The Border Vixen (6 page)

“Come along now,” she said briskly. “There is food in the hall, and I’ve found a place for ye to lay yer head this night.”

He followed her and while he ate at a table far below the high board in the king’s hall, he looked about him. The chamber was filled with the mighty. Before she left him to join her lover, Janet Munro pointed out the Earl of Huntly; the young Earl of Glenkirk; Lord Hume, who was now warden of the East March; the provost of Edinburgh, Lord Maxwell; and George Crichton, bishop of Dunkeld, among others. Fingal Stewart watched the panorama played out before him, listening to all the gossip spoken.

He was, he decided, glad to be a simple man.

When the evening grew late, Janet Munro came to him again and brought him to the stables where his horse had been taken. “Ye can sleep here, Cousin,” she told him, “but be gone by first light. Yer men will join ye at yer house tomorrow before ye depart.”

He thanked her a final time, noting she did not reveal aloud to where he was traveling, for she was wary of being overheard. His mission was after all a clandestine one; a preemptive strike to be carried out before anyone could prevent it. He slept several hours before rising in the pale light of the predawn, saddling his stallion, and riding back to Edinburgh. It was a chilly ride beneath the light rain now falling.

His manservant, Archie, was awaiting him anxiously. There had been no need for him to go with his master the previous day, but he had been concerned when six men-at-arms had arrived with Lady Janet to conduct Lord Stewart to Linlithgow. “My lord!” The relief in Archie’s voice was palpable. “Yer home safe.”

“Pack up all our personal possessions, what few we have, Archie,” Fingal Stewart said. “I’m to have a wife, and a great responsibility that goes with her.”

“My lord?” Archie’s plain face was puzzled.

His master laughed. “Is there something to eat?” he asked.

“I’m just back from the cookhouse, my lord. Aye, come into yer hall,” his servant said. “I’ve fresh bread, hard-boiled eggs, a rasher of bacon.”

“Then let’s eat, man, and I’ll tell ye all,” Lord Stewart said.

They went into the small chamber that served as the house’s hall. The fresh food was already upon the high board, for Archie had taken the chance his master would return sooner rather than later. He quickly served his lord, poured him a small goblet of watered wine, and was then waved to a place by his side. The two men ate silently, quickly, and as the last piece of bacon disappeared from the plate, Fingal Stewart spoke.

Fingal explained all to Archie, concluding, “So, Archie, we are leaving Edinburgh and settling down with a wife, and a real home, and probably a covey of bairns eventually. Do ye think yer ready for such an existence?” Lord Stewart chuckled.

“I am!” his manservant said without a moment’s hesitation. “ ’Tis a blessing, it is, my lord, to have been given such a bounty. We’re not getting any younger, either of us.”

As big as his master was, Archie was a wee bit of a man, short and wiry with stone gray hair and sharp blue eyes. His family had served the Stewarts of Torra for many years, and but for his master, he was alone in the world now.

“Perhaps we’ll find ye a nice plump lass to warm yer bed on those cold border nights,” Fin teased, and he laughed aloud.

Archie laughed with him. “Aye, my lord, ’twould please me greatly if we did.”

“My cousin, Lady Janet, has given me a purse, and the king has supplied us with twelve men-at-arms to go with us. They will be here shortly to escort us into the Borders, Archie. Ye had best hurry and pack us up now,” Fingal Stewart said with a smile. “Can we leave within an hour or two? And shall I send for Agent Boyle and rent the house?”

“Nay, keep the house empty for now, my lord. What if ye want to bring yer lady to court once we have a queen? There’s never any room at court for unimportant folk.”

“The king prefers Linlithgow Palace to Edinburgh Castle,” his master replied. “But yer right. I should not be hasty. Still send for Boyle and see what he says. We’ll need the house watched so nothing is stolen while I am in the Borders.”

Archie hurried from the hall, and opening the front door of the house, gestured to one of the lads always about the small street. “Go and fetch Agent Boyle to Lord Stewart. He must come immediately,” Archie said. “There’s a copper in it for you when you return with him.”

The boy pulled at his forelock and ran off. The rain was beginning to fall more heavily. Archie then went about the business of packing up what they would take. Less than half an hour had passed when a hammering came upon the front door. Archie ran to open it, admitting the house agent. He flipped the lad his copper while ushering Boyle inside. He led the man to the hall where Lord Stewart was packing up his weapons.

