The following day Elizabeth was up early, and with Baen MacColl by her side. They rode out to inspect the flocks in the miles of meadows belonging to Friarsgate. The ewes were plump with thick coats, the lambs born this past winter fat with their mother’s milk and the green grass they were now eating as well. The rams who oversaw each flock stood slightly separate from their flocks like monarchs, surveying all. Each of them was large, with a woolly coat and some had fine horns.
“Your meadows are wonderful,” Baen said. “No wonder your flocks are so healthy. The Highland meadows are not nearly as lush. This Friarsgate of yours is almost magical, Elizabeth.”
“It is, isn’t it?” she replied with a smile. “There is no place on earth like it, and no place I should rather be than right here. I will never leave it again, Baen.”
They returned home in early evening. The fires were already beginning to spring up on the hillsides in celebration of Midsummer’s Eve. Tables had been set out before the house, and the servants were even now hurrying to bring the food. There were barrels of ale, and all the Friarsgate folk were invited to celebrate with Elizabeth. The benches were soon filled with men, women, and children eating and drinking. Every family had brought their own trenchers of bread, wooden cups, and spoons. The trenchers were filled with mutton stew, fragrant with onions and carrots. There was capon, and trout from the lake. And fresh loaves, newly churned butter, cheese, and fresh fruit. The drinking vessels were filled again and again with good Friarsgate ale.
The children ran about, excitedly gathering the last bits of wood for the great fire that would shortly be lit a little way distant from the house. The feasting meant little to them. It was the excitement of the fire and the dancing that would follow. The air had a warm moistness to it. The skies were luminescent with the high-summer twilight. Here and there in the firmament stars began to show.
And then the lady of Friarsgate stood up. “Who wants to help me light our fire?” she asked, and the children surrounded her all begging to be the special one. She turned to Baen. “Who would you choose?” she asked him, motioning him forward to join her.
He looked at the noisy group of children, and then his eye lit upon a little girl who had been pushed to the rear of the pack by her siblings. Her forlorn look told him of her disappointment at being too small to be noticed, but he noticed. She had blond braids like Elizabeth, and he imagined that once Elizabeth had looked like that. Stepping into the crowd of children, he lifted her up. “Here is a bonny bairn to help you, lady!” he said, cradling the little girl in the crook of his arm. The smile that lit the little maid’s features warmed his heart.
“A fine choice, sir,” Elizabeth praised him. Then she said to the child, “Put your hand on mine, Edith, and together we shall light our Midsummer fire.”
Baen was surprised that she knew the bairn’s name. There were so many youngsters crowding about them, how could she keep them all straight? The child in his arms leaned forward and put a firm little hand on Elizabeth’s hand. The torch touched the pile of faggots once, twice, a third time. The flame sprang up to light the night, and the Friarsgate folk cheered.
“Nicely done, lassie,” he told Edith, setting her down once more. The bairn flashed him a sweet smile. “Thank you for choosing me, sir,” she said. Then she curtseyed and ran off to find her mother, flushed with her triumph.
“How kind you are,” Elizabeth said softly.
“I could see how desperately she wanted to be chosen, yet she had little hope of it, being the smallest,” he said. “It is difficult to be ignored when you so very much want to be noticed. Was it not that way for you when you were the youngest of your sisters?”
“Once we were very close,” Elizabeth told him. “It was only after Philippa came back from court that first time that things began to change. She could scarcely wait to return as a maid of honor. It was all she thought about, and frankly it was very irritating.”
He chuckled. “I should like to meet this oldest sister of yours,” he said.
Elizabeth shook her head. “Nay, you would not. She is nobility now. A countess, and she never forgets it. But I should do Philippa an injustice if I did not say how kind she was to me at court. She tried her best.”
The musicians had begun to play, and a circle was forming about the fire. Baen took Elizabeth’s hand, and they joined the group. They danced boisterously about the flames for some minutes, and above them the skies began to darken slightly. The fire crackled and shot sparks into the air. One country round dance led into another until Elizabeth was breathless with her exertions. As the evening began to deepen finally into a short night, couples began to disappear into the darkness. The circle of dancers grew smaller, and the flames shot higher, casting shadows all around. She wanted to go into the shadows with a man, which she had never done. Reaching out, Elizabeth took the Scot’s hand and walked from the fire into the blackness.
His hand tightened around hers. “What are you doing?” he asked softly.
“I’ve never left the fire with a man on Midsummer’s Eve,” Elizabeth said. “I’m twenty-two, Baen. Don’t you think it’s time?”
“Do you know why couples flee from the fire, Elizabeth?” he asked her.
“So they can make love,” she answered him candidly. “Would you like to make love to me, Baen?” Elizabeth asked low.
He stopped short. He could not see her face, and only that he had her hand in his could he even know she was by his side. “Elizabeth, you told me earlier that you were not wanton, and yet now you would suggest that we explore passion together. I must understand exactly what it is you are asking of me before we proceed further.”
“Don’t you want to kiss me?” she countered.
“Very much,” he replied.
“Then why don’t you?” Elizabeth wanted to know.
“Did you not once tell me that kissing leads to cuddling, and cuddling led to passion?” he demanded to know.
“I want you to kiss me,” she said. “I am twenty-two, an old maid with little chance of marriage, no matter what they say, and I want to be kissed, Baen MacColl. I want to be kissed in the darkness on Mid-summer’s Eve. But I want those kisses from a man I like and admire, as I do you.” She turned to face him, slipping her arms about his neck, pressing against him seductively.
He could feel the pressure of her breasts against his chest. Her slender body against his hard body. He closed his eyes briefly, enjoying the sensations she was engendering within him. Her lips brushed over his.
“Kiss me,” she whispered against his mouth. “Kiss me!”
And he did. One kiss melted into another and another. She sighed, her warm breath touching his face. He caressed the sweet face he could not see for the pitch-black engulfing them. He took that face between his hands, kissing her forehead, her eyelids, her nose, her cheeks, her chin before returning to her ripe mouth to drink the addictive nectar of her lips once more. It was a testament to his great restraint that he touched her with tenderness when he really wanted to push her down onto the meadow grass and possess her completely. Finally he groaned, “We have to cease, Elizabeth.”
“Why?” she demanded. “I like kissing.”
