The Last Heiress

by Bertrice Small

  “Nor will I,” the master of Grayhaven said suddenly. “Do you mean to tell me, you mutton-headed fool, that you would leave the girl because of some foolish idea in your head regarding your loyalty towards me?” His open palm made contact with the side of Baen’s head. “Do you love her?”

  “We handfasted. Is that not good enough?” Baen asked in pained tones.

  His father smacked him again. “Do you love her?” he demanded.

  “Aye, but Da—”

  “Then you will wed her properly in the church, and give my grandchild a name. You’ll nae sire a bastard as I did, Baen. I love ye. I’ve loved you from the first you turned up at my door and I saw my own face staring back up at me in the person of a frightened yet defiant lad. But ye’re my bastard, and there is nothing here for you at Grayhaven. Especially now that the sheep are failing. Why should you not have a wife and bairns of your own? And a home of your own? Ellen wanted it for you, and I do too. You’ll be the lord of a fine manor.”

  “Nay, he’ll not,” Logan Hepburn said. “He’ll be the husband of the lady of Friarsgate, and no more. The father of the heir. No more unless she permits it. I’ll not lie to you, Lord Hay. Elizabeth is very angry that Baen left her. She would have raised her bairn alone but that when her mother learned of her condition, she would not have it. But Friarsgate belongs to the lady even after she weds.”

  “I understand,” Baen said.

  “I dinna,” his father spoke up. “Who controls the land for the lass now?”

  “Elizabeth has controlled Friarsgate since her fourteenth birthday,” Lord Cambridge began. “She is a fine steward of her own lands, as was her mother before her marriage to dear Logan. She has never had any intention of giving control of her lands to a husband. Baen knows this. Because of his loyalty to you he tried to stay his attraction towards my darling niece. But she would not have it, for Elizabeth is a strong-willed lass, Lord Hay. She wanted your son, and she boldly seduced him.”

  “She seduced you?” Lord Hay was at first disbelieving, and then he laughed. “She sounds like a fine hot-tempered wench to me. A man gets strong sons on a lass like that.” Then he grew serious. “If he weds her, what part will he play at Friarsgate?”

  “As we have said, he will be the lady’s husband, a respected position, my lord, you will agree. But she will award him as part of the marriage settlement the position of steward of Friarsgate. Until recently her great-uncle held that place, but he is no longer able to do his duty. The infirmities of old age have finally overtaken him.”

  “Why did you leave her?” Lord Hay demanded of his son.

  “It was the most difficult thing I have ever done, Da, but my first loyalty must lie with you,” Baen said. “You took me in when my mother died. I was a stranger, but you accepted me readily. You have loved me and treated me equally with Jamie and Gilly. I owe you my life, Da. And I have learned duty and loyalty from you.”

  Colin Hay’s green eyes filled with tears. Impatiently he wiped them away with his fist. Then he hit his son a third blow with the same fist. “You owe me naught, you mutton-headed fool! A man loves his bairns and does the best he can for them. Sending you away to wed with this lass you love is the best I can do for you, Baen. You know there is nothing for you here. Jamie must come first, and then Gilly. I can barely provide for either of them. This is a golden opportunity for you, and you must take it, my son.”

  “I will be English then,” Baen said.

  “Nay,” Logan Hepburn said in a kindlier tone. “You’ll be a borderer, lad. ’Tis true we raid one another’s cattle and sheep when we can, but a borderer is a borderer no matter what side of that invisible line he calls home. We’re not quite English, nor are we quite Scots. The wind blows from a different direction in the west part of the border.”

  “My son will not be abused? He’ll be respected as the lady’s husband? Obeyed as her steward?” the master of Grayhaven wanted to know.

  “He is already well respected there, my lord,” the laird of Claven’s Carn replied.

  “Pray God then that no war separates us,” the master of Grayhaven said softly. Then he turned to Baen. “I want you to go back to Friarsgate and wed with its mistress. I want you to do for your bairn what I could not do for you, Baen. Give my grandchild its proper name. And if you would truly please me, my son, I would ask that you finally accept my surname as your own.”

  “I have always been content being Baen MacColl,” the younger man said to his father with a small smile.

