The Border Vixen (48 page)

“Take him, and put him on his horse. Have Clennon Kerr bring him to the Hay captain.” He turned to Ewan Hay. “Do not come back. My mercy is now at an end.”

Ewan Hay said nothing further. He turned and followed the Kerr man-at-arms from the keep’s hall. It was some time before Clennon Kerr returned to report that he and his men had escorted the Hays several miles beyond the village, putting them on the road that would take them back to Haydoun. He also reported that the rains had stopped and the sun was reappearing.

Dugald Kerr chortled. “God is smiling on Brae Aisir now that Fin is safe home. We must spread the word about this day. I’ll dispatch messengers to our near neighbors. And ye must fetch my great-grandsons home. And wee Annabelle. Ye’ve not seen yer daughter yet, Fin. She is a bright and bonnie bairn, born the last day of March. She looks like Maggie looked when she was that age, but she has yer coloring.”

“We’ll fetch the bairns in a day or two,” Fin said, looking at his wife. “I would like a few days with Maggie, Dugald.”

The laird’s eyes lit up, and then he chuckled. “Aye,” he agreed. “I’ll not argue ye on this, my son.”

Maggie blushed at the look in her husband’s eyes.

“Yer dressed in black,” he said.

“Ye didn’t expect me to celebrate a marriage to that coward, did ye?” she replied sharply. “I intended burning the garment afterwards.”

“Would ye really have killed him?” Fin wanted to know.

“Aye, I would,” Maggie said, her gaze steady. “I would harm my immortal soul by doing so, but rather that than have him touch me, or give me a child I should have had to tear from my womb. Ye are my husband, Fingal Stewart, and had ye indeed been killed at Solway Moss, it would have made no difference to me. I am yer wife. I would have never taken another again to wed.”

He stood close to her, his hand caressing her face. How could he have ever forgotten her for even a moment? “I love ye, Maggie mine,” he said, “and I promised ye I would be back.” Their lips met again in a sweet kiss.

“And I knew ye would not break that promise to me. Not once did I believe, or even sense ye were no longer among the living, Fin. But it grew so difficult, and then no one would listen to me. Then the Hay arrived and took over the keep. The neighboring lairds began demanding that Grandsire marry me off to him. Father David refused, for he knew I was unwilling. So another priest, not so scrupulous, was found. It was so difficult, Fin, and I was beginning to grow weary, but never would I have given in to Ewan Hay.”

“I know,” he reassured her. “Yer Mad Maggie Kerr; not some frail creature all sighs and swoons.”

“But what kept ye from us, Fin? Why did ye wait so long to return home?”

“Today is Midsummer’s Eve,” Fin said. “Let me tell my tale tonight as we all celebrate about the Midsummer fire. It is an amazing tale, Maggie mine.”

Father David rushed into the hall. “Praise be to God!” he shouted, clapping Fingal Stewart upon his broad back. “Welcome home, lad! Welcome home!”

Fin burst out laughing. “Ye have no idea how great a part God played in this, good Father, but I’ll be telling the tale tonight.”

“Where is that toad of a Hay priest?” Maggie wanted to know.

“They took him with them when they rode through the village,” Father David replied. “It was not a pleasant departure. The villagers threw the contents of their night jars on them as they went.”

The laird and Fin burst out laughing, and even Maggie was forced to giggle.

“I hope most of it hit the Hay,” she said.

“They did save the best for him, and for his priest,” Father David admitted. “I must remember to preach a sermon on charity this Sabbath.” But he was smiling as he said it, and a small chortle escaped him.

“Come,” Maggie said, taking her husband’s hand. “We must go into the village so they may see that ye are truly home again.”

“I should rather take ye to bed,” he whispered in her ear. “It has been close to a year since I’ve made love to ye, Maggie mine.”

She blushed, then smiled at him. “Aye, but I think our pleasure must wait until nightfall, for there is much we must do that our clan folk feel settled and safe again. Only ye and I can do it, my husband.”

“Change yer gown, for I would not go into the village with ye in that black crow’s garment,” he said.

“Ye must wait in the hall,” she said with a small smile. “Grizel, come with me.”

