“Aye. I imagine our guest is hungry at this point, and the rest in the hall as well. Was Cook able to find enough to feed the extra mouths?”
“She’s using the extra bread she had, added more vegetables to the pottage, and sent her lad to fetch a new wheel of cheese to cut for the trestles,” Busby informed his young mistress. “There’ll be cold meats for the high board as well.”
At a nod from Busby, the servants hurried from the hall to quickly return with the meal. Wooden bowls were set before each man at the trestles below the high board. They were filled by those same servants with a pottage of carrots, onions, leeks, and rabbit in a thick gravy. Bread and cheese were put on each table, and the tankards were filled with ale.
“My lords,” Maggie said to the three men by the fire, “come to table.” She ascended to the high board and seated herself in her place next to her grandfather’s high-backed chair. Pewter plates, spoons, and silver goblets had been laid at the four places for the diners. There were bread, cheese, and a platter of cold meats along with the pottage, the main meal having been served hours earlier. Wine was poured into the goblets.
Lord Stewart looked about the hall as he ate. The chamber would be considered small by some; yet it was far larger than the hall in his house. It had two hearths, and four tall arched glass windows, two on each side of the room. It had a stone floor. A large tapestry hung behind the high board. Flag staffs with hanging battle flags had been set into the stone walls on the window sides of the hall, which had an arched roof with carved and painted beams. The room easily held five trestles and their benches. They were filled tonight. The chamber gave the appearance of prosperity not always seen in some halls.
And when he had ridden through the village earlier, it had looked comfortable as well. The cottages were well cared for, unlike in many villages. Their slate roofs were in good repair. He had seen no broken windows, and the doors were actually whitewashed. There was a large round fountain with a Celtic cross in the village’s square. He had seen no garbage in the street, and the people appeared well fed. Brae Aisir was unique in that.
Maggie watched Lord Stewart from beneath her lowered lashes. What was he thinking? she wondered.
“I want ye to take Lord Stewart through the Aisir nam Breug tomorrow,” the laird said. “Not all the way, just a half-day’s ride, lassie. Explain to him how the defenses work. Don’t go over the border, however. No need for the Netherdale Kerrs to know ye have a husband yet. We’ll talk with them before the snows fall, or in the spring.”
Maggie nodded. “I agree,” she said. She turned to Fingal Stewart. “Their former patriarch, Edward Kerr, who was also my grandfather, thought I should wed one of my English cousins. I would not, for an English master at this end of the Aisir nam Breug would have been unsuitable. His loyalties would have been to whichever English king was in power, and not to our King James. And if the English controlled both ends of the pass, they might be cajoled into violating our long-held principles of only peaceful traverse. My mother was a Netherdale Kerr, but she was fragile and no Scot. I am a Scot, my lord, and I am not fragile. I am strong,” Maggie said proudly.
Strong, proud, and beautiful, Fingal Stewart thought as she spoke. What a wife she was going to be! “I will be honored to be your husband, madam,” he told her.
Maggie colored, her cheeks taking on a most becoming shade of pale rose. She dipped her head in silent response to his compliment, and reaching for her goblet, sipped her wine. Then she began to eat again with good appetite, he noted.
“She is not used to being courted,” Father David Kerr said softly.
“I am surprised she is not wed,” Lord Stewart responded in equally low tones.
“Her reputation is an honest one, my lord,” the priest answered. “She is as fleet of foot as a deer being pursued by a pack of hounds. She rides astride, and like a demon.”
“What is her weapon?” Lord Stewart asked.
“What isn’t her weapon, although she will battle you with a claymore. She is an excellent archer. She can use a lance astride as well as any knight. She is skilled in hand-to-hand combat. To be candid with ye, my lord, my grandniece scares the very devil out of those who know her. Especially the young men, which is why none but Hay’s fool of a younger brother attempted to meet her challenge. She was a-horse before the lad had even finished their footrace and was back in the keep courtyard, her ride finished as he sat with bloodied feet complaining. He gave up then. Lord Hay held no animosity towards the Kerrs. He had warned his sibling against making an attempt to vanquish Maggie.”
