The laird of Claven’s Carn entered the room, Philippa slung over his shoulder. Walking up to the earl, he dumped the girl down into Crispin’s lap. With a yelp like that of a scalded cat Philippa was on her feet. She swung on the laird, her fist making contact with his shoulder. Logan Hepburn burst out laughing, and Philippa turned, raging at her husband.
“Are you going to permit this damned Scots savage to treat me so, my lord?” she demanded furiously. Her usually neat hair was loose and swirling about with her movements.
“Good morrow, madame. As I recall, the last time we spoke I told you to wait until I returned from Hampton Court to make this journey,” he said.
“Was I to miss my sister’s wedding because of the cardinal’s politicking?” Philippa said.
“The wedding is not for another few weeks, madame,” he remarked.
“Very well then, my lord, I needed to see my mother,” Philippa said.
“Why?” he asked her. “What was so important that you could not wait for me?”
“I needed to ask her about love,” Philippa said, “and why you do not love me.” Her hazel eyes were wet with unshed tears.
“What in the name of all that is holy makes you think that I don’t love you?” the earl said, outraged.
“You have never said it!” Philippa wailed, the tears now flowing.
“God’s bloody wounds, wench, do you think I came galloping up to Cumbria from Oxfordshire because I don’t love you? Of course I love you! I adore you! You are so lovely that to look at you hurts my heart. You are braver than any woman I have ever known. The thought of losing you is the darkest thought I could think, Philippa. I love you! Never doubt it, little one.”
“Oh, Crispin, and I love you!” Philippa sobbed, and flung herself into his arms.
“Jesu, Mary!” Elizabeth Meredith groaned, rolling her eyes.
The earl and his wife were kissing, and the others smiled, pleased that the matter was now settled.
“Do not swear, Bessie,” Rosamund said. “It is not ladylike. Now let us all gather around the hearth, for I have something to say.” She looked directly at her eldest child. “I am, it seems, going to become a grandmother in the spring. You are with child, Philippa. Did you not realize it?”
Philippa’s mouth fell open. She made to speak, and then seeing a warning in her mother’s eye she closed her mouth.
“Of course it is your first child, and you would be less apt to pay attention to the little signs than a woman of experience, Philippa,” Rosamund continued. “I shall explain all to you in the privacy of my chambers later. Well, son-in-law, what say you? Your bride is doing her duty, and you are to have an heir.”
“Madame,” he replied, “I am delighted, and astounded in turn,” and he kissed his wife a long slow kiss. “I told you we made a child that night,” he murmured against her mouth, and Philippa blushed.
“Now we must speak on the matter of the Friarsgate inheritance. Philippa, it is yours and your husband’s by right. Now you are to have a child. Will you not accept your rightful place here, my daughter?”
“Madame, I speak for both my wife and myself when I tell you that we are grateful for your generosity, but we do not want Friarsgate,” the earl said.
“You must accept this, mama,” Philippa said. “I’m sorry, for I know how much you love your home, but I do not. Brierewode is where I belong.”
“But a second son could have these lands,” Rosamund persisted.
“Nay,” Philippa responded. “My second son when he is born will be for the court one day. He shall begin his career as a page, and who knows to what heights he may aspire.”
“And you agree with her, my lord?” Rosamund asked the earl.
He nodded. “I do, madame. Both Philippa and I have served the royal household in our own capacities. We are creatures of the court as our children will undoubtedly be one day. Cumbria and this vast estate of yours is not for us. We could not give it the time needed to husband it, and it is much too far from London.”
Rosamund sighed deeply. “Then what has it all been for?” she said as if she were speaking to herself. “I have watched over Friarsgate my whole lifetime. When I lost Owein Meredith’s son and then he died, I pinned all my hopes on you, Philippa. Banon has Otterly, and does not want Friarsgate either. What am I going to do? I am more at Claven’s Cam these days, for that is where my Hepburn sons must be raised. What am I to do, and who will care for Friarsgate now?”
“I will,” Elizabeth Meredith said in a strong voice, and they all turned to look at her, surprised. She was the youngest of Owein Meredith’s daughters. The baby. The little girl who tagged along, and ran bare-footed through the meadows chasing the sheep. But looking at her they all realized that she was no longer a child. She was a young girl on the brink of womanhood. “I will look after Friarsgate, mama, for I love it every bit as much as you do. I have never wanted to go to court, or be anywhere else except here. This is my home. These are my lands. Friarsgate should be mine. You cannot give it to the Hepburns. Friarsgate must remain English.”
Rosamund was astounded. For the first time in a long while she actually looked at her youngest daughter, and when she did she saw Owein Meredith. Owein who had been so dutiful in his service to the Tudors. Owein who had loved Friarsgate from the moment he had laid eyes upon it.
“Aye, Friarsgate must be English,” Logan Hepburn agreed. “My boys would not know what to do with the sheep anyway. The lass is right, Rosamund.”
“Aye, she is right,” Lord Cambridge said. “If Philippa and Banon do not want Friarsgate it should be Bessie’s, and no one else’s.” He put his arm about the girl. “What say you, Bessie? Will you be the heiress of Friarsgate as your mother was before you?”