Maggie hurried from the great hall of the keep, and upstairs to her bedchamber. “What shall I wear for him?” she asked her tiring woman.

Grizel thought a moment. “Wear something simple. A skirt, a blouse, a bit of yer Kerr plaid. Tonight ye can wear the claret red velvet gown I made for ye last winter.”

Maggie quickly donned a dark green skirt and a white shirt that laced up the front; then she drew her green Kerr plaid shawl about her shoulders. She had pulled off her stockings and boots. She wanted to be the Mad Maggie of old, bare legged, and barefoot. She loosened her hair from its plait and tucked a small dagger in her wide brown leather belt. “I’m ready,” she said, running from the room and back down into the hall.

“I’m ready, Fingal Stewart. Are ye?” she called to him.

He turned from her grandfather, and saw the girl he had raced that day almost six years ago. He grinned. “Aye, Mad Maggie Kerr, I’m ready,” he said as he came to join her. Then together they walked from the keep, across the bridge, and down into the village where their clan folk waited.

They came forth from their cottages, smiling and greeting Maggie and Lord Stewart warmly. Maggie stood back, letting her husband play the primary role. He greeted men and women by name. He asked oldsters about their health and aching joints, sympathizing with an understanding nod of his head. He teased the young girls, who giggled and blushed with his compliments. He joined in a game with the men and boys that involved kicking a stuffed sheep’s bladder from one end of a field to another. The darkness had lifted with the exit of the Hay and the end of the storm.

It was traditionally the longest day of the year. Dugald Kerr came from the keep to join Maggie and Fin. The clan folk were relieved to see their old laird, for he had been virtually imprisoned in his keep for several months. Maggie left her men together and walked to the tollgate. A small party of merchants was preparing to exit. They were arguing with the gatekeeper. Maggie went to see what the difficulty was.

“I’m telling ye,” the gatekeeper said, “ye paid yer toll when ye entered the Aisir nam Breug. Now if ye were entering here, and not exiting ye would pay a toll. But one toll is all ye pay for one trip.”

“But,” the man in charge of the merchant train said, “when we came up from England in April, we paid at both ends.”

Maggie stepped forward. “It’s all right, Allen, I’ll handle this,” she said to the gatekeeper. “Sir, unfortunately while the old laird of Brae Aisir was recovering from a winter illness, and my husband was away, a dishonest man was put in charge here. When it was found out that he was forcing tolls from travelers come up from the south, he was dismissed. Can ye recall what ye paid when ye last traveled through the pass?”

The merchant named the charge.

Maggie turned to the gatekeeper. “Allen, give the gentleman the amount he has named,” she said. Then she spoke again to the merchant. “The Kerrs of Brae Aisir have held this pass with their English kin for centuries. We are honest folk. I am sorry ye were cheated. Here is yer toll returned to ye. It will not happen again. And when ye return south this time, yer trip will be free.”

“Thank ye, good lady,” the merchant said. “We could not bring our goods to Edinburgh and Perth were it not for this safe traverse. I should not want it said that I spoke treasonably, but King Henry is not a happy man right now.”

Maggie laughed. “I know,” she said with a small smile, “but somehow we shall all survive these monarchs and their quarrels, eh?”

The merchant nodded, and then, signaling, he was on his way again.

Maggie turned to her gatekeeper. “Refund any tolls charged when they should not have been,” she said. “Why didn’t ye come to me, Allen?”

“The Hay removed me from my position,” Allen answered her. “He replaced me with one of his own men. Since no one from the village could come or go into the keep held by the Hays, I had no way of speaking with ye, my lady.”

“How long did this go on?” Maggie wanted to know.

“Since the pass opened again this spring,” Allen told her.

Maggie walked back through the village and up the hill into the keep to find her Fingal and her grandsire. She told them what Allen had told her, what the merchant party had told her, and what Rafe Kerr, her cousin, had said when she had seen him recently.

“ ’Twas a quick and good thought,” Dugald Kerr said, “to refund that traveler his coin, lass. Hay would have destroyed our reputation had he been allowed to continue. It will now be known that the Kerrs are once more in charge.”

