“So do I,” Baen replied, “but even I know it will take time to regain her trust again. I know now that I’ve been a fool.”
“Aye,” Logan drawled, “you have. Be sure and tell her that. Women like it when a man admits he has made an error in judgment. It makes them feel so wise and so justified in their own actions.”
A servant came to tell Baen that the mistress was ready for him now. Baen did not argue, but followed the man to the kitchens. Without a murmur, he stripped off his clothing and climbed into the tall oak tub. To his surprise the water was still quite hot. Rosamund handed him a cloth and soap. Then, climbing up on the tub steps, she plied a brush until he thought she would scrub the skin off his body. Finally she washed his thick, dark hair, her fingers digging into his scalp, swiftly pulling the nits from his black locks.
“Well,” Rosamund finally said, “you’re finished. At least you won’t stink when you wed my daughter. I’ll ride with you tomorrow to Friarsgate. Elizabeth is in a rather prickly mood these days,” she informed him.
“Is she well?” he asked anxiously as he climbed from the tub and she wrapped a piece of toweling about him.
“Aye, she carries the bairn easily,” Rosamund told him. She handed him a clean linen shirt with which to clothe himself, and a pair of dark-colored breeks.
He pulled the garments on gratefully. “Madame, I thank you,” he said.
“Send my husband down,” she told him with a grin. He had big feet, she noted, but then he was a big man with a big heart. Elizabeth was a fortunate girl, although right now she knew her daughter was not thinking kindly of her Scot.
Baen made his way back to the hall, informing his host that his wife awaited him in the kitchens. Then he was led by a servant to a bedchamber, where he found Thomas Bolton snoring on a trundle. He had obviously left the bed for the larger man. Baen fell into it and was quickly asleep. He did not dream.
They departed Claven’s Carn in the early morning even before the sunrise, although the sky about them was already light with the coming day. With hard riding they would reach Friarsgate in early evening. Now Baen was anxious to arrive at his destination. Thomas Bolton considered that in another two or three days he would be back at Otterly. As for Logan Hepburn, he was anxious to conclude this business with his stepdaughter and return home with his wife. With Rosamund’s three daughters all safely wed, his life would shortly return to normal. They did not spare the horses, stopping briefly at midday to rest them, and to eat and relieve themselves.
There was just the barest hint of warmth in the air as they rode. The skies above them were a flat and cloudless blue. The sun was warm upon their shoulders. The hills about them were beginning to show patches of new green amid their winter browns. The day waned, and the sun began to sink beneath the western horizon. Reds, oranges, and golds mingled together in a glorious daub of fiery colors. Pink and mauve clouds edged with golden light drifted overhead, and now there was no breeze stirring at all. Finally the skies above them began to fade into a deeper and deeper blue. And then below them as they topped the hills the twinkling lights of Friarsgate shone in welcome.
They stopped for a moment, and seeing Baen’s face Rosamund knew that Friarsgate would be in safe hands as long as he stood by Elizabeth’s side. The look upon his handsome countenance was one of pure love. His eyes swept over the meadows, the house, the lake, with something akin to joy, as if he could not believe he was here at last, and here to stay forevermore.
“We did not send a messenger ahead,” Rosamund said quietly.
Baen turned, flashing her a grin. “You want my arrival to be a surprise,” he said.
“I thought it best,” Rosamund replied. “She will be in the hall, and cannot hide away from you if we arrive unannounced. I will want the wedding tomorrow, Baen. The quicker it is over and done with the better for Elizabeth, and for you.”
“Aye. Whatever we have to settle between us will be best done when we are finally wed,” he agreed.
“My dear Rosamund, may we please continue on,” Lord Cambridge said in a voice that bordered on the pitiful. “My poor bottom has finally revolted with my weeks in the saddle, and I want my supper!”
With a chuckle she waved them on and they descended the hill to the house.
Chapter 14
Elizabeth Meredith looked up, startled, at the noisy entrance into her hall. She flushed upon seeing Baen MacColl, and struggled to her feet. “So,” she said scathingly. “They have managed to drag you from your father’s side. Well, you have wasted your time. I’ve decided I’ll not have you. Our handfast charade will have to do until it expires, and I will raise my own bairn without your help. Go away!”
Baen looked at Elizabeth with her big belly and thought her the most beautiful woman in the world. He walked swiftly to her, sweeping her into his arms and giving her a long, satisfying kiss. “I have never missed anyone in my life the way I have missed you, Elizabeth.”
She reared back with surprising agility for a woman in her condition. Her small hand flashed out, smacking his cheek. “You dare? You dare to kiss me, you rogue!” Her voice had a very sharp edge to it. “I told you if you left me to not return! I hate you!”
“Dearest girl, do not say it!” Lord Cambridge cried, his gloved hand flying to his heart in a gesture of deep destress. “I have traveled for weeks now into the icy winter Highlands and back to restore this fellow to you. Do not, I plead with you, tell me that it has all been in vain.” He sank into a chair, reaching out for the goblet of wine a servant brought him.
The barest of smiles flitted across Elizabeth Meredith’s face, and then it was gone. “You mock me, Uncle,” she responded. “Have I not said from the moment I knew I carried this bairn that I was capable of raising my child alone? I do not need this man.”
“What?” Baen said. “You seduce me, you vixen, let me go away, and now you play the injured party? You have boldly used me to get an heir for Friarsgate, Elizabeth, but the bairn is mine as well as yours. ’Twas my seed that took root in your womb.”
“Impudent bastard!” Elizabeth cried. “You did not cry off when I seduced you!”
He caught her hand and kissed it, drawing it to his heart. “I would have been a bigger fool than I have been, Elizabeth, had I refused you,” he told her, his gray eyes twinkling at her.
She snatched her hand from his gentle grasp. “Villain! Scots knave! Scroundrel and blackguard!” She hurled the epithets at him.
“Did you not call me something similar once?” Logan Hepburn remarked to his wife wryly.
“Aye, I believe I did,” she cooed back at him with a grin.