  “Be Baen, son of Colin Hay, now. Not some nameless Colin, but Colin Hay,” the master of Grayhaven said quietly.

  Baen nodded slowly. “I have always been proud to be your son, Da,” he told his father. “And I suppose in England, Hay will be a better surname for my children than MacColl. If I can gain Elizabeth’s love once again I promise you there will be more than one child at Friarsgate in this next generation.”

  “Then you will go with my blessing, Baen,” Colin Hay told his son. “And take those damned English sheep of yours with you before I eat them!”

  “Da! Those aren’t eating sheep,” Baen protested.

  “All sheep are for eating,” the master of Grayhaven said, roaring with laughter.

  Colin Hay’s two legitimate sons now entered the hall. They gawked at Lord Cambridge, having never seen anyone in such fine garb in all their lives. He gazed back at them, thinking them handsome young fellows, but then they did look a bit rough.

  “Come and meet Lord Cambridge, lads, and the laird of Claven’s Carn.” Colin Hay beckoned his sons forward. “And congratulate your brother, Baen, for he is to be wed.”

  James and Gilbert Hay whooped in a combination of delight and surprise.

  “It’s that English girl, isn’t it?” James said.

  “Aye,” Baen answered him quietly.

  His two younger brothers eyed each other knowledgeably, nodding. But the words on their lips remained unspoken in the presence of their guests.

  “As soon as Baen can gather his flock I’m sending him back to England with the sheep for his dower,” the master of Grayhaven said.

  James and Gilbert hooted derisively, for they had thought their elder’s preoccupation with his sheep amusing.

  “I thank you both for your good wishes,” Baen said to them dryly.

  “If you take the sheep,” James said, grinning, “what will we serve the guests at my wedding to Jean Gordon?”

  “Let the Gordons worry about that,” Baen replied. “Besides, your wedding isn’t for another few years. The bride has to grow up first,” he mocked his brother. “At least mine is a woman grown.”

  “With a bairn in her belly?” Gilbert Hay asked slyly, unable to restrain himself despite the black look his father shot him. But why else would these two gentlemen have come to Grayhaven in the dead of winter, he thought, except the lass was breeding?

  But Baen laughed at his youngest brother’s jibe. “Aye,” he acknowledged, “but I handfasted her in the summer, Gilly. Now I’ll return with our father’s blessing to wed my Elizabeth in the church.”

  “Will you come back to Grayhaven?” Gilbert Hay asked, suddenly serious.

  “Nay,” Baen said. “Elizabeth has her own lands, and I will steward them. I will have no time to return to Grayhaven, for my duties to Friarsgate will fill my days.”

  “But we’ll never see you then,” Gilbert said softly.

  “You can come and visit me, Gilly,” Baen told him. “Da has you betrothed to Alice Gordon, Jean’s sister, and she is but a wee girl barely out of leading strings. You will have time to travel, and the Hays of Grayhaven will always be welcome at Friarsgate. Is that not so, Tom, Logan?”

  “Aye,” the laird of Claven’s Carn agreed. “The Scots are always welcome at Friarsgate, unless, of course, they come in large numbers uninvited.” He chuckled.

  The other men laughed.

  James Hay stepped forward and embraced his eldest brother. “I wish you well, Baen,” he said enthus
iastically. Secretly he was relieved to see his eldest brother well settled and soon to be gone. He had been a very little boy when Baen had arrived in their midst, and their youngest brother not even born. From the time he was old enough to understand their place in their father’s life, James Hay knew he was his father’s heir, though he was his second-born son. But he also knew that Colin Hay loved Baen best of all his sons, though he would never have said it, and he treated his lads with an equal hand.

  Their father had always been concerned with finding a place for Baen. Now one had been supplied, and James Hay, while wishing his brother good fortune, would not be sad to see him gone from Grayhaven. Gilly would miss him more, James knew, but then Gilly had always looked up to their oldest brother. Not to Grayhaven’s heir, but to Baen. James Hay loved his brother Baen, but he had always found it disconcerting that even though he was their father’s heir, Baen came first with so many others. He smiled broadly at Baen now, for his elder’s departure was like a great weight being lifted from his shoulders. But he also felt a little ashamed to think it.