“Stewart-Kerrs,” Fin said quietly.

“It pleases me ye would add yer proud name to ours,” Dugald Kerr said, smiling.

“With yer approval, of course,” Fin told the old man. “The Kerr name should remain connected to the Aisir nam Breug.”

Maggie’s eyes grew moist. As proud as she was of her family’s name, she knew that Fin was equally proud of his family’s name, and his descent from a king of Scotland.

It was a generous gesture he was making. “Thank ye!” she told him.

“In the months that I was away from ye,” Fin told her, “all I wanted to do was get home, Maggie mine. I own a house in Edinburgh where I was born and raised, ’tis true, but Brae Aisir has been the only real home I’ve ever had. That is thanks to ye, and to ye, Dugald Kerr. I have always felt welcome here.”

“Hush now, laddie,” the old laird said, wiping a tear from his own eyes. “Of course ye were welcome from the moment ye arrived. Did I not see a husband for my lass in ye when ye came to me with yer command from the king to wed Maggie?” He chuckled. “I knew ye were the one, and ye were.”

“I could have outfought him if ye had not given the match to him just because I fell,” Maggie teased her grandfather.

“Ye were on both knees and could hardly draw a breath,” Dugald Kerr said dryly, his brown eyes twinkling. He had always been proud of Maggie’s fine spirit. “And Fingal was too much of a gentleman to want to blood ye. Of course I called the match. He was worthy of ye when none of the others had been, including that cur Hay.”

They all laughed. It had been just a few short years ago and so much had happened since then. Scotland was never as secure as when it had a king on the throne.

“But what kept ye away from us, lad?” the laird asked as he had earlier.

“Tonight,” Fin promised once again. “I will tell my tale about the Midsummer fire for all our clan folk to hear.”

Maggie left her men folk to go to the kitchen now, and see if there was still time to set out a small feast for the villagers this night. The cook, however, now that the Hay had been driven from the keep, had taken it upon herself to bake enough fresh bread for all. She had sliced cold meats, arranging them upon platters. She had geese and capons roasting upon several spits in her huge hearth. There were several baskets of strawberries, and tiny crisp sweet wafers. Seeing it all, Maggie laughed.

“Did ye at least wait until he was marched away?” she asked the cook.

“I began the moment our clansmen went up the stairs to the hall,” the cook replied. “With the young lord leading them, I knew the Hay would be either hanged or driven off within a very short time. I would have hanged him myself from the chimney in Flora Kerr’s cottage.”

“Grandsire did not wish to begin a feud with Lord Hay,” Maggie said, “but if it had been up to me, I would have hanged him too! I doubt Lord Hay will be pleased to see his brother back.”

“From the first time he came to Brae Aisir, the Hay lusted after ye, my lady. He’ll not cease wanting to have ye, or wanting Brae Aisir’s riches until he’s dead. Mark my words, my lady. The Hay will cause us trouble once again. Ye’ll eventually have no choice but to kill him.”

Maggie had an uncomfortable feeling the cook was right. As long as Ewan Hay lived, he would seek to take what wasn’t his. “Have the men put everything out on the trestles when they’re finally set up outside of the keep. And tomorrow fetch back the lasses who were yer helpers from the village,” Maggie told her.

“I will, my lady, and be glad to see them. Lads in a kitchen are not to be borne,” the cook declared, “and they’ve been little help to me.”

“Don’t forget to come up from yer kitchens and join the rest of the clan folk when all is set out,” Maggie reminded her.

The cook bobbed a curtsy. “I will, my lady.”

Chapter 18

T
he trestles from the hall and their benches had been brought out and set up on a level piece of land on the far side of the drawbridge. The food was brought forth, and the clan folk from the village came to celebrate the Midsummer holiday, and especially the departure of the Hay and his men. Throughout the late afternoon, men, women, and children had gathered wood for the great fire that would finally be lit at the moment of the sunset. Both men and women brought good-size pieces of wood, and the pyre grew and grew. The little ones found sticks and bits that they added, dashing up to the great pile to fling them on it with shouts of glee.