The Border Vixen

by Bertrice Small

  “The king has sent ye a gift, lassie,” the laird chortled. He was truly enjoying this.

  “The king? A gift?” She looked genuinely puzzled. “The king has never set eyes upon me. Why would he send me a gift?”

  “Ewan Hay went to visit His Majesty. He told him ye needed a husband, lass,” the laird cackled. “And so the king has sent his own kinsman to wed ye.” The laird waited for the outburst that was not long in coming.

  “Ewan Hay told the king I needed a husband? Why would that pox-ridden donkey’s ass do such a thing?” Then her eyes widened. “God’s balls! He thought to steal Brae Aisir out from beneath us, Grandsire, didn’t he? He thought the king would order me to wed him, the imbecile!” Then her eyes fixed themselves on her grandfather’s companion. “Who are ye, sir?”

  “Lord Fingal Stewart, madam,” Fin answered her.

  “And yer the king’s kin sent to wed me?” she demanded.

  “I am,” he replied.

  “And what, my lord, have ye done to win such a prize?” Maggie wanted to know.

  “I have been loyal, madam. The Stewarts of Torra have always been loyal to the Stewart kings since the days of James the First. The king knows he may trust me to do as I have been bid,” Fingal Stewart answered her in a hard voice.

  “Torra? Of the rock?” Maggie was curious in spite of herself. “Where do ye come from, my lord?”

  “Edinburgh, madam. We are the Stewarts of Torra because our house sits below the castle rock itself,” he told her.

  “Ye have no lands then,” she said scornfully.

  “I have a house, a manservant, twelve men-at-arms gifted me by the king, some coin with Moses Kira, the banker, a modest purse of gold I’ve brought with me, and James Stewart’s favor. Naught else,” Fingal Stewart responded honestly.

  Maggie had not expected a candid answer. She had never met a man before who was quite so direct. Usually men struggled to please her, to win her over—even that obnoxious simpleton Ewan Hay. “So ye’ve come to wed me for my wealth,” she said, contempt tingeing her voice.

  “I’ve come to wed ye because I have been ordered to it,” he replied as insultingly.

  “If ye think to wed me, my lord, ye will have to comply with the same rules all my other suitors have faced. And none has succeeded to date. I’ll wed no man, particularly a stranger, whom I cannot respect. If ye can outrun me, outride me, and outfight me, I’ll go to the altar willingly, but not otherwise.”

  “There’s no choice here, lass,” the laird told his granddaughter. “This man has been sent by the king, and I tell you truthfully that I am happy to see him. Ye’ll wed him, and that’s the end of it. Will ye let a man like Ewan Hay dispossess ye when I’m dead? Make no mistake, lassie, without a strong husband to follow in my path, our neighbors will be fighting ye and one another for control of the Aisir nam Breug.”

  “But Grandsire, if he does not compete against me, those same neighbors will rise up against the Kerrs for having imposed our conditions upon them, but not upon the king’s kinsman,” Maggie argued. “Ye swore before them that all suitors must conform.”

  “The lass is right,” Fingal Stewart agreed. “If I am to have the respect of yer neighbors, my lord, I must accept the lady’s challenge. ’Twill not be difficult to overcome her. I’m surprised this Hay couldn’t.”

  Maggie suddenly grinned wickedly. “I can outrun, outride, and outfight any man in the Borders, my lord,” she repeated, “and I will, I promise ye, outrun, outride, and outfight ye.”

  “I am not from the Borders,” Lord Stewart reminded her with an answering grin.

  “Ye can have yer contest, Maggie,” her grandsire said, “but first I will have the marriage contract drawn up. Ye and Lord Stewart will sign it. When the contest is over, win or lose, ye must accept the marriage and have yer uncle bless it in the chapel.”

  She hesitated.

  “Are ye afraid I’ll beat ye?” Lord Stewart taunted her.

  “I’m just concerned with having to live with a weakling,” Maggie said sharply.

  He laughed. “Madam, have ye ever been spanked?” he asked her.

  She turned an outraged face to him. “Nay, never!”

  “Ye will be, and soon, I have not a doubt,” he told her.

  “Lay a hand on me in anger, my lord, and I’ll gut ye from stem to gudgeon,” Maggie told him fiercely, her hand going to the dagger at her waist.

