Then two days after the gypsies had departed Brae Aisir, Lord Stewart, Iver, and their men returned home. Maggie decided under the circumstances not to begrudge the gypsies the lamb that had disappeared when they departed. Their leader’s wife had birthed a male bairn. Her husband was unscathed, and none of their men had been injured. Dugald Kerr was eager to learn all that had happened. The entire household and village crowded into the hall that evening to learn of Lord Stewart’s adventures.
Fingal took a sip of wine from his goblet, and then looking out into the hall from the high board, began. “Ye all know how independent the northerners have always been,” he said. “And Scots kings have gone north to visit, but never before like this. The king set sail to make real to the entire north the power that is his, and every Scots king’s. We sailed across the Moray Firth and through the Pentland Firth to Orkney and Shetland. Then we sailed south again around Cape Wrath, down and through the isles. The local chieftains were more than surprised.”
Laughter erupted in the hall. They could but imagine the shock the chieftains and the people of the Western Isles experienced as the king’s fleet sailed into view with its small army.
“We took a number of captives from the isles,” Fingal continued. “They will stand hostage for their chieftains’ behavior. They have been taken to Dunbar and Tantallon castles as well as to Bass Rock to be housed. The king has now taken the lordship of the isles for the Crown. I think the northwest will now be peaceful for the interim.”
“He’s a clever fellow, the king,” Dugald Kerr said. “He’s given the men in the northwest the same lesson he gave the rebels here in the Borders ten years ago. Aye, they’ll be silent for now. And ye brought everyone home safe. ’Tis a good thing.”
“I’ve been a mercenary, as ye know, Dugald. I know fighting. There was little involved in this expedition. A skirmish here and there, but nothing of significance. The chieftains gave up their hostages without a fight. Most of them are tired of all the feuding and quarreling. They have all they can do to survive, but there’s always someone now and again among them who will rise up in rebellion. I think they hope the many hostages their families have given will help them to keep that one man, whoever he will be, in check.” He looked around the hall at all the familiar faces. “God’s foot, ’tis good to be home again!” He lifted his goblet to those gathered. “To Brae Aisir and her clan folk!” he said to them, and they cheered him. They no longer thought of Fingal Stewart as an outsider who had wed their heiress. He was one of them now.
The king came into the Borders that autumn to hunt. He left the queen behind at Linlithgow with his mother. The queen was pregnant with a second child; her first, a son named after his father, had been born in the early part of the year, just before the queen’s coronation. The king’s mother and wife had become good friends, and Marie de Guise had helped reconcile Margaret Tudor with her son.
Maggie was excited that the king would spend a night at Brae Aisir. Fin was less so. Brae Aisir wasn’t the kind of house set up for entertaining a king. It also worried him that the king had no idea that the house was more keep than manor. He hoped this fact would not anger James. Dwellings such as the Kerrs’ home usually required royal permission to be built. But Dugald had told him Brae Aisir had begun as a tower house and had just grown from there.
Fortunately, the house had no style, and the chambers were in general small. Fin hoped that the king would not be impressed once he saw this even if the outside of the house set on its hill was impressive. He himself chose a chamber for the king. It had no hearth and only a small wooden-shuttered window. There was barely room to turn around in it, but Fin cleverly saw his servants furnished the space with their best. The bed was hung with homespun linen and red velvet brocade. The springs on the bed had been tightened, and a new mattress and feather bed were laid upon it. There was a fine down coverlet, and pillows, the cases of which were scented with lavender. The taperstick by the bed was silver, and the narrow candle in it beeswax. There was a long narrow table against a wall upon which a tray with a decanter of whiskey and a goblet was placed. The king would be comfortable but hardly envious.
James arrived in midmorning. He came with only one companion, his servant. He was a man who enjoyed going about the land incognito as the gudeman o’ Ballengeich. His red hair usually gave his identity away, but there were plenty of lasses willing to pretend they were in ignorance of his true identity. Today, however, he was himself, and he was ready to hunt grouse, which was now in season. He met the laird and charmed the old man. Then Fin took him hunting with a party of Kerr clansmen.
