The Last Heiress (35 page)

“Gone to the stables, lady,” was the answer.

Elizabeth turned and hurried from the hall to the stables. He was saddling his horse. “Good!” she said. “We must check the outlying meadows today and be certain their shelters are ready for winter, stocked, and secure. But I think we should keep the flocks closer this year. It is just an instinct.”

“I am leaving, Elizabeth,” he said quietly. He tightened the girth about his horse.

“When?” Surely she had not heard him aright. He was not going to leave her.

“Now. Today. It is better I go before the weather sets in. Already they will have seen snow on the heights of the bens in the Highlands,”

he told her. He fastened the tabs of his saddlebags. “With your uncle gone it is a good time for me to leave as well.”

She would not beg, Elizabeth thought, her heart hardening. “Why not remain until St. Crispin’s?” she asked him. “We would give you a fine sendoff then.”

He shook his head, but then, stepping forward, he put his arms tightly about her. “I do not want to go,” he said, “but you know that I must.”

Her heart cracked, and then she did what she had sworn to herself she would not do if the horrible day ever came: Elizabeth Meredith began to cry. “No! You do not have to go, Baen. You do not! You are my husband. How can your loyalty to your father be greater than your loyalty to me? I am your wife!”

“We handfasted to give any child we made a name,” he said.

“Do you truly believe that was the only reason, Baen?” she cried.

“You love me!”

“Aye, I do love you, and nay, ’twas not the only reason I handfasted with you, my hinny love. I did it because more than anything in the world, I wanted you for my wife.”

“You would put your loyalty to a man who didn’t even know you existed for the first twelve years of your life above me?” she sobbed bitterly.

“A man who for the last twenty years has sheltered me, and treated me as if I had been born on the proper side of the blanket and not the wrong,” he reminded her. “Aye! My father is my first loyalty, and I have made no secret of it, Elizabeth. You have known from the first that once I had learned those things I needed to know to set up a cottage industry at Grayhaven that I would go. I never deceived you. If I deceived anyone it was myself. In loving you, in handfasting with you, Elizabeth, I dreamed briefly what it could be like to have a wife and a purpose of my own. I thank you for it.”

His words were kind, yet cruel. Elizabeth struggled to regain her composure. For a moment she rested in his arms, her cheek against his doublet, the steady sound of his heart in her ear. Then, swallowing hard, she stiffened her spine and pulled away from him, looking up into his handsome face. “Do not go,” she said softly. It was a plea, yet it was not a plea.

“I must,” he replied. Then his hand reached out and he cupped her face. “In a few months you will have forgotten me, sweetheart. And in a year you will be free to wed a proper man,” Baen said in a clumsy attempt to comfort her.

Elizabeth shook her head at him. “You are a fool, Baen MacColl, if you really think that I could forget you. And a bigger fool to believe I would wed another. Ever!”

“Elizabeth—”

“If you leave me you can never come back. Do you understand, Baen? If you go I do not ever want to see you again,” Elizabeth said in a hard voice.

His hand dropped away from her face. He stepped back wordlessly and, turning, took the bridle rein of his horse. His dog crept from the shadows to join him.

“Never!” she cried as he walked through the stable doors. “Ever!”

she shouted as he mounted the animal. “I hate you, Baen MacColl!”

she shrieked as he began to move off.

He stopped and, turning, looked at her, his face a mask of anguish.

“Yet I love you, Elizabeth Meredith,” he said to her. And then, kicking his mount, he cantered from the stable yard and towards the road to the north, Friar loping along by his side.

She watched him go, the tears she had attempted to stem pouring down her face. Elizabeth began to shake, and then she crumpled to the ground on her knees, sobbing. A lone stable boy, seeing her, ran to her side.

“Mistress, be you all right?” he asked her, frightened. He had never seen the lady cry. And she was crying so bitterly. He was young, but he recognized the sound of misery when he heard it.

Still in shock at what had happened, but aware of her position, Elizabeth put a hand on the boy’s shoulder and pulled herself to her feet. “I’m all right,” she said in a shaking voice. “Saddle my horse, lad, for I have a long day ahead of me.”

Trained to obey, the boy hurried to do his mistress’s bidding, and then he watched her as she rode off towards the high meadows. All the day long Elizabeth Meredith did what she had been trained to do.

She inspected each shelter in each meadow to make certain that it was stocked, or see if it needed to be stocked with winter supplies. She looked over her flocks and spoke with her shepherds, giving them instructions to move nearer to the manor house and barns in the next few days. “I sense a bad winter ahead,” she said, and the shepherds took her at her word. After all, she was the lady of Friarsgate, and who would know better than she?

