The Border Vixen (39 page)

The winter deepened, and the snows continued. Maggie grew larger with her coming child. She sat by one of the hearths sewing and wondering where her husband was, why he had not returned, why there was no ransom demand. She would not accept that he was dead. She knew she would feel something if he were dead, and she didn’t. As long as there was winter, they were safe; Ewan Hay could do nothing in the winter. But once the winter ended, if Fingal didn’t return home, Maggie found herself fearful for what might happen. Of late Ewan Hay had attempted to charm her as she sat in the hall.

“The bairn must soon be due,” he said one late-February day. “Will it be another lad, do ye think?” He attempted a smile.

Maggie looked at him bleakly. “It will be what it will be, sir. Only God knows.”

The longer he stayed, the more she hated this intruder in her home.

“Ye did not answer my question,” Ewan said. “When will ye birth this child?”

“When is not yer concern,” Maggie answered him rudely. “The bairn will come when it comes, and not a moment before. Why do ye care?”

“I am but curious, madam, nothing more,” Ewan replied. Then he changed the subject completely. “When does the pass usually open again?”

“When the snows are gone completely,” Maggie said. “Once the melt begins, and we can enter the pass safely, we patrol its length each day until we are certain it is clear. I will be brought the reports,” she told him.

“Nay,” he responded in a hard voice. “The reports will be brought to me first. Because I am ignorant of the pass, I will confer with yer grandfather until I am sure of what I am doing. Yer responsibility is to care for yer bairns and prepare for yer marriage to me as soon as possible.”

“Marry ye? Yer mad, Ewan Hay! Raving mad! I have a husband. His name is Fingal Stewart. I need no other husband but him,” Maggie said, and the child in her womb stirred restlessly. Her hand went immediately to her belly to soothe it.

“Madam, sooner or later ye must face the fact that Lord Stewart did not come home after Solway Moss. No ransom demand came to Brae Aisir. If one does not come in the spring, and yer husband does not return home by then, ye must wed me,” Ewan Hay said. “God’s foot, madam, yer place is here in the hall with yer bairns, not out riding the Aisir nam Breug like some clansman.”

“I will do as I damned well please!” Maggie told him angrily.

“Nay, ye will cease being a border vixen, and become a good border wife,” Ewan said. “With our king in his grave, and a wee bairn on the throne, ye may be certain the English will be at our doors come summer. The traverse must be protected, and no woman is capable of such a task.”

“I’ll not wed ye,” Maggie said quietly now. She didn’t want the bairn disturbed again, and all the shouting was indeed distressing it.

“Ye have no choice. I need the cooperation of yer clansmen, and I cannot gain it unless ye are my wife. Stewart may have gotten bairns on ye, but yer still Dugald Kerr’s heiress in the eyes of yer Kerr clan folk,” Ewan Hay said.

Maggie grew pale with his words. He was right, damn him to hell. But if, God forbid, she had indeed been widowed at Solway Moss, she had no intention of remarrying, let alone marrying Ewan Hay. He was a coward, and she despised him. “I will never wed ye, and the sooner ye understand that, the better it will be for ye, sir.”

“Ye’ll wed me,” he told her with a nasty smile. “Ye have yer bairns to consider, Maggie Kerr, and if there is one thing I have learned in my weeks here, it is that yer a good mother. Ye’ll not allow anything to happen to yer lads. Fight me on this, and I’ll send them through the pass to be fostered by yer greedy English kin.”

“If ye think my uncle would harm my sons, yer wrong, sir. I know how Edmund Kerr thinks. He would wed the little daughter his mistress gave him several years ago to David and raise him to do his bidding, or try,” Maggie countered.

“And if he turned the lad English, then it would be the fine Scots sons ye’ll give me who inherit Brae Aisir, and not Fingal Stewart’s lads. Yer clan folk would give their loyalty first to a good Scot, and ye know it,” he matched her.

“Fingal Stewart is not dead,” Maggie responded. “He will come home, and he will drive ye from Brae Aisir if I don’t do it first.”

Ewan Hay laughed. “Let him try and I will slay him,” he said boldly.

They had two heavy snows in the first half of March. The pass would open late.

