“Because you will not say what is in your heart I must be bold,” she replied.
“How do you know what is in my heart?” he asked her. “I have not spoken out of turn to you, lady.”
“Your stormy gray eyes tell me what I need to know, Baen,” Elizabeth told him softly. “When I was at court I learned to read the expression in eyes even as lips said something entirely different. I might have fallen in love with Flynn Stewart, King James’s half brother, but for what I saw in his eyes. Now I see in your eyes that you want me, that you love me, but you will not speak. So I must. I want you for my husband.”
“I cannot!” he groaned low. “You know I cannot! My first loyalty must be to my sire. You have been surrounded by love your entire life, Elizabeth. You do not know what it was like for me in the house of my mother’s husband. He hated me even before my birth. Had my mother not protected me from that same hour he would surely have left me out on a hillside to die. And had I been devoured by wolves I believe it would have pleased my mother’s husband quite well. But as she lay dying she told me of my father, and how I came to be conceived. And in the hours after her burial I forever left the cottage where she had lived in such misery, and went to Colin Hay. It is true I am his image but for my mother’s eyes. There was no doubt I was his son. He might have refused to acknowledge me, and I would have understood. He might have, out of a sense of guilt, given me a place in his stables, and I would have been grateful. But he embraced me and took me into his house. My stepmother chided him for a randy lad, and laughed. She tipped my face up, looked into it, shook her head, and said that she had always wanted many laddies, and I was surely the easiest come into her world. I owe the Hays of Grayhaven my loyalty, Elizabeth, and I give it to them gladly. Jamie will one day inherit. But Gilly and I have only what our father gives us. The sheep are for me, and I must make them profitable for him. There can be no love for me. No wife.”
“Eat your supper,” she advised him quietly. “You have distressed yourself, Baen. In each match made there is one stronger than the other. I see I am to be the stronger, as my sister Banon is in her marriage.” She smiled sweetly at him.
“You will break my heart if I let myself love you,” he told her.
“Nay, you will break mine if you leave me for your family,” Elizabeth said. “Nonetheless I must love you. There has been none before you, nor will there be any man after you, Baen MacColl. It is our fate to love each other.”
He turned away and began to eat again. But his food had grown cold and his appetite had disappeared. She was offering him paradise, and he could not take it. If he were wise he would leave Friarsgate tomorrow, but he could not. His father had sent him to learn, and he still had much to learn from Friarsgate about their weaving industry, and how they sold their cloth to their best advantage. He did not believe that Grayhaven was big enough or had enough sheep or grazing land to do what the Friarsgate folk did. But possibly he could adapt what was done here to fit a smaller holding. And perhaps they might even ship their wool through Friarsgate. He had to remain. He could not disappoint the father who had given him this opportunity.
“You have not finished your supper,” Elizabeth said.
“I am no longer hungry,” he replied.
“You are too big a man to miss a meal,” she responded. Then she buttered a piece of cottage bread, put a piece of cheese on it, and handed it to him. “Eat it,” Elizabeth commanded him, “or I will feed you myself.” She poured more wine into his goblet.
Her caring touched him. “You will make a good mother one day,” he told her.
“I know,” Elizabeth Meredith said. “And we are going to have the most beautiful bairns, Baen MacColl.” Then she smiled brilliantly at him.
“How can I love you, and then leave you?” he asked her low.
“You will do what you must,” she told him quietly. “I do not think you should have to choose between your father and me, but if it should come to that, then whatever you decide I will accept, for I will have no choice.” But she didn’t believe her words.
“Nay, you will not,” he responded seriously. He was going to love her despite the futility of it. He knew it. And she was encouraging him onward to their eventual doom. He knew that too. But the attraction between them was too strong now for either of them to deny it. “How can I not love you, Elizabeth?” he asked her.
Chapter 11
It was madness. They both knew it. What had encouraged her to speak so openly to him this evening? But she knew. Baen MacColl was a man of honor. He would love her to his death, but he would have never said a word to her, so she had no choice but to speak her own heart. She wondered about his father, this man known as the master of Grayhaven. Did he really demand such fealty from his bastard son? Or was Baen’s sense of duty to his sire overstrong? She had to learn the truth. Of course, she had already made up her mind about their situation. And she had a plan.
Thomas Bolton had teased her about seducing the Scot, but that was exactly what Elizabeth had in mind. She would entice him into her web. They would become lovers, and then he would never leave her. She felt not the slightest modicum of guilt over her design. The master of Grayhaven did not really need Baen MacColl. But Elizabeth Meredith did. And when the die had been cast, she would cajole him into a handfast union, which was good for a year and a day but no more. But at the end of that year, or even sooner, she would have convinced him that she, and not his father, was the fate for which he was destined. They would then wed under the auspices of the church. Elizabeth smiled to herself, well pleased. Her scheme was flawless.
They remained in the hall that evening. She played a game of chess with Will, and then declared herself fatigued. “I must see to Maybel and Edmund before I sleep.”
Baen watched her leave the hall. His head was filled with confusing thoughts. She was not nobility, but she was the heiress to much land. His father was minor nobility, but his mother had been nothing more than a cotter’s daughter. Her father had been a knight. Yet her mother was a country woman, even as Elizabeth was. Perhaps in blood they were evenly matched. Perhaps? Her mother seemed to like him. Lord Cambridge had not opposed the friendship Elizabeth Meredith had for Baen MacColl. Indeed, all at Friarsgate appeared welcoming of him. Did he dare to hope he might gain her as a wife? Become of man of means?
But what would Colin Hay say to such a match? Would he even consider allowing his eldest son to marry Elizabeth Meredith? His father was not overly fond of the English. Yet Baen could see little difference between his family and Elizabeth’s. Both were people of the land, with a love of country and a respect of Holy Mother Church. But if this miracle were to happen he should have to relinquish his loyalties to his homeland, to his family. He would no longer be a Scot. But could he be English? It was a difficult conundrum, and he was probably better off the way he was. Baen MacColl, the master of Grayhaven’s bastard. Brother to Jamie and Gilly.
Friar came and pushed a wet nose into his hand, whining. Baen looked down at the animal and smiled. Friar wagged all over in his enthusiasm to communicate. “I know. I know,” Baen told the dog. “You want to have a run before we bed down for the night, eh, boy?” He stood up. “Don’t let Elizabeth bar the door on me,” he said to William Smythe. “I’m just taking the dog out, but I will be back.”
“Aye,” Will answered him, nodding.
When the Scot had disappeared from the hall, Thomas Bolton, who had appeared to be napping in his chair, said, “She has begun her campaign to woo him.” He did not open his eyes. “I believe he loves her.”
“But his loyalties would be divided if they wed,” Will replied.
“She will require only fealty to Friarsgate, and to herself,” came the response.
“But what if England and Scotland go to war again? You know there is always that possibility,” Will said. “Not so long ago King James was killed, and his infant put on the throne. It is bound to happen again.”
“Aye,” Lord Cambridge agreed, and now he opened his eyes. “But wars between England and Scotland rarely reach our small corner of England. They go south from the east side of Scotland, or north from the east side of England. We are far to the west.”
William Smythe smiled. “You are determined to have her marry this Scot, aren’t you, my lord?”
