Free The Last Heiress by Bertrice Small Page A

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,