Elizabeth and her bridegroom stood in the doorway of the house and watched for a few minutes as the last of their guests rode off. Inside the hall again Maybel and Edmund joined them. Edmund looked considerably better with the spring than he had in many weeks. But his arm still hung useless by his side.
“Come by the fire,” Elizabeth coaxed them both. “I am sorry to have sent to you so late last night, but Mama insisted the wedding be celebrated early this morning so she might return to Claven’s Carn. Edmund, my husband will now hold the stewardship of the estate, according to the marriage contract. Will you guide and advise him? I am still the final authority, however,” she reminded them all.
Edmund nodded. “I’ll come tomorrow,” he said.
“No,” Baen told him. “I’ll come to your cottage, if you do not mind. I would like to ride out to see the flocks, and it is time to count the new lambs.”
Edmund nodded. “You’re always welcome, Baen,” he told the younger man.
Maybel and Elizabeth were speaking in low tones as the men discussed estate matters. After a time Albert came to say the cart was waiting to transport the senior Boltons home to their cottage. The little dwelling was within easy walking distance of the main house, but Edmund was not strong enough to walk it now. The elderly couple departed, wishing the newlyweds happiness.
When they had gone Elizabeth said tartly, “The deed is now done. We are not nobility to waste our day in celebration. There is work to be completed.”
“I agree,” he told her. “But first we should remove our wedding finery.”
She nodded. “Aye. We have no coin to waste on frills and furbelows, sir.”
They walked up the stairs to their bedchambers.
Elizabeth was surprised to find him in the room next to hers. “You are here?” she said. “Who said you might sleep here?”
“Your mother,” he told her, “but if you would prefer I choose another chamber I will do so, Elizabeth.”
She appeared to be considering his words, but then she said, “Nay. It matters not to me where you lay your head. I ask only one thing of you, Baen. Do not futter your light skirts there. Take them to the barns.”
“Like you took me?” he said wickedly. “And you know well, Elizabeth, that I have had no other Friarsgate woman but you.”
“But you have had other women,” she pressed him.
“Aye. I am ten years your senior, and no monk,” he replied.
“Well, I don’t care if you have other women,” she told him.
“Aye, you do,” he said with a teasing grin. “But I have excellent self-control, wife. Until you are ready to share yourself with me again I shall remain celibate.”
“I will never lie with you again!” she insisted heatedly.
“Aye, you will,” he taunted her. “I love you, Elizabeth Meredith Hay, even if you did use me deliberately to get an heir.”
“Aye, I did!” she told him.
He laughed. “You are a poor liar, wife. You only wanted your pleasure.”
“And you are wasting the morning in argument with me when you should be working,” Elizabeth said. Then she slammed angrily into her chamber to change her garments. She couldn’t wait to get out of her wedding gown. She longed to get into the large, loose garment she had taken to wearing since her belly had burgeoned. It would soon be time for the plowing. The frost was not yet out of the fields, but almost. She needed to decide which fields would be planted with what particular grain. It was good she had learned to rotate her crops, lest the earth be made useless. Nancy silently helped Elizabeth with her clothing. The young tiring woman had learned when to speak and when her mistress was brooding.
“This day is no different from any other,” Elizabeth informed Nancy as the servant, standing behind her, tied the neck of her gown closed. “I’ll be in my library.”
“Yes, mistress,” Nancy replied as Elizabeth hurried from her chamber. She looked about the room. Was the master to sleep in here with his wife? She wasn’t certain, but she decided to change the sheets and freshen the bed nonetheless.
Elizabeth had gone immediately to her library, which served as her workroom. A warm fire burned in the hearth, and the room was quite cozy.I will sit by the fire for just a few moments,she thought. Outside, the rain was now falling heavily, and she wished her guests had not been in such a hurry to depart. But it was April, and April was known to be a wet month. She put her feet towards the flames, and felt the soles warming.
She was married. Married to Baen MacColl. Hay, she corrected herself silently. No matter what she had said, Elizabeth was relieved that there would be no question about the legitimacy of the child in her belly. It was the next heir to Friarsgate. Unless, of course, it was an heiress, because Baen was never going to get into her bed again. He had served his purpose, and gained her as a wife for his trouble. Eventually he would realize she was quite serious in her intent not to cohabit with him, and he would take a mistress.
No! He would not! She would not let him. The thought of another woman lying in his strong arms, tasting his heady kisses, sent a wave of jealousy rolling over her. No! If she was to be celibate, then so must he. Despite what he claimed to her, to all who would listen, he had wanted Friarsgate. She was certain of it. How could he not want it? What a coup for the bastard of a Highland chieftain with nothing to recommend him but his handsome face. Well, he had Friarsgate now. Not quite as he had anticipated it, she was certain, but he would ride about the estate and be called master by her folk. His child would inherit it one day.
She rose heavily and seated herself behind the large table she used when she was working. Drawing out a map of her fields, she studied them carefully, deciding which field would be planted with what crop. They were going to need more hay this year, she decided, marking the meadows that would grow it. Three fields to the west she decided to have planted with rye to replenish the soil there. Corn would go here, barley, and wheat there, she marked the fields. And several fields would be left to grow onions and shallots; peas, beans, and cabbage. Though leeks were considered unhealthy by many, they had always been grown at Friarsgate since the time of Elizabeth’s Welsh father. But she grew them in her own kitchen garden along with parsley, sage, and other herbs. Finally she was satisfied with her planning scheme. She would have to consider whether they needed any seed. Usually they grew enough for the following year’s crop.
There was a knock upon her door, and it opened to reveal Baen. He stepped into the chamber and asked her, “Is there anything in particular you would have me do today, Elizabeth? I shall see Edmund tomorrow, and speak with the shepherds then.”
