“Ye can see watchtowers on the hillside above each of these markers. This morning messengers rode along each side of the hills, warning our men in each of these little redoubts of the possible war to come, of the battles that have taken place this summer in the eastern Borders. Should an armed party be seen within the pass, the fronts of these large stone markers would be pulled away to release a great torrent of stones that would block the pass, making it impossible to get through. Our kin, the Netherdale Kerrs, have a similar means of protection in place. That is why our markers are a full mile from the true border itself. But above the place delineating the real border are towers, and they would sound the alarm so those above the markers could get to them in time to block the Aisir nam Breug to invaders.”
“Have ye ever had to use this system to protect yourselves?” the earl asked.
“Only once. In the time of King Edward the First, who was called the Hammer of the Scots, was it necessary to block the pass; but not since then,” Maggie told him.
“Then I see no reason to arouse your English relations’ suspicions by closing the pass,” the Earl of Huntly said. “Ye have it as well protected as ye can, and ’tis unlikely anyone will attempt to breach it.”
“I am told a number of English died the day they tried to come through, for the Kerr clansmen shot at them from their towers,” Maggie said proudly. “I wish we could have a small cannon or two to add to our defense, but if we did, it’s quite likely that Edmund Kerr, the Lord of Netherdale, would consider it a hostile act,” she said with a chuckle.
They returned to Brae Aisir, and the following day the Earl of Huntly, Lord Stewart, and their men departed for Jedburgh, where the earl was quartering his small force. Maggie was not happy to see her husband go, but she stood dry-eyed at his stirrup, offering him a last cup for good fortune. She had managed to get him to take Clennon Kerr’s fifteen-year-old nephew, Ian Kerr, with him to act as his messenger. Ian would ride back and forth, bringing Brae Aisir word of what was happening.
George Gordon attempted to reassure her. “It’s October, madam, and the English always go home before the snows come.”
“I can hope yer correct, my lord, and my husband is home by Christ’s Mass,” Maggie told the earl. “Godspeed to ye, sir.”
He thanked her for her hospitality, then turned to lead his men from the courtyard of the keep.
Fingal Stewart leaned down from his stallion, lifting Maggie up so he might kiss her a final time. It was almost their undoing, for while duty bade him go, for the first time in his life Fin was not eager for battle. He tasted the sweetness of her mouth, felt the single tear on her cheek, and kissed it away before setting her back on her feet. “I’ll come back to ye, Maggie mine. If they do not say I’m dead and bring my body home to ye, I will return to ye, and to Brae Aisir. Trust in my word.”
“I will!” she told him.
He moved his horse to stop before the nursemaids, who were each holding up one of his sons for his blessing, and gave it to them. Davy, now four, wanted to be taken up on his father’s beast, but Fin told the lad nay, for he was off to fight the king’s war. Then he turned the stallion about and cantered off to catch up with the earl and their men. Maggie watched him go until all that was left to see was a small cloud of dust.
That night she sat with her grandfather in the hall. “We’ll need to double the watch immediately,” she began.
“Get the cattle and sheep in from the far pastures,” he told her.
“Ye think the troubles will come this way?” Maggie asked him.
“These things always boil over and spread themselves out. If we’re fortunate, we’ll escape being raided, but there is no guarantee,” the laird said.
“I’d better institute an alarm for all to recognize should the English come our way,” Maggie said. “I’ll put men to watch out on the hills, and the villagers can take refuge in the keep should they have to do so. I’ll have the miller grind what grain he has, and we’ll store it within the keep. Whatever happens, we have to be able to feed our folk this winter. The hunting has been good this year. The larder is filling.”
For the next few days the village and the keep prepared for the worst should it come. On the twenty-eighth of October, Ian Kerr rode into the keep with news. The English had departed Berwick-upon-Tweed where they had been waiting. They had advanced into the Borders, burning Kelso Abbey and Roxburgh Tower to the ground before returning to Berwick. The Earl of Huntly with a little more than two thousand men had been forced to remain where he was, for the English force was twenty-thousand strong. George Gordon wasn’t going to allow a slaughter of good Scotsmen. Fingal, Iver, and their men were safe. Ian Kerr departed the next day back to join Fin and their men.