When she finally reached home, it was almost dark. Above her the sky was darkening to a strong deep blue. The sunset stained the western horizon with its vibrant shades of red and orange. A young cres-cent moon hung above it all. She dismounted, tossing her reins to the same lad who had saddled the animal for her earlier in the day. Then she hurried into her house. All was silent but for the crackling fire.

“Albert!” she called, and the serving man hurried forward.

“Yes, lady?” he inquired politely.

“You have served me well,” Elizabeth told him. “I am appointing you steward of the hall. You and Jane will see to my comfort from now on. I have much else to do and cannot be bothered. Is supper ready yet?”

“Yes, lady,” Albert replied, struggling to maintain his composure at this elevation in his rank. “Will Master Baen be joining you shortly?”

“The Scot left this morning to return north,” Elizabeth said in a cold voice. “I am hungry. Bring me food at once!”

“Yes, lady,” Albert said in a calm voice. He had known Elizabeth Meredith all her life, and he easily recognized her anger. “I shall serve you myself immediately. You have but to be seated at the board.” Why had the Scot gone so precipitously? He dashed off to fetch his mistress’s meal, and to relay his new knowledge. In the kitchens as he piled a tray high with a vegetable potage, some slices of ham, bread, butter, cheese, and a dish of newly stewed pears, he repeated what he knew.

“Gawd almighty!” Nancy swore softly. “They was lovers! Her heart will be broken. How could the villain leave her?” She stood up from the table, where she had just finished her meal. “I’d best go and prepare a nice bath for her. She’ll be in want of soothing. Take that tray, Albert, and I’ll bring a fresh carafe of wine.”

The two servants hurried upstairs to the hall, where Elizabeth sat in solitary splendor awaiting her supper. They placed the dishes and plates before her, and, taking the wine from Nancy, Albert poured their mistress a full goblet while his female counterpart scuttled off to prepare the bath.

“Leave me!” Elizabeth said to Albert. “I’ll call if I want anything.”

She looked at the dishes brought. She had not eaten since early morning, yet she seemed to have little appetite. She speared a piece of ham and laid it on her plate. She sliced herself a wedge of cheese and pulled a chunk of bread from the cottage loaf. The ham seemed too salty. The cheese was dry, and the bread, even generously buttered, stuck in her throat. Only the wine tasted good. Ignoring the pears, which usually were favorites with her, Elizabeth drank the entire carafe down. Briefly she felt content. So Baen MacColl was gone.
Well, good riddance!
She didn’t need him. Let him run home to his father, the sainted master of Grayhaven, like the child he was. He was a fool, and she had no tolerance for fools. He had walked away from her, from Friarsgate, from a life of his own. And for what? An old father who had two other sons perfectly capable of caring for him.
Fool!

She wanted more wine, and she saw another carafe in the middle of the board, but when she reached for it, it wasn’t there at all, and the two carafes become an empty one. Elizabeth giggled, tipsily lurching to her feet. There would be wine on the sideboard in her chamber. She stumbled, but her legs didn’t seem to want to go in the right direction.

She practically fell into a chair by the fire. It was so quiet. Why was it so damned quiet? Oh. Yes. She was alone. Lord Cambridge was gone home, and Will with him. And Baen MacColl had left her. Elizabeth began to weep again, and it was there that Nancy found her.

The young serving woman put a strong arm about her mistress, prodding her up out of her chair. “Come along, Mistress Elizabeth, ’tis past time you found your bed,” she said. “I have a nice bath for you, but I think not tonight. ’Tis straight to sleep for you, I’m thinking.

Come along now.” Gently she pushed and pulled Elizabeth from the hall and up the stairs to her chamber. Safely inside the room, she began to loosen the garments her mistress was wearing and pull off her boots.

“He’s left me, Nancy,” Elizabeth said mournfully.

“So you said, mistress,” Nancy said.

“We were lovers.” Elizabeth giggled.

“I know,” Nancy responded.

“You do?” Elizabeth seemed surprised. “How do you know?”

“You ain’t slept in your bed for weeks, mistress. You’ve been sleeping in his. ’Twould follow that two healthy young people sharing a bed were lovers,” Nancy said dryly.

“Why did he leave me, Nancy?” Elizabeth was swinging back to maudlin now.

“You’d know that better than me, mistress,” Nancy said. She gently pushed Elizabeth into her bed, tucking her feet beneath the coverlet and pulling it up.

