The Last Heiress (43 page)

Her lovely blond hair was pulled back and twisted into a soft knot affixed with silver hairpins at the nape of her graceful neck. She wore a pearl-trimmed French cap atop her head, and about her neck a rope of large pearls.

“So are you,” he replied. “How lovely you look this morning.”

She colored but then said in a sharp tone, “Do not think you can wheedle me, sir. You deserted me, and came back only because you were dragged. Will you run back to Scotland once the priest has wed us?”

“I will remain by your side always, Elizabeth,” he responded. “And I did not desert you, which you well know. I never made any pretext of remaining at Friarsgate. You knew I had to return to Grayhaven,” he said.

“I was with child!” she cried.

“A fact you were not even aware of at the time,” he countered.

“You could have written to me. I do read and write, as you know.”

“I hate you!” she muttered angrily.

“And I love you,” he told her.

“Master?” Albert was at his side. In his hand was a bouquet made from three sprigs of dried white heather tied with a blue ribbon.

“Thank you,” Baen said. Then, turning to Elizabeth, he handed her the bouquet. “ ’Tis the best we can do. Nothing is yet in bloom. I don’t even know the month now.”

She took his offering, gazing at it, tears coming to her eyes, which she hurriedly blinked back. “ ’Tis April,” she said low. “April fifth.”

“A good month, and a good day for a wedding,” Baen told her.

“Ah, here you are,” Logan Hepburn said, coming into the hall. “I have come to lead you to the church, Elizabeth. With your permission, of course. Rosamund and Tom are waiting for you in the hall,” he said to Baen.

When the bridegroom had departed Elizabeth held out her little bouquet to her stepfather. “I want to hate him,” she said, “and then he goes and finds a way to bring me a bridal posy. How could he, Logan?

How dare he be kind to me? He’s only marrying me because you and Uncle Thomas dragged him back here.”

“He’s marrying you because he loves you, Bessie,” Logan told the girl.

“Don’t call me Bessie!” she sobbed.

He took her by the arm. “Come along, you impossible little shrew.

The priest is waiting. Baen loves you, Elizabeth. Do not be foolish, and do not be so stubborn that you will not admit to be true what you know in your heart is true.” And the laird of Claven’s Carn firmly led her from the hall.

The day was gray and chill as they walked from the house to the little church. The hills were shrouded in a silvery mist. It hung above the waters of the lake like bits of torn, thin pieces of fabric. There was no wind at all, and the lake itself was like dark glass. Reaching the church Logan stopped outside of it to allow Elizabeth to compose herself, for she was still sobbing intermittently.

Finally he asked her, “Are you ready now?”

The girl nodded and swallowed her last sob. Within her the baby turned, and her hand went to her belly in a protective gesture.

Inside the church Rosemund, Lord Cambridge, Maybel, Edmund, Albert, Nancy, and Friar were waiting. The laird of Claven’s Carn led his stepdaughter to her bridegroom and then joined his wife. Father Mata began by offering up the first holy office of the day, which was called prime. When he had concluded the short service he set about to marry the young couple before him. Elizabeth let her gaze wander, looking at the beautiful stained-glass windows her mother had com-missioned for the church. If the day had been a bright one they would have reflected their myriad colors about the stone walls and floor of the small edifice. Baen squeezed her hand gently, and she was drawn back to the service. She realized the ceremony was coming to an end, yet she did not recall giving any responses. But she must have, or the priest would not now be wrapping their hands together with the holy cloth, blessing them, declaring them husband and wife. But he was.

She flushed to think that, while she had been here, she remembered little of her own wedding.

“You may give your wife the kiss of peace,” Father Mata said solemnly.

Baen gently brushed her lips with his own, his hands holding her shoulders as he did so. “Wife,” he said low.

Elizabeth did not answer him. She wasn’t ready for this. Why had she let them force her to the altar? She grew pale and swayed slightly.

His arm went about her.

“Put your hand in mine, Elizabeth,” he said. “You need your breakfast. Our son is hungry. That is all it is.” Then he led her out from the church, and they walked slowly back to the house.

When they had gained the hall again he seated her at the high board, calling to Albert to bring them food immediately. Rosamund came and sat next to her daughter, taking Elizabeth’s cold hand in her own and warming it. Baen put a goblet of cider to her lips, and she drank thirstily, her eyes meeting his, then quickly looking away.