“So that’s why he went sub rosa to the king,” Lord Stewart said aloud. “His pride had been badly damaged. He hoped James would hand over to him what he could not fairly win.” Fingal Stewart laughed. “He misjudged my cousin badly.”
“Could the king not have made a similar arrangement with the Hays as he made with ye?” the priest asked.
“Nay. Ye borderers are a fierce lot,” Lord Stewart said with a smile. “Did he not spend some months subduing your earls? The king trusts few men, good Priest.”
“But he trusts ye,” David Kerr said. “Yer his blood.”
“Even blood cannot always be counted upon,” Fingal Stewart said wisely. “I am an exception not just because of my blood tie to the king, but my maternal grandmother was sister to the grandfather of the king’s current mistress, Janet Munro. So the king and I are doubly bound. It was Janet Munro who informed the king of my existence, and how the Stewarts of Torra have never betrayed their kings. Until that day, the king had no knowledge of me at all despite our blood tie.”
“I have heard stories both positive and negative about the king,” Father David replied. “Yer tale is most interesting, my lord. It is a good thing that James Stewart acknowledges yer kinship, but also a good thing that ye have never been involved in any of the conspiracies that have surrounded him since his unfortunate childhood.”
“I am six years the king’s senior,” Lord Stewart said.
“Then ye are thirty years of age, or thereabouts,” the priest noted.
“Thereabouts,” Lord Stewart agreed.
“Yer late to wed, or have ye been wed before?” the priest inquired.
“I have not been wed prior, nor to my knowledge do I have any bastards, and while I have known several women, I could not afford to keep a mistress,” Lord Stewart said. “Is there anything else ye would know, good Father?”
The priest chuckled. “Ye understand why I ask, my lord. Ye are unknown to us, but ye come with written instructions from the king to wed our heiress. We cannot refuse the king’s command, but we would know the kind of man into whose keeping we are placing our Maggie. One day when ye give yer daughter in marriage, ye will remember this day and understand.”
“I descend from King Robert the Third through his murdered son, David, who got a son on his mistress, Maire Drummond. When the first James Stewart returned from an eighteen-year exile in England, his nephew came to pledge his undying loyalty. In return that king saw his nephew was permitted to use the surname Stewart; and he gave him a stone house with a fine slate roof below Edinburgh Castle, which is how we became the Stewarts of Torra. When the first James was foully murdered, that same nephew was one of the men who got the queen to safety and saw her son secured upon his throne. Since that day we Stewarts of Torra have never deviated in our loyalty,” Fingal told the priest.
“We have never had the authority or the wealth to be involved in the battles to control the boy kings James the Second and James the Third. Nor did we take sides when the fourth James saw his father overthrown. We have simply remained loyal to the Stewart kings in power in any way we might. We have never broken faith with our kinsmen. So when our king told me to wed the heiress to Brae Aisir, I could give but one answer. Aye, my lord. My family’s motto is Ever faithful. Our clan badge is a greyhound lodged in front of a crown proper. Is there anything else you need to know, Priest?”
“Ye have no siblings?”
>
“Nay. My father was content when I was born that he had a son. He had thought his line to die with him, for he was not a rich man and had not wanted to take a wife to share his poverty. He wed my mother, the orphaned kin of a friend, to keep her safe. She was sixteen and he past fifty when I was born. But he loved her, and she him. She died when I was ten, and my father just a few years ago.”
“He would have been very old,” Father David said.
Fingal chuckled. “He was eighty and had a strong constitution.”
“Now I know what ye can tell me, my lord. The rest I shall learn as I come to know ye better. My brother, the laird, will not be unhappy with what you have told me.”
Maggie had listened as Fingal had spoken to her great-uncle. His family might have had no wealth, but it would seem to be respectable with good clan connections—Munros, Drummonds, and Stewarts. She snuck a quick look at him from beneath her lashes. He was fair to her eye with his long face and shock of short, coal black hair. And his form was strongly built, and well muscled. She was tall for a woman, but he had topped her by at least half a foot. Could he overcome her fairly in the challenge? Would she let him? Or would she beat him as she would any man who attempted to best her?
