The Border Vixen (11 page)

They reached their destination. The sky above them was considerably lighter than it had been when they left the keep. Tethering their horses, they crept through the underbrush to see a large flock of birds floating upon the placid water. They could hear the soft cackle of bird talk as they prepared their bows, carefully notching their arrows, and then waiting patiently for the moment when the birds would instinctively fly.

The horizon began to show signs of blazing color. The scarlet and gold spread out along the edges of the sky. And then as the sun burst forth over the purview of the blue, the flock of geese rose up from the water, their cackling and the sound of their flapping wings making a great noise. The hunters stood up, and the arrows from their bows being loosed flew towards the birds. Some quicker than others rearmed and shot a second time. A rain of geese fell into the water while the birds that had escaped flew up and southward.

“Loose the dogs!” Maggie cried.

The water dogs among the pack dashed into the small pond, swimming towards the dead geese. Finally when all the birds had been gathered up and brought ashore, Maggie instructed one of the younger men among them to take them immediately back to the keep, where they would be hung head down in the winter larder until they would be needed for a meal. They counted twenty-seven geese among their kill.

“ ’Twas nicely done,” Fingal Stewart said to Maggie.

“If I couldn’t outthink a goose, what kind of a chatelaine would I be?” she asked him, grinning broadly.

“Still a beautiful one,” he told her, grinning back as she colored prettily.

“Now we have a boar to find,” Maggie replied, quickly changing the subject. “He’ll be more difficult, but if he’s young, not so wily as an older boar.”

They rode away from the little water now devoid of birds, directing their horses’ steps towards a woodland bordering the village. But though they hunted the morning long, they could find no game at all. Just before dark, they took a young stag. Maggie was not at all satisfied. She wanted that boar.

“We’ll hunt every day until we find him,” she said to Lord Stewart.

They returned to the keep where the stag was butchered and hung in the winter larder, which was a little more than half full. If the weather remained decent, they should be able to fill it by month’s end, for there was plenty of game in the vicinity, Fingal Stewart thought to himself. Though they had missed the main meal of the day, the cook had provided them with trenchers filled with hot lamb stew that they consumed immediately. Afterwards Maggie spoke with her grandfather, Lord Stewart by her side.

She explained to the laird the necessity of combining the keep’s men-at-arms with the men who had come with Fingal Stewart. “The two groups should be blended into one underneath the command of Clennon Kerr, Grandsire. But since our captain has never been able to choose a second in command, I would suggest that Lord Stewart’s captain, Iver Leslie, fill that position. Clennon Kerr must be consulted, of course, but it needs to be done sooner than later,” Maggie told her grandfather.

“Aye,” the old man agreed. “It will also help my new grandson to be accepted by all here if we make the two groups one.”

“Your new grandson?” Maggie said sharply.

“He’s yer legal husband, lassie, which makes him my grandson,” the laird answered her pleasantly. He signaled to Busby, and when he had come to his master’s side, the laird said, “Fetch Clennon Kerr to me.”

“Aye, my lord,” the majordomo said, hurrying off.

Several minutes passed in silence, and then Clennon Kerr came bowing to the laird, to Lord Stewart, and to Maggie. “Ye wish to see me, my lord?”

The laird explained, and when he had finished, his captain nodded in agreement.

“Aye, my lord, ’twill suit me well. I have watched Iver Leslie in the weeks he has been here. He is a disciplined soldier,” Clennon Kerr replied. “And now that ye have made this decision, my sisters will have to cease nagging at me to promote this relation or that,” he chuckled. “And no one can claim I have favored my close kin over any other.”

“Busby!” the laird called, and when Busby came, he was sent for Iver Leslie.

Iver, who had been dicing with his Edinburgh companions at the end of the hall, gathered up his small winnings and hurried to the side of the laird of Brae Aisir. “Ye wished to see me, my lord?” he asked, bowing politely and casting a quick look at Lord Stewart.

“With yer master’s permission, and that of my own captain, Clennon Kerr, I have decided to make ye second in command of the keep’s men-at-arms.”

Iver’s face showed genuine surprise. “My lord, surely one of yer own could fill this position better than I,” he said. “I am honored, and will of course accept, but I should not take another’s legitimate place.”

