The Last Heiress (8 page)

“We will not!” Elizabeth told him. “Like all Scots you are far too bold.”

“If you don’t learn how to kiss properly before you go to court the gentlemen will make fun of you,” he said to her.

“A respectable maid is not experienced in matters of the flesh,”

Elizabeth told him primly.

“A lass of your age should know how to kiss,” he said. “If you don’t kiss me in the hall tonight I shall know you are a coward, Elizabeth Meredith.” His gray eyes were serious as they gazed on her.

“Oh, very well!” Elizabeth said impatiently. “But only one more kiss to prove my courage, and then no more,” she told him, turning and hurrying back to the house.

Chapter
3

B
ut after the evening meal had been served, Elizabeth slipped quietly from the hall and went to her bedchamber. She was certainly not going to engage in kissing games with her Scots visitor.

He was a bold fellow. Too bold! And his lips on hers, even briefly, had been disturbing. Kissing, it would seem, was an intimate thing, and Elizabeth Meredith was not certain she was ready to share herself with a man.
Well, you had better get used to the idea,
the voice in her head said impatiently.
No man is going to want a wife who doesn’t kiss and cuddle.
She debated returning to the hall, but did not.

Rising earlier than usual the next morning, Elizabeth dressed and hurried down to the hall. But for a few sleepy servants it was empty, but seeing their mistress the servants brought a trencher of hot oat cereal, placing it before her. A goblet of cider was poured. Elizabeth ate slowly, her mind busy with all she had to do today. She sliced cheese from the half-wheel on the table before her, placing it atop a thick, warm slice of bread that she had already buttered. The butter was melting and running down her fingers. She licked them. Finished, she went to sit by the fire for a few minutes before beginning her rounds.

“Coward!”

She jumped at the word whispered in her ear and, turning, found herself looking up at Baen MacColl. Then, before she might react, he kissed her lips, and she gasped with surprise. “Rogue!” she managed to say.

“Soften your mouth, lass, and then kiss me back,” he replied, drawing her up and into the circle of his embrace. “You have lips that were made for kissing, Elizabeth Meredith, and I never could resist sweet lips.”

His mouth descended on hers now with obvious and serious intent.

The arms about her tightened. She felt herself relaxing against him, her mouth working against his.

“That’s it, lass,” he encouraged her.

What was she doing? She felt weak and drained of all energy. The pressure of lips on lips was intoxicating. She sighed, and then to her surprise he released her, gently settling her back into her chair again.

“How dare you!” Elizabeth managed to say, and she felt a flush coloring her cheeks.

Baen MacColl laughed softly, and knelt before her so he might look into her face. “Did you really hate it?” he asked her, taking her small hand in his big one.

Looking into his gray eyes made her almost giddy. “Well, no, but . . .” Elizabeth began, desperately attempting to gain some measure of control over herself, for she had obviously lost all sense of pro-portion. The hand holding hers pulsed with warmth.

“Then you enjoyed it,” he replied. The gray eyes twinkled wickedly.

“You had no right to kiss me!” Elizabeth said indignantly. What else was there to say in defense of herself? To her mortification she had kissed him back.

“No, I didn’t,” he answered calmly, “but I did.”

“Do you always do just what you want?” she demanded. Her lips were tingling with the memory of his mouth on hers.

“Nay, I don’t, but I found myself unable to resist you,” he said with absolute and ingenuous charm. “You are very beautiful, Elizabeth Meredith,” Baen told her, reaching up to caress the line of her jaw with the knuckle of his forefinger.

“Was I better this time?” she queried him.

“Much better,” he told her with a grin.

“Good! Then we don’t have to kiss again,” she said in a firm tone.

“Now I know how to kiss should the spirit move me to kiss, sir.”

Standing up, he burst out laughing. “Do you think that is all there is to it?”

“What more could there possibly be, sir?”

“There is cuddling,” he murmured seductively.

“Sit down at the board, and the servants will bring you your break
fast, Baen MacColl,” Elizabeth instructed him. “We have much to do this day. As for cuddling, put it from your mind. The kissing was bold enough, and I am no fool. More kissing leads to cuddling, and cuddling leads to coupling. I will not permit my virtue to be tampered with by any man, let alone a villainous Scots Highlander. Send Albert for me when you are ready to ride,” she said, and then, rising from her chair, she left the hall.

