The Last Heiress (41 page)

“I’ll go with you a few miles to the edge of my lands,” he said. “I ate earlier.”

“Then we’d best get started,” Baen responded, touched that his father would ride with him. “I’ll see to the loading of the lambs into the cart.”

“I’ll help,” Gilbert Hay said.

Within a short time they were ready. Several shepherds would go with them as far as the borderlands. A messenger would be sent ahead so that when they arrived there would be Friarsgate men waiting to take over. It would be many days, however, before they got there. Baen bade his brothers a tender farewell, embracing them each a final time.

“Now you can be certain ’tis all yours,” he murmured to James.

“You knew?” James Hay was surprised.

“I would have felt the same way if our positions had been reversed; but had I remained here, Jamie, my loyalty would have always been to Da, and then you,” Baen told him. “Now you’re the eldest.”

“You’re a good man,” James Hay said, “and while I always knew it . . .” He paused.

Baen nodded, then turned to his youngest brother. “Now, youngster, I expect you to behave yourself, obey our da, and Jamie when his counsel is good. Try not to spread your seed about too much, for I know how much you like the lasses, and that you are already a father several times over,” he teased.

“I don’t want you to go,” Gilbert Hay said in a muffled voice. There had never been a time in his sixteen years when Baen hadn’t been there for him.

“You’re not Da. Come down into England and see me,” Baen told the lad. Then he hugged him hard.

Gilbert Hay nodded, and then, turning, he ran off before they could see him cry. James Hay stood quietly as the men mounted their horses. He raised his hand in farewell as they moved off. The flock of sheep and the wagon carrying the lambs had already gone ahead. He watched as they rode slowly away, smiling as Baen turned once to raise his own hand to salute his brother. James looked relieved, Baen thought, smiling. As if he could not be certain his oldest brother was gone until he had seen him ride off.

They were fortunate in the weather, for spring was coming. They managed to leave the Highlands behind after several long days of travel. There was no new snow to impede their progress, although one day they traveled in an icy mist for hours. Lord Cambridge, usually amusing, was not that day. At the boundary of his lands Colin Hay bade them a final farewell. He embraced his son one last time, and there were tears in his eyes. Then, with a nod, he turned and rode away. He would never again speak to anyone of the son he had sired on a cotter’s daughter one summer’s afternoon in the fragrant heather.

The memories of Baen would always be painful to him, for he loved this eldest son of his, bastard or not, best of all. But his conscience was clear, for Baen would now have a good life. “You’d be proud of him, Tora,” he said softly as he rode away.

The travelers were both careful and fortunate in their accommodations, staying at either religious houses or farmhouses each night.

Their generous donations, paid in advance, assured their welcome, allowing them to keep the flocks safe. Each evening when they stopped they would unload the lambs from the cart. The little creatures would scamper off, bleating for their mothers and, finding them, settle down to suckle contentedly. They crossed from the east side of Scotland to the west as they traveled south towards England.

And then finally the terrain began to look more familiar to Logan Hepburn. “We’re on my lands now,” he said suddenly one afternoon as they rode.

“Dear boy, how can you tell?” Lord Cambridge wanted to know.

This had probably been the worst adventure he had ever undertaken, and he silently vowed that other than an occasional trip to Friarsgate he would not ever travel again. Never in his life had he been so dirty.

Never in his life had his garments stunk so completely. “Are we near Claven’s Carn?” he asked hopefully.

“It will be near dark, but aye, we can reach it by nightfall,” the laird of Claven’s Carn said, and he smiled. Rosamund. His warm and loving wife would be waiting. He would sleep in his own bed at long last.

He was flea-bitten from the bedding they had been offered in their travels. He preferred the warmer months, when a man could sleep on the moors on the sweet grass or in the fragrant heather. Raising a hand, he signaled to one of his clansmen, who rode up next to his chieftain. “Ride ahead, and tell the lady Rosamund that we will be home for supper,” he said.

The clansman nodded, and then rode off.

Logan turned to Baen. “Tomorrow we’ll ride on to Friarsgate. The shepherds can come more slowly. It’s important you and Elizabeth settle your differences as soon as possible. The bairn should be born happy.”

“With your permission I will send my father’s people back from Claven’s Carn,” Baen answered him. “The sheep can remain in your care until I can get my own Friarsgate shepherds to fetch them.”

“Aye, ’tis a more practical idea than changing the guard at the border,” Logan agreed. He noted the new proprietary tone of Baen’s voice, and smiled to himself. This man might give all due respect to his prickly stepdaughter, but he would be the lord of Friarsgate in the end.

“You sent a messenger to dear Rosamund?” Lord Cambridge queried.

“You will have a fine dinner, Tom, and a comfortable bed in which to sleep tonight,” Logan promised him with a grin.

