“I agree,” Hugh quickly replied. “Friarsgate belongs to Rosamund, and her heirs after her, but Henry Bolton has cleverly attempted to replace you by marrying me to Rosamund. Friarsgate does not need two stewards. As far as I am concerned I was asked to marry my wife. Nothing more—though Henry has assumed I will take over and thus push you from the place your own father assigned you. I will not.”
“What will you do instead, then?” Edmund queried the older man cautiously.
“Teach Rosamund to read and to write and to keep her accounts, so that when the day comes that neither of us are here for her, she will know what to do. The priest, I assume, has not attempted to teach her. He seems a rather ignorant and dull fellow.”
“Henry Bolton does not believe it necessary that a woman know anything other than her housewifery. He thinks it best our niece learn only womanly pursuits, like making soap and conserves, or salting fish,” Edmund said.
“And how do you feel about that?” Hugh wondered.
“I think she should learn both,” Edmund responded, “but old Father Bernard can’t teach her. He learned the mass by rote, and cannot be counted as an educated man. Hell, he’s older than you surely are, Hugh Cabot, and not just a wee bit queer in the head these days.”
Hugh laughed heartily. “Then it is agreed between us, Edmund. You will continue to administer the estate, and I will educate my wife.”
“We will meet regularly,” Edmund said. “You must know all so that Henry Bolton may be convinced that it is you who now manages Friarsgate. And it is best that you sit in judgment at the manor court, which is held every three months. To all appearances you are now lord of Friarsgate.”
“I hope to play my part well,” Hugh replied graciously.
“This child is falling asleep while you two men plot,” Maybel said sharply. “Get you gone home with your wife, Hugh Cabot, before night falls and you cannot find your way. There are yet robbers about, for we are close to the Scots border as you must know.”
“I have lived farther south,” he answered her. “Are you subject to raids often?”
“Usually we are safe here at Friarsgate, unless,” Maybel said dryly, “the kings and the great lords wish to fight. Then it is the poor and the helpless who suffer the most. The Scots sometimes come for sheep, or cattle, but they generally leave us in peace.”
“Why is that? I wonder,” Hugh mused aloud.
“’Tis our hills,” Edmund explained. “They are very steep about Friarsgate, and to drive a flock, or a herd, or even a few animals quickly away, the terrain must be flatter. It would take a serious quarrel with the Scots to make us vulnerable to them,” Edmund concluded.
“Who is the nearest border lord to Friarsgate?” Hugh asked.
“The Hepburn of Claven’s Carn,” Edmund replied. “I met him once when he came to a cattle market with his sons. He’s probably dead by now, and one of the sons in charge, though which, who knows. The Scots are an argumentative people, and the sons undoubtedly fought over their father’s lands.”
“Aye,” Hugh nodded. “The Scots are like that. They are yet more wild than civilized.” He arose from his place at the table and looked to Rosamund, who was nodding sleepily in her place. “Edmund, take her up. I’ll carry her on my horse and lead the pony.”
“Nay, I’ll ride the beast,” Maybel said. “I should go back with you to watch over my lass, Hugh Cabot.”
“Come along, then,” Hugh replied, and he strode toward the door, opening it and stepping outside into the late afternoon. He unhitched his horse and mounted it, and then reached down to take the sleeping child from Edmund Bolton, settling her gently in the crook of one arm, his other hand gathering the reins up firmly.
Maybel hurried out, pulling her hooded cloak about her. With her husband’s aid she mounted the white pony, saying, “I’m ready. Be sure you leave the cottage clean when you come tomorrow, Edmund Bolton.”
“Aye, my dearie,” he answered her with a small smile. Then he smacked the pony gently on its rump. It moved off alongside of the new lord of Friarsgate. Watching them go Edmund thought that at last his niece had a weapon with which to fight Henry Bolton. If, indeed, Hugh Cabot was all that he appeared to be. But Edmund had a good feeling about the new lord. He chuckled to himself. His greedy and mean-spirited half-brother believed he had chosen a feeble old man to husband their niece. Edmund chuckled again.
Henry had always been a smug fellow. Edmund knew just what he was about, for he was as transparent as a piece of glass. Henry had made this marriage for Rosamund because the child was yet too young to be mated and bred. Hugh Cabot was surely past such things. Yet the heiress to Friarsgate was still a married woman, safe from the predators who would marry her and disregard Henry’s wishes. Henry wanted Friarsgate for his own heirs. If the child Agnes carried was a son, Edmund had no doubt that Henry would have married that son to Rosamund as soon as it was possible. Even if the child was still at his mama’s breast. No matter that the bride would be older than the groom. Such things were common in marriages where land was the paramount issue. But if Hugh Cabot was the honest man Edmund believed him to be, then Rosamund would be safe from her uncle Henry, who had probably outfoxed himself in this matter at long last.
Edmund watched as the two riders disappeared over the hill. Turning, he went back into his house to neaten it up. He would return to his duties as Friarsgate’s steward in the morning. Together he and Hugh would teach Rosamund all she needed to know to husband her lands when they were no longer there to do it for her.
Friarsgate had chafed beneath Henry Bolton’s rule. Now with its new lord it once again became the happy place it had been in the time of Rosamund’s parents and grandparents. On All Hallows’ Eve, which was also the feast of St. Wolfgang, bonfires were lit on all the hillsides at sunset. In the hall at Friarsgate, a tall, large candelabra was placed at the center of the room. Garlands of greens hung with apples were suspended about the chamber, decorating it. The highlight of the meal was the crowdie, a sweet apple-cream dessert shared among those at the high board. Within the crowdie had been placed two rings, two coins, and two marbles.
“I’ve a coin!” Rosamund shouted excitedly, laughing, as she pulled the penny from her spoon.
“So do I!” Hugh chortled. “So, wife, if the legend is correct, we shall be rich, but then I already am with you.”
“What did you get, Edmund?” the child asked her uncle.
“Naught,” he said with a laugh.
“But that means your life will be fraught with uncertainty,” Rosamund said. She dug her spoon into their common dish of crowdie. “I will find you the ring!”
“He’s already wed wi me,” Maybel reminded her charge. “Leave the rings for the lasses in the kitchen who will enjoy what is left, my little lady.”