Baen MacColl grinned after her, and then sat down at the high board to break his fast. What the hell was the matter with him? Why was he behaving like such a fool? The girl was an heiress, and not for the likes of him. Still, he had wanted to touch her blond hair. It would be soft, and it was clean.
She
was clean, smelling of clover and freshly scythed grass. He had grown dizzy those few moments he had held her.

He dug his spoon into the trencher of hot oats. He had to control himself, he thought grimly.

From his place in the shadows, Thomas Bolton had watched the scene between Elizabeth and Baen play out. He had considered at one point that he might have to intervene, but Elizabeth had obviously been quite capable of managing the randy young Scot without his help. The knowledge pleased Lord Cambridge greatly, for she would undoubtedly be forced to defuse similar situations at court in defense of her honor. He was delighted to find she was not easily flustered by a gentleman’s attention. Not that Baen MacColl was a gentleman.

Elizabeth had been right: He was a bold man.

“Good morning, dear boy!” Thomas Bolton pretended to have just entered the hall. “You slept well? I find these quiet winter nights quite conducive to slumber, don’t you?” He waved away a servant. “No! No!

I have already eaten.” Then, turning back to the Scot, he asked, “And what plans has my adorable girl for you today, sir?”

“I believe we are to ride out to inspect some flocks in the far meadows,” Baen answered the older man. “Would you ride with us, my lord?”

“God’s boots, dear boy, nay! I know these late-winter days as the spring approaches. The sun may shine warm on one’s back, but the damp cuts into your very bones. Riding in such weather is not for a man of my years,” Lord Cambridge declared vehemently.

“Yet you will ride south in the rain,” Baen MacColl said.

“Do not remind me, dear boy,” Thomas Bolton replied with a shudder. “Only for Rosamund or her daughters would I make what is sure to be a most uncomfortable journey. However, at journey’s end we shall arrive at court for the month of May, which is always delightful.

May is the king’s favorite month. Every day is a celebration filled with games and amusements and feasting. We will be at Greenwich, which is beautiful. You have never been south, have you, dear boy?”

“Friarsgate is as far south as I have ever been,” Baen MacColl answered.

“Master MacColl, the mistress has said you are to meet her at the kennels immediately,” Albert said as he came upon the two men.

“The kennels?” Lord Cambridge looked curious.

“Elizabeth has said I am to have one of the Shetland pups. I suppose she wants me to see it,” Baen replied. He arose from the board, bowing to Lord Cambridge. “You will excuse me, my lord.” Then he hurried from the hall.

He found Elizabeth surrounded by several dogs of various lineages, all of whom obviously adored her. She was holding a rather large puppy. It had silky black and white fur. “Do you like him?” she said.

“He’s the biggest of Flora’s litter. She’s Tam’s dog, and he has already begun to work with this youngster. What will you name him?”

“I never had a dog of my own,” Baen said slowly. “I think I shall call him Friar, for Friarsgate. The way his head is marked he reminds me of one of those traveling religious, don’t you think?” He reached out and let the pup sniff his hand. Then he patted the dog. “We’re going to be good friends, Friar,” he said.

“We’ll take him with us today,” Elizabeth said. “Come on! The horses should be waiting by now. I gave instructions before I came to the kennels.”

“He’s too little to run with the horses,” Baen protested.

“I know,” Elizabeth said. “You can lay him across your saddle. He has to get used to you, your scent, and the sound of your voice. Tam will continue his training, and when Friar has learned the basics you will join them. He’s going to be your dog, and should obey you first and foremost.”

They rode out, and he again thought how perfectly in tune with her lands and her animals she was. The horses picked their way carefully through the thawing meadows where the ground could be muddy and soft or hard and icy, depending on the angle of the sun. The sheepfolds near the outlying barns were filled with bleating, woolly creatures. Baen decided that he did indeed like the Shropshires and the cheviots best. They were hardy beasts who could easily survive a Highland winter.