  It would be several days before Baen MacColl was ready to leave Grayhaven. March had begun, and the weather was raw and wet. The master of Grayhaven gave his son a covered cart to transport the few lambs that had been born the previous month. They were still too young to travel with the flock, and there was still snow on the ground. It was not the best time of year to move the animals, but Baen was anxious to get back to Friarsgate, and to Elizabeth. The sheep had not thrived well over the long months, although it had at first seemed they would. At least a third of them had died, been poached, or taken by wild beasts. But once back at Friarsgate, Baen knew, they would do well once again. He and Friar would bring the flock home safe.

  The master of Grayhaven had read over the marriage contract his son was to sign. He was not pleased by the strict terms Elizabeth Meredith was imposing upon her husband. Baen would have no rights to the manor should she die in childbirth. The land would revert to her mother then. Should she produce an heir or heiress, and then perish, the estate became the child’s, and her mother its legal guardian. If the child should then die, again Friarsgate returned to Rosamund Bolton, and not Baen MacColl. Elizabeth appointed him her steward, but all decisions made with regard to Friarsgate must be approved by her. As her husband and the manor’s steward he would have a respected position. He would be given a small portion in coin for himself and that was all.

  “ ’Tis too harsh,” Colin Hay said. He turned to Logan and Lord Cambridge. “Have you read this? She is not an easy woman.”

  “The women of Friarsgate are very proprietary where their land is concerned,” Logan offered.

  “She loves him,” Lord Cambridge said. “Trust me, dear sir, she will relent eventually, and this shall be rewritten.”

  “Why is she so angry with him?” Colin Hay wanted to know.

  “She is angry at herself more than your son,” Thomas Bolton said. “You see, dear boy, Elizabeth prides herself on being coolheaded and logical. She has never made a decision that she did not carefully consider. But then she fell in love, and she made a fatal mistake often made by those in love, even men: She asked her lover to make a choice between her and something else he loved. In this case, you. It was foolish, of course, and afterwards when he had left her she knew it, but it was done.

  “I have been convinced all along, and Logan will tell you it is so, that had my cousin Rosamund approached you regarding a marriage between your eldest son, Baen, and her youngest daughter, Elizabeth, you would have been amenable. It would have been worked out to everyone’s satisfaction. But from the time Rosamund’s eldest child refused to accept her position as the heiress to Friarsgate, and Elizabeth told her mother she wanted it for her own, my niece has listened only to herself. She was twelve then.

  “When she was fourteen her mother turned Friarsgate over to her legally, although if the truth be known, she had been caring for it since the day it was promised her. She oversees every facet of the estate, until recently with her steward, Edmund Bolton. But Edmund is an old man now, and his health is poor. Elizabeth asked Baen to take his place until Edmund was well again, although we all knew Edmund would never again accept that responsibility. When your son left her in October she took up the reins herself.”

  “You say her mother would have approved a match had we negotiated one,” the master of Grayhaven said. “Why has a husband not been found for her before? What is the matter with the lass?” Colin Hay wanted to know.

  “There is nothing the matter with Elizabeth,” Baen spoke up.

  “But why was she not wed previously?” his father demanded to know.

  “Being as mutton-headed as your son,” Logan Hepburn said, “she didn’t want a husband who would try to wrest her authority from her. Her sisters found husbands at court, and we sent her last year. But none would do for her. She wanted a man who would love Friarsgate, and work by her side, yet not try to take it from her. That man turned out to be Baen MacColl.”

  “Are you content to sign this marriage contract?” the master of Grayhaven asked his eldest son. “The terms are not favorable to you.”

  “I’ll sign it,” Baen answered. “I love her, and I always will. With God’s blessing Elizabeth will eventually forgive me deserting her to return to Grayhaven, Da.”

  “I’ll want a proxy marriage performed before you depart,” the master of Grayhaven said. “That way I’ll know my son is protected to some extent.”

  “Agreed!” Logan Hepburn replied. “That way all we’ll need is Father Mata’s blessing at the church rail to finish it.”