A peddler who came at least twice a year to Brae Aisir arrived from Jedburgh.
He was in a great hurry to get through the Aisir nam Breug and back into England, for he did not wish to be caught in any war between Henry and James. But he had more information to share. The Duke of Norfolk, King Henry’s commander, had returned to Berwick. It was said he had not the supplies to support a longer campaign. And King Henry had declared war officially and renewed England’s centuries-old claim to Scotland.
“God help us all,” Grizel said as she listened.
The peddler hurried off the next morning through the Aisir nam Breug.
The late-year traffic picked up as merchants from England, and from other countries that did business in Scotland, now sought to escape any coming warfare. But they garnered a great deal of news from these men. King James believed that the Duke of Norfolk meant to attack Edinburgh, and he commanded a general mobilization. With a force of twelve thousand men, and some artillery, the king led his forces south. But the English had gone back over the border to Berwick. The weather was beginning to worsen. Supplies were short. James had his men stand down, and returned to Edinburgh to consider what he would do next. False information was spread for the benefit of the many English spies in Scotland. It appeared the king would strike in the southeast; yet a second army appeared to be forming in the west. And then there were no more travelers to pass through the Aisir nam Breug, and all grew silent.
It was now November. Ian Kerr returned once again to Brae Aisir to tell them the king had ordered a muster at Lauder on the twentieth of November. Ian told them that Lord Stewart had said he was to remain at the keep and not return. Clennon Kerr was grim faced when his nephew spoke. He knew there was to be a battle, and Fin didn’t want any harm coming to the lad.
And then on the thirtieth of November, as they celebrated St. Andrew’s Day, the watch on the keep’s height called down that a small party of horsemen was approaching Brae Aisir. As there seemed not enough of them to be a raiding party, the alarm was not rung. The horsemen came closer, and they recognized their own people. Iver Leslie led them, and there were several horses being led that carried bodies.
Maggie watched them approach. Where was he? Why wasn’t he leading his own men? Had he remained behind with the king? She couldn’t bear watching the riders come, so went back into the hall to wait. Pacing back and forth, she told her grandsire that Fin didn’t appear to be among the returning men and that there were bodies on the horses being led along.
Dugald Kerr’s mouth was drawn in a thin line as he said, “Well, at least we have two lads, and perhaps another in yer belly.”
It was a harsh comment, but Maggie knew it to be true. She had been wed for the purpose of producing the next generation of males in order that the Aisir nam Breug continue on as it always had. She had never expected to fall in love with her husband. She was only doing her duty. She blinked back the tears. Where was he? He couldn’t be dead. She would know if he were dead. Wouldn’t she? Her heart pounding, she watched Iver Leslie enter the hall and she had to ask. “Is he dead?”
“I don’t know,” Iver said, and his face showed his desperation.
“Give the man some whiskey,” the laird snapped, and when they had, Dugald Kerr s
aid, “Come, Iver Leslie, and sit by me. I would know all that ye can tell me. Maggie lass, sit down. ’Tis no good standing there looking stricken. Let us hear what our captain has to say, and then we may decide what is to be done next.”
They both obeyed, and then Iver began to speak. “The king wanted no real battle. The attack was in reality planned for the west, where they would not be expected. They would defeat the small band of defenders who would come to protect the area. Lord Stewart told me King James meant but a brief incursion into England. Once there, a small party of bishops, escorted by a troop of men-at-arms, would find the nearest church, where the clerics would read the papal interdict against King Henry. And that would be the end of it. But the plan, while a good one, did not turn out as had been expected.” Iver swallowed down another bit of the laird’s smoky whiskey.
“But there was a spy among the king’s men, and he managed to alert Sir Thomas, deputy warden of the West March.”
The laird nodded. “Sir Thomas is skilled at border fighting,” he noted.
