Elizabeth smiled. “As a child I was called Bessie, but it is not a name for the lady of Friarsgate.”
“Nay,” he agreed, “I can see you are no longer a Bessie.” And then he smiled at her, and for a brief moment Elizabeth felt dazzled. “Your name suits you,” he told her.
“Aye, I think it does,” she agreed, and then she gave him a small smile in return.
Thomas Bolton watched this exchange silently. Too bad Baen MacColl was a bastard. A landless young man with not even his sire’s name to distinguish him. It was a pity, but there it was. Despite the fact that Elizabeth seemed to like him, and he her; despite the fact that they had much in common; he was not the man for her. Surely at court there would be one young man for whom Friarsgate was a golden opportunity, as it had been for Elizabeth’s late father, Sir Owein Meredith. The times were different, it was true, Lord Cambridge thought. Tradesmen’s sons were now serving within the hallowed precincts of the court. But did that not make the chance of finding a husband for Elizabeth even better?
Elizabeth Meredith was a plainspoken girl. She was not interested in a great name or in serving the court. Her passion was for Friarsgate, even more so than her mother’s had been. For Rosamund there had been no choice. Elizabeth, however, had chosen to take on the manor’s many responsibilities. There had to be one man at court to whom a girl like Elizabeth Meredith would seem a great blessing. She was beautiful. She was wealthy. She was intelligent.
And there was the ant in the jam pot. Elizabeth was clever and intuitive. She knew everything there was to know about Friarsgate. She was not going to easily share her autonomy with anyone. Rosamund had been that way, but Owein had understood, and she had gradually shared her rule with him. Elizabeth was a creature of a different stripe. Lord Cambridge sighed. He feared that they had waited too long to find Elizabeth a husband. And if they had, what was to happen to Friarsgate?
The storm was the last one of the winter season. The days were growing longer, and the sun warmer. It melted the snow that had so recently fallen, and the snows beneath it. Sheets of white slid from the roofs, sometimes catching a passerby unawares. The meltoff ran in little runnels off the edges and corners of the barns. The lambs shyly ventured out into the bright day, hiding within the shadows of their mams, but then growing bolder with each passing hour.
“Which breed do you like best?” Elizabeth asked Baen as they walked across the muddy enclosure one afternoon.
“I think the cheviots, although the Shropshires are handsome enough beasts,” he told her.
“I will sell you some of each,” she said. “It cannot hurt your endeavor to have several different breeds to go with your black-faced Highlands.” The mud squished beneath her boots, and Elizabeth sighed.
“Why do they insist you go to court?” he asked suddenly.
“Because it is the place my mother found my father, and my sisters their husbands,” Elizabeth answered him. “My mother was a child when she went, and her match was arranged with my father because it was good for the king. Fortunately my parents adored each other. She had been wed twice previously: at three to a cousin who died of a childhood complaint, and then at six to an elderly knight who taught her how to control her own destiny before he succumbed.”
“Why was she Friarsgate’s heiress?” he inquired.
“Her family perished and she alone was left,” Elizabeth explained.
“And your sisters?”
“Philippa visited the court at ten. She was invited to return at twelve to serve the queen. After that it was all she wanted. Uncle Thomas found her a husband when the boy she thought to wed preferred a churchly life instead. And Banon found her Neville at court. His family had dragged him there to hopefully gain a place in the royal household. Instead he saw Banon, and was lost. She is Uncle Thomas’s heiress, and rules over Otterly like a queen bee. That is why he had been so delighted to winter with me. Banon’s brood of daughters drive him mad.” Elizabeth laughed. “They say I must be wed so that Friarsgate may have another generation of heirs or heiresses. I have no time for a husband, let alone children. But to court I will be dragged, and they will find a husband for me, I fear. My sister, the countess, will already be looking for just the right man,” Elizabeth finished with a grimace.
He laughed, but then he said, “They are right, you know. This is a fine manor that you possess, Elizabeth Meredith, and you love it dearly. But like each generation that lives upon this earth, ours will one day pass away. Then who will care for Friarsgate?”
“I know,” she admitted, “but the thought of having some perfumed fool for a husband does not please me.”
“Are either of your brothers-in-law perfumed fools?” he asked her.
“Nay, but then Crispin manages his own estates, and Philippa is happy to let him do it, for it allows her time at court to see to the future of their children. And Robert Neville is more than content to allow Banon to control Otterly. He prefers hunting and fishing; and Banon makes his life such an easy one I think he has no idea she is wearing his breeks.”
“Is that the kind of man you want?” he said quietly.
“I think I could share Friarsgate with a husband, but he would have to love it as much as I do,” Elizabeth noted thoughtfully. “And he would have to understand that I know my lands, and I know how to buy and sell at no loss to Friarsgate. I do not believe that there is a man like that out there in the world, but I will go to court because it will please my family that I am being cooperative and doing what they want of me. But I will marry no man who cannot share my burden with me, or who wants that burden all for himself,” she said firmly.
“What of love?” he wondered.
“Love?” Elizabeth looked surprised at his query.
“Do you not want to love the man you wed, Elizabeth Meredith?” Baen MacColl asked her. He was leaning against the fence of the sheepfold as he spoke, his gray eyes perusing her face carefully.
“I suppose it would be nice to love the man I wed. My sisters certainly love their husbands, but neither has the responsibilities I do. I must choose the man who will be best for Friarsgate, if indeed there is such a man,” Elizabeth said.
Baen MacColl reached out and took her heart-shaped face in his two big hands. Then, leaning forward, he kissed her lips slowly and tenderly.
Elizabeth’s eyes widened with surprise, and she pulled back. “Why did you do that?” she demanded to know.
“You’ve never been kissed before,” he replied by way of an answer.
“Nay, I haven’t. But you still haven’t answered my question, Baen.”
