The Border Vixen (15 page)

Their weapons required that they fight with two hands. Grasping the hilts of their claymores, they raised them in a salute to each other, and then metal met metal with a horrific clanging. Fingal Stewart was not surprised by Maggie’s skill with her claymore. With any other woman he might have been, but he had found her to be a woman not given to bragging. If she said she was proficient in something, he accepted that she was, and she had said she could wield a claymore as well as any. She could. It took all his skill to keep from being blooded by her.

He didn’t know why he cared other than the fact that a man, especially one who would one day control an important ingress into Scotland, should not be vanquished by a woman; yet he was uncomfortable with the reality that to win this contest between them he must blood her. If he could wear her down eventually perhaps she would yield to him without the necessity of it. But Maggie was a stubborn woman. Unless he won all three challenges, Fingal Stewart knew she would not respect him. Of course, the first two contests between them had ended in a tie, so if he had not beaten her, he had at least equaled her, which should gain him a modicum of her respect. But he knew that this last battle between them must yield a clear winner, and he had to be that winner.

He had spent the past few minutes keeping her at bay. Now he began to fight her in earnest, raising his claymore with two hands, the blade striking hers fiercely as she blocked his attack. The clash of the two blades reverberated through her entire body, and Maggie staggered, surprised. She suddenly found herself on the defensive against him, and she realized he meant to win here unequivocally where he had not won before. She stiffened her spine, and fought hard driving him back, back, back, step by step by step.

“Jesu, she fights like a man,” Lord Edmund said, not realizing until his son laughed that he had spoken aloud.

“Still want her for a wife, kinsman?” the laird of Brae Aisir asked mockingly of his Netherdale cousin. “She’s more woman than any ye have ever known.”

“She’s magnificent,” Rafe said. “I hope we never meet in battle.”

“Yer a wise man, laddie, unlike yer sire,” Dugald Kerr told him.

“A lass belongs in the hall directing her servants,” Edmund Kerr said, finally speaking. “Not in the yard in breeks fighting with a man. Ye’ve let her run wild, Dugald. I don’t envy her husband. I hope he can successfully bed that wildcat of yours. He’ll have to if yer to get a male heir.”

“Tonight,” the laird told him. “Look closely, Edmund. My Maggie is beginning to tire. Fingal Stewart is a strong opponent. And his patience is coming to an end.”

“Aye,” Rafe noted softly, “she’s tiring. I’m sorry to see it, for she’s a brave lass.”

She was his wife, damn it! Fingal Stewart thought as he realized that Maggie was not going to give up. And he wanted her, not because a king had matched them to serve his own needs or even because it was his right, but because he was coming to love the stubborn wench. She was everything a man could want in a wife—noble, brave beyond measure, and loyal. She was honest to a fault, firm but kind to her servants, and the villagers would not have been so devoted to her had she not had all of these virtues. And with a modicum of total honesty he had to admit she was a beauty. Aye, Mad Maggie Kerr was everything a wife should be.
His wife
.

There she stood. Her capable hands gripped the hilt of her claymore as she fought him. Her shirt was wet beneath the arms, sticking to her back and breasts. She was gasping for breath, and near to falling on her face with her exhaustion, but she would not give up. The marriage was fact. The contest before the consummation had been to satisfy any discontent among the Kerrs’ neighbors that the king’s kinsman had had his bride dishonestly. His forbearance at an end, Fingal Stewart raised his claymore even as Maggie raised hers against him. With a mighty blow, he knocked the sword from her hand, over the heads of the men-at-arms encircling them, and across the courtyard.

Maggie fell to her knees, the force of the two weapons meeting having gone right through her. She knelt there in the dust, unable for a moment to arise, for her legs seemed unable to function at all. Everything ached—her shoulders and her arms, her neck, the palms of her hands. Her fingers were suddenly weak. She heard Grizel’s cry of distress.

As she raised her head, her eyes suddenly filled with tears. She looked to her grandfather, ashamed to have failed, and Maggie knew she had indeed failed.

