The Border Vixen (5 page)

“But your father lived to be eighty,” Janet Munro said. “I remember my father remarking upon it. He said he had never known a man to live that long.”

“Do ye love him?” Lord Stewart asked her, suddenly changing the subject entirely. “Do you love James Stewart, Jan?”

.Janet Munro thought a moment, and then she said, “James Stewart is nae a man who inspires love, but I like him well enough, and he is good to me. He wants a lover who pleases him and asks little of him. Actually he is more generous that way.” She laughed. “My influence with him is coming to an end, for he plans to go to France in the autumn. He wants a queen, and Marie de Bourbon, daughter of the Duke of Vendôme, is available. I have just discovered I am enceinte, and so I will retire to my father’s house when the king leaves, and only return at his invitation, which is unlikely. He will nae offend his new queen, nor would I make an enemy of her.”

Fingal Stewart nodded. “When would he see me?” he asked.

“Come back to Linlithgow with me today,” she said.

He nodded. “Very well,” he agreed. “I suppose today is as good a day as any. But first I must see if Archie can find me more respectable garb in which to meet the king.”

“I’m not sure ye have a good enough garment to go to the court,” Archie said dourly when asked. Turning to Janet Munro, the serving man complained, “I keep telling him he must keep one fine thing, but he says the expense is not worth it.” He sighed. “I’ll see what I can find for him, my lady.”

“He’s quite devoted to you,” Janet noted with a small smile.

“He fusses like an old woman with one chick,” Fingal replied.

Archie managed to dress his master in a pair of brown and black velvet canions, which were tight knee breeches. The stockings beneath them were brown, and his leather boots almost covered them. The matching black velvet doublet was embroidered with just the lightest touch of gold breaking the severity of the garment.

Standing before his cousin, Lord Stewart, now fully dressed, said, “I have no idea where he managed to obtain such garb, or keep it so well hidden from me.”

Archie grinned and handed his master a dark brown woolen cloak and a pair of brown leather gloves. “I dinna steal it,” he said. “Ye paid for it, my lord.”

“I’m sure I did,” Fingal replied.

“I had forgotten what a handsome devil ye are,” Janet said. She pushed a lock of her cousin’s dark hair from his forehead. “Do ye have a hat for him, Archie?”

“No bloody hat,” Lord Stewart said firmly, “and especially if it has one of those damned drooping feathers hanging from it.”

“I saved no coin for a hat, as I know how ye feel about them,” Archie said.

Together the two cousins rode the distance between the city and the king’s favored palace, the men-at-arms surrounding them. The summer day was long, but it was close to sunset when they arrived. Janet Munro sent a page for the king and brought her cousin to her lover’s privy chamber to await James Stewart. It was close to an hour before he came. Outside the windows of the small room the skies grew scarlet with the sunset, and then darkened. A serving man came and lit the fire in the hearth, for the evening was cool and damp with a hint of a later rain.

Finally James Stewart entered the chamber. He was a tall young man with the red-gold hair of his Tudor mother, and eyes that were gray in color but showed no expression at all. He held out his hand to Fingal Stewart, and a quick glance at Janet Munro told her she was dismissed. She curtsied and departed. “So,” the king said, “I am to understand we are cousins.”

“Like you, my lord, I trace my descent from Robert the Third through his elder son, David,” Fingal Stewart explained. “You descend from his younger son, King James the First.”

“I was not aware David Stewart had any offspring,” the young king replied.

“Few were, my lord. His mistress was a Drummond. When Albany murdered him, her family protected her and the son she shortly bore. Albany was too busy consolidating his position, and frankly, I believe he forgot all about her. When King James the First returned home as a man, his cousin came and pledged his loyalty.”

“A loyalty my great-great-grandfather certainly needed,” the young king remarked.

“My ancestor was well schooled in loyalty to his king, and that king saw that he was legally able to take the surname of Stewart. He also gave his cousin a house in Edinburgh near the castle,” Fingal told his royal companion.

“Where do the Munros come into your family tree?” the king asked.

“My grandfather married a Munro who was the sister to Janet’s grandfather. I believe Jan was named for her, my lord.”

The king nodded. “We are but distantly related now, you and I, Fingal Stewart, but blood is blood. Jan tells me you are loyal to me. Is that so? I am not so well loved by my earls, though the common folk revere me.” He looked closely at his companion.

