“Why?” Baen asked. “I’m barely home again, Da.” He stood an inch taller than his parent, but had the same wide, high forehead, long, straight nose, and generous mouth. From a distance they were often mistaken for each other.
“I want to learn more about this weaving you told me about when you returned a few weeks ago,” Colin Hay said. “These Friarsgate folk are kept busy the winter long at their looms, and the cloth they weave brings in an income. You will learn everything there is to know about this industrious endeavor, Baen. Then we will attempt to set up a similar undertaking here at Grayhaven. It will be your responsibility, for your brothers, good lads both, have not the instincts for trade or industry.”
“When am I to go?” Baen asked his father. He wondered if the lovely Elizabeth Meredith would have returned from court. And if she had, was she a married woman now? Of course, he had no right to think about her, but he had not been able to get her out of his mind. Her sweet mouth. Her golden hair and luminous hazel-green eyes. He almost sighed aloud with the memory. He wondered if she had thought of him.
“You can depart tomorrow,” the master of Grayhaven said. “Return when you know what you need to know, lad.”
So Baen had ridden out from Grayhaven the following morning with his dog, Friar, and for the next few days he rode from dawn until darkness. He carried wine in his flask and oatcakes in his pouch to sustain him. His horse grazed the night hours away wherever they stopped. Friar hunted rabbits. His woolen cape and his dog kept him warm in the fields where he bedded down. And with Friar by his side he was safe from marauders and wild beasts. Down from his Highland home he came, bypassing Edinburgh and riding across the Lowlands to finally cross into England. When he at last topped the hill and looked down into Friarsgate’s valley, he felt an odd sensation in his chest that he couldn’t comprehend. It was if he were coming home. Friar, seeming to recognize where he was too, barked noisily and dashed excitedly about.
The first to welcome him back was the priest, Father Mata. He was coming from his church. “’Tis good to see you again, laddie,” he said. “Edmund will be in the house now with Elizabeth. Today is their day for checking the figures on the flocks.”
“Mistress Elizabeth has returned from court?” Baen asked, dismounting. “And has she brought a fine bridegroom with her, Father Mata?”
“Nay, alas, there is no husband,” the priest said, shaking his head.
“Perhaps she will find one among her neighbors,” Baen said without conviction.
“We have few neighbors, and none near,” the priest replied mournfully. “I do not know what the lady Rosamund will do now. She made Elizabeth the heiress of Friarsgate, but we always anticipated the lass would one day wed and breed up a new heir or heiress for Friarsgate. It would appear that will not happen now, and what will become of Friarsgate? The lady will quarrel with her daughter when she learns this truth, but they have kept it from her so far, for anger will not solve the problem.”
They had reached the house now, and a lad came to take Baen’s horse. The priest went in with the Scot, and they walked to the hall. There they found Lord Cambridge, who stood up, smiling broadly at the sight of Baen MacColl.
“Dear boy!” he exclaimed. “Welcome back to Friarsgate. It is good to see you once again. Come and sit with me. How fortunate I am still here to greet you. Alas, the workmen building the new wing at Otterly have been wretchedly slow.”
Baen joined Thomas Bolton, and a servant brought them both goblets of wine. The priest had disappeared from the hall. “Your visit to court was not a successful one, Father Mata tells me,” Baen began. “I am sorry, but if I recall, you did not think it a good idea, but went because Mistress Elizabeth’s mother desired it.”
“It was a stratagem that worked for the two older sisters,” Lord Cambridge said, “and my cousin Rosamund hoped it would succeed for Elizabeth. It did not.”
“What will you do now, my lord?”
“I am thinking about it,” Thomas Bolton said. “Now, tell me, dear boy, why has your father sent you back to us? Are you in the market for additional stock?”
“He would like me to learn about Friarsgate’s weaving trade,” Baen answered. “I think he hopes to give me a purpose in life, as I cannot inherit, being his bastard. He is a good man and loves me, I know, but is concerned with my future in this world. There is only so much to be had at Grayhaven, as Jamie and Gilbert must come before me.”
“He would appear to be a good man, your father,” Lord Cambridge observed, sipping his wine. This boded well. If the master of Grayhaven loved his bastard enough to care about his future, perhaps something could be arranged. Mayhap Colin Hay would not object to giving his oldest-born to England. Now, of course, Thomas Bolton thought he must encourage the budding attraction he had seen the previous winter between Baen MacColl and Elizabeth. She did seem to have a predilection for Scotsmen. Hopefully her little flirtation with Flynn Stewart hadn’t broken her heart too badly. And then there was, of course, the little matter of convincing his cousin Rosamund to approve such a match. At this point, however, she should be delighted for any son-in-law who would love Elizabeth and help her care for Friarsgate.
Maybel came into the hall now, greeting Baen, who stood up, coming forward to stand before her. “I had heard you had arrived,” she said. “You are welcome. I have prepared a wee chamber upstairs for you, as you will be with us awhile. Is this the pup you took with you several months ago?” she asked, giving Friar a pat. “You’ve taken good care of him, laddie.”
“Aye, I couldn’t leave him behind,” Baen said. “We have become rather good friends, Friar and I. You are as pretty as ever, Mistress Maybel, if I may be allowed to note it.” His gray eyes twinkled at her as he took her hands in his and kissed them.
Maybel chuckled. “Go on with you, laddie,” she told him, coloring, pulling her hands from his, and giving him a friendly swat. “You’re a proper rogue, I can see.”
He grinned at her. “Tomorrow is Midsummer’s Eve Day, Maybel. Will you dance about the fire with me?”
“Indeed I will”—she chortled—“and be the envy of all the women for having such a handsome young fellow by my side.”
“Baen MacColl, welcome back to Friarsgate!” Elizabeth came into the hall. She had a look in her eye that told her uncle she was happy to see the Scotsman again.
He took her hand in his, slowly raising it to his lips to kiss it. “It is good to see you again, Elizabeth Meredith,” he told her, and she blushed prettily.
Yes,Lord Cambridge thought, delighted.The attraction is still there, and with a bit of encouragement we shall fan it into a love that will last a lifetime. What matter that he is a Scot? I will wager his father would be happy to see him wed to a girl like Elizabeth. Settled. Comfortable for the rest of his life. He is a man of the land. Why did I not see it before?He almost purred like a cat with his pleasure at the situation unfolding before him. He had promised to find Elizabeth a husband, and he had, though none of the others knew it yet.
“Oh, you have brought Friar with you!” Elizabeth exclaimed, and knelt to fondle the half-grown dog.
“He insisted on coming,” Baen said, kneeling next to her to pat the pup.
“You have taken good care of him,” she noted.
“He’s becoming an excellent herder,” Baen told her.
