“How much you all love one another,” he answered her candidly.
“Aye, we do,” Elizabeth agreed with a small smile.
“Which is why you will be obedient to your mother and your uncle’s wishes,” he noted softly.
She nodded.
“Perhaps you will find a husband at King Henry’s court,” he said, and saying it he felt both anger and regret.
“I doubt it, but they will not be satisfied until I am perceived to have made an effort,” Elizabeth responded as softly. “The problem is that none of my sisters’ offspring are suitable as an heir for me, and Mama will not give Friarsgate to one of her Scots sons. She is most adamant that Friarsgate remain an English holding, and as you know, here in the borders the lines between England and Scotland are often blurred and can change.”
“Do you not want love?” he asked her. “Or children of your own?”
“I have never really considered it,” Elizabeth answered candidly. “I was born at Friarsgate, the youngest of my father’s surviving children. No one paid a great deal of attention to me as I grew up. Mama was called back to court. Then she visited her friend Queen Margaret at the Scots court. Then she fell in love and went away with her lover for several months. They were to wed, but he fell ill, and that was the end of it. Then it was back to King Henry’s court with Philippa, who so impressed the queen that she was invited back as a maid of honor when she reached the age of twelve. Then Mama married Logan, who had long pursued her. And always there was Friarsgate to be watched over. I got into the habit of pretending it was my holding when Mama was away, or involved with my sisters, or Logan and my brothers.” She laughed.
“And then at last my opportunity came, for Philippa, who was Mama’s heiress, would not have Friarsgate. But I did want it, and I said so.
“If I marry, Baen, my husband will want to take my authority. I am not of a mind to give it. How could a stranger understand Friarsgate? How could another know what I know? It is not just the sheep; it is the cloth trade as well. A husband would want me to have bairns and keep the house. I have Maybel to oversee all that. It holds no interest for me. Friarsgate would be ruined in a short time. I should rather remain unwed than see all that I love destroyed.”
“Perhaps you will find someone who can love Friarsgate as you do, and learn from you,” he said. “Did not your father come from court? And I have heard it said that he loved Friarsgate dearly.”
“My father was unique. He fell in love with my mother long before it was even considered that he be the one to wed her and protect these lands from invasion. It was a different time when my father came to Friarsgate, Baen. He was a knight who had begun his service in the household of the last king’s uncle as a small child. He understood service and rendered it loyally. Now I am told by my uncle that the court is not only filled with young noblemen seeking to ingratiate themselves with the king, but the wealthy sons of tradesmen as well. A girl with a northern holding would not interest them, and if she did they would not want to come north to husband either me or my lands. And I will live nowhere but Friarsgate, and my mother would not accept any match unless the man agreed to remain here. Nor would I accept a husband who wouldn’t.”
“A man like that might be the perfect mate for you,” Baen said, and he led Elizabeth from the floor, as the music had now ceased. “You would remain here looking after Friarsgate, and he would remain at court seeking advancement.”
“He would return to court thinking himself a rich man to borrow on my lands, and even lose them,” Elizabeth said. “Nay. Whatever fate may have in store for me, it is not to be found at King Henry’s court.”
“But you will go anyway,” he remarked.
“Aye,” Elizabeth said with a great sigh.
“To please your family,” he continued.
“Aye, and to make them stop attempting to force me into a marriage that I neither want nor would be happy with. So I will go, and then I will return, hopefully in time for midsummer,” she finished with a little smile. “I do love our summers!”
“I think you will find a husband,” he told her. “You are very beautiful in this gown, Elizabeth Meredith, and you sparkle when you dance.”
“If you think flattering me will gain you a better price for my sheep, you are mistaken,” she teased him in an effort to cover her discomfort. No one had ever said she was beautiful, or looked into her eyes with such admiration as did Baen MacColl. It was an odd feeling that sent a shiver down her spine.
“Those pink pearls are lovely, daughter,” Rosamund’s voice interrupted them. “I suspect they are a gift from your uncle, are they not?” She came to stand next to them.
