Both girls looked up, startled, but one’s eyes darted toward the pantry briefly.
Elizabeth grinned. She could now hear the low grunts and heavy breathing of a man laboring mightily over a woman. “Tell Cook I will want food ready at dawn so my mother and her men may have some sustenance along their way.”
“Yes, mistress,” the girl at the table said. She was obviously grateful Elizabeth had not ordered one of them to fetch the cook, who each night after his duties were done took one of the kitchen wenches into the pantry and lustily swived her. Cook did not like to be disturbed when he was at his pleasure.
Elizabeth grinned again, and returned to the hall to begin her nightly preparations. She snuffed the many candles, saving a single taper to light her own way upstairs. The fire was burning lower, the dogs snoring before it. A cat had taken its place in the chair where her mother had earlier sat. All was quiet. And then suddenly she felt a tiny fluttering deep in her belly. It was as if she had swallowed a butterfly. She stood stock-still, a look of amazement upon her face. Then her hands went to her belly in a protective gesture as a tear rolled down her cheek. It was real. The child was real! Reaching for her taper, Elizabeth Meredith slowly climbed the stairs from the hall to her own bedchamber, where Nancy was waiting for her.
“You look pale,” Nancy said as her mistress entered the room. “Are you all right?”
“I felt the bairn move,” Elizabeth half whispered, setting the taper down.
“Well, bless it!” Nancy said smiling. “I have heard it called the quickening. I saw your mother settled in her bed. She’s still a beautiful woman. I remember her when she was lady here.” She helped Elizabeth from her clothing but for her long chemise, which was also her night garment. “Go and wash your face and hands now before I tuck you into your bed. You need as much rest as you can get.” She bustled about putting her mistress’s things away.
Elizabeth followed Nancy’s advice, and was then tucked into her bed. When she awoke the following morning she learned that Rosamund had departed earlier. Stretching slowly, she let her gaze wander to the casement windows. The sun was shining. She was relieved that her mother would have a good day in which to travel to Otterly, which was a long and full day’s ride.
And Rosamund was equally delighted to have the burden of her trip lightened by good weather. It was wickedly cold, but there was no wind at all. It was several hours before she lost feeling in her toes and fingers. They passed by the convent of St. Margaret just at the noon hour. Rosamund heard the bells in the convent church tolling for sext. She debated stopping. Her cousin, Julia Bolton, was a nun in this convent. She had resided there since she had been weaned from her wet nurse, her stepmother and father, Henry Bolton, not wanting the bother of her care. Rosamund had met Julia, who was known as Sister Margaret Julia, twice. She was a sweet-faced woman with a sharp intellect, and had risen to be second in rank at her convent. Rosamund had liked her. She was nothing at all like her father, but then Julia Bolton could never remember ever having seen the late Henry Bolton in all of her life.
“Are we stopping?” the captain asked Rosamund, for he knew her cousin was at St. Margaret’s.
“Nay,” Rosamund said, shaking her head. “We cannot spare the time. If it were summer it would be another matter, but I want to get to Otterly by dark.”
She had refused the basket of food the Friarsgate cook wanted her to take, explaining they had no time to stop and eat. If they grew hungry they would consume the flat oatcakes the Scots all carried. There would be one brief respite from their journey so their horses might rest for a few minutes and be watered. And so that any who needed to might relieve themselves. The sun was setting in a glorious burst of red, red-orange, orange, and gold when they reached Otterly. A messenger had been sent on ahead earlier to advise of their coming. He was awaiting them, and guided them to the small private entrance of Lord Cambridge’s wing.
Rosamund dismounted and hurried inside, where a servant was waiting to escort her to a charming little hall where Lord Cambridge awaited her. The captain and her men would stable the horses and be fed in Otterly’s main hall. She was not surprised to find her middle daughter waiting with her cousin. “Banon! How lovely,” she said, hugging this second child she had borne. “Ahh, I see you are breeding again. When is this one due? How many is it now? Eight?”
“Soon,” Banon replied. “Aye, eight. What is the matter, Mama?”
“Dearest cousin!” Thomas Bolton stepped between the two women, embracing Rosamund. “Come, my darling girl, and sit down. God’s wounds, but your lovely little hands are frozen! Will! Some wine, dear boy, before my cousin perishes. Banon, my pet, bid your mama farewell. You shall see her later. It is almost dark, and your servant has remained to escort you back to your part of the house.” He smiled benignly.
“Damn it, Uncle! You come and go without exiting the premises. Why do you make me?” Banon was not pleased.
“Because, dear girl, you and your noisy brood would abuse your privilege, as you did before. I must have my privacy. Now run along,” he said, patting her shoulder and gently pushing her out the door into the foyer.
Rosamund chuckled. “You have her completely in hand, Tom. I always wondered how you would manage with my clever Banon.” She sipped her wine slowly. The feeling was beginning to return to her hands and feet with a tingling and burning sensation. She sighed as she began to relax.
“You did not ride down from Scotland in the middle of February simply to pay me a social call, my darling girl,” Lord Cambridge said. “I echo Banon’s query. What is the matter? Is Logan all right?”
“For now Logan is visiting John at St. Cuthbert’s, and hoping that his eldest son has changed his mind. I know he has not, but if he had he would find himself in a quarrel withmyeldest son, who now sees himself the next laird,” Rosamund said. “But it has nothing to do with the Hepburns, Tom. It is Elizabeth.”
“Elizabeth? Is she all right, dear girl?” he asked, his look concerned.
“No, Tom, she is not all right. She is with child. Baen MacColl’s bairn,” Rosamund told him.
“And he has left her.” Lord Cambridge looked irritated. “The fool. He loves her.”
“He departed from Friarsgate the same day you did, Tom. She had no sooner bid you farewell than he rode out to return to Grayhaven,” Rosamund said. “He knows nothing of his coming child. Elizabeth didn’t realize it until a short while back. Her whole attention is on Friarsgate, the sheep, the wool trade. And with Edmund unable to carry part of that burden now, it has all been up to her. She has never been a girl to think of herself when others needed her. When she realized her condition she sent for me, though why I cannot fathom, since she doesn’t want to take my advice. Why is it that two of my three daughters have persisted in being so stubborn where men are concerned? When I remember how Philippa howled and snarled at us over that foolish incident with Giles FitzHugh; and yet she found perfect happiness with Crispin.”
“And became a countess,” Lord Cambridge murmured.
“Elizabeth will never be a countess,” Rosamund said with a small smile, “but she loves this Scot, and he her. Yet she says she will not have him. Her belly grows bigger each day, and she rages that he left her for his father, and she will not have him back. Well, I will not have it, Tom! She will wed Baen MacColl, and the next heir to Friarsgate will be legitimate and carry its father’s name.”
“I agree, darling girl. I agree fully with you,” Lord Cambridge said. “And while I am delighted to see you, this is a dreadful time of year to travel. Could you not just have written all of this to me?”
“I need your help, Tom,” Rosamund said softly.
“Dearest cousin,” he began, “you know I will do anything for you.”
Rosamund smiled archly at him. “Anything?” she purred.
