The Last Heiress

by Bertrice Small

  Elizabeth reread the letter once, and then again. Her face was pale with her distress. If there was one place in the world she did not want to be it was court.

  “What does it say?” Baen’s voice broke her thoughts.

  “I am commanded to court,” Elizabeth said softly.

  “By whom?” he demanded to know.

  “By Queen Anne. He has married her, which means he has obtained his divorce from Queen Katherine, poor foolish lady,” Elizabeth said. “Philippa must be beside herself, and I think it odd she did not write to me or our mother. Certainly a messenger would have stopped by here on his way to Claven’s Carn. Knowing my oldest sister, she is being loyal to the end, yet torn by the situation because of her sons’ careers. Philippa is very ambitious for her lads.”

  “You will not go, of course,” Baen said.

  “Nay, I will go, husband. I have been commanded to court, and there is no excuse for refusing a royal command,” Elizabeth told him. “I do not want to go, but I will.” She sighed. “How like Anne to demand my presence because she is feeling alone. She is a strange creature. Her heart is good, but few know it. Yet she will demand my presence without any thought for how my life will be conflicted.”

  “You were friends with her? I have heard her called the king’s whore,” Baen said.

  “Nay, she was not his whore. Had she been, Queen Katherine might still have her place, for the king is a fickle man, and should have discarded Anne long since, as he did her sister, Mary. But he does need a legitimate son, and refused even to consider the princesses who are available because of his passion for Anne Boleyn,” Elizabeth said.

  “Does he not love her?” Baen asked.

  “I do not believe this king capable of the kind of love we share, that my mother and my sisters share with their husbands. He has but one paramount desire, and that is for a legitimate son and heir. He has proved himself capable of siring a son with Bessie Blount, and many say Mary Boleyn’s son is his. The king and his counselors, of course, deny that paternity, for to admit it would make any marriage with Mistress Anne null and void on the basis of consanguinity, and any child she bore him bastard. I think it is very possible, although she says it not in so many words, that Anne may already be with child.”

  Baen shook his head. “I thought you despised the court, Elizabeth. Did you not swear you would never return?”

  “I do, and I did,” Elizabeth admitted, “but the choice has been taken from my hands, Baen. The queen commands. I must obey.”

  “Could you not plead your belly?” he said hopefully.

  “I wish I could,” she replied, “but I cannot.”

  “When will you go?” He did not look happy.

  “Certainly not until late April,” Elizabeth said.

  “You must get your uncle to accompany you,” Baen decided.

  Elizabeth shook her head. “Nay. Not this time. Besides, he has become more and more content to remain at Otterly. I know what I face this time. When I send the messenger back to the queen I shall ask that she send me an escort to bring me to Greenwich, for I cannot travel alone.”

  “I should go with you,” he said.

  “And who would steward Friarsgate if you did? Edmund cannot take the burden up ever again, Baen, and you know it. Besides, what would you possibly do while I am dancing attendance on the queen? You are not a courtier, and the only Scots there are those attached to King James’s ambassador,” Elizabeth said.

  “Are you ashamed of me, lass?” he asked quietly.

  “Nay! And how can you even ask such a question of me, husband? I love you, Baen, and I am proud to be your wife. I picked you for myself, did I not? I am not going to court to pay a social call upon the king and his queen; I am going to comfort my friend, who, for all her bravado and temper tantrums, is obviously frightened. Long ago when my mother was a girl at the court of King Henry VII, she was befriended by Queen Margaret and the Princess of Aragon. They were of an age together in the house of the king’s mother. And afterwards, when the princess was ignored and frightened, abandoned by all, and left destitute even by her own father, the king of Spain, my mother sent her small purses to aid her survival.

  “This is the basis of my family’s friendship with Katherine of Aragon. This is how my eldest sister gained her place in the queen’s household, and thus was able to climb into the ranks of the nobility herself. But when I went to court several years ago the queen was already out of favor. I did not even pay my respects, for she was gone then. Unlike my sisters, who enjoyed the court, I felt gauche and very much out of place. I could not control my tongue, which is what brought me to Anne’s attention. She is clever herself, and likes clever friends. She befriended me, Baen, and for the short time I remained at court that friendship made my life quite pleasant. Not so much so that I did not long to return home as quickly as possible, of course. But at least I was no longer sad.