  The laird’s face grew grim at her combative words, but before he might admonish her, Lord Stewart laughed aloud.

  “Marrying a stranger cannot be easy for either bride or groom, madam,” he told her, grinning. “I can but hope this passion of yers extends to the marriage bed, for then we will suit admirably, and there will be no talk of murder, I promise ye.”

  Though Maggie was tall for a woman, he towered over her. She gasped and blushed at his blunt speech. No man had ever spoken so suggestively to her. For a moment she was at a loss for words. Then she said, “I’ll sign the marriage contract, for in law that will make ye my husband. And I’m certain that will convince the greedier among our neighbors that the Aisir nam Breug’s future ownership is settled. Particularly after they have met ye. Ye would appear to be reasonably intelligent and competent, my lord. But ye will nae bed me until ye have fulfilled my terms.”

  “Maggie!” Her grandfather almost shouted her name. “Ye cannot set the terms of this matter. The king has said ye will wed him, and ye will!”

  “Aye, I will, Grandsire, but for the reasons earlier stated, he must best me,” she replied. “The king said I must wed him—not lie with him.”

  “I will best ye, lassie,” Fingal Stewart told her quietly. “Here’s my hand on it.” He held out his big hand to her, smiling.

  She took his hand, watching almost mesmerized as his long thick fingers closed over her smaller hand, enclosing it completely as they shook. Then he shocked her by yanking her forward. An arm clamped about her waist, pulling her close against him. His chest was hard, and she could smell a mixture of male and the damp leather of his jerkin. A hand grasped her head, those same fingers wrapping themselves in her chestnut hair to hold her steady as his mouth descended upon hers in a fierce, quick kiss that left her breathless and gasping with surprise. He released her as quickly as he had taken her. Maggie stumbled back, but then, swiftly recovering, raised her hand to slap him.

  The big hand sprang forth to wrap firmly about her wrist. “Nah, nah, lassie,” he warned her softly. “I have the right now.”

  “Yer hurting me,” Maggie said through clenched teeth, “and ye have no rights yet, my lord.”

  The laird watched the interaction between his granddaughter and Lord Stewart, fascinated. He would have to thank the king for sending him such a strong man to take on his responsibilities, not that he was quite ready yet to relinquish them. Fingal Stewart had a great deal to learn about the Aisir nam Breug. But he obviously was already skilled at handling a woman. Dugald Kerr chuckled.

  “Are ye going to allow this ape to manhandle me, Grandsire?” Maggie demanded. She was utterly outraged. He had kissed her! Made her feel weak, and she wasn’t weak. She wasn’t! And her grandfather had done nothing to prevent it. Indeed, he had laughed.

  “I’m going to call for David to come and meet Lord Stewart. I want yer marriage contract signed by the morrow. What date will ye fix for the challenge, lassie?”

  “I’ll sign the contract, for I have already given ye my word, but the challenge will have to wait, Grandsire. We are only just past Lammastide. We have late crops to harvest, and the fields must be opened for gleaning. When this is done, we will set a date, Grandsire,” Maggie said.

  “I am content with that,” Lord Stewart quickly said, for he could see the laird was eager to have the matter settled and ended. “Send for the priest I saw in the village as we passed through, and let us make a beginning to it.”

  “Busby,” the laird called. “Send for my brother to come to the keep immediately, and tell him to bring
parchment and pen.”

  “I must go back to the yard, Grandsire,” Maggie said. “I was training the new lads when I was told of Lord Stewart’s arrival.” Without waiting she made a quick curtsy to both men and hurried out of the hall.

  “She trains the recruits?” Lord Stewart was surprised.

  The laird nodded. “In archery, and other combat skills,” he said. “Do ye now see why I have acquiesced to her demand that a husband be able to outrun, outride, and outfight her? She is beautiful, and she is clever, but she would rather be outdoors than in the hall. She has been that way since she was a wee lass. And from the moment I taught her how to use a bow, her pursuits were more those of a lad than of a lassie. She governs the house as well, for Grizel, her tiring woman, made her learn the things she must know to manage it. I pray God that you can overcome her, my lord, for Brae Aisir will be all the safer for an heir or two. I wish she were not so difficult, and I too old to control her.”

