The Border Vixen (2 page)

“
T
he hall is full, I suppose,” Maggie Kerr said to her tiring woman, Grizel.

“Aye,” came the tart reply. “All come to stuff themselves and get drunk at yer grandfather’s board,” Grizel snorted. “Armstrongs and Elliots, Bruces and Fergusons, Scotts and Bairds who are forever telling the story of how their ancestor saved the life of King William the Lion and thus gained their lands. There are a few Lindsays, and Hays too, and nae one of them fit to wipe the mud from yer boot, my darling lass.”

“Maybe I’ll nae join them,” Maggie said. “I dislike being presented as Grandsire’s prize mare.” She reached for the cake of scented soap on the rim of her tall oak bathing tub and rubbed it slowly over her arm. “I don’t want to marry, and I am more than capable of holding the Aisir nam Breug myself without interference from a stranger calling himself my lord and master. Jesu, why wasn’t I born a lad?”

“Because ye were born a lass,” Grizel said matter-of-factly. “Now finish yer bath. Ye have to get down to the hall sooner than later. I’ll nae let you shame your grandsire, my dearie. Nor would ye do it. Ye know yer duty better than any.”

Then Grizel went and laid out the burgundy velvet gown that Maggie would wear that evening. It was high-waisted and had a low scooped neckline that revealed most of her shoulders. The tight-fitting sleeves and the hem of the gown were trimmed in dark marten. The servant set out a pair of round-toed sollerets covered in the same velvet as the gown and burgundy silk stockings with matching garters.

As Maggie stepped out of her tub, Grizel hurried to wrap her in a warmed towel. “Sit down, and let me prepare you. Then we’ll put on your chemise, and you can choose the jewels you would wear. You should show to your best advantage, my dearie.”

“God’s balls!” Maggie swore. “Ye too, Grizel? I don’t care if one of those fools asks for my hand or not. I don’t want a husband, and I shall make it very difficult for any man to please me enough to win my favor.” She pulled on her soft linen chemise.

Smiling to herself, Grizel gently pushed the girl down on a stool and began to brush out her hair while Maggie dried her feet. “Yer a Kerr,” she said as she plied the boar bristles through Maggie’s thick chestnut-colored tresses. “Ye’ll do what ye must for the good of the family.”

Maggie snorted at her tiring woman’s words. Grizel was like a mother to her, as her own mother had perished giving birth to her, and her father had died in a border clash six months before she was born. Grizel had lost her husband in that same fray, and her own infant son about the time Maggie entered the world. Grandsire had brought the nineteen-year-old widow up from the village to wet-nurse his new granddaughter. She had been born strong, Dugald Kerr said. There had been no doubt she would survive.

And when she no longer needed nourishment from Grizel’s teat, the wet nurse had remained to raise the child for the laird of Brae Aisir. Maggie loved Grizel dearly, and she hated to disappoint her. She would go into her grandsire’s hall the coming evening and be shown to prospective buyers as if a blood mare at a horse fair, but she would wed no man who could not gain her respect. And there was none among the young men she knew who had ever even been able to command her attention. They were a rough-spoken lot, and she knew their only interest in her was the Aisir nam Breug. Maggie pulled on her silk stockings, fastening the ribbon garters to hold them up.

“Let’s get yer gown on,” Grizel said, and she helped Maggie into the rich, soft velvet, seeing that the tight fur-cuffed sleeves fitted without a wrinkle, then lacing up the garment. The high waist of the gown forced the girl’s breasts up so that they were quite visible above the low neckline. The fabric of the skirt fell in graceful folds.

“Give me my rope of pearls,” Maggie said.

Grizel opened the jewel casket and drew out the pearls as her young mistress picked out several rings, which she put on her fingers. The tiring woman slid the pearls over Maggie’s head. “They look just lovely,” she told the lass.

“Braid my hair now in a single plait,” Maggie instructed.

“I will nae do it!” Grizel said vehemently. “Yer grandsire said ye were to leave yer tresses loose this evening. I’ve a gold ribbon band with a small oval of polished red quartz for ye to wear as a headpiece.”

“Christ Almighty! The mare is to be presented as never mounted,” Maggie swore.

“Well, ye never have,” Grizel said sharply, “though yer wild behavior has left many wondering. So ye’ll do as yer told, Maggie Kerr, and nae shame yer grandsire or yer clan’s good name this night.”