  “But while the king favored Anne, many at court—my own sister included—did not. They were all sure the king would tire of her as he had many others. Most could barely conceal their scorn for her, and went out of their way to slight her when they dared. But I judged Anne Boleyn on the girl herself. Her family and her pedigree meant nothing to me. I liked her. She was clever and witty, unlike most others but a few. She made the king laugh with her keen and shrewd intelligence. She is musical, and the king loves music. She is a wonderful dancer, and the king loves nothing better than a good dancer. And seeing another girl come to court who like herself did not really fit in, she reached out to me and brought me into her circle. She treated me with kindness. She is vain, and she is selfish. She is determined in her desires and her need to have her own way, but we became friends, Baen. Like my mother I place a great store by loyalty. My friend, the queen, has called for me. I will go, and that is the end of it, my dearest husband.”

  “How long do you think you will be gone from me?” he asked her, and he reached out to bring her into the circle of his strong arms, his lips brushing the top of her blond head. “I cannot bear the thought of being without you,” Baen told her.

  “Do not say it!” Elizabeth cried softly. “I must obey, and yet I hate having to leave you, to leave our wee Tom, to leave Friarsgate.” She buried her head in his chest.

  “How long?” he repeated.

  She shook her head. “I do not know. Anne can be difficult and quixotic when she wants her own way. Hopefully my presence will calm her, and I shall be able to leave her again after a few weeks.”

  “If you do not return within a reasonable time I will come after you,” Baen told his wife. “This queen has the world at her feet, especially if she carries the king’s heir. She does not need my wife more than our son and I do.”

  “I love it when you are so masterful,” Elizabeth teased him with a small giggle.

  Baen chuckled. “Are you wheedling me, wife?” he teased back.

  “You are becoming too clever for me, husband,” she replied.

  “Nay,” he said softly. “I shall never be as clever as you, Elizabeth.”

  “If you know that,” she responded quickly, “then you have at least become wise, my darling, and that could make you dangerous.” Her hazel-green eyes twinkled mischievously up at him.

  His hand slipped wickedly into her shirt to caress a plump breast. He tweaked the nipple while pressing kisses onto her face. Slowly, slowly he pulled her back until he felt the seat of the chair facing the fire against the back of his legs. He sat, bringing her onto his lap as he did so. He nibbled on her earlobe, whispering to her in very explicit terms exactly what he intended on doing to her in the next few minutes.

  Elizabeth felt the heat rush into her cheeks at the murmured words, but she was already growing weak with her need. Had she known the delicious delights of the marriage bed, she thought fuzzily, she would have married far younger than she did. But perhaps it would not have been so wonderful with another man. Perhaps it was just because her husband was a lusty Scot named Baen.

/>   “Tell me what you want me to do to you,” he said, his hand now sliding up her leg, his fingers slowly caressing the inside of her silky thigh.

  “Everything you promised me,” she answered him breathlessly.

  “Everything?” he asked her.

  “Everything!”

  “Right now, and right here in the hall?” he taunted.

  “Aye! Right now, and right here in our hall!” she replied fiercely.

  The fingers entwined themselves in the curls covering her mons, lightly brushing it in a teasing motion that sometimes tickled, sometime pulled. And then a single finger followed the faint groove down her slit. Down and up it moved until she was quivering with her anticipation.

  “Mistress.” Albert’s voice pierced her consciousness. He was standing somewhere behind them.

  “Yes, Albert?” she said calmly, although her heart was hammering wildly.

  “The messenger is being fed. Is there anything else I may do for you right now?”

  “Nay, Albert, go and have your supper,” Elizabeth said.

  “Thank you, mistress.” he replied, and they heard his footsteps retreating behind them.