“Did ye not want to go?” Dugald Kerr asked his granddaughter.
“I did, but Fin asked that I remain home. The king has not lost his wandering eye or taste for unfamiliar flesh just because he has a queen he likes. Ye know how I am when I hunt, Grandsire. I ride like a devil, and I am very enthusiastic in the pursuit. Fin feared that such behavior would entice the king. Ye can’t say no to a king.”
Dugald Kerr nodded. “Nay, ye can’t,” he agreed.
“I shall show the king a mile or two of the Aisir nam Breug tomorrow before he leaves,” Maggie said. “And tonight I shall sit meekly at the high board, being a perfect, if dull, hostess.” She chuckled. “My husband is very jealous, I find.”
“The man loves ye, lass,” her grandfather said. “Yer a fortunate woman.”
When the hunters returned, the king was in a particularly good mood, for he had bagged a half dozen grouse and killed an antlered stag. He was ready for his dinner and, knowing he would be, Maggie saw that it was promptly served. To begin, there were fat prawns broiled in butter, along with salmon poached in white wine. Then came the poultry, which included duck roasted with a sauce of raisins and apples; a fat capon; and a dish of tiny ortolons in a pie with a flaky crust. This was followed by game, venison, and rabbit, and a pottage of vegetables. Fresh crusty bread, butter, and cheese, both hard and soft, were also offered. The king’s cup was never allowed to empty, and the meal concluded with a dish of plump apples baked with honey and cinnamon.
Maggie was relieved that the king barely looked her way. He was enjoying the masculine company of the laird and her husband. He had taken a liking to both Clennon Kerr and Iver Leslie, who had ridden with them that day. And when she decided she might leave the hall, Maggie came and curtsied politely to the king.
“If ye will excuse me now, my lord,” she said, “I must see to my bairns. Is there anything ye need that I have not provided?”
The king’s eyes flicked over her, and Maggie held herself very still. “If ye would be kind enough to provide me with someone to warm my bed, madam, I should then be content.” His look was questioning.
“Of course, my lord. Someone buxom or more slender?” she inquired politely.
“Buxom and clean, madam,” the king responded.
“She will be awaiting ye, my lord,” Maggie said with another curtsy. Then she said to her husband, “I’ll see to Davy and Andrew and go straight to our bed, my lord, if that would please ye.”
“It pleases me,” Fin said, looking directly at her. Then he said, “I do believe, Maggie mine, that the king would enjoy Flora Kerr’s company.”
Now how did he know that? Maggie wondered as she nodded to her husband before turning and hurrying off. Flora Kerr was a pretty widow in the village who earned her living discreetly servicing men whose wives were with child. She kept no man as a lover, nor would she give herself to just any man. He had to have a wife who was with child before she would raise her skirts and offer herself. The women of the village appreciated the service she offered. Flora Kerr didn’t want their men. Her late husband had been a controlling man. She was relieved to be free of him. But she did miss the bedsport they had shared.
Maggie sought out Busby, and finding him said, “Fetch Flora Kerr. Tell her the king wants a woman for his bed tonight, and I would be grateful if she would service his needs. I will see she is reimbursed for her time.
And tell her to wash. He specifically said the female should be clean. Take a sliver of my soap from the storeroom for her. If she smells of flowers, it will make him remember that we treated him well during his visit to Brae Aisir.”
“At once, my lady,” Busby said. “I’m certain Flora will be cooperative as well as honored by the king’s attentions.”
“Put her in his bed to await him,” Maggie said.
“Of course, my lady,” Busby replied, his eyes twinkling as his mistress turned away and hurried upstairs. He could but imagine her relief that the king had not wanted her to warm his bed. He went himself to fetch Flora Kerr and bring her back to the keep, stopping before he departed to collect the bit of soap from the storeroom.
Maggie told Grizel of the king’s request.
“He’s a randy fellow, but then, his da was too. Well, Flora will give him a happy time and leave him satisfied,” Grizel remarked. “The lads in the village have no complaint. And just how did ye know about Flora Kerr, my lady?”
“She was my husband’s suggestion,” Maggie said.
“What?!”