Finally as the month began to draw to its end, the hills began to quickly show signs of spring. The white snows and the gray melting began to give way to the open earth. The hillsides gave off a hint of hazy green. Ewan Hay came into the hall on the last day of the month to learn that Maggie had gone into labor in the night. The keep was oddly silent. Old Dugald sat at the high board after the morning meal playing the board game of Hare and Hounds with his two grandsons. Grizel entered the hall with another woman.

“Who is this?” Ewan Hay demanded.

“The midwife,” Grizel told him bluntly.

“Is she all right?” he asked.

“She’s laboring to bring forth a bairn,” Grizel replied, and then hurried on with Mistress Agnes up the stairs.

“Why does she need a midwife?” Ewan asked Dugald Kerr. “She’s had two bairns before this one being born.”

“She’s not some animal giving birth,” the laird said irritably. “Every birth is different, ye dumb clot.” He turned back to his game.

The main meal of the day was served. The laird, Ewan, and the two little boys ate at the high board. This was a rare treat for the two brothers who usually ate in the kitchens with Maudie. At one time, their nursemaids had eaten with them, but now they were gone. The laird directed his great-grandsons in their table manners and in how to properly use their napkin. Ewan noted that the laird was extremely fond of the two little lads. He could use that as a weapon to force Maggie to the altar, for he knew she loved her grandsire dearly and would do whatever she had to to see him happy.

The afternoon wore on. The days were noticeably longer now. The hall was silent. The laird had fallen asleep in his chair by the hearth. Davy and Andrew had disappeared. The dogs sprawled about lazily, following their master’s example. Ewan Hay was bored. He decided to ride out and see how the melt was progressing. When he returned an hour later, the hall remained exactly as he left it.

“Busby!” he shouted, and the majordomo was at his side almost immediately.

“Has the lady birthed her bairn yet?”

“Not yet, sir, but Grizel tells me it will be quite soon,” Busby answered. “Is there anything else, sir?”

“Get me some wine!” Ewan snapped. He was irritated, and he didn’t know why.

Busby brought him a large silver goblet studded with green agate. It was filled with a rich red wine, the pungent aroma of which filled his nostrils. Ewan took the goblet from Busby and drank deeply of it. The damned servant annoyed him, and yet he had done nothing since Ewan arrived that should irritate him. He was polite—deferential to a fault—and Ewan wondered why. The other servants practically ignored him, avoiding all contact with him until spoken to, at which point they answered him, but no more than that. And the old witch who looked after Maggie made no secret of the fact she could barely tolerate him at all. He’d send her packing when he married Maggie, and he would put in her place some buxom little thing he could swive when his wife’s moon link was broken.

He hadn’t had a woman since he arrived at Brae Aisir. Maggie had swiftly sent all the young female serving wenches back to their family cottages in the village as the snows began. And the clansmen kept a close eye on their women whenever the Hay men-at-arms came into their midst. Of late, however, Bhaltair had mentioned that Brae Aisir had a whore who was willing to make herself available for a coin or two. He shouted for his captain, and questioned him further.

“Ye said there was a whore in the village. Where is she?” he demanded.

“There are two, but one will only service the lads whose wives are big in the belly,” Bhaltair replied. “The more willing one lives on the edge of the village where the Aisir nam Breug begins and ends. Her name is Jeannie.”

“Take me to the more reluctant whore,” Ewan said. “If she will take a cock, she cannot be fussy about the cock she takes. Come with me, and we’ll make an evening of it. This enforced celibacy is not to my taste.”

The two men departed the hall, and taking their horses, rode down to the village, stopping at the cottage Bhaltair said belonged to Flora Kerr, the widow. They entered, startling the woman, who was kneading bread for the morrow. Her pretty, plump hands were covered with flour. Flora knew instantly what they wanted.

“I serve only the lads whose wives are with child,” she quickly said. “You will find what you seek at the end of the lane, sir.”

“But I don’t want the well-traveled cunt of the village whore,” Ewan told her. “My captain and I deserve something finer, Flora Kerr. It is Flora, isn’t it?”

Flora nodded.

“Do ye know who I am, Flora? I am the new master of the keep, of Brae Aisir itself. Ye dinna want to displease me now, do ye?” Ewan smiled at the woman, but his eyes were cold, his tone menacing.

“Sir, I am not a common whore. I give of myself for the women’s sake,” Flora said in a trembling voice. “I take naught for my service.”

“I am pleased that ye are not common,” Ewan said, stepping up to her, and quickly putting a restraining arm about her waist. “Ye will serve me, Flora Kerr, and tonight ye will also service my captain.” He thrust a hand into her blouse, his fingers closing about a very plump breast.

