“Kill me then, ye dishonorable bastard!” the old laird said. “Ye discredit the name of Hay, and it will be shouted throughout the Borders to yer family’s shame. Ye cannot keep such ignominious behavior a secret.”
“Nay, Grandsire!” Maggie cried, her eyes filled with tears. She loved the old man so much, and his bravery almost broke her heart. “I cannot have yer death on my conscience, and even if he did what he threatens, he would find a way to make a marriage with me. Let this strife end here. I will wed him even though I believe this to be a bigamous union. Fingal Stewart is alive. He will return to me, to our bairns!”
“Are we ready to sign the contracts?” Father Gillies broke in. “The conflict surrounding this matter is certainly resolved now.”
“I am an old man, Margaret Jean Kerr,” the laird said. “I have lived more than seventy years, and I am content to die if it will keep ye from this man.”
Maggie stepped forward, enfolding him in an embrace. God’s toenail, he was so thin and so frail beneath his heavy dark velvet gown! “Ye will die in yer own time, Grandsire, and not on my account. I could not bear it. I will sign the marriage agreement.” She hugged him gently, murmuring softly in the old man’s ear so only he heard her. “But he will have no pleasure of me for I will kill him on our wedding night.”
Dugald Kerr stepped back from his granddaughter, nodding. His pride in her was more than evident. “I am hungry,” he said. “Let us do this wretched thing so we may break our fast quickly.”
They stepped up to the high board where the priest had carefully laid out the parchment upon which the marriage contract was written. Maggie scanned it quickly, noting that it turned everything that was hers over to Ewan Hay.
“Will ye have yer grandsire sign for ye, my lady,” the priest asked her, “or would ye prefer to make yer own mark?”
Maggie did not answer him, instead signing her full name at the designated spot where her name had previously been written. Margaret Jean Kerr, by her own hand.
The priest’s mouth fell open, revealing rotting teeth. “Ye write?” he said.
“And I read as well, Priest,” Maggie answered him. “I notice ye have given this thief everything that I possess. ’Tis hardly just, but no matter.” She shrugged casually.
Dugald Kerr hid a smile, especially when Ewan Hay took up the quill to make an X where his name was already written. When the Hay passed the quill to the laird, the old man wrote Dugald Alexander Kerr, by his own hand where his name was written. He then returned the quill to the priest.
“It is done,” Father Gillies said in pleased tones. “There but remains the matter of the church’s blessing upon ye both in three days’ time.”
“Should ye not give me a kiss?” the Hay asked Maggie.
“Ye can wait until the blessing,” she said coldly.
“Did ye make Fingal Stewart wait to kiss ye once the contracts were signed?” Ewan Hay wanted to know.
“Ye are not Fingal Stewart, nor will ye ever be,” Maggie said with devastating effect. She signaled to Busby to bring the food so they might break their fast. Then she ate quickly so she might excuse herself with the excuse her household duties needed attending to, and hurried from the hall.
She found Grizel and Busby awaiting her in her chamber. “The contracts are signed, but they will not be legal. My lord husband will return.”
“He may or he may not,” Grizel said candidly. “But how will ye keep the Hay from yer bed, my lady?”
“He has given me three days, and we will see he keeps his promise,” Maggie said. “And in three nights when he attempts to mount me, I will kill him.”
“His priest will cry for vengeance,” Busby said.
“There will be no mark on Ewan Hay,” Maggie said. “I will drug his wine, and when he sleeps, I will smother him. It will appear he has died in his sleep. Let the priest cry foul to the high heavens. He will be able to prove naught against me. I’ll not leave my bairns without their mother as much as I should like to slice the bastard to bits.”
“It’s a good plan, my lady,” Busby noted. “Do not, however, change the coldness ye exhibit to him. If ye are suddenly sweet, and then he dies, suspicions will be raised. If yer attitude does not change, it is less likely that anyone other than the priest will cry foul. Especially if ye let the priest leave to spread his tale. And when questioned, say ye are not in the least unhappy that he is dead, but deny all culpability.”
“To all except Father David,” Maggie said.
