"Even blood cannot always be counted upon," Fingal Stewart said wisely. "I am an exception not just because of my blood tie to the king, but my maternal grandmother was sister to the grandfather of the king's current mistress, Janet Munro. So the king and I are doubly bound. It was Janet Munro who informed the king of my existence, and how the Stewarts of Torra have never betrayed their kings. Until that day, the king had no knowledge of me at all despite our blood tie."

"I have heard stories both positive and negative about the king," Father David replied. "Yer tale is most interesting, my lord. It is a good thing that James Stewart acknowledges yer kinship, but also a good thing that ye have never been involved in any of the conspiracies that have surrounded him since his unfortunate childhood."

"I am six years the king's senior," Lord Stewart said.

"Then ye are thirty years of age, or thereabouts," the priest noted.

"Thereabouts," Lord Stewart agreed.

"Yer late to wed, or have ye been wed before?" the priest inquired.

"I have not been wed prior, nor to my knowledge do I have any b.a.s.t.a.r.ds, and while I have known several women, I could not afford to keep a mistress," Lord Stewart said. "Is there anything else ye would know, good Father?"

The priest chuckled. "Ye understand why I ask, my lord. Ye are unknown to us, but ye come with written instructions from the king to wed our heiress. We cannot refuse the king's command, but we would know the kind of man into whose keeping we are placing our Maggie. One day when ye give yer daughter in marriage, ye will remember this day and understand."

"I descend from King Robert the Third through his murdered son, David, who got a son on his mistress, Maire Drummond. When the first James Stewart returned from an eighteen-year exile in England, his nephew came to pledge his undying loyalty. In return that king saw his nephew was permitted to use the surname Stewart; and he gave him a stone house with a fine slate roof below Edinburgh Castle, which is how we became the Stewarts of Torra. When the first James was foully murdered, that same nephew was one of the men who got the queen to safety and saw her son secured upon his throne. Since that day we Stewarts of Torra have never deviated in our loyalty," Fingal told the priest.

"We have never had the authority or the wealth to be involved in the battles to control the boy kings James the Second and James the Third. Nor did we take sides when the fourth James saw his father overthrown. We have simply remained loyal to the Stewart kings in power in any way we might. We have never broken faith with our kinsmen. So when our king told me to wed the heiress to Brae Aisir, I could give but one answer. Aye, my lord. My family's motto is Ever faithful. Our clan badge is a greyhound lodged in front of a crown proper. Is there anything else you need to know, Priest?"

"Ye have no siblings?"

"Nay. My father was content when I was born that he had a son. He had thought his line to die with him, for he was not a rich man and had not wanted to take a wife to share his poverty. He wed my mother, the orphaned kin of a friend, to keep her safe. She was sixteen and he past fifty when I was born. But he loved her, and she him. She died when I was ten, and my father just a few years ago."

"He would have been very old," Father David said.

Fingal chuckled. "He was eighty and had a strong const.i.tution."

"Now I know what ye can tell me, my lord. The rest I shall learn as I come to know ye better. My brother, the laird, will not be unhappy with what you have told me."

Maggie had listened as Fingal had spoken to her great-uncle. His family might have had no wealth, but it would seem to be respectable with good clan connections-Munros, Drummonds, and Stewarts. She snuck a quick look at him from beneath her lashes. He was fair to her eye with his long face and shock of short, coal black hair. And his form was strongly built, and well muscled. She was tall for a woman, but he had topped her by at least half a foot. Could he overcome her fairly in the challenge? Would she let him? Or would she beat him as she would any man who attempted to best her?

Only time would tell, and Maggie needed to get to know Fingal Stewart better.

The following day they signed the marriage contracts drawn up by Father David, then met in the courtyard of the keep. They would ride with several men-at-arms, and she would show him the Aisir nam Breug. A late-August sun shone down on them, and above the skies were clear blue. They rode down the hill and through the village of Brae Aisir. A half mile from the village, Maggie turned her horse to the right, and Fin realized they were on a narrow and very ancient paved stone road. He was surprised when the hills suddenly rose up around them.

Seeing the look on his face Maggie said, "Aye, it comes upon ye suddenly, doesn't it. This is the beginning of it. Our part runs for just over fifteen miles before the border is reached, and ye can cross into England."

"How do ye know when ye've reach the border?" he asked her.

"There is a cairn of stones topped by an iron thistle. A few feet farther on the other side of the pa.s.s is a second cairn of stones topped by a rose. Pa.s.s by it going south, and yer in England. Pa.s.s by our cairn going north and yer in Scotland. 'Tis that simple, my lord," Maggie explained patiently.