Maggie laughed. Grizel rarely scolded her so severely. “Oh, very well. My hair shall fall about me like that of a fourteen-year-old lass, for not only am I willful, at seventeen I am fast growing out of my breeding cycle,” Maggie teased the older woman. “So let my suitors think I am a helpless creature. If they would delude themselves.”

Now it was Grizel who laughed. But then she secured Maggie’s long hair with the gold ribbon band. “Put yer shoes on, and yer ready to make yer entrance,” she said.

Maggie slipped her feet into the pretty slippers, then stood up. “You realize,” she said to Grizel, “that I will frighten all those clansmen in the hall with my grand entry. I’m not the usual border woman in her one good gown trying to please. I’m the heiress to Brae Aisir, and I won’t let them forget it.”

“Dinna,” Grizel replied. “The man who wins you will love you and respect your position. He must be worthy of you, my lass. You must nae accept a lesser man. Beware, however, of those who will try to seduce you to gain an advantage over you.”

Maggie laughed. “I have managed to hold on to my virtue for seventeen years, Grizel. I will continue to hold it from those lusting after my wealth, my body, and my family’s power. I can tell you that I know the man I must eventually wed is nae in Grandsire’s hall this night.” She reached out to take the hand of the older woman. “Come along now, Grizel. To the hall! It should prove an amusing evening.”

They left the girl’s rooms and descended the winding stairs. Maggie’s apartment was in the southwest corner of her grandfather’s home. They entered the great hall, Grizel shoving the men crowding the large room aside so her mistress might get through to the high board, where her grandfather was awaiting her arrival.

Dugald Kerr watched her come. There was pride in his brown eyes, and his mouth quirked with his amusement. The wicked wench had dressed to intimidate, and by the open mouths he could now see as he looked out over his hall, she had been successful in her attempt. She was fair enough to evoke lust in not just a few of the men there. But she did not come eyes downcast, shrinking away from his guests. She strode with the sureness of who she was—Margaret Kerr; his only heir, and closest blood relation other than his brother, David.

He was proud of her, especially because he had never expected that his frail, weak daughter-in-law, dead with Maggie’s birth, could have given him any heir, let alone such a strong lass as Maggie. His youngest son, Robert, had married Glynis Kerr, one of the Netherdale Kerrs. After several centuries, they were but distantly related. Unfortunately Glynis had proved frail. She lost two sons before Maggie had been born. When Robert had been killed in the early days of Glynis’s confinement, Dugald Kerr had despaired.

His two older sons, their wives, and their children were dead. The eldest of his three sons, like the youngest, had died in the border wars. He had been newly wed, and his wife had not yet borne a bairn. She had returned to her family and made another marriage. His middle son had succumbed with his wife, and two little boys, to a winter epidemic. Robert had been sixteen then. A year later he was wed, and three years later he was dead. His wife, however, understanding the gravity of the family’s situation, had forced her sorrow away from her until she could birth her child safely. But seeing her father-in-law’s face when the child slid from her body, Glynis had whispered but two words, “I’m sorry,” loosened her hold on life, and died.

Watching Glynis’s daughter now make her way to the high board, Dugald Kerr wished Glynis had lived to see the magnificent heiress she and Robbie had given Brae Aisir. He smiled broadly as Maggie stepped up and, greeting her great-uncle David first, bent and kissed Dugald Kerr’s ruddy cheek. Then she settled herself into the high-backed oak chair at his right hand and gazed out over the assembly.

“Is there anyone in the Borders not eating at your expense tonight, Grandsire?” she asked mischievously, her hazel eyes dancing wickedly.

“Yer husband might be among that pack of borderers, lass,” he replied, smiling at her. Maggie was, he had to admit to himself, his weakness. It was why he had allowed her to run rampant throughout the Borders. Her daring and independence delighted him, although he was wise enough to know it would not have in any other woman.

“There’s nae a man in this hall tonight whom I would wed and bed, Grandsire,” she told him candidly.

“It’s a woman’s place to marry,” David Kerr said softly to her.

“Why? Because we are weak and frail vessels, Uncle? Because we are told that God created man first, and therefore we are less in his eyes? If we are less, then why is it our responsibility to bear new life to God’s glory?” Maggie demanded of him.

“Why must ye always ask such damned intelligent questions, Niece?” the priest asked. His eyes, however, were dancing with amusement.

