The Last Heiress

by Bertrice Small

  “And became a countess,” Lord Cambridge murmured.

  “Elizabeth will never be a countess,” Rosamund said with a small smile, “but she loves this Scot, and he her. Yet she says she will not have him. Her belly grows bigger each day, and she rages that he left her for his father, and she will not have him back. Well, I will not have it, Tom! She will wed Baen MacColl, and the next heir to Friarsgate will be legitimate and carry its father’s name.”

  “I agree, darling girl. I agree fully with you,” Lord Cambridge said. “And while I am delighted to see you, this is a dreadful time of year to travel. Could you not just have written all of this to me?”

  “I need your help, Tom,” Rosamund said softly.

  “Dearest cousin,” he began, “you know I will do anything for you.”

  Rosamund smiled archly at him. “Anything?” she purred.

  “Of course! Any . . .” A look similar to that of a trapped animal suddenly appeared upon his face. “Rosamund,” he quavered.

  “I need you to go to Scotland, Tom,” she said. “We must leave tomorrow.”

  “Scotland? At this time of year?” he croaked. “It is cold, cousin. Scotland? It will snow, and I shall be frozen to death.”

  “You cannot freeze to death until you and Logan reach Grayhaven. If I send Logan alone to speak with the master of Grayhaven he will surely lose his temper and quarrel with the man. We need Colin Hay’s complete understanding and cooperation, Tom. Logan adores Elizabeth. When he learns of her condition he will be ready to start a feud between the Hepburns and the Hays. And her attitude will only encourage him to mayhem. You must travel with my husband and see that Baen MacColl is brought back to marry my daughter. Logan cannot do this alone. He needs you. I need you. Elizabeth needs you. Besides, you were there when she began her affair with the Scot. Do not tell me you did not know what she was doing! Elizabeth is not a subtle girl.”

  “My dear Rosamund, surely you aren’t blaming me for Elizabeth’s naughty behavior?” Lord Cambridge looked just slightly offended. “Your daughters, as you well know, are most strong-willed girls.”

  Rosamund chuckled. “You did not answer my question, Tom,” she said.

  “You must accept part of the blame for this yourself, darling girl,” he countered. “Did you not approve of Baen MacColl? Yet you did not share with Elizabeth the secret you possess for avoiding . . . er . . . um . . . the complications of one’s naughty behavior.”

  Rosamund shook her head. “Nay, I did not. I did not believe she would bed him before marriage, Tom. If I had I should have given her the secret. Aye, I am equally to blame, but you are too!”

  “We have both been too anxious to see Elizabeth happy at last,” he admitted. “And, darling girl, she is so very happy when she is in the company of her Scot.”

  “Then you will go,” Rosamund said, “and promise to never rue the day we were reunited as a family, Tom.”

  He laughed aloud. “Darling girl, I can barely remember the time when we were not together, nor do I wish to remember it. We have loved each other from the moment we met, and I regret naught of our time together. Aye, I will go. I will travel north, in the company of that handsome husband of yours and his brawny clansmen, through the foul winter weather. We will bring back Master MacColl to stand in Friarsgate Church before Father Mata, with Elizabeth by his side, to be united in matrimony. But I must tell you that I thank heavens Elizabeth is the last of your daughters, darling girl! I do not believe I have many more adventures left in me,” he concluded with a gusty sigh.

  She laughed and blew him a kiss. “Thank you, Tom.”

  “Are you hungry?” he asked her. “Of course you are. You have ridden the day long. Will, shall we show my cousin the secret of entering the main house?” Lord Cambridge chuckled. “I usually join Banon and her family for the evening meal.”

  “I believe that Lady Rosamund will keep your secret, my lord,” Will said with a small smile. “And it is time.”

  Thomas Bolton rose from his chair and took his cousin by her arm as she stood. “Come along, darling girl. Only one other person knows my secret, and that is Elizabeth.” He led her from the room and into the gallery, one wall of which was all windows. The facing wall was hung with portraits of Lord Cambridge, his late sister, their parents, Rosamund, and each of her daughters. The gallery appeared to have but one entrance, but at the far end Thomas Bolton reached out to touch the paneled wall and a small door sprang open. They moved through it, Will drawing the door shut behind them. “This way,” Lord Cambridge said as they walked down a narrow interior corridor that was obviously a secret passageway.