“The whole hall heard him suggest her,” Maggie replied.
“Perhaps he visited her when ye were carrying one of yer bairns,” Grizel murmured. “He’s a lusty man, his lordship.”
“Are ye telling me he has visited Flora Kerr himself?” Maggie asked.
“Well, how else would he know of her?” Grizel said. “She will only lie with a man whose wife has a big belly. It gives them surcease from their lust and satisfies hers.”
Maggie had undressed and washed herself. Sitting on the bed, she brushed her long hair thoughtfully. “I never would have thought Fin would betray me,” she said.
“Och!” Grizel replied. “He’s a man, and men will satisfy their needs. He probably hasn’t given her a thought since until tonight.” She drew the coverlet up and took the brush from Maggie’s hand. “Go to sleep. Yer man loves ye, and ye alone.”
But Maggie could not sleep at first. She had never considered her husband with another woman. Oh, she knew he had had others before her, but since they were married? She didn’t know what to think. Was he tiring of her? Would he, like so many other men, take a mistress eventually? Well, she wouldn’t have it! If he couldn’t be satisfied with his wife for a lover, then he would have to turn celibate. Or if he would take a mistress, then he could hardly object to her taking a lover. Propped against the cover, Maggie sat waiting for her husband to come up from the hall.
As he entered their bedchamber, Fingal Stewart saw his wife through the haze of all the wine he had consumed this evening. “Mag—gie mine,” he slurred the words, smiling at her boyishly.
“Yer drunk!” she said in a hard voice. “And just how did ye know about Flora Kerr, my lord? Did ye tumble the wench when I carried yer sons? How could ye betray me? If I had known now what I didn’t know in the hall, I would have gone to the king’s bed myself tonight. What’s sauce for the gander should certainly be sauce for the goose!”
“Ye think I fucked Flora Kerr?” He was astounded.
“Well, didn’t ye? How else would ye know of her?” Maggie demanded.
“Everyone in the goddamned village knows of Flora,” Fin replied, the haziness gone to be replaced by a headache. “She’s not like Jeannie, the village’s whore. She offers herself only to those whose wives are breeding. She’s respected for it.”
“Ye didn’t answer my question,” Maggie said angrily. “Did ye fuck her?”
“Nay! I did not fuck her,” Fin replied, his temper beginning to rise. “Am I some weakling that I canna abstain from passion when my wife is carrying my bairns?”
Maggie burst into tears, much to her horror and Fin’s astonishment. “I couldn’t bear it if ye were with another woman,” she sobbed. “Yer the only man I’ve ever loved, Fingal Stewart. I will always be true to ye!”
“What if I died in battle?” he teased her, trying to defuse the situation.
“I’d die too!” Maggie swore dramatically.
“Ye can’t die if I die. Who would look after our lads? They can’t lose both parents, Maggie mine.” Kicking off his boots, he climbed into the bed and gathered her into his arms. “I’m not going to die, love, and neither are ye.”
“If ye die before me, I’ll never remarry,” she told him earnestly.
“And if ye die before I do,” he countered, “I’ll just take a mistress.”
“What?” She began to pound on him with her fists.
Laughing, Fin caught her wrists and pressed Maggie back against the pillows. He kissed her until they were both breathless. His hand slid beneath her night garment and up her leg to give her buttock a squeeze. She began to undress him, pulling off his jerkin, his shirt, then running her hands over his smooth, hard chest. His hands went to the neckline of her gown. He smothered her protest with a kiss as he ripped the garment open to get at her beautiful round breasts. His dark head dipped, his tongue pushing into the valley between the soft yet firm orbs as he struggled from his breeks.
Maggie’s fingers threaded themselves through his thick black hair. She teased the sensitive nape of his neck with just the tips of those fingers before she clutched at him, feeling the hard flesh of his torso as her hands caressed him. She moaned as his mouth closed over one of her nipples and began to suckle on her. She loved the tug of his lips on her, and squirmed against him, encouraging him. “Aye, my lord and love! Ohh, that feels so good. Dinna stop.”