"I can see the road is too narrow for an army or group of raiders to travel with any urgency," Fingal Stewart noted, "but do ye have any defenses at all?"

Maggie smiled mischievously. "Look up and about ye, my lord."

He did, and it was then he saw the low stone watchtowers set at intervals, and carefully staggered on both sides of the pa.s.s. Lord Stewart was impressed.

"We keep three men in each tower," Maggie told him. "In case of an emergency, one man is sent to Brae Aisir or Netherdale, whichever is closer, to give the alarm."

"Yer English kin keep faith with ye first?"

"As we keep faith with them," Maggie replied. "The welfare of our folk is paramount for us all. Without the tolls we collect, how could we care for our people? We are not disloyal to our kings, and the pa.s.s has in its time prevented a tragedy or two because it has been a safe traverse through the Borders when there was no other way."

He nodded. It had all been carefully thought out, and it had been done several centuries ago. He was astounded that the Kerrs had been able to keep the Aisir nam Breug neutral and free of strife for all these years. Would he be able to successfully carry on the tradition? And what would the English Kerrs think of a Stewart marrying the last of the Brae Aisir Kerrs? They traveled that day to the border and back. And in the weeks to come Fingal Stewart took several of his men and rode the pa.s.s himself, familiarizing himself with the landscape, the watchtowers, the road itself.

August and September were over. The fields had been completely harvested, and the villagers were allowed to glean in them, gathering up what remained of the crops for their own families. The hillsides were bright with their autumn colors. One evening as October began, Dugald Kerr spoke to his granddaughter.

"It is time for ye to set the date of the marriage challenge," he said to Maggie.

"Och, Grandsire, we must bring the cattle and sheep from the summer pastures first," Maggie said. "I have no time for racing now. Just yesterday one of the shepherds thought he heard a wolf in the far hills. I'll not lose good livestock to those beasties."

"I agree with her," Fingal Stewart said quietly.

The laird and his brother looked at each other. Finally Dugald Kerr said, "Well, 'twill not take long, and as yer already legally man and wife I suppose a few more days cannot matter." And the priest nodded in agreement.

So the sheep and the cattle were brought down from their summer pastures to browse in the fields near the keep during the day, and be penned safely within the village with their dogs at night. Again the laird asked his granddaughter to set the date for the challenge between her and Lord Stewart. But Maggie demurred a third time.

"Grandsire, we have not filled the larder with enough meat to get through the winter," she said in reasonable tones. "How can I rest and take my own pleasure if I permit this keep to go hungry come the snows?"

"I agree," Fingal Stewart murmured. "I commend your constancy to duty, madam. We will hunt together every day until we have enough meat to sustain us in the months ahead." He smiled pleasantly at her. "And then I will meet your challenge so our union may be blessed. The winter is as good a time as any to make an heir for Brae Aisir."

The old laird and the priest both chuckled at this, for Maggie's face had taken on a look of annoyance at Fingal Stewart's words.

"An excellent plan," Dugald Kerr said. "I'd like to be holding my great-grandson in my arms by this time next year," he said.

"And I'd like to be alive to baptize the bairn," Father David said.

Maggie's temper exploded. "I'll not be thought of as some d.a.m.ned broodmare to be bred for fresh stock," she told them.

" 'Tis yer duty, la.s.sie," her grandfather told her. "Yer duty to Brae Aisir."

"I know my duty to Brae Aisir," Maggie said fiercely. "I have done that duty since I was a wee la.s.s, Grandsire."

"Aye," he replied. "Ye've done duty by this family, and ye've done it well, but yer the last of us now, la.s.sie, and yer duty is to give us a son. Ye've been given a good man for a husband. Now let him get a child on ye for Brae Aisir."

She ran from the hall, shocked by his words. Yet why should she be shocked? Her grandfather had only spoken the truth to her, and Maggie knew it. But still, to give up her authority to a stranger; to be nothing more than a creature to be bred? She did not know if she could bear it. She was close to tears. And then as she stood in the dimness of the corridor outside the hall, an arm went around her. Maggie stiffened her spine.

"He is eager to see an heir," Fin said quietly.

"Are ye?" The arm about her was more comforting than constraining.

"Aye, but not until yer content with this," Fin told her.

"Do ye want to bed me because ye must?" she asked.