“Mama?” Elizabeth’s usually strong voice quavered.

“You are fine, Bess . . . Elizabeth,” her mother said. “Your bodice is too tight, and you are hungry.” She reached behind the girl to loosen her laces. “There. That should help. A woman in your condition cannot be too fashionable, even on her wedding day.” She smiled at her youngest daughter and stroked her cheek.

Elizabeth nodded, grateful, and drew a long, deep breath. She was beginning to feel warmer again. The sweet cider was settling her belly.

She was appalled at having shown such weakness before Baen. He must never think she was one of those fragile creatures who must be managed for their own good. “I am better now,” she said in her usual strong voice. “Albert, the breakfast. My guests must leave soon if they are to gain their own homes by nightfall.”

The servants dashed into the hall with their platters and bowls.

Trenchers of oat stirabout were placed before each of them. Today the hot oats were dressed with cinnamon and sweet raisins. A platter of eggs poached with a dilled cream sauce was brought, and another of sweet country ham. There was cheese, butter, jam, and newly baked cottage loaves still warm from the ovens. Wine, ale, and cider were offered.

Logan Hepburn raised a toast to his stepdaughter and her husband, wishing them a long life together and many healthy children. Lord Cambridge stood next, raising his goblet to “a task well done.” Even Elizabeth couldn’t help but smile at his remark. Edmund stood, saying he and Maybel had seen Elizabeth born, and were happy they were alive to see her married and soon a mother. But finally the meal was over. It was almost half after eight, and the wedding guests prepared to leave Friarsgate. Elizabeth and Baen walked their guests outside. A light rain had begun to fall.

Lord Cambridge shuddered with his displeasure as he embraced his niece. “My dear girl, he is really quite a beautiful man. Do take good care of him. And make your peace as soon as possible, for your sake and the child’s.” He kissed her on both cheeks, holding her just a moment more against him. Then his amber eyes looked down into her face. “You chose well, Elizabeth, and he was your choice.”

“I wish you weren’t going,” she told him, almost childlike.

“Dearest girl, if I am gone much longer Will will think I have deserted him. No! I must go home. I am not a young man, Elizabeth, though there are few to whom I should admit such a thing. It has been a long, hard winter on your behalf. Now it is up to you.” He kissed her again, this time upon her forehead, and, turning away, mounted his horse. Thomas Bolton was at once surrounded by the Friarsgate men-at-arms who would accompany him in safety over the hills home to Otterly. “Rosamund, my darling girl, adieu. Dear Logan, your companionship was delightful. Baen, take care of the heiress. Now I must leave you all. Farewell! Farewell!” His horse moved away from them, and with his troop about him Lord Cambridge turned eager eyes towards Otterly.

“Darling, I will be back in a few weeks,” Rosamund told her daughter. “By my calculations you should deliver your child in mid-June. I shall return at the end of May. Baen, do not permit her to work too hard now that you are here.”

“I am perfectly capable of managing my lands,” Elizabeth snapped.

“Of course you are,” Rosamund agreed, “but the bairn cannot take the strain of your dashing about now. You must rest until he comes.”

“Like you did?” Elizabeth said candidly.

Rosamund laughed. “Try,” she said, embracing her daughter.

“Listen, if only this once, to your mother, Elizabeth,” Logan Hepburn said. Then he helped his wife into the saddle before climbing upon his own horse. Immediately the Hepburn clansmen joined them.

“Remember,” he told the bride standing by his stirrup, “that he is allowed to beat you, but you may not beat him.”

Elizabeth gasped, and then, realizing he was teasing her, giggled.

“Ah,” Logan said, “that’s better, lass. You’ve been too dour this morning, but I am heartened that you see me off with a smile. Baen, take care of her. God bless you both,” the laird of Claven’s Carn said, and then he signaled his party to move off.

Elizabeth and her bridegroom stood in the doorway of the house and watched for a few minutes as the last of their guests rode off. Inside the hall again Maybel and Edmund joined them. Edmund looked considerably better with the spring than he had in many weeks. But his arm still hung useless by his side.

“Come by the fire,” Elizabeth coaxed them both. “I am sorry to have sent to you so late last night, but Mama insisted the wedding be celebrated early this morning so she might return to Claven’s Carn.

