He knelt by her side and inspected the sheep’s wool. Their hands touched briefly, and then Elizabeth stood up. “Aye,” he said softly, “I can see she’s a fine beastie.” Then he stood again and, reaching out, picked up the noisy puppy, cradling it in his arms. “Hush, laddie, I can see you will do your duty, and do it well.” He stroked Friar’s head.
Elizabeth turned away, walking to her horse. Her hand seemed to burn where his had touched it. She felt almost faint, and shook her head to clear it as she pulled herself into the saddle again. “It’s growing late, Baen. We have a long ride back to the house,” she told him.
Together they rode back, and when they reached the stables Elizabeth dismounted, and immediately crossed the stable yard towards the house. Baen took the puppy back to the kennels and settled it in with its mother for a good supper. Then he followed after her, but she was already inside and nowhere to be seen when he came into the hall. He found that he was disappointed.
“Dear boy!” Lord Cambridge waved at him. William Smythe was by his side. “How did the sheep viewing go? And have you a dog of your own now?”
“Aye, a fine young fellow I’ve named Friar. Elizabeth says Tam will teach him the basics, and then we will learn to work together, Friar and I.” He smiled at the older man, and at his gesturing hand joined him. “And was your day productive, my lord?”
“It was long, and it was dull,” Thomas Bolton complained. “Elizabeth’s wardrobe is finished. She has jewelry and shoes. We but await the month of April to depart.”
“You will not return to your own holding before?” Baen asked.
“Nay. I am having another wing added to Otterly. It will not be completed until sometime this summer. My heiress’s brood is both large and noisy. Friarsgate may not offer me the amenities that Otterly has, but its hall is delightfully peaceful. I shall not see Otterly until I return. Dear William, however, will have to come back ahead of us in order to see to the transfer of my furniture and other belongings from my apartments to the new wing, which has no direct access to the main sections of the house.” He grinned wickedly. “I have no intention of being overrun again, dear boy. I shall make my final stand in the new west wing of my home.”
Baen chuckled. “I understand,” he told the older man. “My father’s house is not very large, and when I arrived so suddenly it seemed, my stepmother said, to grow smaller. My brothers and I are all big men. ’Tis fortunate none of us is wed yet.”
Young Nancy came into the hall to say her mistress had a headache, and would not be joining them for supper.
“I am not surprised, out all day in that dampness,” Lord Cambridge said. “And Elizabeth always refuses to wear a head covering. One day she will catch her death, I fear, but she will not listen to reason. A most stubborn girl.” Then he brightened. “But we shall have a lovely supper together, and then I shall beat you once more in chess, dear boy. You seem to get worse with each game we play,” Thomas Bolton noted.
“I shall endeavor to give your lordship a better game tonight,” Baen MacColl replied with a quick grin. Then he saw William Smythe’s faint smile, and knew that Lord Cambridge’s secretary was aware of his deception, yet he kept silent.Well,Baen considered,Thomas Bolton is an odd fellow, but he is amusing, and has a good heart. It would break that heart if I made him lose. He does so enjoy the game.He nodded imperceptibly to William Smythe, acknowledging his part in the deception.
The month of March was quickly coming to an end. It was decided that Baen MacColl would go north back into Scotland in mid-April, for by then the snows should be gone. Elizabeth and Lord Cambridge, however, would depart for court on the first day of April. Several days before that departure the Hepburn of Claven’s Carn arrived with his wife and four of his five sons.
“You did not think I was going to let you go to court without saying good-bye,” Rosamund said to her daughter. She was still a handsome woman, approaching her forty-first birthday. She hugged Elizabeth. “I am so pleased you are going. And I want to see all the beautiful gowns that have been made for you. You must wear one into the hall tonight so Logan and your brothers may see what a fine lady you have become.”
Elizabeth hugged her mother back, and said, “Where is Johnnie?”
“At Claven’s Carn, taking on a bit of the responsibility that will one day be his,” Logan Hepburn answered his stepdaughter. Then he turned on his heel, pierced Baen MacColl with a hard look, and said, “Who are you? A Highlander, from the look of you.”
“This is Baen MacColl, Logan,” Elizabeth said quickly. “He has been with us for some weeks now, waiting for better weather to return home. His father, the master of Grayhaven, is purchasing a small flock from me. He wishes to improve his stock. He was sent to us by the Leslies of Glenkirk, whose neighbor he is.”
Logan Hepburn held out his hand, and Baen took it, looking directly at the older man as he shook the proffered hand. “My lord,” he said.
“Och, man, Logan will do,” the Hepburn said with a grin. He liked the look of the Highlander. “Your clan?”
“My father is Colin Hay,” Baen answered.
“Well, he spawns big lads,” Logan noted. “Are there any more at home like you?” The man had been introduced as MacColl, which meant he was a bastard, Logan realized. Still, he was obviously well thought of by his sire.
“Two. My half brothers, Jamie and Gilbert Hay,” Logan answered, knowing the Hepburn had already figured out his heritage. Well, he wasn’t ashamed of it.
“Has Elizabeth allowed you a wee dram of my whiskey?” Logan wanted to know. “Lass, have it brought forth at once! You have half a dozen Scotsmen in the hall.”
“Tavis and Edmund are not drinking whiskey!” Rosamund said firmly. “They are far too young. Why, that stuff you brew will stunt their growth, Logan.”
“Awww, mam,” Rosamund’s youngest sons, twins, protested in unison.
“Your mother’s right,” Logan said, and his sons grew quiet.
James Hepburn, who was fourteen, remained very quiet. He watched as four small dram cups were poured and brought forward. The first went to his half sister’s guest. The next to his father. His brother, Alexander, who was seventeen, was served. Then the servant offered him the last dram, and no one protested. Jamie Hepburn took the pewter cup and, following his father’s lead, raised the little vessel up in toast. Then he drank it all down in a single gulp, gasping audibly as the whiskey hit the bottom of his belly like a hot coal. His eyes watered, but he gamely said nothing.
Logan Hepburn grinned, well pleased. These sons he had sired on Rosamund were braw lads. They were strong and filled with the joy of life, unlike his eldest son, who desperately sought to leave Claven’s Carn and enter a religious order. He had fought with John before they had departed Claven’s Carn, for he wanted his heir to remain behind to oversee his lands. John had wanted to go to a nearby abbey on a retreat. He was glad his first wife, Jeannie, wasn’t alive to suffer the disappointment that John had become. She had been so proud to give Logan Hepburn his first son.
Rosamund, however, had scolded Logan for his intransigence, as she put it. It was important to love one’s lands. John Hepburn loved God more and, having experienced a similar disappointment with her eldest daughter in the matter of Friarsgate, Rosamund understood both her husband’s side of the matter and her stepson’s. He had four other sons, she reminded him, and their eldest, Alexander, was like his father in every way, right down to his sense of responsibility regarding Claven’s Carn.
“It tastes terrible, doesn’t it?” Elizabeth remarked to her brother, Jamie, about the whiskey he had just consumed.