  “Do you think he saw?” Elizabeth fretted.

  “Saw what?” Baen mocked her. “His master and mistress cuddling with the dog at their feet before the fire.”

  “Your hand up my skirt, you devil,” she retorted.

  Baen’s big finger slipped between her nether lips. “Nay. He could hardly see over this high-backed chair. I was proud of you, Elizabeth. ’Twas well done, wife,” he praised her with a grin. Then, finding his objective, he began to play with it, rubbing, teasing, pinching it just enough to make her squeal softly with her excitement. Friar’s ears twitched slightly at the sound, and he raised his head up, but, seeing nothing requiring his attention, the dog went back to sleep. “Look at me, Elizabeth,” Baen suddenly commanded.

  Her gaze locked onto his, her eyes widening as he pushed two thick fingers into her love passage and began to gently frig her. His look was one of the pleasure he was giving her, and she sighed. He bent to kiss her mouth, one kiss blending into another, hot and wet, until she moaned against his lips, “I want it all, Baen! I want it all!”

  He withdrew the two fingers and sat her up, helping her to straddle him. She loosened his garments, freeing his love lance, hard with his desire for her. “Do you think we have time before the messenger comes into the hall?” she whispered. She was burning with her need for him.

  He nodded in the affirmative, sighing as her hands caressed him. She unlaced his shirt, pushing it open so she might kiss his chest and lick at his nipples, while her two hands played with his stiff manhood. Finally, able to bear no more teasing, Elizabeth mounted Baen, her legs resting on either side of him as she lifted her skirts and then gracefully sank down on his love lance with a gusty sigh. His big hands slipped beneath her buttocks, fondling them. He leaned forward to kiss her, whispering to her as he did so.

  “Fuck me well, wife. I am so hot for you at this moment that I care not who comes into the hall.”

  Elizabeth obliged him, beginning with a gentle walk, progressing next to a trot, then a canter, and finally she galloped them both home. She bit her lip so hard to keep from crying out that it bled, and he sucked the blood from it even as he filled her with his passion juices. She collapsed upon his shoulder, gasping with her own pleasure as he groaned aloud.

  “Woman, no other has ever given me the delight that you do!”

  Elizabeth smiled at the declaration. She lay recovering against him for a few minutes, and then she slipped off his lap, drawing her skirts down about her, lacing her blouse back up, and smoothing her disheveled hair with her hands. “We will, of course, continue this discussion later in our bed, sir,” she told him.

  “At your pleasure, madame,” he assured her.

  “And yours, sir,” she said with a smile.

  “How will you satisfy that naughty itch of yours while you are away from me?” he wanted to know. “Will you take a lover, like so many of the fashionable court ladies?”

  Elizabeth pretended to consider his suggestion. “Perhaps I shall,” she said. “And you, Baen? Will you make one of the maidservants your lover?”

  “Nay, a milkmaid or shepherdess, I think,” he replied with a grin. “I far prefer an outdoors lass.”

  She swatted at him, and, laughing, he ducked. “Scots villain,” she cried. “I shall know if you are untrue to me!”

  Reaching up, he pulled her down onto his lap, kissing her soundly. “There is absolutely no other woman in the world for me, Elizabeth, my wife. I should sooner spend the rest of my life a celibate than have another. But you? Will you be tempted by a charming courtier now that you know what passion is all about?”

  Elizabeth punched his shoulder hard. “Nay, and how can you even ask me such a thing? I hated the court, and all of the pompous gentlemen who looked down on me for being more in love with my lands than with them. Only the king was kind to me, because he had grown up with my mother and holds her dear.”

  “What of your other Scot?” Baen asked.

  Was that jealousy she heard in his voice? Elizabeth wondered. “I had forgotten him,” she lied. “He was a pleasant fellow, I will admit, but it is unlikely he is still there. I told him he must ask his brother, King James, for a wife with lands. He probably did, and is long gone from King Henry’s court. Nay, there is only one Scot for me, and you are he, my love!” Then, kissing him hard upon his mouth, she jumped up from his lap. “The others will be returning to the hall any minute. Straighten your garments, sir!”