It was a request he enjoyed complying with, and he sucked on the nipple harder and harder. Then unable to help himself, he nipped at her with his teeth. She squealed, but the sound was more of pleasure than of pain. He transferred his attentions to her other nipple lest it feel neglected, and began to draw deeply on the sentient flesh while her hands stroked him, and she murmured encouragement into his ear between nibbling and kissing it. His cock was already hard, but he wanted more of her than just a quick tumble.
She felt him against her thigh, and reached down to grasp his length, squeezing him, reaching beneath him to tickle his lightly furred balls. He hissed a warning, and she ceased her play, reaching about to squeeze his buttocks instead. After a moment, he slid away from her, rolling onto his side. His hand went to her mons, and cupping it, he crushed it gently several times. A bolt of pleasure shot through her. “Oh, Fin!” she murmured.
He stroked her slit slowly, slowly, with a single finger until he felt the moisture beginning. The finger pressed through the damp folds to find her little jewel. He teased it until he felt it swelling. Then the finger moved to the opening of her love sheath. He pushed the finger into her, smiling when he heard her whisper urgently to him, “More!”
Two fingers began to pleasure her, and Maggie squirmed shamelessly upon those fingers, whimpering. And when he sensed she was close, he ceased withdrawing his fingers from her wet sheath as she protested.
“Now, madam, I mean to punish ye for thinking I would consort with Flora Kerr while yer belly was big with my sons,” Fingal Stewart said. “Ye will play the whore and beg me for my passion.”
“Never!” Maggie cried furiously as he mounted her.
“Aye, ye will. Ye will say, please, my lord, fuck me with your big cock as ye would fuck yer beautiful, foolish, needlessly suspicious wife,” he told her, putting just the head of his manhood at the opening of her sheath.
Maggie attempted to buck him off as she swore at him, but she only succeeded in helping him to press a small ways into her sheath. “Nay, you devil! I’ll not say it! Ye want me right now as much as I want ye! It’s all yer fault I grew concerned.”
“My fault?” He was astounded. “How is it my fault?” Jesu, he was boiling with desire and wanted nothing more than to plunge himself deep into her, but if he did before she obeyed him, he would lose her respect.
“Because ye knew who Flora Kerr was!” Maggie said with complete female logic. God’s toenail! The little bit of him within her felt so good. She wanted him to sheath himse
lf completely and make her scream with delight, but she was not going to grovel. He would lose respect for her.
“For God’s sake, Maggie, say it!” he groaned. “Ye know ye want me.”
“Say yer sorry first for doubting me,” she told him. “Then I’ll say whatever ye want me to say, my lord husband, my love.”
“I’m sorry I doubted ye, Maggie mine. I was foolish too,” Fin told her.
“Please fuck me, my lord, as ye would fuck yer beautiful wife,” Maggie told him, and then gasped as he filled her full with himself.
“Beautiful, foolish, suspicious wife,” he said.
“Beautiful,” she repeated stubbornly.
“I’ll not move an inch, madam, until ye say what ye should,” Fin told her as stubbornly, and he looked down into her face, his gray eyes intense.
Jesu! Mary! She could feel his hardness—every blessed bit of it. She felt the walls of her sheath tightening and releasing about it. Surrounded by her tight warmth, he could release his juices and gain his own pleasure now. She, however, needed more for her pleasure. Maggie glared back at him. “Beautiful, foolish, suspicious,” she said. “Now, damn you, Fingal Stewart, fuck me hard, and fuck me deep. Ye had better soothe the pride ye have just injured or I will never forgive ye!”
He began to move upon her, slowly at first, and then with increasing speed. Maggie soared and experienced starbursts behind her closed eyes. “Aah,” she said, but he was not finished with her. His skillful cock seemed to know just where to touch her, how much friction her sensitive flesh could endure. “Ah, ah, aah!” she moaned a second time. It was wonderful; yet he had not released his passions. Still, there was no time for her to think about it, for he was using her harder than he had ever used her before.
She had wrapped her legs about him, hooking her ankles together, but he was growling in her ear to release him. When Maggie did, he pushed her legs straight back over her shoulders while he plunged himself deeper and deeper and deeper into her.
The Border Vixen Page 23