“Aye,” Elizabeth said. “Uncle has presented me with lovely jewels for my court visit. Will you come now, Mother, and see them?”
“Indeed,” Rosamund replied, and linking arms with her daughter she led her from the hall. She had been uncomfortable with the way the young Scot was looking at Elizabeth. Surely he had no pretensions in her direction. He certainly knew his place in the world. He was a bastard son. Well loved, that was obvious. But not the sort of man who was suitable for the heiress of Friarsgate. And Elizabeth, unused to suitors, would not understand whether his intentions towards her were honorable or dishonorable. Tom would have to keep a very close watch on her when they were at court. And she would advise Philippa as well of the situation. Philippa had a strong sense of propriety that had increased greatly since her elevation to the peerage. I shall remain here at Friarsgate until Elizabeth leaves for court, Rosamund decided. In my desire to be a good wife to Logan, I have overlooked this youngest daughter of my beloved Owein. She has been such a good chatelaine I have not considered her ignorance where men are concerned. It is a very dangerous gap in her education.
Baen watched them go, and silently chided himself again for speaking to Elizabeth as he very well knew he should not have. And she was too innocent in the ways of men to understand it. But she had been wondrously fair in that pink gown. She was like a perfect rose. An English rose. And he was a Scot, and entirely unsuitable in so many ways for a girl like Elizabeth Meredith. He had seen a look in her mother’s eye that told him she suspected his regard for her daughter, and did not approve. Of course she would not approve. The bastard of the master of Grayhaven was not a proper match for the heiress of Friarsgate. And for the first time in his life, Baen MacColl was ashamed of his birth. And he silently despaired, for he knew he was falling in love with Elizabeth, and it could come to nothing. Nothing at all. He walked back to join the other men.
“Which of the breeds will you purchase?” the laird of Claven’s Carn asked the younger man.
“The Shropshires and the cheviots,” Baen replied.
“You didn’t like the merinos? Their wool is the finest if you are seeking to improve your father’s flocks,” Logan Hepburn said.
“I have not seen the merinos,” Baen answered him. “Until this moment I have never even heard of such a breed.”
“That is because the merinos are not for sale,” Lord Cambridge quickly said. “The first of the flock were imported from Spain several years ago at the behest of the queen. She and my cousin are old friends. It is a small flock, and we have none to spare.” He smiled pleasantly at Baen. “I suspect dear Elizabeth did not bother to show them to you because she could not sell them.”
“Of course,” Baen answered him. “If the sheep are few, but valuable to her, it would be imprudent to sell any. Perhaps in the future when the flock is larger, and she can spare some.”
“Of course,” Thomas Bolton replied, smiling.
“I did not realize I was speaking out of turn,” Logan Hepburn said.
“Not at all, dear boy,” Lord Cambridge assured him.
There was an awkward silence, and then Alexander Hepburn said, “When are we going home, Da? Tomorrow, I hope.”
“Aye, tomorrow will do, lad.” He turned again to Tom Bolton. “Johnnie is watching over the holding. He cannot do a great de
al of damage in the short time we have been here. I am hoping I can get that foolishness over the church out of his head, if he will understand his responsibilities for once.”
“You have five sons, dear boy. If John seeks God, why do you attempt to stop him? I suspect Jeannie would have approved. She was a gentle girl herself,” Thomas Bolton recalled. “Cousin Richard would gladly take him into St. Cuthbert’s.”
“God’s foot, Tom, he’s my firstborn!” Logan exploded.
“And entirely unsuitable to be the next laird of Claven’s Carn,” Lord Cambridge shot back. “Alexander is a far better choice, and you know it. You are just being difficult, dear boy. Having an eldest son who seeks to be a priest is not a slight to your vaunted manhood. What say you, Mata?”
Father Mata, Logan Hepburn’s bastard brother, had been sitting quietly listening to the others. Now he looked at his half brother and said, “Let Johnnie go, Logan. If he seeks the priesthood, let him have it.”