“Please, sir,” Flora began, and then she cried out, for he had cruelly pinched the nipple of the breast he now was holding.

“Say
aye, my lord
, Flora,” he told her in a hard voice. “My cock needs to sheath itself in ye, and I should far prefer to use my energies in fucking ye than restraining ye.”

“
Nay!
” Flora cried out, and tried to escape his grasp, but Ewan Hay slapped her so hard her head spun. Bhaltair stepped behind the woman, putting his arms about her in a hold so tight she could barely breathe. He yanked her up, and Ewan Hay, releasing his burgeoning cock from his breeks, ripped Flora’s skirt off, flinging it aside as he pushed her petticoat up, grabbed her kicking legs, pulling them about his torso, and pressed himself into her. Flora screamed and fought him.

It was but the beginning of a long evening for the poor woman. After Ewan had eased his lust once, he and his captain ripped Flora’s remaining garments from her so they might have the freedom to ravage her without hindrance. Both men had her several times before leaving the cottage to ride back up to the keep. Before they departed, Ewan Hay placed a coin on the table where Flora Kerr had been kneading her bread earlier.

“For ye, sweetheart,” he said, smiling at her.

The naked and bruised woman looked at him with angry eyes. Then picking up the coin, she flung it at him. But he only laughed.

As they rode, Ewan Hay said to his captain, “I shared her with ye tonight as a mark of my favor. Yer not to go near her again. Relieve yer itch with the whore at the end of the lane. Flora Kerr is mine from now on. She has spirit.” He absently rubbed his arm where she had bitten him. He liked that she had fought him so vigorously, and he realized he felt much better than he had earlier.

“Thank ye, my lord, for the favor,” Bhaltair said. “I’ll not touch the wench again.”

In the courtyard the two men parted, Bhaltair going to the stone barracks before making his evening rounds to check on his men. Ewan Hay, however, reentered the hall to be met by Busby. “Well,” he demanded of the majordomo, “has she spawned her brat yet, or is she still in labor?”

“Her ladyship has just given birth to a daughter, sir,” Busby said.

“I’ll go see,” Ewan Hay replied.

“Sir, my mistress does not want ye in her chamber. She is with her family now. Please, sir, to respect her wishes. The bairn is new and fragile as all new bairns are. This is not a time for visitors. On the morrow I’m certain she will see ye.”

Ewan laughed. “She’d sooner see me in hell,” he said, “than in her chamber. Take the lady my congratulations, Busby. I will see her at a time of her choosing, I know.” He was in too good a humor right now to want to fight with Maggie.

“I will convey your felicitations, sir,” Busby said, which he did.

“Thank ye for keeping him away,” Maggie said. She was exhausted, pale, and her hair hung wet and lank. She had birthed her sons with relative ease, but this lass had been difficult. The bairn had a head full of black hair like her father.

“Does the wee lassie have a name yet, my lady?” Busby asked as he smiled down at the swaddled infant who now lay sleeping in her cradle.

“Annabelle,” Maggie said. “She is Annabelle Mary Stewart.”

“A fine name indeed,” Busby said, and then he left her.

“Archie wants to see the bairn,” Grizel said.

Maggie nodded. “Let him come, but be careful. I would not put it past the Hay to sneak up the stairs after he told Busby he wouldn’t.”

Grizel nodded.

Fingal’s personal servant had returned to Brae Aisir grievously wounded. Only Grizel’s skill and devotion had kept him from losing his arm, but he would never be able to fight with it again. They had kept him hidden above in the servants’ attic for all these weeks. Maggie was fearful if Ewan Hay knew who he was, he might harm Archie. The little man had healed slowly, and he was well enough now to be secreted with the other men in the village. She would send for him very soon.

Archie came quietly into Maggie’s bedchamber with Grizel. He went straight to the cradle, looked down at Annabelle Stewart, and pronounced, “She’s her da’s lass, and there’s no mistaking it, my lady.” Then he drew a long breath and said, “I’m going back to look for him. I would have never left him, but they took me away by force.”

“Nay,” Maggie said. “It’s too dangerous for ye to go into England now. Ye would not know where to seek him now. The ransom request is certain to come soon, Archie. When it does, then ye will take it to the English and bring my husband home.”