“Boyle’s here, my lord,” he announced.

Fingal Stewart looked up, beckoning the man to a seat by the fire. “Sit down, Boyle,” he said. “Sit down. Archie, a dram of whiskey for Master Boyle.”

“Thank ye, my lord, thank ye. ’Tis damp outside.” He accepted the dram cup, and swallowed down its contents. Then he looked to Lord Stewart. “How may I serve you, my lord?” he asked politely.

“I have to leave Edinburgh for some months,” Lord Stewart began. “I will need you to find someone to watch over the house so it not be burgled. Someone reliable who will not sell off my few possessions while I am gone,” he told the house agent.

“Ye don’t want to rent, my lord?” Boyle inquired.

Fingal Stewart shook his head in the negative. “What if I return before I anticipate? If I have no house, where can I lay my head and stable my horses?”

“I was nae considering a rental to a family, my lord. Men of importance come to Edinburgh, wealthy merchants, those high up in the church, among others. They are nae asked to the castle. They do not choose to house themselves at some inn. Their stays are brief. A few days, a few weeks, a month. And they pay well for their privacy and the discretion that a house like this can provide them, my lord. They bring their own servants and require naught but a secure shelter.”

“And how much commission would you want for providing such a service, Master Boyle?” Lord Stewart inquired.

“But ten percent of the rental fee, my lord,” Boyle answered him.

“I will want a woman in to clean before any come, and after they go,” Lord Stewart said. “And you will pay her from your ten percent for I have nae a doubt that you will also collect ten percent from your clients as well.”

The house agent’s eyebrows jumped with his surprise.

“How much will you charge per day?” Fingal asked, and when Boyle told him, he nodded. “Do not consider you can cheat me by paying me for four days when the guest remains seven,” he warned. “I have eyes that will watch ye. I will expect a proper rendering of my account every other month. You may deliver it to Kira’s bank in Goldsmith’s Lane. They will be informed to expect it, and will advise me if they do not get it, Master Boyle. If this is satisfactory to you, I will allow you this rental.”

“Will ye be visiting the town yerself, my lord?” the agent asked.

“I will send to you when I am and will expect the house available to me when I come,” Lord Stewart said sternly. “I will attempt to give you enough notice that your clients not be inconvenienced by my coming. Is this agreeable to you?”

Master Boyle nodded. “Quite, my lord.”

Both men stood up and shook hands.

“I am departing today,” Lord Stewart said. “Archie will give ye a key.”

The house agent bowed and exited the hall where Archie was waiting for him. The manservant handed Master Boyle two keys on an iron ring. “Front door, and door from the kitchen into the garden,” he said. He opened the front door, ushering the man out.

Master Boyle hurried out, and down the street to the Royal Mile, stepping aside as he came to the congested wider way to allow a party of mounted men-at-arms to enter the small lane. He stopped, watching to see what business they could possibly have on such an undistinguished lane. His bushy eyebrows jumped as they halted before Lord Stewart’s stone house. He peered down the dim street to see the badges on their jacket arms. The bushy eyebrows jumped again as he recognized the king’s mark.

Well, well, well
, Master Boyle thought.
What brings the king’s men here? And what business could they have with my client?
Was he being arrested? Was that his reason for leaving Edinburgh for several months? But then he considered that Lord Stewart was undoubtedly related to His Majesty and was probably being sent on an errand for his master. Thinking no more about it, he hurried on his way through the rainy morning.

The men-at-arms in the lane dismounted, one of them pounding on the door to the house. Archie answered the summons with a few pithy words. “Is this how ye ask to enter the dwelling of the king’s cousin?” he demanded of them. “Wipe yer booted feet, my lads. Come into the hall and warm yourselves. His Lordship is waiting for ye.”

The dozen men followed Archie, several of them chuckling at the feisty little man as they entered the chamber. It was hardly an impressive room, but they knew from a servant of the king’s mistress that the man awaiting them was the king’s own kin. They stood in respectful silence waiting for whatever instructions this lordling would give.

Lord Stewart looked up. It was time to face his future. He took a deep breath and, rising from his chair by the small hearth, greeted the men-at-arms. “Good morrow, lads. Warm yerselves by the fire. We are almost ready to depart. Do ye know where we are going?” Lord Stewart asked the men.