“I don’t want people to say that I pushed my firstborn aside for Rosamund’s sons,” the laird of Claven’s Carn said quietly.
“Those who know us will rejoice in your generosity towards Johnnie. Those who do not will say what they will say,” the priest responded. “You endanger your own immortal soul by keeping from the priesthood a son who seeks it.”
“Will you speak with Prior Richard?” Logan Hepburn finally said.
Father Mata nodded. “As soon as Elizabeth had departed for London, I will go to the abbey and intercede for my nephew. Tell him when you return to Claven’s Carn, Logan, and heal the breach between you as quickly as possible,” he advised.
The laird nodded. “I will,” he said.
The men sat talking for a while longer, and then with Thomas Bolton going first they began to depart the hall for their beds.
In the morning the laird and his sons rode out for their home, while Rosamund remained behind that she might see her daughter off on her own journey. She involved Elizabeth in the packing of her trunks so that her time with Baen MacColl was reduced to almost nothing. She recruited Maybel, and together the two instructed young Nancy in the many aspects of her duties. Nancy had a way with hair, and showed Rosamund the different styles she could do, using Elizabeth as her paradigm.
Only in the evening was Baen MacColl in evidence, and Rosamund was pleased to see he kept his distance while remaining most polite. Obviously the lad did know his place, and she was relieved. Elizabeth could not be allowed to fall in love with an unsuitable man. And the young Scot should not fall in love with her, lest he be driven to foolish actions. Bride stealing was not a thing of the past in the borders between England and Scotland.
And finally the morning of April first dawned. And the day was bright with sun. Elizabeth had hardly been able to sleep the previous night. It was not that she was excited about her impending journey. Indeed, if anything she was fearful, and fear was not an emotion that came readily to her. It made her irritable that her stomach was in an uproar, and that her bowels had emptied three times after she had risen. Her mother was chattering. Maybel and young Nancy were chattering. They sounded like nothing more than the sparrows in the ivy that covered the outside of the house. Elizabeth wanted to scream with her aggravation.
“You are certain the little trunk has everything your mistress will need on the journey?” Rosamund asked Nancy for the tenth time.
“Yes, my lady,” Nancy responded patiently.
“The boar’s-bristle brush for her teeth?”
“Yes, my lady.”
“The woolen stockings?”
“Yes, my lady.”
“An extra flannel petticoat?”
“Yes, my lady.”
“Mama, Nancy has proved most capable. Do not worry,” Elizabeth said. “We have both checked everything several times now. I think we can do no more.”
“Your jewel case?” Rosamund demanded. “Where is your jewel case?”
“In the trunk with my bodices and sleeves,” Elizabeth said. “Mama, you will make me sick if you do not stop. I make this journey to please you and for no other reason. Surely you understand that?”
“You must come back with the hope of a good match, Elizabeth,” her mother said.
“Yes, Mama,” was the response.
“You are just nervous,” Rosamund soothed her daughter.
“I must go out and walk in the meadow,” Elizabeth said suddenly.
“The sun is not even up yet!” Rosamund cried.
“It will be, and I would see it rise today. It will be weeks before I see the sunrise from my own fields again,” Elizabeth answered her, and, turning on her heel, she ran from the chamber. Outside, the air was cool and fresh. The sky above her was clear and light, the hint of the sunrise showing just over the hills. In the meadows surrounding the house the sheep were browsing. Looking at it, Elizabeth began to weep softly. She didn’t want to leave. She wouldn’t leave! She didn’t care if it upset her mother or not. She would not go. Friarsgate was her strength. She needed to be here.
“Get your greeting over and done with, lass,” Baen MacColl’s voice advised her quietly. “Then gather your strength and go forth as you must. You are no coward, Elizabeth Meredith.”
Turning about, Elizabeth threw herself at him, and his arms closed about her. He held her tightly while she sobbed and sobbed. Then, as his big hand smoothed down her blond head in a gesture of comfort, her weeping slowly abated. He said nothing, allowing her the time to regain her dignity and her courage. When she stirred against him he released his embrace. Elizabeth looked up at him, her eyelashes, dark in contrast to her hair, in clumps.