“He’s a fool,” Elizabeth muttered.

“Yes, mistress.” Nancy blew out the taper stick. “Good night,” she said.

“A bloody Scots fool,” Elizabeth mumbled, and then she was silent.

Listening carefully, Nancy heard her mistress’s even breathing.
Poor
thing,
she considered as she left the room. Robbed of her virtue by a duplicitous Scot. Unfit to be any man’s wife now. What was going to happen to Friarsgate now? What was going to happen to them all?

Chapter 12

E
lizabeth Meredith awoke with a throbbing head. In all her life she had never had such a headache. She groaned softly. Why did her head hurt so? She struggled to marshal her thoughts. Then she remembered. Her uncle was gone home to Otterly. Maybel and Edmund were retired to their cottage. And Baen MacColl had deserted her.

She was alone, and last night she had finished an entire carafe of wine by herself. Her mouth tasted like a stable floor. Suddenly her stomach rebelled. There was no time to get out of her bed. Elizabeth leaned from the bed, almost screaming with the pain that knifed through her head. Grabbing at the chamber pot, she vomited the contents of her belly into it. Then, setting the chamber pot on the floor again, she lay back. Her forehead was speckled with sweat. She felt clammy all over.

She was going to die, and she resolved then and there never to drink wine again. Elizabeth closed her eyes.

“Are you awake, mistress?”

How long had she dozed? Had she slept at all? “I’m suffering from too much wine, I fear,” Elizabeth answered in a weak voice.

Nancy swallowed a giggle, then, seeing the chamber pot’s contents, said, “I’ll empty this. You’ll live. No one ever died from a single carafe of wine.” She picked up the vessel and hurried from the room.

Elizabeth closed her eyes again. She still had her headache, but she was actually feeling a little bit better. She didn’t think she could do the book work awaiting her today, but a ride in the fresh air might help her. She considered getting up, but she wasn’t really quite ready for that, she decided. The sun was streaming into her bedchamber, and it hurt her eyes. “Nancy? If you are there, close the draperies.”

“You’ll feel better if you get up,” Nancy said as she drew the heavy fabric across the casements. She came over to the bed. “Let me help you, mistress.” She pushed pillows behind Elizabeth’s back, aiding her to sit up. “How is that?”

“My temples throb,” Elizabeth complained, “but it is no worse sitting up than lying back,” she admitted to her serving woman.

“You need a bit of food in your belly,” Nancy said.

“The thought of food is distressing. I do not think I can eat,” Elizabeth said.

“Some nice bread,” Nancy coaxed. “I’ll go fetch it.” She bustled off, returning shortly with a single slice of warm bread, which she gave to her mistress. Then, fetching a hairbrush, she began to slowly and gently brush Elizabeth’s pale hair as the girl ate the bread a morsel at a time, chewing it slowly, then swallowing. “Is that better?” Nancy queried as the bread was finished.

Elizabeth considered a moment, and then said, “Aye. It seems to have settled the roiling in my belly. Thank you.” She closed her eyes again as Nancy continued to wield the brush. Then, opening them once more, Elizabeth said, “I am going riding. Get my breeks. What time is it?”

“The morning is half gone. ’Tis past ten,” Nancy said. She set the brush aside. “Are you strong enough to ride out, mistress?”

“Because I am a fool,” Elizabeth said, “doesn’t mean I can entirely shirk my duties as the lady. We have much preparation ahead of us before the winter sets in, lass.” She threw back the coverlet and swung her legs over the side of the bed. “When I return later, have my bath hot and ready for me.” Then, ignoring the ache behind her eyes, Elizabeth got out of her bed.

Nancy scurried about, quickly gathering her mistress’s clothing. As was her habit Elizabeth dressed herself quickly, lastly pulling her boots on over a pair of knitted stockings. Nancy climbed on the bed behind her and braided the long blond hair up neatly. Without another word the lady of Friarsgate was gone from the room.

In the days that followed Elizabeth was up early, and either out or in her privy chamber keeping her accounts. Other than to direct her servants or shepherds, Elizabeth hardly spoke at all. She sat alone at her high board each night, ate her meal, and was gone to her chamber. Sometimes she would remain by the fire afterwards for a short time. St. Crispin’s Day came, and bonfires were lit that night to celebrate, but there was no feast in the hall for its single occupant. On All Hallows Eve the hall was silent, as usual. The cook served a dish of crowdie, a sweet apple cream dessert. Elizabeth waved it away.