Only time would tell, and Maggie needed to get to know Fingal Stewart better.
The following day they signed the marriage contracts drawn up by Father David, then met in the courtyard of the keep. They would ride with several men-at-arms, and she would show him the Aisir nam Breug. A late-August sun shone down on them, and above the skies were clear blue. They rode down the hill and through the village of Brae Aisir. A half mile from the village, Maggie turned her horse to the right, and Fin realized they were on a narrow and very ancient paved stone road. He was surprised when the hills suddenly rose up around them.
Seeing the look on his face Maggie said, “Aye, it comes upon ye suddenly, doesn’t it. This is the beginning of it. Our part runs for just over fifteen miles before the border is reached, and ye can cross into England.”
“How do ye know when ye’ve reach the border?” he asked her.
“There is a cairn of stones topped by an iron thistle. A few feet farther on the other side of the pass is a second cairn of stones topped by a rose. Pass by it going south, and yer in England. Pass by our cairn going north and yer in Scotland. ’Tis that simple, my lord,” Maggie explained patiently.
“I can see the road is too narrow for an army or group of raiders to travel with any urgency,” Fingal Stewart noted, “but do ye have any defenses at all?”
Maggie smiled mischievously. “Look up and about ye, my lord.”
He did, and it was then he saw the low stone watchtowers set at intervals, and carefully staggered on both sides of the pass. Lord Stewart was impressed.
“We keep three men in each tower,” Maggie told him. “In case of an emergency, one man is sent to Brae Aisir or Netherdale, whichever is closer, to give the alarm.”
“Yer English kin keep faith with ye first?”
“As we keep faith with them,” Maggie replied. “The welfare of our folk is paramount for us all. Without the tolls we collect, how could we care for our people? We are not disloyal to our kings, and the pass has in its time prevented a tragedy or two because it has been a safe traverse through the Borders when there was no other way.”
He nodded. It had all been carefully thought out, and it had been done several centuries ago. He was astounded that the Kerrs had been able to keep the Aisir nam Breug neutral and free of strife for all these years. Would he be able to successfully carry on the tradition? And what would the English Kerrs think of a Stewart marrying the last of the Brae Aisir Kerrs? They traveled that day to the border and back. And in the weeks to come Fingal Stewart took several of his men and rode the pass himself, familiarizing himself with the landscape, the watchtowers, the road itself.
August and September were over. The fields had been completely harvested, and the villagers were allowed to glean in them, gathering up what remained of the crops for their own families. The hillsides were bright with their autumn colors. One evening as October began, Dugald Kerr spoke to his granddaughter.
“It is time for ye to set the date of the marriage challenge,” he said to Maggie.
“Och, Grandsire, we must bring the cattle and sheep from the summer pastures first,” Maggie said. “I have no time for racing now. Just yesterday one of the shepherds thought he heard a wolf in the far hills. I’ll not lose good livestock to those beasties.”
“I agree with her,” Fingal Stewart said quietly.
The laird and his brother looked at each other. Finally Dugald Kerr said, “Well, ’twill not take long, and as yer already legally man and wife I suppose a few more days cannot matter.” And the priest nodded in agreement.
So the sheep and the cattle were brought down from their summer pastures to browse in the fields near the keep during the day, and be penned safely within the village with their dogs at night. Again the laird asked his granddaughter to set the date for the challenge between her and Lord Stewart. But Maggie demurred a third time.
“Grandsire, we have not filled the larder with enough meat to get through the winter,” she said in reasonable tones. “How can I rest and take my own pleasure if I permit this keep to go hungry come the snows?”
“I agree,” Fingal Stewart murmured. “I commend your constancy to duty, madam. We will hunt together every day until we have enough meat to sustain us in the months ahead.” He smiled pleasantly at her. “And then I will meet your challenge so our union may be blessed. The winter is as good a time as any to make an heir for Brae Aisir.”
The old laird and the priest both chuckled at this, for Maggie’s face had taken on a look of annoyance at Fingal Stewart’s words.