Edmund, my husband will now hold the stewardship of the estate, according to the marriage contract. Will you guide and advise him? I am still the final authority, however,” she reminded them all.

Edmund nodded. “I’ll come tomorrow,” he said.

“No,” Baen told him. “I’ll come to your cottage, if you do not mind.

I would like to ride out to see the flocks, and it is time to count the new lambs.”

Edmund nodded. “You’re always welcome, Baen,” he told the younger man.

Maybel and Elizabeth were speaking in low tones as the men discussed estate matters. After a time Albert came to say the cart was waiting to transport the senior Boltons home to their cottage. The little dwelling was within easy walking distance of the main house, but Edmund was not strong enough to walk it now. The elderly couple departed, wishing the newlyweds happiness.

When they had gone Elizabeth said tartly, “The deed is now done.

We are not nobility to waste our day in celebration. There is work to be completed.”

“I agree,” he told her. “But first we should remove our wedding finery.”

She nodded. “Aye. We have no coin to waste on frills and furbe-lows, sir.”

They walked up the stairs to their bedchambers.

Elizabeth was surprised to find him in the room next to hers. “You are here?” she said. “Who said you might sleep here?”

“Your mother,” he told her, “but if you would prefer I choose another chamber I will do so, Elizabeth.”

She appeared to be considering his words, but then she said, “Nay.

It matters not to me where you lay your head. I ask only one thing of you, Baen. Do not futter your light skirts there. Take them to the barns.”

“Like you took me?” he said wickedly. “And you know well, Elizabeth, that I have had no other Friarsgate woman but you.”

“But you have had other women,” she pressed him.

“Aye. I am ten years your senior, and no monk,” he replied.

“Well, I don’t care if you have other women,” she told him.

“Aye, you do,” he said with a teasing grin. “But I have excellent self-control, wife. Until you are ready to share yourself with me again I shall remain celibate.”

“I will never lie with you again!” she insisted heatedly.

“Aye, you will,” he taunted her. “I love you, Elizabeth Meredith Hay, even if you did use me deliberately to get an heir.”

“Aye, I did!” she told him.

He laughed. “You are a poor liar, wife. You only wanted your pleasure.”

“And you are wasting the morning in argument with me when you should be working,” Elizabeth said. Then she slammed angrily into her chamber to change her garments. She couldn’t wait to get out of her wedding gown. She longed to get into the large, loose garment she had taken to wearing since her belly had burgeoned. It would soon be time for the plowing. The frost was not yet out of the fields, but almost. She needed to decide which fields would be planted with what particular grain. It was good she had learned to rotate her crops, lest the earth be made useless. Nancy silently helped Elizabeth with her clothing. The young tiring woman had learned when to speak and when her mistress was brooding.

“This day is no different from any other,” Elizabeth informed Nancy as the servant, standing behind her, tied the neck of her gown closed. “I’ll be in my library.”

“Yes, mistress,” Nancy replied as Elizabeth hurried from her chamber. She looked about the room. Was the master to sleep in here with his wife? She wasn’t certain, but she decided to change the sheets and freshen the bed nonetheless.

Elizabeth had gone immediately to her library, which served as her workroom. A warm fire burned in the hearth, and the room was quite cozy.
I will sit by the fire for just a few moments,
she thought. Outside, the rain was now falling heavily, and she wished her guests had not been in such a hurry to depart. But it was April, and April was known to be a wet month. She put her feet towards the flames, and felt the soles warming.

She was married. Married to Baen MacColl. Hay, she corrected herself silently. No matter what she had said, Elizabeth was relieved that there would be no question about the legitimacy of the child in her belly. It was the next heir to Friarsgate. Unless, of course, it was an heiress, because Baen was never going to get into her bed again. He had served his purpose, and gained her as a wife for his trouble. Eventually he would realize she was quite serious in her intent not to co-habit with him, and he would take a mistress.

No! He would not! She would not let him. The thought of another woman lying in his strong arms, tasting his heady kisses, sent a wave of jealousy rolling over her. No! If she was to be celibate, then so must he. Despite what he claimed to her, to all who would listen, he had wanted Friarsgate. She was certain of it. How could he not want it?