“I am related to everyone in Brae Aisir,” Clennon Kerr told Iver. “How can I pick one of my relations over another without causing offense? The laird has made his decision, and I am frankly relieved.” He held out his big hand to Iver Leslie, whose equally large hand clasped it in friendship.

“Busby!” the laird called. “Drams of whiskey all around.” Then he looked at the two soldiers. “ ’Tis settled then. The decision was mine, Clennon Kerr. Yer sisters cannot blame ye, and the rest of yer kin will be relieved, I’m thinking.”

Busby himself brought the tray with the dram cups of whiskey. A health was drunk to the laird’s wisdom. The matter was settled but for one thing.

Going to stand at his place at the high board, the laird called out, “Hear me all within this hall and the sound of my voice. I have appointed Iver Leslie to be the keep’s second in command after Captain Clennon Kerr. Now let’s have a round of ale to celebrate, laddies.”

And the serving men were at the trestles filling the tankards. A health was drunk to the two captains. Then the hall settled back down into its usual evening routine. The laird questioned his granddaughter as to the hunt that day and the state of the larder.

“The larder is filling nicely. A few more weeks and we’ll have it done,” Maggie said. “By the beginning of December for certain, Grandsire.”

“Set the date for yer contest, then, for December,” Dugald Kerr said. “The sooner, the better, my lass.”

“And if it snows?” she asked him mischievously.

“We’ll clear the road for ye, lass,” he promised her.

There was no point in arguing with him any longer, Maggie thought. Fingal Stewart was already her husband under the laws of Scotland. To put him off any longer was to put Brae Aisir in danger. She already suspected this was the man who could beat her fairly. He was neither afraid of her nor intimidated by her. But she would do her very best, and he would not find it easy to overcome her.

“December fifth,” she said.

The laird’s face was immediately wreathed in smiles. “Done!” he replied. “Ye heard her, David. She said December fifth.”

“I heard her, Dugald,” the priest responded.

“I agree,” Lord Stewart said.

Maggie laughed aloud. “You always seem to agree with me, my lord. You would, it appears, be a most reasonable man. I hope it continues after we are fully wed.”

“I cannot promise, madam, for you are not always a biddable woman,” he said.

Maggie nodded. “That is indeed true, my lord,” she agreed. “I am not always easy, but I am usually right.” She smiled sweetly at him.

Now Lord Stewart laughed.

Dugald Kerr was pleased by what he saw. His granddaughter seemed to be accepting of this marriage of the king’s will. It all boded well but for one small detail.

Maggie and Fingal were rarely alone, if ever. They needed more time together, but how was he to accomplish it? And then he knew, and the solution was simple. “Maggie, lass,” he said to her, “take Fingal to my library, and show him yer accounts. She’s a clever girl, my lord, as you’ll see when ye look at her books. No one can manage the accounts like my granddaughter.”

“Och, Grandsire, I doubt Lord Stewart is interested in numbers,” Maggie responded, but she was smiling at her elder.

“Nay, nay, I am quite interested,” Fingal Stewart assured her. He understood what the old laird was about. He and Maggie did need some time alone, and it was unlikely they would get it in the hall filled with Brae Aisir’s men-at-arms not yet gone to their barracks for the night. Ordering them out of the hall would but give rise to talk.

Maggie stood up. “Very well,” she said. “Come, and I will show you how I work my magic with numbers.”

They departed the hall, and she brought him to her grandsire’s library. It wasn’t a particularly large chamber, but it was cozy with a small hearth that was already alight, and a row of three tall arched windows on one wall. Surprisingly there was a wall of books, some leatherbound, others in manuscript form. There was a long table that obviously served as a desk facing the windows, and a high-backed chair behind it at one end. Upon the desk were several leather-bound ledgers. Maggie opened one.

“I keep an account of every expenditure made,” she said. “This is the account book for the household expenses. We are, of course, like most border keeps, self-sufficient but for a few things. The servants are paid for the year at Michaelmas as are the men-at-arms. The other books are records of the livestock bought and sold, the breeding book, and the book of the Aisir nam Breug,” Maggie explained. “Since the beginning, a careful record has been kept of all those going south into England, and coming north into Scotland. The Netherdale Kerrs keep a similar record.”

“And ye do this yourself?” he asked.

“Aye. Grandsire says ’tis best we handle our own business,” Maggie told him.

“How do ye fix the rate of the toll charge? Or is it simply a set rate?” he asked.

