“The queen was not with the court, but sent to Woodstock. Mistress Boleyn rules in her stead. The king is utterly besotted,” Lord Cambridge explained.
“Poor Katherine! For all her royal breeding, her great piety and devotion to God, she has had a far harder life than many a humble woman. I know she considers it a penance, and thinks her soul the better for it,” Rosamund said. “I am sorry for her. Had it been her court I have no doubt a suitable husband could have been found for Elizabeth. You say you have a possible solution to this conundrum. I beg you, tell me what it is.”
“Baen MacColl has returned to Friarsgate,” Lord Cambridge began.
“The Scot who was here last winter? Why has he come back?” Rosamund wanted to know. She sipped thirstily at her wine while her other hand worried the dark green fabric of her skirts. “What does he want?”
“His father, the master of Grayhaven, sent to ask if he might return and learn how to set up a small industry, as we have done. Edmund saw no harm in saying he might come. A small attraction sprang up last winter between him and Elizabeth. It still exists. The man cannot inherit from his father, for he has two legitimate brothers. Elizabeth would accept him as a husband if she could but convince him. Baen’s loyalty to his own father is deep, however.”
“A Scot would be master of Friarsgate?” Rosamund said slowly.
“I doubt Baen has any loyalties except to his family,” Lord Cambridge said quietly. “He is not a political creature.”
“Scots always become nationalistic when faced with an English war,” Rosamund said. “Logan and I have been fortunate, but should war break out between our two countries in our lifetime, I do not know what we should do, Tom.”
“You would barricade yourselves in Claven’s Carn, and wait till it was over and done with, dear girl. Besides, the English always make for Edinburgh in a war, and that is on the opposite side of the country from both Friarsgate and Claven’s Carn,” he reminded her. “We have always been relatively safe here.”
“But what do we know of this Baen MacColl, Tom? Really know?” Rosamund wondered aloud.
“We know he is a good man,” Thomas Bolton said. “Stay with us for a few days and observe him yourself.”
“Does he want to marry my daughter?” Rosamund asked her cousin.
“My dear girl, the subject hasn’t even come up,” Lord Cambridge said. “Nor should it until Elizabeth decides the time is right,” he cautioned.
“Are you telling me that this Scot has evinced no interest in marrying my daughter?” Rosamund demanded to know.
“He is not a presumptuous man, dear girl. He thinks himself not worthy of her,” Lord Cambridge responded, attempting to mollify her outrage.
“But she intends to convince him otherwise,” Rosamund said.
“I fear she does, dear cousin,” he answered her.
“I am sorry she did not find a good English husband at court,” Rosamund began. “But I question why this particular man?”
“Because, Mama,” Elizabeth Meredith said, entering her own hall, “ever since the Earl of Glenkirk I have always had a weakness for Scots.” She hurried to her mother and embraced her warmly. “Welcome home, Mama.”
Rosamund hugged her youngest daughter; then she set her back so she might look into her face. “You are in love with him?”
“I suppose I am,” Elizabeth said, “but I am not really certain what love is, though perhaps I am learning.”
“Has he taken advantage of you?” Rosamund wanted to know.
Elizabeth laughed aloud. “Nay, Mama, but I have certainly taken advantage of him, though he resists me and prates about honor, and how he is unworthy.”
Rosamund sighed. “I shall take your advice, cousin, and remain for a few days to observe this reluctant Scot,” she said.
“Please, Mama, say nothing to him. I do not wish him frightened off,” Elizabeth said softly. “I really do like him.”
And Rosamund found that she liked Baen MacColl too as she came to know him over the next few days. He was a bit rough, but in an odd way he reminded her of Owein Meredith, Elizabeth’s father. He was thoughtful. He had a great care and respect for the land. He treated the lady of Friarsgate with consideration, just as Owein had done. But he was a Scot. And not just a Scot. A Highland Scot! Why did he have to be a Scot? It was obvious to her mother’s eye that Elizabeth did care for this man. The night before her return to Claven’s Carn she confided her concerns to her cousin.
“I don’t know what to do, Tom. For the first time in my life I honestly do not know what to do. Help me.”
Thomas Bolton sat quietly in his chair stroking the half-grown Domino, who was lounging in his lap purring loudly. “You set the example, dear one. You wed a Scot,” he said. “Elizabeth isn’t like most girls her age. She feels a great sense of responsibility to her position. She would not be happy sitting by the fire weaving and mothering her bairns, Rosamund. She has become Friarsgate, and she needs a man who will not be afraid of that, or try to take it away from her, attempting to make her into something she isn’t. Do I wish he were English, or a borderer? Does it really matter, cousin? She is falling in love with him, and she has never loved any man. And he has fallen in love with her. Last winter, I suspect. But he, too, carries a strong sense of responsibility for who and what he is. What will happen? I do not know. But I am of a mind to let fate and nature take their course, Rosamund. And that would be my council to you.”
“But how will Elizabeth resolve his concerns? And how will she gain his promise to remain neutral in the face of a conflict between their two countries?” Rosamund asked her cousin. “We cannot have Friarsgate caught between warring parties.”
“Let them find their own way, dear girl. They will do it together, because their love for each other will surely overcome all else. Elizabeth will convince her reluctant Scot to take his place by her side. Of that I am certain. And his father should not object to having his bastard wed with an heiress, even if it means he will lose him.”
