” Baen replied. He arose from the board, bowing to Lord Cambridge. “You will excuse me, my lord.” Then he hurried from the hall.
He found Elizabeth surrounded by several dogs of various lineages, all of whom obviously adored her. She was holding a rather large puppy. It had silky black and white fur. “Do you like him?” she said. “He’s the biggest of Flora’s litter. She’s Tam’s dog, and he has already begun to work with this youngster. What will you name him?”
“I never had a dog of my own,” Baen said slowly. “I think I shall call him Friar, for Friarsgate. The way his head is marked he reminds me of one of those traveling religious, don’t you think?” He reached out and let the pup sniff his hand. Then he patted the dog. “We’re going to be good friends, Friar,” he said.
“We’ll take him with us today,” Elizabeth said. “Come on! The horses should be waiting by now. I gave instructions before I came to the kennels.”
“He’s too little to run with the horses,” Baen protested.
“I know,” Elizabeth said. “You can lay him across your saddle. He has to get used to you, your scent, and the sound of your voice. Tam will continue his training, and when Friar has learned the basics you will join them. He’s going to be your dog, and should obey you first and foremost.”
They rode out, and he again thought how perfectly in tune with her lands and her animals she was. The horses picked their way carefully through the thawing meadows where the ground could be muddy and soft or hard and icy, depending on the angle of the sun. The sheepfolds near the outlying barns were filled with bleating, woolly creatures. Baen decided that he did indeed like the Shropshires and the cheviots best. They were hardy beasts who could easily survive
a Highland winter.
The puppy lying across his saddle before him had at first protested being removed from his mother and his siblings. But he quickly quieted down, and after a few miles closed his warm brown eyes and fell asleep, snoring softly, to Baen’s amusement. In one meadow a small herd of sheep had been allowed to roam free. He and Elizabeth stopped, dismounted, and went to inspect the animals. Friar romped noisily, yapping at their feet, and then suddenly he began to nip at the heels of a ewe, instinctively herding the creature.
“Oh,” Elizabeth said, “he’s going to be very good. He has hardly begun his lessons yet, and look at him.” She laughed as the ewe protested noisily at being forced to move along by the young pup. Kneeling next to the sheep, Elizabeth pushed her fingers into the wool. “See,” she invited him, “how thick her coat is, Baen. When she is sheared, you will gain a nice harvest of wool from a sheep like this.”
He knelt by her side and inspected the sheep’s wool. Their hands touched briefly, and then Elizabeth stood up. “Aye,” he said softly, “I can see she’s a fine beastie.” Then he stood again and, reaching out, picked up the noisy puppy, cradling it in his arms. “Hush, laddie, I can see you will do your duty, and do it well.” He stroked Friar’s head.
Elizabeth turned away, walking to her horse. Her hand seemed to burn where his had touched it. She felt almost faint, and shook her head to clear it as she pulled herself into the saddle again. “It’s growing late, Baen. We have a long ride back to the house,” she told him.
Together they rode back, and when they reached the stables Elizabeth dismounted, and immediately crossed the stable yard towards the house. Baen took the puppy back to the kennels and settled it in with its mother for a good supper. Then he followed after her, but she was already inside and nowhere to be seen when he came into the hall. He found that he was disappointed.
The Last Heiress Page 6