  “Tom, you are wickedly clever,” Rosamund told him, and heard him chortle.

  After they had gone a short distance Lord Cambridge stopped and, reaching out again, pressed his fingers against a small, practically hidden catch. A second door flew open, and they stepped out into Otterly House. “Can you see anything in the wall?” he asked her. “I believe my entry is quite invisible, darling girl.”

  Rosamund peered closely at the paneling in the corridor wall. She could see nothing that gave evidence of a door in the wall. She shook her head. “It is ingenious, Tom,” she told him admiringly.

  “This corridor is in what was my original wing of the house. When I lived here I was constantly besieged by Banon’s brood. They could not seem to leave me in peace. Now that I am gone they come here not at all. It allows me the perfect entry without being seen. And the servants rarely come except to clean. I believe Robert Neville hides here now and again, poor fellow. Banon is a dear girl, but she has little control over her daughters, as you will shortly see. Listen. You can already hear the shrieking.”

  They entered the hall at Otterly. Banon’s five daughters, ranging in age from nine to three, were chasing one another about in a rough game of tag. “Grandmama!” they cried with one voice upon seeing her.

  Rosamund held out her arms to them, laughing as they swarmed her.

  “So my mother now knows the secret, but I do not,” Banon grumbled at Lord Cambridge.

  “Otterly is still my house, dear girl,” he replied quietly.

  “Oh, Uncle, I did not mean to be rude,” Banon cried, “but you know I hate secrets, and this is one you seem to very much enjoy keeping.”

  “A man must have his privacy, dear girl. One day when your brood is grown I shall share my knowledge with you. Until then I pray you accept my decision in the matter.” He patted her cheek. “You have always been my favorite, Banon, which is why you are my heiress. Be satisfied with that.”

  She sighed. “I have no other choice, I fear. Now, tell me,” Banon said, slipping her arm through his, “why has Mama come?”

  He lightly swatted the little hand on his arm. “Bad child! She will tell you herself if she chooses,” Lord Cambridge scolded her.

  Banon laughed.

  Robert Neville came forward to greet his mother-in-law. He was a quiet man who quite obviously adored his wife and children. And he was content to allow Banon to rule their home, for it allowed him more time for gentlemanly pursuits. “Rosamund, this is a pleasant surprise,” he said, kissing her hand and bowing.

  “Thank you, Rob,” she answered him. “I apologize for appearing at Otterly with scant notice, but there is a small family emergency that must be attended to. I needed to come for Tom.” She turned to her granddaughters, who had started to quarrel over some silly matter. “Girls! Girls! Stop at once!” Her usually gentle voice was sharp, and the little girls looked at her openmouthed. “Your behavior is not acceptable at all. Katherine, as the eldest it is up to you to keep order among your sisters. Instead you lead them in bad behavior. This will not do.”

  “But Grandmama,” Katherine Neville, age nine, whined, “they will not obey me. And it is her fault!” she said, pointing at one of her sisters.

  “Why should I obey you?” eight-year-old Thomasina demanded to know.

  “You listen to your sister because she is your elder by one year an
d ten days, if memory serves me,” Rosamund said. Then she turned back to Katherine. “But you must set a good example, and not bully your sisters simply because you are the eldest.”

  “Did our mother and her sisters get on better than we do, Grandmama?” Thomasina asked pertly.

  “Indeed they did,” Rosamund said quickly. “Now go and wash your hands and faces, my pets. When you do you will be welcome at the high board tonight.”

  The five little girls looked to Banon, who nodded her approval, and so they ran off to do their grandmother’s bidding. “You have asked them to the high board so you will not have to discuss Elizabeth,” Banon said.

  Rosamund nodded. “After the meal I shall tell you all,” she promised.

  Banon made a face, but was forced to be content with her mother’s decision.

  It was a happy table that evening. Led by Katherine Neville, Thomasina, Jemima, Elizabeth, and Margaret Neville exhibited their best manners. And when the meal was over and they were dismissed by their parents, they kissed each of their relations good night and retired without a word of complaint.