“An excellent plan,” Dugald Kerr said. “I’d like to be holding my great-grandson in my arms by this time next year,” he said.
“And I’d like to be alive to baptize the bairn,” Father David said.
Maggie’s temper exploded. “I’ll not be thought of as some damned broodmare to be bred for fresh stock,” she told them.
“ ’Tis yer duty, lassie,” her grandfather told her. “Yer duty to Brae Aisir.”
“I know my duty to Brae Aisir,” Maggie said fiercely. “I have done that duty since I was a wee lass, Grandsire.”
“Aye,” he replied. “Ye’ve done duty by this family, and ye’ve done it well, but yer the last of us now, lassie, and yer duty is to give us a son. Ye’ve been given a good man for a husband. Now let him get a child on ye for Brae Aisir.”
She ran from the hall, shocked by his words. Yet why should she be shocked? Her grandfather had only spoken the truth to her, and Maggie knew it. But still, to give up her authority to a stranger; to be nothing more than a creature to be bred? She did not know if she could bear it. She was close to tears. And then as she stood in the dimness of the corridor outside the hall, an arm went around her. Maggie stiffened her spine.
“He is eager to see an heir,” Fin said quietly.
“Are ye?” The arm about her was more comforting than constraining.
“Aye, but not until yer content with this,” Fin told her.
“Do ye want to bed me because ye must?” she asked.
He laughed softly, the warm breath soft against her neck as he bent down so only she might hear him. “I know ye have a mirror,” he said. “Yer beautiful, lass.”
“So bedding me will not prove too onerous a duty because I am beautiful,” Maggie said testily.
“Lass, we are already wed by royal command. We must bed each other eventually. Am I to be distained because I appreciate that yer fair of face and form? As I come to know ye, I find that I like ye, Maggie Kerr. I admire yer honor and faithfulness to duty. Set the date for yer challenge so Father David may bless our union,” Fin said.
“Ye think ye can beat me?” Her tone was irritable.
“No one remains a champion forever, lass, and I am the man who will def
eat ye,” he said with surety. “Why are ye afraid of that?”
It had been comfortable leaning back against him, but now Maggie pulled away. She pushed his arm from her waist, pivoting about as she did. “I am Mad Maggie Kerr of Brae Aisir, and I fear no man,” she said. “But before I set the date for this contest between us, the larder will be filled with meat. When that is done, I will set the time for our contest; ye have my word on it.” She spit into her right hand and held it out to him.
He was surprised by the gesture, for it was not a woman’s, but he spit into his right hand in return and shook her hand. “Done, madam, and done again!” he said.
Her gaze met his. “Yer a puzzlement to me, Fingal Stewart,” she told him.
“Why?” he asked her. He puzzled her? ’Twas interesting, Lord Stewart thought.
“I am used to the society of men, but I have never known a man with such patience as ye have,” she admitted. “Ye could lure a doe onto the spit.”
“Is that why ye work at trying my patience, lass?” he queried, a small smile touching his mouth.
Maggie laughed. It was a loud sound, and filled with genuine amusement. “If there is a limit to yer patience, my lord, I have yet to find it,” she admitted.
“There is a limit,” he warned her. “But if I am indeed to lure the doe onto my spit, then I must exhibit great forebearance else it flee me into the hills.”
“I will not run,” she told him, blushing at the innuendo. I will leave ye now, my lord. We must be up and away before the dawn if tomorrow’s hunt is to be successful.”
He bowed to her. “Good night then, lass,” he said. “I’ll be up on time.”
Maggie picked up her skirts and ran up the narrow stone stairs. She sensed he wanted to follow, but he did not, nor did she look back. He did puzzle her. If he was not an intimate part of the king’s coterie, then what was he? He had been very candid with Father David about his past. And he had been equally candid with her. How had he lived? If he hired out his sword, where had he fought, and for whom? In France? She wanted to know more, but would her curiosity ever be satisfied? Or would she have to accept Fingal Stewart for what she saw, and what he had told her? Was there even more?
The Border Vixen Page 7