Iver continued. “The English managed to bring two thousand men to the field along with at least several hundred light horsemen. But the king had promised the queen, who is near her time, that he would not take part in the fighting. He returned to Lochmaben the morning of the battle. It was left to those of us who had come to his defense. We were no more than a large-size raiding party who fought that day, my lady, and no match for the English, though we knew not the force we would face then.” Iver’s voice broke slightly, but then with a deep sigh he recovered himself to go on with his tale.
“We expected to dash into England, secure a church for our bishops, and then dash away back into Scotland. The bulk of our army was left to the rear and would have no part in any fighting. They were for nothing more than show. Led by our own warden of the West March, Lord Maxwell, we moved quickly to the mouth of the River Esk, crossed it, and moved onto the Solway Moss. ’Twas there we encountered our difficulties. The land was worse than mire due to all the rains we have had of late. The English army appeared, and it was quickly apparent that we must return as quickly as we could across the Esk back into our own Scotland.
“The infantry was having difficulty moving back across the muddy ground, as was our small cavalry. And then the English light horsemen charged our flank. It was chaos, my lord, my lady. All of our Brae Aisir men were mounted, but some fell from their horses in the fighting. We lost seven, but as it was obvious we were not going to win this battle, Lord Stewart told us to gather up our dead, and their horses, and ride for home.
“Archie was wounded badly, and did not want to leave him. But my lord insisted we take the little man. He’s alive, and Grizel is already attending to him. He’ll be lucky not to lose his left arm. The gash in it is fearsome, my lady.”
“What happened to my husband?” Maggie asked through gritted teeth. It was all she could do not to scream.
“He went off to aid Lord Maxwell, my lady, and that’s the last we saw of him. We heard as we rode home that the king’s forces surrendered, and many were taken prisoner. Ye’ll know if he’s alive when the ransom demand comes,” Iver said.
“What happened to the king?” Maggie wanted to know.
“He’s gone to Edinburgh, I heard, to order a strengthening of the border’s defenses,” Iver answered her.
“He’s alive!” Maggie said in a determined voice. “Fingal is alive!”
“We can pray for it,” Father David Kerr said. He had come into the hall behind Iver and listened silently as the captain told his tale.
“The keep will need to be fortified more heavily,” the old laird said. “God’s foot, I would have a cannon on our heights! A cannon is the best defense in times like these.”
“I’ll go to the brothers at Glenborder Abbey,” the priest said. “They have a foundry and cannon of their own.”
“Holy priests?” Iver was surprised.
“Glenborder is known for its warrior monks,” Father David said. “The English won’t burn them out like they did Kelso. That’s why they keep clear of Glenborder.”
“Ye’ll need gold,” the laird noted.
“Ye have what we’ll need, and more,” the priest replied dryly.
Dugald Kerr laughed darkly. “Aye, whatever ye need is yers if ye can convince them to sell me a cannon. Iver, go with him, and take a dozen men with ye. Dragging a cannon, even a small one, back across the moor and hills will be hard work.”
“Who is going to go search for Fingal?” Maggie demanded. “Is my husband not more important than yer damned cannon, Grandsire?”
“Nay, he is not,” the laird responded in a hard voice Maggie had never before heard him use. “Fingal is either dead and in an anonymous grave, or being held with other Scots nobles in an English dungeon. It will take the English a while to process their prisoners and learn who they are, and where to send the ransom demand. Either way we can do naught, and we need that cannon, Maggie, if we are to defend Brae Aisir.”
David Kerr departed the morning of December first for Glenborder Abbey. He returned on the tenth of December successful, the Kerr clansmen bringing the cannon they had purchased with them along with a supply of powder and shot. The laird immediately oversaw its installation upon the narrow heights of his keep. It had cost him dearly, almost an entire year’s worth of proceeds from the Aisir nam Breug, but now he knew the keep would be relatively safe from invaders.
On the twelfth of December word came that Queen Marie had delivered a daughter, Mary, on the eighth day of the month at Linlithgow Palace. The king had not been with her. He was ill at his favorite palace of Falkland. Less than a week later came the terrible news that King James V had died. Scotland had a king no longer. It had a queen, and she was ten days old.
