The Border Vixen (47 page)

“Does he now?” Maggie responded, her tone angry. “Tell the bastard that I will come down when I choose to come down, and not a moment before. I am in no hurry to have a bigamous union blessed by that evil priest.”

Grizel looked equally offended. “The nerve of that wretch to try to order my mistress about in such a scurvy fashion!” she declared.

“My lady,” Busby said in a reasonable tone, for he was teetering on the edge of laughter, “do not lower yerself to his level, for ye know if ye do not come down, he will come huffing and puffing up the stairs to fetch ye. As much as we should all enjoy that, I suggest ’tis better to get this day over and done with as quickly as possible.”

Maggie sighed a deep long sigh. “Aye,” she said. “Yer right, Busby. I thank ye for yer sensible nature, for I am not happy this day at all.” She turned about. “Grizel, get my cape, for I will need it in this rain.”

“I’m relieved yer wearing that old black velvet gown,” Grizel said. “If it gets wet, who will care. We can burn it tonight for I doubt ye’ll want it again.” She picked up a dark silk cloak and put it about Maggie’s shoulders. “I suppose yer ready,” she said.

“I am,” Maggie agreed. “Have my orders been followed, Busby? No one is to come to the church to witness this travesty.”

“Everyone is in their cottage, my lady,” Busby assured her as they went from Maggie’s bedchamber. As they neared the stairs, the majordomo heard a shout from the locked room.

“What was that?” Maggie asked him.

“The Hay is shouting for you from the hall,” Busby said, and hurried them down the staircase. “He is surely an impatient man.” He led her quickly to the great hall.

The hall was full of men, and suddenly Maggie recognized her own Kerr clansmen. They parted to make a path for her as she walked forward, and then she heard a familiar voice.

“Well, madam, ye certainly took yer time coming down to welcome me home,” Fingal Stewart said. “Are ye not glad to see me?”

She stared. She grew pale. Then standing on trembling legs, Mad Maggie Kerr shouted at her husband, “Where the hell have ye been, Fingal Stewart? Have ye no idea of the misery and worry ye have put me through? The danger our bairns have been in? It’s been almost a year, and not a word from ye!” And to her own horror and that of all about her, Maggie burst into tears. Seeing Mad Maggie weep was uncomfortable for all.

Fingal Stewart jumped forward, enfolding his wife in his embrace. “Ah, lass, ’tis good to see ye too. ’Tis a long story, and I promise to tell it to ye, but for now we have another matter to settle—that of yer betrothed husband.” He kissed the top of her head. “What are we to do with Ewan Hay, Maggie mine?” Tipping her face up, he kissed her lips with tender passion. There would be time later to slake their longings.

She wept harder at the treasured and familiar endearment. The touch of his mouth on hers made her remember how much she loved this man. She tried to burrow into his chest. He let her weep until finally her tears eased, and she looked up at him, her eyelashes clumped into spikes, her eyes red. “Does Grandsire know yer home?” she asked.

“Not yet. I thought it better to greet ye first.” He turned to Busby. “Go and fetch the laird, and tell him I’m home. I don’t want to shock him.”

Busby hurried off.

“Where is the Hay?” Maggie asked her husband.

“Busby has locked him in his chamber,” Fin answered.

“Then that was the shouting I heard as we came downstairs. Busby said the Hay was shouting at me from the hall.” A small watery giggle excaped her. “Can we leave him there forever, my lord?”

He laughed wickedly. Her suggestion had a certain merit to it. “I’m afraid we must return him to his brother if we are to keep the peace with Clan Hay,” Fin said.

Maggie continued to snuggle in his arms. “He threatened our wee bairns, Fin. He locked our lads in the cellar without food or water, and but a single candle. He said he would not let them out until I wed him. But I got them away to Netherdale. Our daughter, however, is safe in the village. Then the cur put a knife to Grandsire, and he threatened to kill him if I did not sign his damnable wedding contract. I had no choice.”

“The blessing today would have made it seem all was legal,” Fin said quietly. “What did you mean to do tonight when he planned to bed you, Maggie mine?” He looked down into her face, which he now held between his two big hands. His gray eyes were serious and thoughtful.