“ ’Tis one rate for a single traveler or a couple, male and female. A merchant with a pack train of animals pays according to the number of animals he has. A peddler riding with everything on his back pays a set rate. There are fixed rates for wedding parties, families traveling together, messengers,” Maggie explained.

“ ’Tis well thought out,” Lord Stewart remarked. “You note travelers in both directions though you collect tolls only one way,” he noted. “Why?”

“To keep use of the traverse honest,” Maggie said. “Over the centuries there have been times when some sought use of the Aisir nam Breug for less than peaceful purposes. We have caught the few and ejected them. Once we blocked the way. The watchtowers above the pass know who is in each party. We allow travel north from dawn in the morning, and south from the noon hour until sunset. In the dark months, travel alternates days going north Monday, Wednesday, and Friday; and south Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Saturdays. Sundays the pass is closed but for emergencies such as a messenger.”

“How long have the Kerrs on both sides of the border held this responsibility?” Lord Stewart asked.

“For more than five hundred years,” Maggie told him.

How sad, Lord Stewart thought, that Maggie should be the last of the Kerrs of Brae Aisir. Perhaps he should add the Kerr name to his own. Others had done it in similar situations. Yet he was proud of his name. He would think on it.

“That is all I have to show ye,” Maggie said, breaking into his thoughts. “Do ye have any questions to ask of me, my lord? If not, I should like to go to my chamber and bathe. We have another day of hunting ahead of us on the morrow.”

“Stay,” he said to her. “Can we not talk together?”

Maggie looked puzzled. “Talk? About what? Have ye questions?”

“Aye, questions about the girl who is my wife, yet not my wife,” Fingal Stewart answered her. “Sit by the fire with me.”

“There is only one chair,” Maggie told him.

“Then sit in my lap,” he said. “Or I can sit in yers,” he teased.

She eyed him warily. “Sit in yer lap? Can I not answer yer questions standing? And what can ye possibly want to know about me? Why should it matter, for yer wed to me by the king’s command, my lord.”

“Aye, I am,” he agreed pleasantly, “but what I know of ye so far, Maggie Kerr, I like. I would know more. And I would have ye like me.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Maggie said bleakly. “We’re wed.”

“I was told ye had no other ye preferred,” Lord Stewart said. “Have I taken ye from another who has engaged yer heart?”

“Nay, I don’t,” Maggie answered, “but I have never liked being told what I must or must not do, my lord. ’Tis childish, I know. Even if I might control the Aisir nam Breug alone, I canna bear an heir for Brae Aisir without a husband. Had there been a man among our neighbors who pleased me, I might have taken him as such, and shared the responsibilities of the traverse with him. But there was none. The young men fear me, for I am not a maid willing to sit by the hearth, and murmur yes, my lord, to a husband I canna respect, or one who does not respect me. I have said it often enough. None of them wanted me for myself, but only for my wealth and power. So I chose none among them. They thought my grandfather was so desperate for a husband for me he would do whatever he had to do. But my grandsire knows me well, and he loves me. He understands my needs. But now King James has interfered in this matter.” She sighed. “I will not let you win, Fingal Stewart. Ye must overcome me fairly.”

“I will,” he promised her.

“I know some think me selfish that I would have my way. I am not. I have controlled the Aisir nam Breug for almost three years now by myself. Grandsire is not well enough to do what must be done. I need a man who is willing to learn from a woman. That fool Ewan Hay was hardly the man.”

“I have heard you beat him badly,” Fingal Stewart remarked.

“I did!” Maggie admitted, restraining a wicked grin that threatened to break out upon her face. “I had to so he would give up and go away. I never expected the wretched weasel to go crying to the king. The damned fool had not a chance of outrunning me. Even if I had loved him, and I certainly did not, I could not have thrown the race, for everyone in the Borders knows there is none who can run as fast as I do. I outran him and rode the course a-horse as he sat nursing his bloodied feet, the fool!”

“Yer a hard lass,” Fingal Stewart said, his tone grudgingly admiring, “but to carry all the responsibility ye have carried, ye must be hard. But I can beat ye, Maggie Kerr, and I will.” He sat down in the chair by the fire, and surprising her, reached out and yanked her into his lap. “That’s better,” he said. “Now tell me more about yerself, and I will tell ye about myself. I’d like us to at least be friends before I bed ye.”