  “Do you mind that I am jealous?” he asked as he put his clothing aright.

  “I am flattered to know that you still love me,” Elizabeth said.

  “I will always love you,” Baen told her.

  The storm was gone by the following morning, and the sun was shining brightly over the snowy landscape. Elizabeth had written the message she was sending to the new queen the evening before. Now she handed it to the royal messenger, who was ready to make his return journey. She gave him a silver coin for his troubles, and he thanked her effusively. He had been well fed twice. His horse had been well cared for and was ready. His saddlebag was filled with food for at least the first few days of his journey south. He rode out and was surprised to meet the manor’s steward once he was out of sight of the house. “Sir?” he asked, curious.

  “Did you stop at the manor known as Otterly on your way here?” Baen asked him.

  “Nay, sir, the night before I arrived I sheltered in a farmer’s barn along the way,” the messenger answered. “I had passed Otterly the day before.”

  “Ride hard today and you will reach Otterly by nightfall,” Baen advised him. “Ask to speak with Lord Cambridge, and give him this.” Baen put another packet into the messenger’s hand. “Tell Lord Cambridge that the steward at Friarsgate asked that you be sheltered the night. Lord Cambridge has spent much time at court, and you may speak freely with him about your reasons for coming to Friarsgate.” He offered the messenger a large copper.

  “Nay, sir, the lady has given me a coin,” the messenger said politely.

  “You are not a rich man; take it,” Baen insisted, and the messenger did not demur again, instead agreeing to reach Otterly by nightfall and bring Lord Cambridge the message from the steward at Friarsgate. Baen watched him depart down the snowy track.

  The sunset was a bloodred smear on the horizon, and the sky almost black above it when the royal messenger arrived at Otterly. He was ushered into the hall and requested to see Lord Cambridge.

  “I will send for my uncle immediately,” Banon said, beckoning to a servant. “Fetch Lord Cambridge,” she told the man.

  “Thank you, mistress,” he replied, enjoying the warmth that now seeped into him, taking the chill of the long day’s ride from his cold bones. He sipped at the hot cider put into his hands by another servant, watching, amused, as the children in the hall played noisily about
them.

  After almost a half an hour Thomas Bolton came into the hall. “A messenger?” he said. “From whom?”

  “Friarsgate, although this fellow wears a royal badge,” Banon said.

  Lord Cambridge came up to the messenger. “In whose service are you?” he asked quietly.

  “The queen’s, my lord. Queen Anne,” came the reply.

  Banon screamed, surprised, startling her children, who looked nervously towards their mother. “Queen Anne?” She gasped.

  “Aye, mistress,” the messenger said.

  “I had best take this fellow to my wing to learn all, dear girl,” Lord Cambridge said. And what had the messenger been doing at Friarsgate? he wondered.

  “Nay, Uncle! He will tell us all here. I shall not wait until you decide to share his news with us. I could not bear it,” Banon said.

  Thomas Bolton looked about him. Even Robert Neville looked curious. “Oh, very well, my darlings,” he said. “But give me a goblet of wine first. I fear somehow that I shall need it.” He settled himself in a tapestry-backed chair by the fire. “Come, sir”—he waved a languid hand at the messenger—“sit down and tell us all.” He gestured towards a small settle opposite him, smiling as a wine goblet was placed in his hand.

  The messenger sat down gingerly. He was not used to being asked to sit, but it was certainly more comfortable to tell his story thusly.

  “Leave nothing out, dear boy,” Lord Cambridge told him. “We want to know why you went to Friarsgate, and how Anne Boleyn managed to become queen, and why you have come here to Otterly on your return, for ’twas not by chance.”

  “Nay, my lord, ’twas not. The lady of Friarsgate’s husband, the steward of the manor, stopped me on the road south and gave me this packet for you”—he handed it to Thomas Bolton—“and told me to stop the night here, saying it was at his request you shelter me,” the messenger explained.