“I am loyal, my lord,” Fingal Stewart said without a moment’s hesitation.

“When my father pushed his father from the throne,” the king wanted to know, “which side did Lord Stewart of Torra take then?”

“Neither side, my lord. He remained in his house below Edinburgh Castle until all was settled. He had been loyal to King James the Third and was equally loyal to King James the Fourth,” Lord Stewart explained.

“A prudent man,” the fifth James noted with a small chuckle. He had liked the candid answer he had received. “And ye, Fingal Stewart, are ye a prudent man?”

“I believe such can be said of me, my lord,” came the quiet answer.

The king looked Lord Stewart of Torra over silently. He was a big man, taller than most, with dark hair like the Munros, clear gray eyes like his own that engaged the king’s gaze without being forward, but a face like a Stewart with its aquiline nose. The king would have easily recognized this man in a crowd as one of his own family. He trusted his mistress’s advice in this matter. Janet Munro was the most sensible woman he had ever known. And he had known many women despite his youth. His stepfather, the Earl of Angus, had seen to that in an attempt to debauch him. Angus was now in exile, and his flighty Tudor mother wed to Lord Methven. However, this man now seated with James in his privy chamber was not just his kin, but kin to his reasonable and judicious mistress as well. He was not allied with any of the king’s enemies. If Fingal Stewart could not be trusted, then who could be? “Jan has told you of my visitor earlier today?”

Lord Stewart nodded. “She has, my lord. She said she believed you wanted me to go into the Borders to see to the truth of the matter if it could be done discreetly.”

“Aye, I had thought that was what I desired, but while Jan was gone to fetch you,
Cousin
, I thought more on it. I am not well beloved by certain families in the Borders—families allied with Angus and his traitorous Douglas kin. My justice towards them has been well deserved, but harsh, I know. If I send you into the Borders to reconnoiter the situation, someone is certain to guess why you are there.

“The situation into which I am sending you is fraught with danger if I do not strike quickly and decisively. So I have decided you will travel with a dozen of my own men-at-arms at your back who will remain with you. You will present yourself to Dugald Kerr, the laird of Brae Aisir, and tell him I have learned of his difficulties. Then you will hand him this.” He held out a tightly rolled parchment affixed with the royal seal. “I have written to the laird that I have sent him my cousin, Lord Stewart of Torra, to wed with his granddaughter, Margaret, and thus keep the Aisir nam Breug safe for future generations of travelers. The marriage is to be celebrated immediately. I dinna nae trust the laird’s neighbors, especially the Hays. If the lass is wed, the matter is settled, and peace will reign. I want it settled before I leave for France in a few weeks’ time.”

Fingal Stewart was astounded by the king’s speech. He had expected to travel cautiously into the Borders and carefully ferret out the truth of whatever situation the king needed to know about. But to be told he was to go and wed the heiress to Brae Aisir? He was briefly rendered speechless.

“Ye aren’t already wed, are ye?” the king asked him. “I did not think to ask Jan.” God’s foot, if Lord Stewart were wed, what other could he choose? Whom could he trust?

“Nay, my lord,” Fingal managed to say.

“Nor contracted?”

Lord Stewart shook his head in the negative. He was trying hard to adjust to being told to marry. How old was she? Was she pretty? Would she like him? It didn’t matter. It would be done by royal command. No one disobeyed a royal command and lived to brag on it. He dared say naught until he heard more of this, and why.

“Do ye have a mistress ye will need to placate?” James Stewart wanted to know.

“I canna afford a mistress,” Fingal Stewart answered the king. “I am nae a rich man, my lord. My parents are both dead. Nor do I have siblings. I have my house, but naught else. I hire out my sword to earn my living, and possess but one servant.”

“So ye are free to leave Edinburgh quickly,” the king said almost to himself. It was perfect. It did not occur to him that Lord Stewart might turn him down. He couldn’t. This was a royal command, and to be obeyed without question.

“Aye, my lord,” Fingal Stewart replied. He was agreeing to this madness because he had no other choice. It was his family’s tradition to be loyal without question to their kings. Still, he made a small attempt to reason with James Stewart and learn more of what was expected of him. “Why must this lass be wed quickly, my lord? May I know what more is involved in this situation? What will the laird of Brae Aisir think of your sending a cousin to wed his heiress? What if he says nay?”