“My lord?” Fingal Stewart’s calm voice queried. Then he said, “I know the rules ye have set for this contest, but I will not, cannot blood a woman in combat. We have both fought fairly, and the only blood I will take from Maggie Kerr is that which belongs to her maidenhead and is rightfully mine. If there is a winner to this swordplay, then ye must declare such, my lord.” Then he bent, reaching out to draw Maggie to her feet, his strong arm going about her waist to hold her against his side. “Yer a braw lass,” he said low so that only she could hear him, “but I’m not as young as ye are, and ye’ve fair worn me out, madam. Give over now, and let there be peace between us, Maggie mine.”

Unable to help herself, Maggie nodded, giving him a weak, cheeky grin in reply.

“Enough!” Dugald Kerr responded in a surprisingly loud and strong voice. “I declare this challenge over. Both contestants have won in the footrace and the riding, but ’tis Fingal Stewart who has won the battle of the claymores. I name him the winner, and let none say otherwise.” He looked straight at his granddaughter as he spoke. “Margaret Jean Kerr, will ye accept this man, Fingal Stewart, as yer true husband in every way a man is husband to his wife?”

“I will!” Maggie declared loudly so that all heard her. “He has even before this day gained my admiration, but today he has gained my respect. I will be his wife proudly and gladly in every way in which a woman is wife to her husband.”

Fingal Stewart turned Maggie so she faced him, bending down to give her mouth a long and hot kiss as cheers erupted about them. He would have carried her off this moment had he not known more was expected of them that day than just a coupling. Jesu! Her mouth was the sweetest he had ever known, and he couldn’t stop kissing her.

Her head spun riotously with the kiss. She had known a stolen kiss on her cheek here and there to which she had always responded by smacking the bold lads, yet never but once before had she known a kiss like this one. Their lips locked together seemed to engender a ferocious heat. She slid her arms up about his neck, pressing herself against him with a need she didn’t quite understand at all. Was it lust? Was it love?

He felt his cock swelling within his breeks. Jesu! She was going to love as fiercely as she had lived. The thought was intoxicating, and he held her even closer, wanting her to know his need. Pulling her head away from his, Maggie’s surprised eyes met his. “I think they all know we have made our peace now, madam,” he said to her in a level voice. “If we kiss any more, I fear yer grandsire will have to throw a bucket of cold water over us, Maggie mine.”

“I’ve never known a man, for all that’s said of me,” she responded softly. “Ye’ll be gentle, Fingal, my lord?”

“ ’Tis December, Maggie mine, and the nights are long,” he replied for her ears alone. “I’ll be gentle, and we’ll love at our leisure, for we have a lifetime ahead of us.”

“I’ll want to bathe and change my battling clothing for wedding finery before Father David blesses our union,” Maggie told him.

“Then I shall do the same,” he said as the circle of grinning men surrounding them broke open to allow them to pass through.

They walked up the stairs to where her grandfather still sat. Dugald Kerr was smiling broadly at them both. “Well done, both of ye,” the old laird said. “I’m proud that my great-grandchildren will come from such strong stock. Make me a lad first.”

“With yer permission, my lord, we will want to bathe and change into more suitable garments before the blessing,” Fin said to Dugald Kerr.

The laird nodded. “Go along then,” he said as with his consent they turned and left him. Dugald Kerr stood up now. He looked at his English kinsmen. “Go home,” he told them. “There is nothing for you here at Brae Aisir.”

“I’d prefer to remain until the morrow,” Lord Edmund told his kinsman. “Surely ye will want yer relations at the blessing, the feast, and to attest to the honesty of the bride,” he said in silky tones.

“Da!” Rafe was not pleased, for he realized his father had not yet given up on his impossible dream of uniting the two families and thereby putting the pass under the control of a single person, namely himself.

Dugald Kerr laughed harshly. “Jesu, Edmund, was being party to the challenge not enough for ye? Very well then, stay. But fair or wet, ye’ll go on the morrow if I have to escort ye myself.” Then turning, he stamped back into his warm hall.

“Are ye mad?” Rafe asked his parent. “ ’Tis over and done with, Da. They’ll bed tonight, and from the look of them both, Brae Aisir will have an heir in less than a year.”

“Aye,” his father said. “But a bairn is a fragile creature, Rafe. I’ve fathered enough of them and buried enough of them to know that.”

Rafe Kerr looked hard at his father. “If I thought you would dare such a thing, Da, I’d kill you myself,” he said.