“I prepared a strong sleeping draft for his wine,” Maggie explained to her husband as she looked up at him. “Two or three sips and he would have been asleep. Then I was going to smother the life from him with a pillow. He would not have been able to fight me, and it would have appeared a natural death. Some might have been suspicious, but I intended shouting to all who would listen that it was God’s judgment on Ewan Hay for marrying a woman whose husband still lived, for I never gave up hope, Fin, that ye were alive, and would come home to Brae Aisir, to me, to our bairns, one day. I told everyone that you were not dead, but they would not listen. Even Grandsire was beginning to lose hope. But I didn’t!”

Dugald Kerr now came into the hall, going directly to Fin and shaking his hand. “Ye’ll have an explanation for yer absence, I’m certain,” he said. “But thank God ye’ve returned home, and just in time.”

“I’ll tell the tale later in the hall for all to hear,” Fin promised the old laird. “For now we must deal with the impatient bridegroom who will be surprised to find his bride’s husband has returned home even as she told him I would. Busby, release the Hay. Tell him naught but that Maggie is awaiting him in the hall.”

“At once, my lord,” the majordomo said with a small smile. Then he went off to unlock the door of the chamber where Ewan Hay was residing. He could hear the pounding and the shouting as he climbed the stairs. His smile grew wider as he reached the door and heard the rather colorful language the Hay was now using. Reaching for the keys, Busby found the correct one, fitted it into the lock, and then opened the door.

Ewan Hay jumped back startled, his hand going to his belt, but seeing Busby, he began to shout. “Who the hell locked me in here? Did no one hear me calling?”

“I believed the chamber empty,” Busby lied. “I would have thought ye had moved yer possessions to the master’s bedchamber by now. The lady is awaiting ye in the hall. I regret the weather is most foul today, sir.”

“
My lord
, ye fool! Ye will address me in future as
my lord
,” Ewan Hay said through gritted teeth. He pushed past Busby and descended the stairs. Shortly the marriage contract signed recently would be blessed by the priest, and then she would be his. She had wanted no celebration. He had seen the pouring rain from his own windows. Good! He would not wait until tonight. They would come back from Brae Aisir chapel, and he would take her to bed immediately. God only knew he had waited long enough to fuck her. But first he intended taking a thick hazel switch to her buttocks and whipping her until she begged him for mercy. He would curb her defiance immediately. In the next few hours he would teach her obedience to his will, and she would never disobey or challenge him ever again.

He had used the hazel switch to good effect on Flora Kerr so that she had ceased fighting him each time her came to her cottage. Instead, she went to her bed immediately, lay down, and pulled her skirts up so he might take his pleasure of her. He would miss that willingness to obey him, but he would choose another lass in the village to service him when his wife was with child, or when he grew bored with her. He had no desire to use the village whore his men-at-arms used. He wanted a mistress who served him only—a wench who could be taught to obey.

Ewan Hay was so caught up in his thought that it wasn’t until he was gone several feet into the hall that he realized it was filled with men-at-arms. And they were not his men. Then at the end of the hall he saw Lord Stewart with the laird, and Maggie. “Yer dead!” his voice croaked. Then Ewan Hay turned to run, only to be stopped by a large hand that clamped onto his shoulder. He recognized the voice of Clennon Kerr, who growled in his ear menacingly.

“Ye canna go yet, sir. My lord wishes a word with ye.” The captain half dragged the Hay the length of the hall to stand before the high board.

“I understand ye intended forcing my wife into a bigamous union,” Fingal Stewart said. He stood, his big palms flat on the board’s surface as he leaned forward to look down at Ewan Hay.

“
Yer dead!
” the man before him repeated, but his tone was less certain now.

“If I am, ’tis a ghost with whom ye speak, Hay,” Fin said. The creature before him was contemptible. A coward, a bully, and worse, a fool. He slammed his hand down hard on the high board. “Do ye believe me to be a ghost, Hay?” The look of fear upon Ewan Hay’s face caused Lord Stewart to wonder if the man would shame his name further by soiling himself.

“Nay! Nay! I don’t think ye a ghost,” Ewan Hay babbled. “But ye were dead! Few survived Solway Moss. There was no ransom demand. Ye had to be dead!” He was going to pee himself, he thought, struggling to gain a mastery of his emotions, his fear.

“So without waiting for some sort of confirmation of my fate, ye marched yerself to Brae Aisir and attempted to take over Dugald Kerr’s keep and responsibilities,” Lord Stewart said. “And ye tried to take my wife. I must tell ye that I value her far above the Aisir nam Breug, Hay. Had ye harmed Maggie, my bairns, or Dugald Kerr, ye would have faced being hanged at the crossroads for yer insolence.”