James Stewart barked a short laugh as he realized in his eagerness to solve this problem he had told Fingal Stewart little or nothing of it. “The Kerrs of Brae Aisir possess control of a pass through the Cheviots into England. The pass is called the Aisir nam Breug. Their English kin, the Kerrs of Netherdale, control the other end. The pass has always been used for peaceful travel; never for war nor raiding. The Kerrs on both sides of the border have defended it against such use. The laird is old. He has one heir, his granddaughter. She will not choose a husband from among their neighbors. Indeed, she is said to be called Mad Maggie, for she is willful and wild.

“The laird fears his neighbors will attempt to wrest his control of this crossing from him, or from his granddaughter when he is gone, but the lass has him at an impasse. He’ll nae refuse my command that she take ye for a husband. If old Kerr had his own choice for the lass, the matter would have been long settled. He obviously did not. His neighbors are already eyeing the Aisir nam Breug, I’m told. If this Hay fellow had the stones to attempt to steal a march on them, and come to me in an effort to gain an advantage, then he fears someone else gaining what he covets. Ye’ll be the answer to Dugald Kerr’s prayers, Cousin. Now get ye into the Borders before there is blood-shed over the matter. I have only just gotten the lairds there settled down after years of running roughshod over my authority,” the king said. “Return to Edinburgh on the morrow to fetch yer servant. Shut up yer house. Then go south, Fingal Stewart. Hopefully the lass will be pretty enough to please, but if she isn’t, just remember that all cats look alike in the dark.” And James Stewart laughed. “Bring her back to court when I have returned with my queen.”

“Yer taking me from relative obscurity, gifting me with a wealthy wife, and giving me control of an asset that is valuable to you, and to Scotland. I will be a man of power, my lord,” Fingal Stewart said quietly. “Other than my undying loyalty, what will ye require of me in return for this bounty?” His candid gaze met the king’s eyes, and James Stewart laughed aloud.

“Yer a canny fellow, Cousin,” he complimented his companion. “I will take half of the tolls ye collect from travelers, payable on Michaelmas each year in hard coin.”

“One-third,” Fingal Stewart dared to counter. “The pass must be maintained in good condition, and the laird I am certain supports his people with these monies. Remember I am a stranger coming at your behest to wed its heiress, and take control no matter whether the old laird welcomes me into their midst. Nothing must appear to change for the Kerrs of Brae Aisir other than a husband for the heiress. Remember, my lord, I have naught but my sword and yer word to recommend me. My purse is empty.”

James Stewart nodded. He was known to be tightfisted, but he was also no fool. A third of the yearly tolls from this traverse was a third more than he had previously had.

He held out his hand to his cousin. “Agreed!” he said as they shook.

Lord Stewart rose from his chair, recognizing that he was now dismissed.

“Thank ye, my lord. My sword and my life are yers forever.” He bowed low.

The king nodded his acknowledgment of the words, and with a wave of his hand he dismissed his cousin from his presence.

Fingal Stewart turned and left the privy chamber. He found Janet Munro awaiting him in the dim corridor, and he told her of what had transpired.

“Yer a man of property now,” she said in a well-satisfied voice. So many royal mistresses enriched themselves and their families during their tenure. She had not, accepting only what was offered. She knew her parsimonious lover would see her and her child comfortably supported. She was satisfied now to have done something for the cousin she had always liked. He was a good man and deserved a bit of good luck.

Digging into her skirt pocket, she pulled out a small pouch. “Ye dinna have to tell me the condition of yer purse, Fin. And ye canna travel without coin. The king wanted ye to have this.” Janet thrust the purse at him. “Yer men-at-arms are just paid for the year. Ye may retain them for yer own, but next Michaelmas ye must pay their wages yerself. Ye have a house in the town, gold in yer purse, a servant, and twelve men-at-arms. Ye will nae appear a poor man when ye come to Brae Aisir,
and
yer the king’s own blood to boot.” Then standing on her toes, she put her arms about him and kissed his cheek. “God bless ye, Cousin.”

He returned her embrace. “Thank ye, Jan. I know ’tis ye who have brought me this good fortune. Should ye ever need me, ye have but to send for me,” Fingal Stewart said. He suspected the gold in the purse she had given him was from her own small store.