Lord Edmund looked at his eldest son in surprise. “We could control the whole Aisir nam Breug. Why would you not want that? Our power in the Borders, both sides, would be enormous. We would collect the tolls going both ways. What do you find repugnant about that, Rafe?”

“Everything,” his son replied. “Have you no wisdom about this, Da? We borderers own but scant loyalty to our kings. We rule ourselves on both sides of the border. The traverse has been kept honest and free of strife because the
two
branches of our family have controlled it over the centuries. No king has told us what to do. We decided
together
long ago that the pass would be used only for peaceful travel. We set the tolls
together
.
Together
we built the watchtowers that oversee the route. We have stood
together
against any who would use the Aisir nam Breug for illicit purposes.

“Do we not have enough strife among our families here in the Borders, Da? One family on either side of the march controlling the pass would open it to all manner of evil. A king could interfere and claim the land for his own. They dare not do it with two families in control. Bribery would ensue, and not necessarily with the lord ruling the pass, but among the men guarding it who would look the other way if paid to do so. They would open the Aisir nam Breug to smugglers and raiders. But with the two families ruling the road, it is too difficult for such dishonesty to flourish. It might have been us, Da, whose direct line expired. Would you have wanted old Dugald Kerr to take your responsibilities away from your designated heir?”

“We could be richer than we are if we had the entire traverse,” Lord Edmund said.

“I am your heir, Da, and I will not support you in this foolishness,” Rafe said. “I like Lord Stewart, from what little I have learned of him in our conversations. When old Dugald dies or decides to give up his responsibility, Fingal Stewart will manage his end of the road well. He’s an honorable man.”

“You’re a fool,” his father replied. “How fortunate that I have other sons.”

Rafe Kerr laughed. He was the most capable of all Edmund Kerr’s sons, legitimate and born on the wrong side of the blanket. When they were all children, his father had made it a point to teach the younger of his siblings unquestioned loyalty and obedience to Rafe, for Rafe—as his father was constantly pointing out to the others—was the heir. And Rafe had enforced their sire’s teachings as he had grown. Each of his brothers had his trust and loyalty in return. And if there was one thing of which he was entirely certain, it was that not one of them wanted all the responsibilities that went along with being the heir to Edmund Kerr, and overseeing their part of the Aisir nam Breug. “Give over, Da, and enjoy the day,” he said. “The laird’s wine cellars will be open wide today.” Then putting an arm about his father’s shoulders, he walked with him back into the hall.

Around them the servants were dashing about setting the high board. The trestles and the benches were brought from an alcove of the hall where they were stored when not in use. Barrels of October ale were rolled in. Small wheels of hard yellow cheese were placed on each trestle. A linen cloth edged in lace was laid over the high board. A large silver gilt saltcellar in the shape of the sun in its splendor, which was the Kerr family’s crest, was set upon it. Silver goblets studded with green agate were placed at the six places being set with round silver plates, spoons, and forks. Each guest had his or her own knife.

“Old Dugald has forks,” Lord Edmund noted. “Why don’t we have forks in our hall?” he grumbled.

“Aldis suggested them, but you wouldn’t pay the cost,” Rafe reminded him. “You said the Florentine merchants were smiling thieves in silk clothing.”

“Humph,” Lord Edmund said. “Tell her she can get them. And I want a dozen. Dugald probably has a dozen. We can’t be lacking.”

A servant brought them wine, and they joined their host by the fire as they awaited the bride and bridegroom.

Maggie had hurried to her chamber to find her large tub set up, the serving men just bringing in the last buckets of hot water. When they had poured it into the oak tub, Grizel shooed them out. Then she pulled off Maggie’s boots and socks. The girl stood, slipped her breeks down over her hips, and, kicking them away from her, unlaced her shirt, drawing it off, and finally her short chemise. Then without a moment’s hesitation she stepped up the wood steps and down into the tub. “God’s blood!” she swore softly. “I ache in every joint, Grizel. I must soak a moment or two before I wash.”

“Ye fought hard,” Grizel said proudly. “It was a grand contest and will be spoken of in the Borders for many years to come.”

“Few saw it but our own,” Maggie reminded her tiring woman.

“They’ll repeat it to their kin who were not here today, and they will pass it on to others throughout the Borders,” Grizel said.