as she was gone. My stepfather was not the kindest man.”
“How old were you?”
“Twelve,” he answered her.
“Since you’re here,” Elizabeth said, “I assume your father took you in and cared for you.” Twelve. He had been so young. She thought of herself at twelve: all legs and arms, and constantly baiting Philippa when she was home. She hadn’t had a care in the world at twelve, while he was almost an orphan. How odd life was.
“The master of Grayhaven is a good father,” Baen answered her.
“And you have siblings? Did they mind when you came to live with them?”
“Nay. Within a few days it was as if we had always been together. I am ten years older than Jamie, and Gilbert is even younger. My stepmother was kept very busy with the three of us. Meg, of course, was a good lass. She was our father’s only daughter, born to his first wife.
Ellen, our stepmother, was his third, and my brothers were her lads.”
“What happened to the second wife?” Elizabeth asked, curious.
“He strangled her when he caught her with another man,” Baen said matter-of-factly.
“He was jealous,” Elizabeth said.
“Nay, but he was dishonored. Killing her restored that honor,” Baen replied.
“Gracious!” Lord Cambridge, who had been listening, exclaimed.
“How deliciously savage, dear boy! Are you much like your sire?” His eyes were twinkling.
“I am his image but for the eyes. His are green. Mine the gray of my dam’s. But I too possess a strong sense of honor, my lord.”
“You must keep your wife close,” Elizabeth noted.
“I have no wife, mistress. I owe my father my allegiance for his kindness and care of me since that day I arrived so unexpectedly upon his doorstep. How can I ever repay him? He did not have to take me in, and yet he did. And when he did, I gained a family. But for my mother, God assoil her good soul, I have almost forgotten those early years when I was so sadly mistreated.”
“Why does your father want more sheep?” Elizabeth asked him.
“It was my suggestion that we improve our flocks,” Baen explained to her. “I thought a better grade of wool would bring in a decent profit.
The more prosperous Grayhaven is, the better matches my younger brothers can make. Jamie, of course, will inherit one day, but Gilly needs a bit more of an advantage.”
Elizabeth nodded. She understood, of course, but she had never before considered the obtaining of a match from a man’s point of view.
It was interesting to think that men had a similar problem to women.
“Tomorrow,” she said, “we will visit some of the folds, and you can see the sheep. Mine are very different from your black-faced Highland breed. Their wool is finer. You would do well with any of the three.”
“I want to know as much about how you manage your sheep as you can teach me,” Baen said earnestly.
“Very well,” she agreed. “I will put you with some of my best shepherds. And you must have your own dog, who will answer to your calls alone. There are some half-grown pups from one of my shelties in one of the barns. I doubt they’re all spoken for yet. When the weather gets better you will work with the dog and the sheep that will be yours,” Elizabeth told him.
“I am grateful, lady,” he thanked her.
“If you are Baen, then I am Elizabeth,” she said.
“Have you always been called so formally?” he asked.
Elizabeth smiled. “As a child I was called Bessie, but it is not a name for the lady of Friarsgate.”
“Nay,” he agreed, “I can see you are no longer a Bessie.” And then he smiled at her, and for a brief moment Elizabeth felt dazzled. “Your name suits you,” he told her.
“Aye, I think it does,” she agreed, and then she gave him a small smile in return.
Thomas Bolton watched this exchange silently. Too bad Baen MacColl was a bastard. A landless young man with not even his sire’s name to distinguish him. It was a pity, but there it was. Despite the fact that
“How old were you?”
“Twelve,” he answered her.
“Since you’re here,” Elizabeth said, “I assume your father took you in and cared for you.” Twelve. He had been so young. She thought of herself at twelve: all legs and arms, and constantly baiting Philippa when she was home. She hadn’t had a care in the world at twelve, while he was almost an orphan. How odd life was.
“The master of Grayhaven is a good father,” Baen answered her.
“And you have siblings? Did they mind when you came to live with them?”
“Nay. Within a few days it was as if we had always been together. I am ten years older than Jamie, and Gilbert is even younger. My stepmother was kept very busy with the three of us. Meg, of course, was a good lass. She was our father’s only daughter, born to his first wife.
Ellen, our stepmother, was his third, and my brothers were her lads.”
“What happened to the second wife?” Elizabeth asked, curious.
“He strangled her when he caught her with another man,” Baen said matter-of-factly.
“He was jealous,” Elizabeth said.
“Nay, but he was dishonored. Killing her restored that honor,” Baen replied.
“Gracious!” Lord Cambridge, who had been listening, exclaimed.
“How deliciously savage, dear boy! Are you much like your sire?” His eyes were twinkling.
“I am his image but for the eyes. His are green. Mine the gray of my dam’s. But I too possess a strong sense of honor, my lord.”
“You must keep your wife close,” Elizabeth noted.
“I have no wife, mistress. I owe my father my allegiance for his kindness and care of me since that day I arrived so unexpectedly upon his doorstep. How can I ever repay him? He did not have to take me in, and yet he did. And when he did, I gained a family. But for my mother, God assoil her good soul, I have almost forgotten those early years when I was so sadly mistreated.”
“Why does your father want more sheep?” Elizabeth asked him.
“It was my suggestion that we improve our flocks,” Baen explained to her. “I thought a better grade of wool would bring in a decent profit.
The more prosperous Grayhaven is, the better matches my younger brothers can make. Jamie, of course, will inherit one day, but Gilly needs a bit more of an advantage.”
Elizabeth nodded. She understood, of course, but she had never before considered the obtaining of a match from a man’s point of view.
It was interesting to think that men had a similar problem to women.
“Tomorrow,” she said, “we will visit some of the folds, and you can see the sheep. Mine are very different from your black-faced Highland breed. Their wool is finer. You would do well with any of the three.”
“I want to know as much about how you manage your sheep as you can teach me,” Baen said earnestly.
“Very well,” she agreed. “I will put you with some of my best shepherds. And you must have your own dog, who will answer to your calls alone. There are some half-grown pups from one of my shelties in one of the barns. I doubt they’re all spoken for yet. When the weather gets better you will work with the dog and the sheep that will be yours,” Elizabeth told him.
“I am grateful, lady,” he thanked her.
“If you are Baen, then I am Elizabeth,” she said.
“Have you always been called so formally?” he asked.
Elizabeth smiled. “As a child I was called Bessie, but it is not a name for the lady of Friarsgate.”
“Nay,” he agreed, “I can see you are no longer a Bessie.” And then he smiled at her, and for a brief moment Elizabeth felt dazzled. “Your name suits you,” he told her.
“Aye, I think it does,” she agreed, and then she gave him a small smile in return.
Thomas Bolton watched this exchange silently. Too bad Baen MacColl was a bastard. A landless young man with not even his sire’s name to distinguish him. It was a pity, but there it was. Despite the fact that
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