  Lord Stewart sat down again and sipped from his goblet. “She is a strong woman—she must be to survive here in the Borders,” he began. “She has become formidable, I suspect, to protect ye and the Aisir nam Breug. The signing of the contracts on the morrow makes us legally man and wife. Beneath her brave heart and fierce will, yer granddaughter is still a woman. She knows she cannot escape the king’s will, but she is afraid, though she would deny it. The moment my lips touched hers, I knew she had never been kissed. Let her have the time she needs to accustom herself to our marriage. Let us learn to know each other before I bed her. Ye need have no fear. I will beat her in whatever challenge she puts forth. And when I do, she will do her duty, for I know ye have raised her to accept her responsibilities.”

  “The king cannot possibly know the great favor he has done for us in sending ye here, Fingal Stewart,” the laird said. Then his brown eyes twinkled mischievously. “How much is it costing Brae Aisir?” he asked.

  Lord Stewart laughed. “I see my cousin’s reputation extends into the depths of the Borders,” he replied. “He wanted half of the yearly tolls paid each Michaelmas in coin. I argued for a third. When the contracts for our agreement reach me, I shall ask they be paid on St. Andrew’s Day beginning next year. I believe that is fairer as I have no idea what ye collect, although judging from yer keep, I must assume it is a goodly sum.”

  “It is,” the laird said, but gave no further details.

  “Perhaps tomorrow the lady will ride out with me so I may see the pass,” Lord Stewart suggested.

  “Aye, before the winter comes there is much you will need to see and learn about Brae Aisir. And tomorrow I shall send one of my own men to the king with my thanks for sending ye. If ye wish to write to him, my messenger can take yer letter too.”

  Father David Kerr, robes swaying, hurried into the hall, his servant behind him carrying the priest’s writing box. “What is so important that I must come posthaste, Dugald?” he asked his older brother. The priest’s eyes went to Lord Stewart.

  “This is Fingal Stewart, Brother. The king has sent his cousin, Lord Stewart of Torra, to wed with Maggie,” the laird began. Then he went on to explain.

  The priest listened, nodding as his elder brother spoke. When the laird had finished he said, “ ’Tis as good a solution as any, Dugald.” He held out his hand to Fingal. “Welcome to Brae Aisir, my lord.” The two men shook. Then David Kerr looked back to the laird. “And what, pray, does my niece think of this? I saw her when I came into the courtyard working her lads hard. I think she is not pleased to be told what she must do.”

  “She will sign the marriage contract tomorrow when it is drawn and ready,” the laird assured the priest.

  “And the blessing?” the priest asked.

  “He must fulfill the conditions any other suitor would before the blessing,” Dugald Kerr said. “She is determined, and Lord Stewart says he can beat her fairly.”

  “You would let her have her way in her foolishness?” David Kerr asked Fingal.

  He nodded in the affirmative. “Aye. She needs to feel she has some control over her life even if she doesn’t. Some men might not care, but I want my wife to respect me. She will not if I cannot best her. And yer neighbors will not feel so slighted by this match when I do.”

  The priest looked thoughtful, and then replied, “Yer a clever fellow, my lord. And I think ye could be dangerous, given the opportunity. If yer willing to indulge the lass, then so be it. When will yer contest take place?”

  “After the gleaning,” Lord Stewart replied.

  “Well, ’tis not so long to wait,” the priest said. “I’m pleased to see yer a disciplined man.”

  “Remain here tonight, and draw up the contracts,” the laird said. “I want them signed after morning Mass, Brother.”

  “Agreed!” David Kerr said. He turned to his assistant. “Tam, go and put my writing box in the laird’s library. Then go home. I’ll not need ye again till the morrow.”

  “Aye, Father David,” the boy said, and hurried off to do as he had been bid.

  A servant brought the priest a goblet of wine, and the three men sat talking before one of the hall’s two large hearths. Seeing them there as she came in, Maggie slipped up the stairs to her bedchamber where Grizel awaited. The serving woman had had her young mistress’s tub set up, and the steam was rising from the hot water as Maggie entered the room.

  “I didn’t ask ye for a bath,” the girl said.