“Confess it only on yer death bed,” Grizel advised. “Let all believe God spoke in this matter. That no Hay should have Brae Aisir. I doubt Lord Hay will be distressed too greatly that his youngest brother has died. He gambled his sibling could take and hold this keep. Remember, other than the thirty men he gave to his kinsman, he has had no part in any of this at all. Admit ye are not unhappy that yer bridegroom is dead, and then tender yer sympathies to his family.”
It was good advice that her servants gave her, Maggie considered, and she would take it. Her own thoughts were jumbled, and half confused by all that was happening. Where the hell was Fingal Stewart? She just knew he wasn’t dead; he hadn’t been killed at Solway Moss. She could almost sense him drawing near to her. And the fact that Archie hadn’t returned encouraged her to continue to hold on to her hopes. But she dreaded the day when she must stand before God in Brae Aisir chapel, knowing her intent towards this man who had forced himself upon her. Oh Fin, she thought to herself. I need ye now so desperately. I am so tired of being strong for myself, for Brae Aisir. I am willing to let you be strong for the both of us from now on. Come home, my darling! Come home!
Chapter 16
Archie remained by his master’s side as Fingal Stewart began to heal in body and mind. He saw that Fin was extremely well fed, and he was pleased to see his big frame filling out once again, his physical strength returning. But best of all without the stress of travel, and ill health, Fingal Stewart’s memory had returned fully. He was eager to return to Brae Aisir and dispossess Ewan Hay from his home. He could but imagine Maggie’s irritation and impatience with the fool.
Archie had told him of the messenger’s error in delivering the note to Maggie, so Fin was more eager than ever to leave Edinburgh. Both men would have been relieved to know that Bhaltair, who had taken the message, had thrown it into the barracks’ fire. Ewan’s captain couldn’t read himself, but he suspected his master wouldn’t want Maggie receiving messages from anyone in Edinburgh or anywhere else. Then distracted by another matter, he had forgotten the messenger and not mentioned it to his master.
Now Fin needed a horse. His stallion had been stolen at Solway Moss. He could hardly walk back to Brae Aisir. Thinking on it, he realized that he had probably passed quite near it when he had come over the border from England. He had walked the distance once. He would not walk it again. “We need to purchase an animal for me to ride,” he said to Archie one morning as they broke their fast with ham, fresh bread, cheese, and strawberries come in from the county-side that morning.
“It’s a market day,” Archie replied. “We can look, my lord.”
The market square was a busy place. It was late June, and the sun was shining after several gloomy days. They walked past the many stalls, the vendors calling out to them as they went.
“Newly baked buns! Still warm. Four a penny!”
“Fresh milk and cream! The cow won’t take it back!”
“Cockles, prawns, and mussels fresh from Leith this day!”
“Flowers! Who’ll buy my flowers?”
Archie knew the dealers of livestock and horses would be found on the far side of the market square. He led his master through the shoppers until they finally found a horse dealer. The man was a gypsy with dark eyes and a cautious demeanor. “My master is in need of a horse,” Archie said.
Fin smiled at his serving man, putting a hand on his shoulder. “I want a stallion. Well trained, not skittish,” he told the horse dealer. “And hopefully
not stolen.”
The gypsy laughed, the tanned skin about his eyes crinkling with his amusement. “I sent the stolen horses over the border into England,” he replied.
Fin laughed too. It was probably one of the few honest things the man had ever said. “Since I’ll be riding into the Borders, I’ll not want to come face-to-face with an angry former owner of any beastie I purchase from ye.”
“Ye won’t, my lord Stewart,” the gypsy responded.
“Ye know me?” Fin was surprised.
“Mad Maggie lets us camp on her lands twice a year,” the gypsy said. “We had heard ye were dead at Solway Moss. We’ve met briefly before, my lord.”
Fin looked at the man, thought hard, and then said, “Jock, isn’t it?”
“Aye, my lord, Jock it is!” he replied. “I have news that may not please ye.”
“Ewan Hay is attempting to take over the Kerr holding,” Lord Stewart said. “Aye, my man, Archie, has told me.”
“It’s yer wife he’s attempting to gain,” Jock said. “He is claiming they will be wed at Lammastide.”