“Thank you,” she said softly. And then, turning, she walked back to the house.
Chapter 4
Lord Cambridge had quite forgotten how long and tedious the trip from Friarsgate south could be. But then Elizabeth’s ingenuousness over so many new sights began to infect him with his old enthusiasm. He remembered the first time he had traveled the route with Elizabeth’s mother, Rosamund, in his charge, and then later her two older daughters. The days began to pass quickly. Suddenly, one afternoon they found themselves riding up the drive to Thomas Bolton’s London house where an elegant female figure was waiting to greet them.
“Well,” Philippa, Countess of Witton, said, looking at her youngest sister, “you certainly look respectable enough, Bessie.”
“You will remember, Philippa, that I am Elizabeth, not Bessie. Not even our mother calls me that any longer.” She shook the dust from her burgundy velvet riding skirts. “Are we to go in? Or do you wish to remain outside so all may partake of our tender reunion? How long has it been now since we have seen each other?”
“Eight years,” Philippa snapped.
“And you are as beautiful as ever, dear girl,” Lord Cambridge said, attempting to ease the tension already building between the sisters. “How do you do it, and yet have those fine children of yours?” He kissed her on both cheeks.
“Uncle, you are ever the scamp,” Philippa replied, but she was smiling. Thomas Bolton was responsible for her happiness, and she could never forget it. She adored him, and she always had. Hopefully he could do something for her youngest sister. It was obvious that Bessie—or Elizabeth, as she now preferred to be called—was still a difficult creature.
“Thank you so much,” Lord Cambridge said as they entered Bolton House, “for meeting us in London, dear girl. I know you meant to entertain us at Brierewode, but I so feared not arriving in time to get down to Greenwich for the May celebrations. Did you bring your little daughter, my pet? Another little girl for me to spoil.” He chuckled.
“Nay, Uncle, you will have to come to Brierewode if you wish to meet this new relation of yours. I did not wish to travel with an infant and her wet nurse,” Philippa replied. “There is so much involved when one travels with children. I am going to Greenwich to enjoy May as well. Hugh Edmund was left at home too. Next year he is to go into Princess Mary’s household as a page,” she said
proudly.
“And will we see the others?” Thomas Bolton asked.
“Oh, yes! We have been so fortunate in obtaining positions for Henry and Owein, Uncle. You know how important these things are if one is to advance within the court. And there is the matter of marriages to be made too. Henry, of course, will succeed his father one day, but it cannot hurt him to be well-known and respected within court circles. His brothers, of course, have not the advantage of his inheritance, which is why it is even more important that they succeed,” Philippa said. “My eldest sons are already perfect little courtiers, Uncle.”
Elizabeth, in a great show of restraint, swallowed her observation of her sister’s ambitions. Children, she believed, belonged at home with their parents. Instead she looked about her. They had been brought into a long hall with windows overlooking the river Thames. It was very beautiful. While she had not wanted to leave Friarsgate, she had to admit that she had enjoyed the trip so far. She had never been any farther than Carlisle, and then only once. The countryside and the towns they had passed through on their way south were a revelation to her. And now London. She had already decided that she didn’t like London.
“My sister is very quiet,” Philippa noted. “I hope this is not her usual manner, for the court prefers lively girls, Uncle, as you well know.”
“I think you will find I am very lively, sister, perhaps even too lively for your tastes,” Elizabeth spoke up, “but I am tired now, and wish to rest. I have also learned that it is better to observe new surroundings and get one’s bearings before leaping into the fray. I am a careful and practical creature, I fear. Do you think I shall find such a man at court to love and wed?” She was baiting Philippa, and Philippa knew it.
“You will not be an easy girl to match, Elizabeth, but we will do our very best, I promise you,” the Countess of Witton answered her sister. “But when I was the Friarsgate heiress there were none who would accept me or my northern estates. Why is it that you have not found a suitable young man near you?”
The Last Heiress Page 8
