“Baen says he has seen this kind of thing before. It is an eruption within the brain. It will take many months for him to recover, but Baen thinks he will. Edmund Bolton is my blood kin as well as my steward,” Elizabeth said. “His position is his, but I have asked Baen to take over his duties until Edmund can manage them once again. Do you think I have made the right decision, Maybel? Edmund has never permitted anyone to help him, nor has he trained any to take his place one day.”
“What man wants to think of his own mortality?” Maybel asked in a broken voice. “Baen MacColl is a good man. Edmund would approve your choice, Elizabeth. Thank you for your kindness, my child.”
“Kindness? Maybel, you and Edmund are my family!” Elizabeth cried.
Maybel shook her head wearily. “If you had a husband,” she said, “I believe Edmund and I would retire to that cottage of ours. But how can we leave you to manage Friarsgate alone?” She paused as if considering her next words, and then she said, “The Scot is a good man, Elizabeth. And I see that you like each other. Many a marriage has been celebrated on less than that. If your mother would approve it, child, Baen MacColl could be the answer to your problem.”
Elizabeth smiled. “I have Mama’s permission to pursue him, Maybel, and I intend on doing just that.”
The older woman gave the girl a wan smile, and nodded. “Does he know it?” she asked. “He seems a strong and independent man.”
“Not yet,” Elizabeth admitted with a twinkle, “but he will soon. I think he will be more comfortable, Maybel, knowing you approve my decision to put him in Edmund’s place temporarily. If I sit with your man will you go down to the hall and tell him?”
Maybel arose from her place by her husband’s bedside. “Aye. He’s the kind of man who would not impose himself where he is not wanted. I will tell him I am grateful for his aid in our troubles.” She moved towards the door to the chamber. “I will not be long, lass.”
Elizabeth sat by the bedside of Edmund Bolton. He was sleeping peacefully now, but the right side of his mouth was pulled down and crooked. His hands were frozen, partly open, the right one more so than the left. He did not move, and only by the rising and falling of his chest did Elizabeth Meredith know that her great-uncle lived. To see Edmund helpless and frail was somewhat of a shock, for he had always been so hearty and robust a man. But he was no longer young, Elizabeth realized. He was past seventy now by a good year.
Elizabeth sighed softly. How foolish she had been. She had not taken the passing of time seriously. She had not considered that each year she added to her own age those around her were also growing older as well. Edmund and Maybel would not be with her forever. Had they not earned their rest in their own dear little cottage that they rarely visited these days? And Friarsgate. Her beloved Friarsgate. None of her nieces or nephews were suited to inherit it. What had she been thinking when she had so obdurately refused to consider marrying?
Yet she knew. Her mother had found love thrice in her lifetime. Philippa and Banon had found love in their own marriages. And Elizabeth Meredith would not, could not settle for any less than what they had. But until Baen MacColl had come into her life she had seen no hope of finding a man to love, a man who would love her enough to accept her as she was. The lady of Friarsgate. However, Baen did. Now her only problem would be in convincing him to stay with her. She had her mother’s permission to bring him to the altar if she could. And even now Maybel was convincing him how necessary he was to Friarsgate, to them all.
And indeed the old woman was. She had taken up his hands and kissed them both before bursting into tears. “Thank God and his blessed Mother Mary that you are here to aid us, laddie. We should be lost without you,” she told him, sobbing.
Instinctively Baen had put his arms about the weeping woman. “There now, Maybel, do not greet. Your Edmund will be all right with God’s good help. I am here to help, and I will until he can get on his feet again. How is he now?”
“Sleeping,” Maybel said. “Elizabeth gave him the draft and is sitting with him while I have come to thank you. But I must return now,” she said, moving from the comfort of his strong arms.
“Is there anything we can do to make him more comfortable?” Lord Cambridge asked. He had come into the hall shortly after Edmund had been carried upstairs.
“Thank you, Thomas Bolton,” Maybel said. “I believe all is being done that can be done for now.” Then she hurried back to her husband.
“Well, dear boy, I thank heavens you are with us,” Lord Cambridge said. “For all the ladies of Friarsgate think they can manage, each has needed a man at one time or another,” he said. “Poor Edmund, but alas he is not a lad any longer, I fear. None of us is, of course, but he is the oldest of the Boltons.”
Elizabeth returned to the hall and requested of Albert that the evening meal be served. Father Mata arrived from his church, where he had been schooling some of the younglings in the Latin of the Mass. Elizabeth told him what had transpired, and then said, “Eat first, Mata, and then go to Maybel. I know you well, and you will remain the night by Edmund’s side with an empty belly if I do not make you eat now.”
The priest said the blessing, and then gobbled his meal of lamb stew with carrots and leeks, trout with butter and parsley, and bread and cheese. Then, rising, he made for the stairs. Several minutes later Maybel entered the hall, and Elizabeth beckoned her to the high board to eat. She finished her meal as quickly as the priest had, and disappeared back to her chamber, where Edmund lay silent. Thomas Bolton and Will Smythe excused themselves from the hall after a single game of chess, leaving Baen and Elizabeth alone. The servants cleared the remnants of the evening meal away, and the hall was suddenly empty but for the Scot and the lady of Friarsgate.
“Let us sit by the fire,” Elizabeth invited him, offering the tapestried chair with the high back. When he had seated himself she sat down in his lap. “Isn’t this nice?” she asked him, snuggling against him.
“Aye,” he agreed, his arms slipping about her. “Are you attempting to seduce me, Elizabeth?” The delicate fragrance from her hair was enticing. White heather, he thought, and smiled to himself.
“Aye, I am attempting to seduce you, Baen,” she told him boldly. “Do you mind?” She looked up into his face.
“Lassie, lassie,” he said almost mournfully, “I do not think this is a good idea.”
“Why not?” she asked frankly. “Don’t you want to be seduced?”
“If you were anyone other than who you are, Elizabeth, I would gladly succumb to your sweet blandishments,” he told her. Why was she torturing him so? And why was he allowing her to do so? He had to resist her.
“I am no one special,” she countered. “I am just plain Elizabeth Meredith.” His arms were so warm and comforting. She could live in them forever, she realized.
“You are a wealthy landowner, and I the bastard of a Highlander. We have been over this before, Elizabeth, and I know you understand what I am saying,” Baen replied, attempting to remove her from his lap, but, defying him, she burrowed deeper.
“Of course I understand you, but it does not make any sense, Baen.” Her fingers played with the laces of his shirt. “I am wealthy and English. You are poor and a Scot. We both know it, but why should such a thing stop us from desiring each other and acting upon those desires?” The shirt laces loosened, and she slipped her hand beneath them to find the smooth skin of his broad chest and caress it.
He felt her fingers stroking him. Then she twisted in his lap, and, lowering her head, she began to kiss his flesh and lick at one of his nipples. “Elizabeth!” he pleaded with her, but he couldn’t bring himself to make her stop. The little feathery kisses were exciting and oh, so sweet! Finally he pulled her up, and his mouth met hers in a fiery kiss. His big hand unloosened her single thick braid and tangled in her soft blond hair. He couldn’t stop kissing her. Their mouths fused together again and again and yet again until Elizabeth was moaning with undisguised satisfaction.
Her lips felt bruised, and still she did not want him to cease. When he began to kiss her throat she could hear a roaring in her ears. She felt him opening her shirt as she had opened his. He was kissing her breasts, and she was crying out with the pure pleasure that was suffusing her whole body. “Oh, Baen,” she moaned.