“Because I love stymieing ye, Uncle. I refuse to fit the church’s mold that women are lesser creatures, fit but to keep house and spawn new souls. I do not want a husband taking precedence over me at Brae Aisir. I am perfectly capable of managing the Aisir nam Breug, and need no stranger to do it for me,” Maggie said firmly.

“And when ye have left this earth, who will be left to care for the Aisir nam Breug, Maggie?” the laird asked her quietly.

She caught his hand up and kissed it. “We will be here forever, Grandsire,” she said to him. “Ye and I will look after the Aisir nam Breug together.”

“That is a child’s reasoning,” Dugald Kerr replied. “Yer no longer a child, Maggie. Ye need a husband to father a child upon ye. A child who will one day inherit what the Kerrs of Brae Aisir have kept safe for centuries. I will not force ye to the altar, but sooner or later ye must choose a man to wed. And I will help ye to find the right man, Granddaughter. One who will respect ye. One whom ye can respect.”

“Nae in this hall tonight, Grandsire,” she answered him.

“Perhaps ye are correct, but before we cast our nets afield, Maggie, we must give our neighbors the opportunity to woo ye,” the laird said.

Maggie picked up the silver goblet studded in green malachite by her hand, and drank a healthy draft of the red wine in it. “I cannot gainsay ye, Grandsire,” she told him. “Very well; let us see what we may find from this showing of lads all eager to win my hand, spend my fortune, and take my inheritance.” And she laughed.

“God help the man who finally pleases ye,” David Kerr said dryly.

The laird laughed and signaled his servants to begin bringing the meal. They streamed into the hall, bearing steaming platters, dishes, and bowls of food. The trestle tables below the high board where the three Kerrs sat had been set with linen cloths, polished pewter plates, and tankards filled with good strong ale. There were round loaves of bread upon the tables, small wheels of hard cheese, and crocks of sweet butter. The servants offered poultry, fish, boar, and venison, which the male guests greedily ate up. Few of the vegetables offered were consumed by the clansmen, who were content with well-cooked meat, fish, game, bread, and cheese.

At the high board the dishes were more varied, and while it was meat, game, and seafood, it was more delicately offered. Trout braised in white wine and set upon green watercress was offered along with a bowl of steamed prawns. There was a roasted duck stuffed with dried apples and bread, and roasts of lamb, boar, and venison. Bowls of peas and a salad of lettuces were presented. The high board had a large round cottage loaf, butter, and two cheeses—one from France that was soft and creamy, the other a good hard yellow cheese.

Maggie watched as the guests wolfed down everything offered to them and quaffed tankard after tankard of brown ale. Some of the men had more delicate manners than others. The clansmen barely mingled, sitting at their own tables and eyeing one another suspiciously. She wondered how long it would be before a fight would break out, but she knew her grandsire’s men-at-arms now lining the hall could handle any unpleasant situation. The high board was cleared, and a sweet was brought for Maggie. Cook had made for her a custard with jam, which Maggie very much favored.

Her grandfather waited for her to finish the treat before he stood up. Instantly the hall quieted. “ ’Tis good to have ye all here with us tonight,” Dugald Kerr said, and he smiled down at them. He was a handsome man in his sixties not yet bowed by his years. He was clean shaven and had a full head of white hair cut short, a long face and nose, and sharp brown eyes. He wore a long dark tunic brocaded in gold and trimmed with marten. No one would have ever mistaken the laird of Brae Aisir for anything other than what he was—a wealthy man.

“As you must surely know, I am growing older,” he began. “My only heir is my granddaughter, Margaret. I hope to find a husband for her among ye. However, I will not give her to another lightly. To win her hand ye must be able to outride, outrun, and outfight Maggie. Ye must win her respect. Now, should any of ye wish to put yerselves forth as a possible husband for my granddaughter, come and speak with me before ye depart on the morrow. The man who weds and beds my Maggie will one day control the Aisir nam Breug. But if I can find none among ye who suits her or me, know that I will look elsewhere, but the same conditions will apply. Now drink up, and let my piper entertain you all.” Dugald Kerr sat back down.

A murmuring arose in the hall now, and Maggie almost laughed as speculative glances were cast in her direction by the men below. As it had been guessed that the laird of Brae Aisir was seeking a husband for his granddaughter, many of the other clan lords had come with the sons they had of marriageable age. And several of the lairds themselves were unmarried, or widowers seeking a second or third wife.