“I sent word to Brae Aisir almost ten days ago that I am alive,” Fin said.
“My lord, I was at Brae Aisir four days ago. There is no word of yer survival, or that ye are safe in Edinburgh. The Kerrs’ neighbors have been pressing yer wife to take Ewan Hay as her next husband. His brother, Lord Hay, has approved the match. They fear for the stability of the Aisir nam Breug without a man to manage it. They have said quite plainly and out loud that the laird is too old now to be useful. When they said it, I heard he took up a stick and attempted to drive the delegation of his neighbors from the hall. He collapsed and had to be carried away, but he did survive. The Hay would not allow us to camp on the Kerr lands this spring. Whatever help ye might need to drive him out of Brae Aisir, my people and I will be glad to aid ye. But ye must go home, and ye must go quickly lest ye lose all ye have.”
“Is it not enough that the English are raiding us with impunity? Now I must start a feud between the Hays and the Kerrs,” Fingal Stewart said angrily. Then he said to Jock, “Do ye have a stallion for me, man?”
“I do,” the gypsy replied. “But not here. The horse I have for ye, my lord, is too fine for the marketplace. Our encampment is in a field about three miles from the city, north on the Perth road. Come tomorrow morning, and ye’ll see.”
“I’ll be there early,” Fin said.
Jock nodded.
Lord Stewart and Archie returned to Torra House.
“Is there anything to pack?” Fin asked his man.
Archie chuckled. “I’ve already burned what ye were wearing when ye got here,” he said. “Yer wearing what ye own, but for a second shirt. I’ll fold it, and put it in my saddlebag. I take it we’ll purchase yer stallion, and immediately make our way home.”
Lord Stewart nodded grimly. “God’s foot! I’ll need a saddle, and bridle for my horse. We’ll have to go back to the market square, and see if we can find one.”
“We passed a leather maker’s stall near where Jock had his horse,” Archie said.
The two men walked back to the market and found the leather maker.
“I need a saddle and bridle,” Fin told the craftsman.
“I can make ye one, my lord, but ’twill take several weeks,” the man replied.
“I need something immediately,” Fin responded.
“Then ye don’t mind something secondhand?” The leather maker was surprised. This was obviously a gentleman.
“It’s either that or I ride into the Borders bareback and clutching my horse’s mane,” Fin said with a small attempt at humor.
The leather maker chuckled. “Actually, my lord, I have a saddle I made for a gentleman of the old king’s court last year. But he never came back for it, and he paid me but a small deposit.”
“I’ll take it,” Fin said without hesitation.
“Look first, my lord, ’tis a plain thing with no embellishments at all.”
“I’m no courtier. I need nothing more than a plain saddle and bridle,” Fin told the man. “Let me see it.”
The leather maker turned and went into the back of his stall. When he returned, he carried with him a beautifully made leather saddle with matching bridle. “Here it is, my lord,” he said, wiping it off with his apron. “ ’Tis a bit dusty, but fine otherwise.”
Fin ran his hand over the leather. It was very finely tanned, and as smooth as silk.
He looked to Archie. “What do ye think?”
Archie nodded.
“How much?”
The leather maker named his price, but then said, “I’m deducting the deposit, for it was paid, my lord. I imagine the man who ordered it was killed in the wars last year, which is why he didn’t come back.”
Fin nodded. “Aye, that is possible.” He turned to Archie. “Pay him,” he said.
The transaction completed, the two men took the saddle and its equipment to return to Torra House. They made one stop before they departed the market square to purchase a thick square of woven wool that would serve as a saddle blanket. When they reached the house, they found Boyle, the estate agent, waiting for them.
“Ah, my lord, yer looking much better than ye looked several weeks ago when I first saw ye returned,” he said. Seeing the saddle on Archie’s arm he asked, “Will ye be leaving Edinburgh soon?”
“On the morrow,” Fin answered him. “Ye can rent it again, minding ye keep to the same terms, Boyle.”
“My lord!” Boyle attempted to look distressed. “Have I not been faithful to our agreement these past years?”
Fin laughed. “Aye, ye have,” he admitted.