“It had best not be too comfortable or I shall never arise from it,”

Thomas Bolton said almost irritably. “I want to go home to Otterly.”

“You’re closer now, Tom, than you were several weeks ago,” Baen remarked, and he too grinned. “Just a few more days, my friend, and you will be safe back in that nest of your own making. I hope you will invite Elizabeth and me for a visit soon.”

“Not too soon,” Lord Cambridge said tartly. “It will take me weeks to recover from this little adventure we have had. But I do believe I was a great help in convincing your dear rugged father to release you to Elizabeth. And I did make a most delightful bride, although none, alas, shall ever know it. Once again I have done my dear cousin Rosamund a great service, and saved the day for the last of her daughters.”

His two companions laughed, and Thomas Bolton joined them.

They were all feeling much better with the sudden realization that the worst of their journey was now almost over. Within the next few days it would all be settled. Elizabeth and Baen were united in matrimony, and the next generation to the Friarsgate inheritance could be born with no stain on his or her escutcheon.

There was, of course, the temptation to ride ahead in order to reach Claven’s Carn sooner, but mindful of the flock of sheep they traveled with, Logan kept no more than the same daily pace they had done each day. The sun had already sunk behind the western horizon when they finally reached the laird’s keep. The sheep were driven into a safe enclosure and the lambs unloaded to find their mothers before the three men entered the dwelling, walking slowly into the hall. The Hepburn sons looked up, delighted to see that their father had returned. They rushed forward to greet him.

Rosamund came forward, a smile of pleasure upon her beautiful face. She walked directly into her husband’s arms, taking his face between her two hands and kissing him. “Welcome home, my lord. You have been successful, I see, and brought me a new son-in-law.” She stepped away from him now. “Tom!” She hugged her cousin, kissing his cheek. “Thank you!”

“Darling girl, you have no idea what I have gone through for you in order to give dearest Elizabeth the happy ending she is entitled to have,” he told her. “I am tired. I am dirty, and the garments I wear will give the fire pause when I dispose of them. But, aye, we have been successful, and brought the bridegroom home.” He kissed both of her cheeks, and stepped back with a satisfied smile.

Rosamund now turned to Baen. “Do you love her?” she asked him bluntly.

“Aye,” he answered without hesitation. “I did from the first.”

“Good,” Rosamund answered him. “You will need the patience of a saint to deal with my daughter until her ire at your departure last October can be cooled. She did not want us fetching you, foolish girl. But I will not have my grandchild born on the wrong side of the blanket.”

“He will not be,” Baen answered her.

“So”—Rosamund smiled—“you are convinced you got a son on her.”

“The Hays have the tendency to throw lads, madame,” Baen told her.

Rosamund laughed. Then she said, “ ’Tis no longer MacColl?”

“My father has asked that I be Baen Hay, and I am happy to honor his wish now. Hay is a better border name,” Baen answered, “though some may call me the MacColl.”

“Aye, a wise man,” Rosamund agreed.

The servants brought in the food, and Rosamund led the men to the high board. They ate a hearty well-cooked meal, and afterwards the mistress of Claven’s Carn moved to her cousin’s side and murmured something in his ear. Tom Bolton’s face was suddenly wreathed in smiles. He hugged her and hurried from the hall.

“What did you say to him?” Logan asked his wife.

“I told him if he would follow Tod he would be led to the kitchens, where a hot tub was awaiting him. He will also find fresh clothing.

Perhaps not to his taste, and certainly not stylish enough, but clean.

He’ll have no choice, for as soon as he doffs his garments I have given orders that they be burned immediately,” she told her husband.

Logan and Baen burst out laughing, but their laughter was short-lived.

“And when Tom has finished his ablutions, Baen will use the water next, and then you, my darling Logan,” Rosamund told them. “You will not infest my clean beds with your nits and fleas. And I will be washing your heads,” she said firmly. “Now I must go to the kitchens, for Tom will surely be ready for me.” And she bustled off.

“So you love her,” Logan murmured. “ ’Tis a good thing, for these Friarsgate women are strong-minded and willful. There is little use in arguing with them.”

Baen chuckled. “My stepmother, Ellen, was much like that,” he said. “Da adored her, though he had his other women now and again.”

“I wouldn’t advise you to follow his example,” Logan warned.

“Nay, my da married Ellen for sons. She was his third wife. But he did respect her, and they were fond of each other. She knew when he strayed, but she also knew he would come home again, and nothing would change. It is different for me. I love Elizabeth Meredith with every fiber of my being. There can be no other woman for me.”

“I’m glad to hear you say it. I have no daughters of my blood, but Elizabeth was just a little girl when I married her mother. She does not recall her own father, and I think of her as I would my own child,” Logan said. “I want her happy.”

“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 over-head, 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.