“With your permission I will send my father’s people back from Claven’s Carn,” Baen answered him. “The sheep can remain in your care until I can get my own Friarsgate shepherds to fetch them.”
“Aye, ’tis a more practical idea than changing the guard at the border,” Logan agreed. He noted the new proprietary tone of Baen’s voice, and smiled to himself. This man might give all due respect to his prickly stepdaughter, but he would be the lord of Friarsgate in the end.
“You sent a messenger to dear Rosamund?” Lord Cambridge queried.
“You will have a fine dinner, Tom, and a comfortable bed in which to sleep tonight,” Logan promised him with a grin.
“It had best not be too comfortable or I shall never arise from it,” Thomas Bolton said almost irritably. “I want to go home to Otterly.”
“You’re closer now, Tom, than you were several weeks ago,” Baen remarked, and he too grinned. “Just a few more days, my friend, and you will be safe back in that nest of your own making. I hope you will invite Elizabeth and me for a visit soon.”
“Not too soon,” Lord Cambridge said tartly. “It will take me weeks to recover from this little adventure we have had. But I do believe I was a great help in convincing your dear rugged father to release you to Elizabeth. And I did make a most delightful bride, although none, alas, shall ever know it. Once again I have done my dear cousin Rosamund a great service, and saved the day for the last of her daughters.”
His two companions laughed, and Thomas Bolton joined them. They were all feeling much better with the sudden realization that the worst of their journey was now almost over. Within the next few days it would all be settled. Elizabeth and Baen were united in matrimony, and the next generation to the Friarsgate inheritance could be born with no stain on his or her escutcheon.
There was, of course, the temptation to ride ahead in order to reach Claven’s Carn sooner, but mindful of the flock of sheep they traveled with, Logan kept no more than the same daily pace they had done each day. The sun had already sunk behind the western horizon when they finally reached the laird’s keep. The sheep were driven into a safe enclosure and the lambs unloaded to find their mothers before the three men entered the dwelling, walking slowly into the hall. The Hepburn sons looked up, delighted to see that their father had returned. They rushed forward to greet him.
Rosamund came forward, a smile of pleasure upon her beautiful face. She walked directly into her husband’s arms, taking his face between her two hands and kissing him. “Welcome home, my lord. You have been successful, I see, and brought me a new son-in-law.” She stepped away from him now. “Tom!” She hugged her cousin, kissing his cheek. “Thank you!”
“Darling girl, you have no idea what I have gone through for you in order to give dearest Elizabeth the happy ending she is entitled to have,” he told her. “I am tired. I am dirty, and the garments I wear will give the fire pause when I dispose of them. But, aye, we have been successful, and brought the bridegroom home.” He kissed both of her cheeks, and stepped back with a satisfied smile.
Rosamund now turned to Baen. “Do you love her?” she asked him bluntly.
“Aye,” he answered without hesitation. “I did from the first.”
“Good,” Rosamund answered him. “You will need the patience of a saint to deal with my daughter until her ire at your departure last October can be cooled. She did not want us fetching you, foolish girl. But I will not have my grandchild born on the wrong side of the blanket.”
“He will not be,” Baen answered her.
“So”—Rosamund smiled—“you are convinced you got a son on her.”
“The Hays have the tendency to throw lads, madame,” Baen told her.
Rosamund laughed. Then she said, “’Tis no longer MacColl?”
“My father has asked that I be Baen Hay, and I am happy to honor his wish now. Hay is a better border name,” Baen answered, “though some may call me the MacColl.”
“Aye, a wise man,” Rosamund agreed.
The servants brought in the food, and Rosamund led the men to the high board. They ate a hearty well-cooked meal, and afterwards the mistress of Claven’s Carn moved to her cousin’s side and murmured something in his ear. Tom Bolton’s face was suddenly wreathed in smiles. He hugged her and hurried from the hall.
“What did you say to him?” Logan asked his wife.
“I told him if he would follow Tod he would be led to the kitchens, where a hot tub was awaiting him. He will also find fresh clothing. Perhaps not to his taste, and certainly not stylish enough, but clean. He’ll have no choice, for as soon as he doffs his garments I have given orders that they be burned immediately,” she told her husband.
Logan and Baen burst out laughing, but their laughter was short-lived.
“And when Tom has finished his ablutions, Baen will use the water next, and then you, my darling Logan,” Rosamund told them. “You will not infest my clean beds with your nits and fleas. And I will be washing your heads,” she said firmly. “Now I must go to the kitchens, for Tom will surely be ready for me.” And she bustled off.
“So you love her,” Logan murmured. “’Tis a good thing, for these Friarsgate women are strong-minded and willful. There is little use in arguing with them.”
Baen chuckled. “My stepmother, Ellen, was much like that,” he said. “Da adored her, though he had his other women now and again.”
“I wouldn’t advise you to follow his example,” Logan warned.
“Nay, my da married Ellen for sons. She was his third wife. But he did respect her, and they were fond of each other. She knew when he strayed, but she also knew he would come home again, and nothing would change. It is different for me. I love Elizabeth Meredith with every fiber of my being. There can be no other woman for me.”
“I’m glad to hear you say it. I have no daughters of my blood, but Elizabeth was just a little girl when I married her mother. She does not recall her own father, and I think of her as I would my own child,” Logan said. “I want her happy.”