“I have a group of Protestant lords coming in from the north in a few days,” he told Fin. “They’ve rested in this house before, and they sent to me this day. I’m relieved I can accommodate them once again.” He bowed politely. “Godspeed, my lord. Safe home.”
Then turning, he hurried off down the street.
They were gone from Torra House as the first fingers of light began to clutch at the skies above. Archie had insisted that Fin ride his horse until they reached the gypsy encampment. He walked sedately alongside his master, carrying the new saddle and bridle. Leaving the city proper, they turned north and stepped onto the Perth road. Several miles later with the horizon beginning to display a rainbow of color, they reached their destination.
The small wagons were carefully placed in a defensive circle. A communal fire blazed high in the center of the camp, which was already alive with men and women preparing for their day. Children raced about. Dogs barked. Fin was certain he heard a rooster crow as several chickens scattered in front of him. Jock came from the largest of the wagons to greet them.
“Good morrow,” he said. “Yer right on time to get a good distance today. Come, and I show ye the animal I have in mind for ye. But remember, my lord, the beast must like ye or I cannot sell him to ye.” He led them to the edge of the encampment where just beyond in a field a herd of horses grazed. The gypsy whistled a sharp note.
Fin watched as a black stallion raised his head from the sweet grass, and then obediently trotted over to where they stood. The horse was absolutely beautiful. He was as black as the darkest night but for a light marking on his left shoulder. The marking was small, but as it was pure white against the animal’s silky midnight black hide, quite distinct.
“It looks like a comet,” Fin said, noting the small round head attached to a curving tail. Reaching out, he rubbed the horse’s soft muzzle.
“Ye have guessed his name, my lord. ’Tis Comet,” Jock said.
Fin looked the animal directly in his liquid brown eyes. The creature had an intelligent air about him. Leaning forward, Fin blew gently into Comet’s nostrils.
The horse nudged Fin back gently with his muzzle. “May I ride ye, Comet?” Fin asked.
The horse appeared to nod his head up and down. Grasping a handful of mane, Lord Stewart swung himself up onto the beast’s back, and th
ey galloped off across the field, sending the other horses scattering.
Jock nodded. “I knew it was his horse,” he said to Archie. “I’ve raised him since he was born, and I couldn’t let him go to just anyone. I’ve had offers, but the men were never right. Yer master is.”
“Is he saddle broke?” Archie asked in practical tones. A horse was a horse.
“Aye, and I see ye’ve brought one along. Good!” Jock replied.
The horse was incredible, Fin thought as they galloped around the meadow. He had a smooth gait, and he wasn’t winded at all when they returned to where Archie and Jock stood awaiting them. The animal had strong long legs and a broad chest. He was perfect. They came to a stop, and Fin slid off.
“If ye feel that Comet has accepted me, I would gladly have him for my own,” Fin politely said to the gypsy. “He’s a grand beast. I’ve never ridden finer.”
“I can see he’s yers, my lord,” Jock said. “Now, there is just the small matter of his purchase. I will want a gold piece for him.”
“Too much! Too much!” Archie said, glowering at Jock.
“He’s worth it,” Fin responded, “but I have no gold. I can give ye five pieces of silver, all true weight, none clipped.”
“Comet is worth more,” Jock said quietly.
“When ye come to Brae Aisir in the autumn,” Fin promised, “ye will be welcomed again, and always. There will be water for ye, wood for yer fires, and hay for yer animals. In addition, I will give ye five additional silver pieces.”
Jock thought for a long minute. Finally he nodded in the affirmative. He spit in his hand and held it out to Lord Stewart, who returned the gesture. The two men shook hands. “We have an agreement, my lord,” the gypsy said. “Now take yer horse, and ride for Brae Aisir before another starts plowing with yer mare.”
“She’ll kill him first,” Fin chuckled as he handed the five silver pieces to Jock.
“Aye, I believe she would, but still if ye hurry, ye can save her the trouble, and kill him yerself,” Jock replied. “My wife read the cards for ye last night. Yer way is difficult, but ye’ll have yer way in the end, my lord.”
The Border Vixen Page 34