“I thought ye were dead!” Ewan Hay cried out. “I’ll fight ye now, Fingal Stewart!” They weren’t going to kill him.

“
Fight ye?
” Fin laughed scornfully. “Yer a coward, Hay. I won’t engage ye in battle. Instead, I’ll send ye back to yer brother with my compliments, although I doubt he’ll be particularly glad to see ye at this point.”

“The other border lords wanted me here,” Ewan said.

“They wanted a man younger than our laird, and they didn’t trust my wife to do what needed to be done,” Fin replied. “By tomorrow those nearest us will know I have returned, and they will spread the word farther abroad. They have no rights to decide anything with regard to Brae Aisir, or the Aisir nam Breug. Not one of them will protest against me. Now one of the servants will go into the courtyard, and call yer captain to ye. When he comes, ye will tell him to gather yer men, and ye will leave Brae Aisir immediately. Do ye understand me?” Fin stared hard at Ewan Hay.

The man nodded.

“I’ll go, my lord,” Busby said, and hurried out.

“Be careful of the fellow,” the laird warned. “He’s a dangerous sort, and no more to be trusted than this fool standing before us.”

Bhaltair came into the hall, and seeing it filled with Kerr clansmen, stopped where he stood. “My lord?” He looked to Ewan Hay, puzzled.

“Gather yer men,” the Hay said. “We are leaving Brae Aisir now.”

“But, my lord, yer wedding?”

“The wedding has been called off,” Fingal Stewart said. “The lady’s lawful husband has returned to claim her, and to claim the keep. Will ye argue the point with me? Or will ye do as ye have been bid?”

Bhaltair looked at the tall man standing behind the high board. He recognized him as a hardened soldier, a man not to be trifled with, and Ewan Hay wasn’t worth getting killed over. It had been a different thing when the pickings had seemed easy and simple, but not now. Completely ignoring Ewan Hay, Bhaltair bowed to Fingal Stewart, giving him a sardonic smile as he did so. “I will gather the men immediately, my lord,” he said.

Lord Stewart nodded. “My men will help ye,” he said. “Clennon Kerr, take those ye need and see the Hay men-at-arms are escorted from the keep. The Hay will join them as soon as they are all mounted.” Fin knew as long as he held Ewan Hay in his custody, Bhaltair and his men would cause no difficulty. If anything happened to Lord Hay’s youngest brother, they would have to answer for it, and Lord Stewart’s word would be taken long before theirs would.

Ewan Hay continued standing. No one invited him to sit. Finally he asked the question he had been dying to ask since he had entered the hall and found Lord Stewart and his men. “How the hell did ye get in here?”

“That shall remain my secret,” Fin told him. “Possibly ’twas magic, or possibly God so disapproved of what ye were doing, he aided me.”

“The drawbridge is up,” Ewan Hay said. “I’ve always kept it up.”

Fin laughed. “Afraid of yer neighbors? Or to keep me out?”

Ewan Hay flushed. “Ye were dead,” he muttered.

“Nay, I was not,” he said.

“Then why didn’t ye return?” Ewan Hay wanted to know.

“That is a story ye’ll not be here to hear when I tell it tonight,” Lord Stewart said.

“If ye’ve come back without a ransom, then yer siding with the English, as many of the lords captured at Solway Moss are. King Henry sent them back with gold in their pockets, and instructions to influence French Mary to give our little queen to him for his son to marry one day. Yer a traitor!”

Fingal Stewart’s stern face grew dark with his anger. “Do ye truly wish to die, Ewan Hay?” he asked the man. “I am no traitor. I have no English gold in my pocket. I am a Stewart, kin to our late King James.”

“Ye think being the king’s kinsman exempts ye from disloyalty? What of Angus and Arran and the others who have more often than not betrayed the royal Stewarts?”

“But my branch has never betrayed any Stewart king,” Fin replied quietly. “
Ever faithful
is the motto of the Stewarts of Torra. And we have been.
And I am!
Should ye ever suggest again that I am not, I will kill ye where ye stand. Today I have returned home to Brae Aisir and retaken the keep without casualties. I am of a mind to be merciful, Ewan Hay, to ye and to yer men. But disparage my honor and my name again, and it is my sword that will pierce yer cowardly black heart!”

At that moment one of the Kerr men-at-arms returned to the hall. He bowed to Fingal Stewart. “The Hay men-at-arms and their captain are outside on the other side of the drawbridge, my lord. They but await the Hay to join them.”