  “And I shall be the bride,” Lord Cambridge said mischievously. “I have always wanted to be the bride,” he chortled.

  Colin Hay looked somewhat askance, but having grown used to Thomas Bolton over the years Logan Hepburn laughed loudly. “Aye, Tom, and a lovely bride you will make, I have no doubt at all. When she ceases being angry Elizabeth will be both flattered and grateful to you.”

  “Elizabeth is not to know,” Baen said quietly.

  “What?” His father and his father-in-law, speaking in unison, looked startled by his words.

  But Thomas Bolton understood. “Ah,” he said. “How well you know her, dear boy. Of course. My lips shall be sealed in the matter until I am told otherwise.”

  “Well, I don’t understand,” the master of Grayhaven said.

  “Nor I,” Logan Hepburn concurred. “What nonsense is this, Baen?”

  “Elizabeth needs to feel that the decision to marry me is all her own. I will gladly agree to a proxy wedding here at Grayhaven for my protection, and so my father and brothers may participate. But Elizabeth is not to know. Not now. Perhaps not ever. I do not want her any angrier than I know she already is. And I do not want her feeling that her hand was forced in this matter. She is the lady of Friarsgate, and has always maintained a certain dignity. She will consent to wed me, but she must come to that conclusion by herself.”

  “The lass must be brought to heel immediately, Baen, or you will have no peace in your house,” Logan Hepburn declared, and Colin Hay nodded in agreement.

  “Have you ever been able to bring Rosamund to heel?” Baen asked wickedly.

  “That’s different!” Logan insisted.

  “Nay, ’tis not, and Elizabeth is Rosamund’s daughter,” Baen said with a grin. “You have weaseled your way around your wife even as I will weasel my way about my darling Elizabeth, Logan. And I will have peace in my home as you do in yours.”

  The laird of Claven’s Carn chuckled. “You’re right, of course,” he said.

  “I know,” Baen responded. He turned to his father. “Will you send for the priest then, Da? If he can come at once we can leave in another two days. I am anxious to get back to Friarsgate. The trip will not be easy.”

  The priest came the following day. The situation was explained. Father Andrew witnessed the signing of the marriage contract, and then performed the ceremony with Lord Cambridge, re
splendent in his scarlet clothing, standing in for the bride. Afterwards the master of Grayhaven held a small feast in honor of the marriage just celebrated. He sat at his high board with Thomas Bolton to his right, the priest and the laird of Claven’s Carn to his left. They watched as his piper played and his three sons danced to the spritely tunes, their laughter and affection for one another obvious as they vied back and forth for their father’s approval. And the night came, and the hall emptied slowly until only Colin Hay and his son Baen remained, seated together by the fire, their wine cups almost empty.

  “You’ll not be back,” the master of Grayhaven said to his firstborn.

  “I know,” Baen answered.

  “I’m proud of you,” Colin Hay said, “even if you are a mutton-headed fool. You might have been happy with your lass these last months but that you came home, lad. And for what? For me? The da who never even knew of your existence until you were already half-grown? I’ve never understood why your mother never told me. Why she let herself be wed to that miserable Parlan Gunn when he would not even pretend you were his and give you his name. He would have had a fine son in you, Baen.”

  “I think she thought it was for her parents’ sake she marry Parlan,” Baen replied. “They had arranged the marriage. Parlan had taken her with little dower. He had been good to them. And by pretending not to know who you were but for your Christian name she believed she was protecting you. Had Parlan known he would have extorted you, for he was a venal as well as a cruel man, Da. Only when she knew she would no longer be there to protect me did she reveal her secret, and only to me. Her parents were dead by then, and she had no one else to shield.”

  “I remember that day you came to my door. You were thin with your hunger, and your clothing was threadbare. But you were mine, and I never had a moment’s doubt when you told me who had borne you, and mothered you,” Colin Hay said, tears of remembrance in his eyes. “You flinched, I remember, when I reached out to draw you into the house. You were afraid, but you never admitted to it, lad.” Reaching out, the master of Grayhaven ruffled his son’s black hair, which was so like his own. “They’ve been good years we’ve shared together, lad.”