  “Your behavior has been excellent, girls,” Rosamund told them as the left the hall.

  Katherine turned and curtseyed with a smile to her grandmother, but Thomasina, turning, grinned and winked mischievously before scampering after her siblings.

  Banon waited patiently for several minutes after her daughters had departed the hall, but finally she could bear it no longer. “What has happened at Friarsgate?” she demanded of her mother.

  And so Rosamund explained quietly and in detail.

  When she had finished her recitation Banon said bluntly, “Well, I would have never thought Bessie had such passion in her, Mama. ’Tis true that Katherine was already in my belly on our wedding day, but at least Rob and I knew we were getting married. Do you think Logan and Uncle Thomas can bring this Scot back? And what if she does as she has threatened and refuses to wed him?”

  “For once in her life,” Rosamund said, and there was a distinct edge to her voice, “your youngest sister will do precisely as she is told. We will protect her position in the marriage contract that is drawn up, but she will marry Baen MacColl so that her child may know its father and Friarsgate have its next generation. Whatever is or is not between them they must settle themselves, but marry they will.”

  “Or that dear boy Logan will set the Highlands aflame with his outrage,” Lord Cambridge said drolly. “If I must make a trip north to Scotland in the dead of winter, my darlings, I do believe I should enjoy myself. I have not a doubt that Logan Hepburn will see to it that I do, and provide me with a variety of amusements. Now,” he said, rising, “I must leave you. Will and I have to see to my packing. If I am to appear before this master of Grayhaven it must be in my finest garments so that I may convince him to release his son to us. It will not do that I look less than my absolute best. We do not want him to think badly of our family. Good night, all.” He blew them several kisses as he left the hall.

  “The master of Grayhaven is in for a rare treat,” Robert Neville said with a grin. “I doubt he has ever met anyone like Lord Cambridge.”

  “Nor is he ever likely to again,” Banon agreed. “Let us hope this Highlander survives his encounter with my uncle.”

  “Let us hope Logan survives his travels with him,” Rosamund said, chuckling. “He likes my cousin, but Tom has always confounded him. And takes great delight in it.”

  “I hope this Baen MacColl is worth all the trouble we are going to for Elizabeth,” Banon said. “You have met him. Is he, Mama?”

  Rosamund smiled. “He is. Bessie is going to be very happy, when she ceases being angry at us and at herself for ever letting him go.”

  Chapter 13

  Colin Hay, the master of Grayhaven, stared at the man who stood before him smiling broadly. He was a peacock of a fellow in his scarlet velvet breeches with cloth of gold showing through the slashings. His striped gold-and-scarlet silk stockings sported a single garter of sparkling red crystals sewn upon a golden ribbon which adorned one shapely leg. His scarlet velvet doublet had full padded sleeves and a fur collar, and was trimmed in rich marten. The shirt beneath had a ruffled edging on the collar and sleeves. His hat had a stiff turned up brim, and was embellished with an ostrich plume.

  “My dear sir,” the vision said in the plummy tones of a well-bred northern Englishman, “I am delighted to meet you at last.” A beringed hand, freed of its pearl-trimmed glove, was thrust towards the master of Grayhaven.

  Colin Hay took the soft hand and shook it, for to do otherwise would have been intolerably rude, and he had no quarrel with this fellow. Yet. The handshake surprised him for it was firm and hard. He had not expected such a handshake from such a creature. “My lord,” he said. The man was obviously nobility. Then his gaze swung to the peacock’s companion, and he relaxed, recognizing the garb and stance of a border laird. He held out his hand again, this time towards his fellow Scot. “Sir.”

  Logan Hepburn shook the hand offered him firmly. “My lord. I am Logan Hepburn, the laird of Claven’s Carn. My companion is Thomas Bolton, Lord Cambridge of Otterly. We are kin through my marriage to Tom’s cousin Rosamund Bolton.”

  “Of Friarsgate?” Colin Hay grinned. “You’re both welcome to Grayhaven,” he said jovially now that he knew who they were and could place them. Wine!” he shouted to his servants. “Come and sit by the fire, gentlemen,” he invited them.

