The Last Heiress by Bertrice Small Read Free Book Online Page A

for none would  have them to wife. They are sour lasses. Now they have no choice but to remain in their father’s house, but when he dies one day I know not what will happen to them, for there is no man to look after them.”
    The fire in the hearth crackled noisily, bringing Baen MacColl back to the present. Reaching for the whiskey, he filled the dram cup a third time, drinking it immediately down. Then, getting up, he walked to his bed space, pulled off his boots, loosened his garments, relieved himself in the bucket supplied for such activity, and climbed into his bed, yanking the coverlet up over his shoulders. He was such a big man he barely fit into the space.
    He lay quietly for a time, listening to the wind howling outside the house as the storm intensified. He had been on the road forever, it seemed, and he was weary, and he ached. Gradually the whiskey which had brought the warmth back into his big frame eased him into a dreamless sleep. When he finally awakened it was to the sounds of morning activity common to a household’s hall. He was silent for a time, knowing he must get up, but strangely reluctant to leave the cozy nest in which he lay. Finally, throwing off the coverlet, he climbed out of the bed space.
    “Good morning,” Elizabeth Meredith said from her place at the high board. “I wondered when you intended getting up. Half the morning is gone. Come and eat.”
    Baen straightened his clothing and pulled on his boots. He walked to where she sat waiting. “Half the morning gone?” he said.
    “Aye.” She smiled at him. “You were obviously very tired, sir. Sit next to me.”
    He joined her. “Has everyone eaten?” He was embarrassed.
    “Nay. My uncle and his secretary do not arise early as a rule, and then are served in their apartment,” she said. “He will be surprised to see you back.”
    “And your husband?” He had to ask.
    “Husband? I have no husband. I have never had a husband. Friarsgate is mine by right of inheritance, sir. I am the lady of Friarsgate,”
    Elizabeth explained.
    “Then why did you send me off to Claven’s Carn?” he asked her.
    “The packet you carried was addressed to Rosamund, the lady of  Friarsgate, who is my mother,” Elizabeth explained. “Friarsgate was her inheritance, and my eldest sister, Philippa, was to be her heiress. But Philippa is a creature of the court, and married into the aristocracy.
    She did not want Friarsgate. Nor did my second sister, Banon, who is our uncle’s heiress to his estates at Otterly. But I did want Friarsgate, and so when I was fourteen my mother conferred these lands upon me and my descendants. I am Elizabeth Meredith, the lady of Friarsgate.
    When I saw my mother’s name on the packet I assumed it must be for her, although she is no longer the lady. But it had come from those strange to us in Scotland. They could not know of the changes here, and I am not Rosamund.”
    “Have you read the message yet?” he asked her. “Can you read?”
    “Of course I can read!” Elizabeth said indignantly. “Can you?”
    “Aye.” He began to spoon the oat stirabout in his trencher of bread into his mouth. The hunger was beginning to gnaw at his belly again.
    She poured him a goblet of ale. “It was too late last night to be bothered with reading your message,” Elizabeth said. “Do you know what is in the packet?”
    “Aye.” He reached for the cottage loaf and the butter. “Is that jam?”
    He pointed to a bowl near the butter.
    “Aye,” Elizabeth replied. “Strawberry.”
    He pulled the bowl over and, dipping his spoon in it, smeared the buttered bread with the jam, a smile of pure bliss lighting his features as he ate it.
    “Well?” she demanded of him.
    “Well, what?” He had finished his porridge, and was now filling the bread trencher with jam and devouring it.
    “What does the letter to the lady of Friarsgate say?” Elizabeth wanted to know.
    “I thought you could read,” he said, popping the last bit