He laughed softly, the warm breath soft against her neck as he bent down so only she might hear him. "I know ye have a mirror," he said. "Yer beautiful, la.s.s."

"So bedding me will not prove too onerous a duty because I am beautiful," Maggie said testily.

"La.s.s, we are already wed by royal command. We must bed each other eventually. Am I to be distained because I appreciate that yer fair of face and form? As I come to know ye, I find that I like ye, Maggie Kerr. I admire yer honor and faithfulness to duty. Set the date for yer challenge so Father David may bless our union," Fin said.

"Ye think ye can beat me?" Her tone was irritable.

"No one remains a champion forever, la.s.s, and I am the man who will defeat ye," he said with surety. "Why are ye afraid of that?"

It had been comfortable leaning back against him, but now Maggie pulled away. She pushed his arm from her waist, pivoting about as she did. "I am Mad Maggie Kerr of Brae Aisir, and I fear no man," she said. "But before I set the date for this contest between us, the larder will be filled with meat. When that is done, I will set the time for our contest; ye have my word on it." She spit into her right hand and held it out to him.

He was surprised by the gesture, for it was not a woman's, but he spit into his right hand in return and shook her hand. "Done, madam, and done again!" he said.

Her gaze met his. "Yer a puzzlement to me, Fingal Stewart," she told him.

"Why?" he asked her. He puzzled her? 'Twas interesting, Lord Stewart thought.

"I am used to the society of men, but I have never known a man with such patience as ye have," she admitted. "Ye could lure a doe onto the spit."

"Is that why ye work at trying my patience, la.s.s?" he queried, a small smile touching his mouth.

Maggie laughed. It was a loud sound, and filled with genuine amus.e.m.e.nt. "If there is a limit to yer patience, my lord, I have yet to find it," she admitted.

"There is a limit," he warned her. "But if I am indeed to lure the doe onto my spit, then I must exhibit great forebearance else it flee me into the hills."

"I will not run," she told him, blushing at the innuendo. I will leave ye now, my lord. We must be up and away before the dawn if tomorrow's hunt is to be successful."

He bowed to her. "Good night then, la.s.s," he said. "I'll be up on time."

Maggie picked up her skirts and ran up the narrow stone stairs. She sensed he wanted to follow, but he did not, nor did she look back. He did puzzle her. If he was not an intimate part of the king's coterie, then what was he? He had been very candid with Father David about his past. And he had been equally candid with her. How had he lived? If he hired out his sword, where had he fought, and for whom? In France? She wanted to know more, but would her curiosity ever be satisfied? Or would she have to accept Fingal Stewart for what she saw, and what he had told her? Was there even more?

She thought there might be, but perhaps he needed to be more certain of her before he would tell her. Had the king investigated his kinsman, or had he just accepted the suggestion and the word of his mistress, who would, of course, want to aid her cousin?

"So," Grizel said when Maggie had closed her bedchamber door behind her, "yer grandfather is pressing ye again, or so says the gossip from the hall."

Maggie smiled. "First we fill the larder for winter," she replied.

"And after that?" Grizel asked, her brown eyes curious.

"I've given my word to set the date then for the contest between us," Maggie said.

"I know yer word is good." Grizel nodded. "Well, perhaps we'll have an early snow, and ye won't be able to settle the matter till spring."

Maggie laughed as she stripped off her garments. "I'm afraid Grandsire won't wait that long. I've been told he would hold his great-grandson in his arms by next autumn. And the priest concurred."

"I'll wager ye didn't like being told that," Grizel said as she shook out her young mistress's gown, and hung it in the wardrobe.

Maggie sighed. "They're right, Grizel, although I will deny it, should you repeat my words. Lord Stewart seems to be a strong man, and he will hold the Aisir nam Breug as well as any Kerr before him. I can advise him until he is more certain of himself, but the truth is, other than keeping the accounts, my duty is to give Brae Aisir an heir."

"There is bound to be trouble when the Netherdale Kerrs learn ye've wed," Grizel said. "Lord Edmund has not been unhappy that ye've turned away all possible suitors."

"Edmund Kerr cannot believe that the English could manage the Aisir nam Breug alone. They control but eight miles of it to our fifteen. Those fifteen are Scots soil, not English. This cannot be Berwick all over again with the two sides wrangling over it. The pa.s.s would be useless then," Maggie pointed out.

"I think Lord Edmund hoped to wed ye himself," Grizel put forth. "He's put two wives in the ground already, but has been slow to seek another."