The puppy lying across his saddle before him had at first protested being removed from his mother and his siblings. But he quickly quieted down, and after a few miles closed his warm brown eyes and fell asleep, snoring softly, to Baen’s amusement. In one meadow a small herd of sheep had been allowed to roam free. He and Elizabeth stopped, dismounted, and went to inspect the animals. Friar romped noisily, yapping at their feet, and then suddenly he began to nip at the heels of a ewe, instinctively herding the creature.

“Oh,” Elizabeth said, “he’s going to be very good. He has hardly begun his lessons yet, and look at him.” She laughed as the ewe protested noisily at being forced to move along by the young pup.

Kneeling next to the sheep, Elizabeth pushed her fingers into the wool. “See,” she invited him, “how thick her coat is, Baen. When she is sheared, you will gain a nice harvest of wool from a sheep like this.”

He knelt by her side and inspected the sheep’s wool. Their hands touched briefly, and then Elizabeth stood up. “Aye,” he said softly, “I can see she’s a fine beastie.” Then he stood again and, reaching out, picked up the noisy puppy, cradling it in his arms. “Hush, laddie, I can see you will do your duty, and do it well.” He stroked Friar’s head.

Elizabeth turned away, walking to her horse. Her hand seemed to burn where his had touched it. She felt almost faint, and shook her head to clear it as she pulled herself into the saddle again. “It’s growing late, Baen. We have a long ride back to the house,” she told him.

Together they rode back, and when they reached the stables Elizabeth dismounted, and immediately crossed the stable yard towards the house. Baen took the puppy back to the kennels and settled it in with its mother for a good supper. Then he followed after her, but she was 
already inside and nowhere to be seen when he came into the hall. He found that he was disappointed.

“Dear boy!” Lord Cambridge waved at him. William Smythe was by his side. “How did the sheep viewing go? And have you a dog of your own now?”

“Aye, a fine young fellow I’ve named Friar. Elizabeth says Tam will teach him the basics, and then we will learn to work together, Friar and I.” He smiled at the older man, and at his gesturing hand joined him. “And was your day productive, my lord?”

“It was long, and it was dull,” Thomas Bolton complained. “Elizabeth’s wardrobe is finished. She has jewelry and shoes. We but await the month of April to depart.”

“You will not return to your own holding before?” Baen asked.

“Nay. I am having another wing added to Otterly. It will not be completed until sometime this summer. My heiress’s brood is both large and noisy. Friarsgate may not offer me the amenities that Otterly has, but its hall is delightfully peaceful. I shall not see Otterly until I return. Dear William, however, will have to come back ahead of us in order to see to the transfer of my furniture and other belongings from my apartments to the new wing, which has no direct access to the main sections of the house.” He grinned wickedly. “I have no intention of being overrun again, dear boy. I shall make my final stand in the new west wing of my home.”

Baen chuckled. “I understand,” he told the older man. “My father’s house is not very large, and when I arrived so suddenly it seemed, my stepmother said, to grow smaller. My brothers and I are all big men.

’Tis fortunate none of us is wed yet.”

Young Nancy came into the hall to say her mistress had a headache, and would not be joining them for supper.

“I am not surprised, out all day in that dampness,” Lord Cambridge said. “And Elizabeth always refuses to wear a head covering. One day she will catch her death, I fear, but she will not listen to reason. A most stubborn girl.” Then he brightened. “But we shall have a lovely supper together, and then I shall beat you once more in chess, dear boy. You seem to get worse with each game we play,” Thomas Bolton noted.

“I shall endeavor to give your lordship a better game tonight,” Baen 
MacColl replied with a quick grin. Then he saw William Smythe’s faint smile, and knew that Lord Cambridge’s secretary was aware of his deception, yet he kept silent.
Well,
Baen considered,
Thomas Bolton is
an odd fellow, but he is amusing, and has a good heart. It would break that
heart if I made him lose. He does so enjoy the game.
He nodded imperceptibly to William Smythe, acknowledging his part in the deception.

The month of March was quickly coming to an end. It was decided that Baen MacColl would go north back into Scotland in mid-April, for by then the snows should be gone. Elizabeth and Lord Cambridge, however, would depart for court on the first day of April. Several days before that departure the Hepburn of Claven’s Carn arrived with his wife and four of his five sons.