  “Gladly!” Lord Cambridge said. “Your weather is not disposed to be kind to travelers, my dear sir. I thought at least twice I should die of the bitter cold. Were it not of the greatest importance that we see you immediately I should be safe at home cataloging my library.” He sat in a wood chair directly next to the fire.

  A servant brought goblets of wine, and when the three men were finally all settled by the hearth, Colin Hay asked, “Why have you made such a journey in the dead of winter, sirs? I agree with Lord Cambridge. It is not a good time of year to travel.”

  “Where is your son?” Logan Hepburn asked.

  “Which one? I hae three,” the master of Grayhaven said.

  “Baen,” Logan Hepburn replied. “Baen MacColl.”

  “Baen will be out with his sheep right now,” Colin Hay replied, “but he’ll be back by dark, when he’s certain his shepherds are safe with their flocks for the night. He fights a losing battle, for the sheep no longer thrive here. They did at first. ’Twas a good idea, but it does not seem to be a successful one now. He is disappointed. Do you wish to sell him more sheep, my lords? You have wasted a trip if that is your purpose, I fear.”

  Thomas Bolton chuckled. “There is only one little ewe sheep he must have whether he will or nay. But ’twill be to his advantage, I assure you, sir.”

  “Tom!” Logan Hepburn looked decidedly aggrieved. “This is no laughing matter. This is serious business we come upon.”

  “What is it then?” Colin Hay demanded to know. “You surely do not need my son’s presence to tell me what you must.”

  “It would be better if he were here too,” Lord Cambridge responded, now serious himself. “ ’Twill save the telling of it twice. Might you send for him? ’Tis a long time until the night falls, sir.”

  “Aye, send for him, and let us get this over and done with,” Logan Hepburn said.

  “To satisfy my own curiosity if for no other reason,” Colin Hay said, beckoning a serving man to him. “Ride out and fetch my son Baen,” he told the servant. “Tell him I want him in the hall with all possible haste.”

  The man bowed and hurried off.

  “I don’t suppose you would have a bit of cheese?” Lord Cambridge said. “We have not eaten since dawn, when we dined on some rather dry oatcakes that had been hiding in the bottom of a clansman’s saddlebag. They had the taste of old leather,” he said, shuddering delicately and sipping from his cup.

  “ ’Tis almost time for the meal,” the master of Grayhaven replied. “We eat our main meal at noon in winter,
for other than Baen few venture out after that. Have you ridden far?”

  “From Claven’s Carn in the west borders,” Logan said.

  “And I several days farther from Otterly,” Lord Cambridge said.

  “It must be an important matter that you would come at such a time, and so far,” the master of Grayhaven answered. What was this all about? And why did they insist that Baen be with them when they explained? A servant girl with a big belly wouldn’t merit such a visit. And then Colin Hay remembered the lady of Friarsgate, and how every time his son spoke of her—which was rare indeed, for Baen had been almost taciturn since his return from England this time—but each time he would mention this girl his eyes were soft with the memory of her. What was her name? But he could not remember it, if indeed he had ever known it. The peacock appeared to be dozing now. The border laird sat staring into his wine goblet. They waited.

  It was almost an hour later when Baen came into his father’s hall. “Da! Are you all right?” he asked as he entered, and then he saw Thomas Bolton and Logan Hepburn. He grew pale. “Elizabeth?” he croaked. “Is she well?”

  The peacock was immediately on his feet. “Dear, dear boy!” he exclaimed effusively, embracing Baen warmly. “It is delightful to see you, although I should have preferred it be in a warmer clime.”

  “Elizabeth, Tom! Is she all right?” Baen repeated.

  “She is as well as can be expected,” Lord Cambridge offered with a teasing grin.

  “She’s got a big belly, and ’tis your bairn!” Logan Hepburn said without any preamble. “You’ll come back to Friarsgate and make it right!”

  “I can’t!” Baen said low, his voice anguished.

  “And why not?” Logan demanded angrily.

  “You know the duty I owe my father,” Baen began.

  “My stepdaughter is no serving wench, damn it!” the laird of Claven’s Carn snapped. “She’s the heiress to Friarsgate, and this child should be the next heir to the estates. You cannot desert her, Baen MacColl! I will not allow it.”