“God help us all,” Dugald Kerr said grimly.
“God help Queen Marie,” Maggie replied. “The great lords will begin to squabble over who should rule in the little queen’s name. There will be some sort of civil strife, ye may be certain.” Aye, there would be trouble, and here she was with a big belly, an old man, and two lads to look after, along with the Aisir nam Breug. Where was Fingal? Where was the ransom demand from the English? He was not dead. He wasn’t!
The news of James V’s death reached Netherdale when Edmund Kerr found himself host to an unexpected visitor. It was then he also learned that his kinsman’s heiress was again without a husband. His eyes narrowed speculatively at the news.
“We can be of help to each other, my lord,” Ewan Hay said, smiling a cold smile.
“How could ye possibly help me?” Edmund Kerr demanded to know.
“Ye want to control all of Aisir nam Breug, I am told,” Ewan murmured. “If the rumor is true, then I can help ye achieve yer goal.”
“Give our visitor some wine,” the Lord of Netherdale said.
“Beware this man,” his former mistress, now his third wife, Aldis, said softly. “He is dangerous, and wants more than I think yer willing to give, my lord.” She offered him a sweetmeat, and he opened his mouth to take and eat it.
Ewan Hay took the goblet offered him, and drank deeply to gain his courage. He had a plan, but he needed the Lord of Netherdale to complete that plan.
“Well?” Edmund Kerr demanded. “And what will ye want in exchange for aiding me?” he asked cynically.
“Only one thing, my lord. I want Maggie Kerr. With yer help I can take control of Brae Aisir and the pass. Without Lord Stewart they are helpless, for yer kinsman is near seventy now, and surely will not live much longer. They need a man to manage it all, and despite your being their blood, yer English. They will not accept yer control especially now after the battle at Solway Moss, and the king’s death. They will more easily accept a Scotsman even if his name is not Kerr. Did they not accept Fingal Stewart, my lord?”
“Maggie has two lads, and a big belly that will certainly produce another,” Edmund Kerr said. “They are now old Dugald’s heirs.” As the years had passed, he had given u
p on the idea of marrying his late half sister’s daughter, but he hadn’t given up on controlling the Aisir nam Breug in its entirety. Still, given the bitterness of what had recently transpired, he knew Ewan Hay was right. Brae Aisir would not accept him, or any of his sons, or grandsons, as their overlord. He had, however, thought to one day match the daughter he had had with Aldis to one of Maggie’s sons. Still, who was to manage until then? “Did Maggie not spurn ye when ye tried to court her years back? What makes ye think she’ll take ye now?” Edmund Kerr asked. “Besides, her husband has not yet been proved dead. The traffic through the traverse is done for the year. The snows will soon make the roads impassable, especially the road through the pass.”
“Send me to Brae Aisir, my lord, in yer name, with yer men at my back to defend yer rights,” Ewan Hay said. “Say with Fingal Stewart among the missing, and yer kinsman elderly and frail, ye want to protect what the Kerrs on both sides of the border have protected for lo these past centuries. Say it is yer familial duty to see to the safety of Brae Aisir’s lady, and her bairns.”
Edmund Kerr laughed aloud. “Jesu, ye want the wench, don’t ye? But why? She doesn’t like ye, and will probably kill ye given the opportunity. As for sending my men, nay. It’s one thing for me to send a Scotsman to oversee Dugald Kerr’s portion of the Aisir nam Breug. That can be counted as familial regard and show a certain delicacy on my part. But to send English men-at-arms makes it a threatening gesture. Ye’ll need yer own men. Surely yer brother would be willing to lend you some of his own people. Did he answer yer late king’s call to arms? Did ye for that matter, Ewan Hay?” And Edmund Kerr laughed again. “Nay, I’ll wager neither of ye did.”
“If I have yer assurance that ye support my going to Brae Aisir, then my brother could probably be prevailed upon to give me some of his clansmen to back my actions,” Ewan Hay said. “Ye must write it or he will not believe me. And seal it with yer seal.”
The Border Vixen Page 25