The Last Heiress

by Bertrice Small

  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 commissioned 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 sho
uld remove our wedding finery.”

  She nodded. “Aye. We have no coin to waste on frills and furbelows, 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 cohabit 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? What a coup for the bastard of a Highland chieftain with nothing to recommend him but his handsome face. Well, he had Friarsgate now. Not quite as he had anticipated it, she was certain, but he would ride about the estate and be called master by her folk. His child would inherit it one day.

  She rose heavily and seated herself behind the large table she used when she was working. Drawing out a map of her fields, she studied them carefully, deciding which field would be planted with what crop. They were going to need more hay this year, she decided, marking the meadows that would grow it. Three fields to the west she decided to have planted with rye to replenish the soil there. Corn would go here, barley, and wheat there, she marked the fields. And several fields would be left to grow onions and shallots; peas, beans, and cabbage. Though leeks were considered unhealthy by many, they had always been grown at Friarsgate since the time of Elizabeth’s Welsh father. But she grew them in her own kitchen garden along with parsley, sage, and other herbs. Finally she was satisfied with her planning scheme. She would have to consider whether they needed any seed. Usually they grew enough for the following year’s crop.

  There was a knock upon her door, and it opened to reveal Baen. He stepped into the chamber and asked her, “Is there anything in particular you would have me do today, Elizabeth? I shall see Edmund tomorrow, and speak with the shepherds then.”

  “Come in,” she beckoned him. She was feeling stronger now that she was doing something familiar. She was the lady of Friarsgate, no matter that she had a husband now. “Come and see what I have planned for the fields, and give me your council.”

  He walked around the table to stand next to her and looked down at the map. “Why are these fields not to be planted?” he asked her, curious.

  “Each year I leave several fields fallow and plant rye. It replenishes the soil,” she explained. “Doesn’t your father do that?”

  “We don’t have fields such as yours, and ’tis all he can do to get a living out of what he has,” Baen said. “By the way, I haven’t had the time to tell you until now, but I brought you a dower portion.”

  “Indeed?” A smile played about the corners of her mouth.

  “Most of the sheep I bought from you last year, and their lambs,” he told her.

  “Just most?”

  “Those that weren’t lost by one means or another,” he said.

  “Stolen? Eaten by your father’s cotters, or wolves? How many remain?”

  “Actually about two-thirds of the flock,” he told her.

  “You are a well-propertied man, husband,” Elizabeth responded, pleased.

  “Well, they were yours to begin with,” he said.

  “But you purchased them honestly,” she quickly replied.

  “Several of your shepherds rode out early this morning for Claven’s Carn. It will take them a good day and a half to bring the flock home,” he explained. “The lambs were too young for the journey, and so we put them in a straw-filled wagon.”

  “ ’Twas well done!” she exclaimed, very pleased.

  “I expect they will be glad to be back at Friarsgate,” he said with a rueful grin. “Our Highland pastures are not the lush meadows of Friarsgate. The sheep had a harder time of it, I fear.”

  “How many lambs?” she asked him.

  “A dozen, no more, though the ram was vigorous,” he murmured.

  She flushed, nodded, and then said, “I would like you to see if we kept enough seed for the fields.” She rolled up the map parchment. “Take this with you when you visit the seed storage.” She handed it to him. “And if you have the time you might begin visiting the cotters who weave. Edmund can tell you who they are. Learn how much cloth each wove this winter. I must begin preparing for the shipment to our factor in the Netherlands. The cloth market is always happy to see Friarsgate wool arriving.” Then she turned away dismissively.

  Baen walked from the library. She was all business, his bride of just a few hours. He wondered if other newlywed couples spent their wedding day as they were. She masked her anger well, but such icy hauteur from a girl he knew to be a passionate creature amazed him. He would have a difficult time, he could now see, in winning her heart back, but he had no intention of giving up. Elizabeth was not going to forgive him easily, but
then he had never been anything but honest with her. He made no secret of the fact that he would return to Grayhaven. Why was she angry at him for being loyal? He shrugged. She had to come around eventually. Didn’t she?

  The next few weeks passed, and each day but for the Sabbath was like the last. They arose, broke their fast, and worked. The main meal of the day was at the noon hour. They ate, and worked until sunset. A final light meal was served, and then Elizabeth would disappear upstairs into her chamber. She rarely spoke to him except to issue orders or discuss the business of the manor with him. He had attempted to engage her in a game of Hare and Hounds on several evenings, but she had refused him. She was not openly hostile to him, and she listened to his advice when he spoke. But there was no rapport between them as there had once been, and she made no effort to cultivate one.

  And with each passing day Elizabeth’s belly seemed to grow larger and larger. She was beginning to waddle about very much like the ducks in the barnyard. She was beginning to wheeze slightly when she walked. And her temper was growing shorter and shorter as the weeks went by. Baen was beginning to look forward to the return of his mother-in-law.

  “This bairn you put in my belly is going to be a giant,” Elizabeth said irritably one evening. The stairs were hard for her now, and she was avoiding them for the moment.

  “My father is a big man, I am a big man, and my brothers are too. Still, Ellen, my stepmother, was tall and slim like you. She birthed Gilbert easily, for I was there,” he told her cheerfully. “Our son will be a big man.”

  “It had best be a lad,” Elizabeth snapped, “for a girl this big would never find a husband, and be considered odd. And do not tell me your sister is large.”

  “Nay, Margaret is small and delicate,” he answered her affably.

  “She’s a nun, isn’t she?”