  “Yer not going down to the hall for the meal stinking of yer sweat like some man-at-arms,” Grizel said firmly. “What will yer husband think of ye?”

  “He’s not my husband yet,” Maggie said, irritated.

  “He will be on the morrow,” Grizel snapped back.

  “Does everyone in Brae Aisir know my business now?” She pulled off her boots and garments impatiently.

  “Fourteen mounted men ride through the village and up the hill to the keep, and ye think it will go unnoticed? Get in the tub before the water cools. A hall full of servants, and ye think no one is listening? This is the most exciting thing that has happened at Brae Aisir in years, lassie.”

  Maggie climbed into her tub. Taking up the washing rag, she soaped it and began to scrub herself vigorously. “The contract is to be signed tomorrow, and that’s an end to it,” she said. “I will have obeyed the king’s command. There will be no bedding until he can prove himself worthy of me and earn my respect.”

  Grizel shook her head. “Yer the most stubborn lass in the Borders,” she said.

  “Aye, I am,” Maggie agreed. “But if after proclaiming I should wed no man who could not outrun, outride, and outfight me, it would be Lord Stewart who would suffer if he did not rise to my challenge. There would be some like that boob Ewan Hay who would challenge his right to the Aisir nam Breug and cause a feud between the Kerrs and half a dozen clan families in the region. Let this husband the king has sent me prove to them all that he is worthy to take on this responsibility and me.”

  “He’s a big bonnie man,” Grizel said. “He’ll beat ye and show the others he can be the true master of Brae Aisir after yer grandfather relinquishes his authority.”

  “We’ll see,” Maggie replied to her tiring woman.

  “Have ye decided when ye will issue the challenge?” Grizel asked her mistress.

  “What? Has that information not been spread from the gossips in the hall yet?” Maggie teased her companion.

  Grizel laughed. “Nay,” she said.

  “After the gleaning,” Maggie told her, but she was already considering other ways to avoid doing what was really her duty. She would do this in her own time, not another’s. She finished bathing, and after drying herself thoroughly, she dressed in the garments that Grizel had laid out for her—a plain gown of medium blue velvet brocade with a low square neckline, tight-fitting bodice, and tight sleeves. She wore her clan badge as a pendant on a gold chain. It showed the sun in its splendor with the motto Sero sed servio, meaning Late, but in earnest.

  Grizel brushed o
ut her mistress’s beautiful warm brown hair. Then she set a French hood with a short trailing veil that fell just as far as Maggie’s shoulders. The hood had a carefully pleated linen edge. “Put on yer slippers and yer ready to go down,” Grizel said. “Ye look respectable and like a young lady should now.”

  “He wouldn’t care what I looked like,” Maggie said. “The Stewarts of Torra do their duty by the king, he told me. He’s marrying me because the king said so and for no other reason, Grizel. He was insulting.”

  “It’s yer own fault,” Grizel told her bluntly. “Ye refused to get to know any of the marriageable men in the vicinity. Yer heart is nae engaged, lassie, so what does it matter whom ye wed now? Yer grandfather is sixty-three. He could wait no longer for ye to settle on a husband, especially as ye had no intention of doing so.”

  “But I can take care of the Aisir nam Breug, Grizel,” Maggie said. “I don’t need a husband to do it for me. Why do ye think I learned to ride, to run, to fight, to do accounts? It was so I could take over for Grandsire one day.”

  “And after ye?” Grizel said. “Who would care for the Aisir nam Breug after ye? Do ye think ye’ll live forever, lassie? Ye need a husband, and bairns to follow ye.”

  Maggie sighed. “I know,” she admitted. “I had just hoped to have more time.”

  “Yer seventeen, lassie,” Grizel reminded her.

  “Only last April,” Maggie said.

  “Yer mother birthed ye when she was sixteen,” Grizel replied.

  “And died in the process,” Maggie answered.

  “She was a sweet lass, but English, and weak,” Grizel remarked. “Now get ye down to the hall, lassie. Ye know how yer grandsire dislikes it when yer late.”

  Maggie nodded, then hurried from her bedchamber. In the hall she found her grandsire, the priest, and Lord Stewart much as she had left them, talking by the hearth.

  She silently signaled Busby. “Is the supper ready?”

  “It is, mistress. Shall I have it brought?”