The soldiers murmured in the negative.

“Choose a leader from among ye,” he told them. “I need one of ye in charge of the others. Be ready with yer choice when I return.” Then he left the hall to find Archie, who was just finishing packing up their possessions on the second floor of the house.

“They’re a rough-looking bunch,” Archie said as Lord Stewart entered his bedchamber. “I wonder if they’re to be trusted.”

Fingal Stewart shrugged. “We’ll see soon enough, won’t we?” he replied. Seeing his traveling garments laid out for him, he quickly stripped off the clothing he had worn to Linlithgow along with his leather boots. “I slept in a stable last night,” he said ruefully, sniffing the velvet doublet.

“It can be aired out,” Archie responded pragmatically. “I’ll pack it with some clove to overcome the scent of the king’s barn. Ye’ll not be wearing it until yer wedding day.” He carefully folded the garment and placed it with a few nails of the spice with the other clothing already in his master’s small trunk. Before closing the lid, Archie reverently laid his master’s plaid on top. Its background was green with narrow bands of red and blue, and slightly wider bands of dark blue. It was the ancient family tartan.

Fingal Stewart pulled on a pair of sturdy dark brown woolen breeks over his heavy knitted stockings, yanked his boots back onto his big feet, and pushed his sgian dubh into the top of the right one. The weapon had a piece of green agate sunk into its top, and its scabbard had Lord Stewart’s crest set in silver. He tucked his natural-colored linen shirt into the pants, fastened a leather belt about his waist, drew on a soft brown leather jerkin with buttons carved from stag horn, and picked up his dark woolen cloak. He looked to Archie. “Are we ready?” he asked his serving man.

Archie nodded. “The fires are all out in the house except in the hall.”

The two men left Lord Stewart’s chamber and descended back down into the hall where the men-at-arms now stood about the fire getting the last bit of warmth they could before their long ride. Archie went immediately to the hearth and began extinguishing the low flames and coals with sand from a bucket set near the fireplace.

“Have ye chosen a captain from among yerselves?” Lord Stewart asked them.

A man stepped from among them. He was almost as tall as Fingal Stewart. His features were rough-hewn, his hair a red-brown, his eyes, which engaged the taller man’s fearlessly, blue. He had a big nose that had obviously been broken once or twice. “I am Iver Leslie,” he said. “The lads have chosen me.” He gave a small but polite bow.

Lord Stewart nodded and offered his hand to Iver, who took it in a firm grasp and shook it. “You’ll ride next to me,” Fingal Stewart said. Then he brought Archie, who had completed putting out the fire, forward and introduced him. “This is Archie, my servant. Sometimes he will speak for me, so listen when he does, and obey him. He’s a wee bit of a fellow, but be warned he’s handy with both his fists and a knife.”

Archie nodded towards the men-at-arms, who nodded back. “There’s a bit of whiskey left in the keg at the end of the hall,” he said. “Drink it, or put it in yer flasks, while I get our horses, lads.” He grinned as they made a beeline for the keg; all but Iver remained by Lord Stewart’s side. Archie’s wise eyes spoke their approval of Iver.

“I’ll bring the beasts around to the front, my lord,” he said. Then he hurried from the hall.

“Go and get some whiskey for yerself,” Fingal Stewart said quietly.

“Thank you, my lord.”

Iver quickly went down the hall, and seeing him, his men made way for him. He filled his flask and came back to stand by Lord Stewart’s side. “May I ask where we are going, my lord? We were not told.”

“We are traveling into the Borders to a place called Brae Aisir,” Fingal Stewart said.

“I’m being sent to wed the old laird’s granddaughter, his only heir. The laird is Dugald Kerr, and with his English kin on the other side of the Cheviots, they control a passage through the hills called the Aisir nam Breug that for centuries has been used only for peaceful travel. King James wants to keep it that way. The laird’s neighbors have of late been showing signs of impatience, for the lass will not choose a husband, and if Dugald Kerr should die too soon, there is no male heir to look after this valuable asset.”

Iver nodded. “Aye, a lass canna guard such a treasure without a husband.”

“Yer not from the Borders,” Lord Stewart said.

“Nay, I come from a village near Aberdeen,” Iver informed his new master.

“Good! Then ye’ll have no loyalties but to me, and to the king,” Fingal Stewart remarked. “Are any among yer lot borderers?”