"He has nine sons, which should be enough for any man, and half a dozen are already wed with bairns of their own. Not to mention the b.a.s.t.a.r.ds he sired on both sides of the border. The Netherdale Kerrs have no lack of heirs," Maggie remarked. "Besides, he's my uncle and close to fifty if he is a day. The rumors say he has a very devoted and jealous mistress. There is even speculation that she hurried his last wife to her death in order to become Lord Edmund's third wife. He can't seriously have any expectations of wedding me, and if he does, it is simply to get his hands on the entire Aisir nam Breug. I honestly doubt he could outrun, outride, and outfight me, Grizel." Now in her nightgown, Maggie undid her plait and began brushing out her long chestnut brown hair.

"Will ye hunt tomorrow?" Grizel asked her mistress as she finished putting away all of her garments. She picked up the girl's boots and polished the dust from them with a cloth she pulled from her skirt pocket.

"Aye, I want the larder filled by Martinmas," Maggie said. "I'll take us to that wee loch near the pa.s.s entrance tomorrow early. There have been geese overnight there.

"We'll catch them as they rise from the water to begin their southward flight. If everyone's arrow rings true, we will come back with a dozen or more."

"Lord Stewart's Archie says the villagers have seen a boar in the wood lately," Grizel told her mistress.

"I had heard," Maggie answered. "Aye, I'd like to get that boar. If he's young, he'll be tender and make a fine feast on Christ's Ma.s.s day." She climbed into her bed, drawing the down coverlet up and settling back into her pillows. "I love hunting in the autumn the best," she said. "Good night, Grizel."

"Good night, my lady," the tiring woman answered as she departed her mistress's bedchamber.

As the door clicked shut behind Grizel, Maggie closed her eyes. Tomorrow would be a wonderful day, she decided. She would show Fingal Stewart that she was more than just a female upon whom he would breed up sons. She would take more game than he did, if only to irritate him. He said his patience had limits. She wondered whether that patience would come to an end if she p.r.i.c.ked his pride hard enough. With a smile upon her face, Mad Maggie Kerr fell into a sound and most contented sleep.

Chapter 4.

She was up before Grizel even came to awaken her the following morning. She could see the dark sky with a narrow shaft of waning moon through the half-open wood shutter. Maggie lay briefly enjoying a few last minutes of warmth before throwing her coverlet back and getting up from the bed. Pulling the night jar from beneath the bed she peed, leaving it for Grizel to empty. Then, going to her small hearth, she added some bits of kindling, coaxing her fire up from the dark red coals. As it lit, she added more wood, then pulled the ceramic pitcher from the coals where it had sat the night long keeping the water in it warm.

Maggie stripped off her simple white cotton nightgown. Pouring some water into a pewter basin, she picked up the washing rag, soaped it with a sliver of soap that had the fragrance of woodbine, and washed herself thoroughly. Then, using her most prized possession, a small brush with short, hard boar's bristles set into a piece of carved horn, Maggie scrubbed her teeth. Her ablutions concluded, she opened the trunk at the foot of her bed and drew out a cotton chemise that came only to her midthighs. It was lined in rabbit's fur. Putting it on, she added a white linen shirt over it, lacing it up. Next she pulled on a pair of woolen stockings and dark woolen breeks, which she secured with a wide belt. Next came a fur-lined soft doeskin jerkin and her leather boots.

As Maggie sat back down upon her bed to brush out her long hair and braid it into its single plait, Grizel came into the chamber. "Good morrow," Maggie said cheerfully, affixing a small bit of scarlet ribbon to hold her braid.

"Ye should have waited," Grizel said.

"I awoke and couldn't lie there. Besides, I'll want to eat before we go."

"I'll go fetch something," Grizel said.

"Nay, I'll go to the kitchens," Maggie said as she hurried from her bedchamber. She ran down the stairs to the hall and from there down another short flight of steps to the warm kitchens, where the cook and her helpers were busy at work. To her surprise Lord Stewart was already there, seated at the table where the cook and her staff usually sat.

"Good morrow, my lord," Maggie greeted him as she sat down. Immediately a bowl of oat porridge was put before her. Maggie spooned a bit of honey into it and poured in some heavy golden cream before she began to eat enthusiastically.

"Yer up early," he remarked.

"We're hunting," she said matter-of-factly. "The beasties are up too, my lord."

The cook plunked a hot cottage loaf on a wooden board between them with a knife and a tub of b.u.t.ter. She cut two wedges, handing them each one.

"Have ye some hard-boiled eggs and bread for us to take?" Maggie asked the cook.