The Border Vixen (33 page)

Maggie watched them approach. Where was he? Why wasn’t he leading his own men? Had he remained behind with the king? She couldn’t bear watching the riders come, so went back into the hall to wait. Pacing back and forth, she told her grandsire that Fin didn’t appear to be among the returning men and that there were bodies on the horses being led along.

Dugald Kerr’s mouth was drawn in a thin line as he said, “Well, at least we have two lads, and perhaps another in yer belly.”

It was a harsh comment, but Maggie knew it to be true. She had been wed for the purpose of producing the next generation of males in order that the Aisir nam Breug continue on as it always had. She had never expected to fall in love with her husband. She was only doing her duty. She blinked back the tears. Where was he? He couldn’t be dead. She would
know
if he were dead. Wouldn’t she? Her heart pounding, she watched Iver Leslie enter the hall and she had to ask. “Is he dead?”

“I don’t know,” Iver said, and his face showed his desperation.

“Give the man some whiskey,” the laird snapped, and when they had, Dugald Kerr said, “Come, Iver Leslie, and sit by me. I would know all that ye can tell me. Maggie lass, sit down. ’Tis no good standing there looking stricken. Let us hear what our captain has to say, and then we may decide what is to be done next.”

They both obeyed, and then Iver began to speak. “The king wanted no real battle. The attack was in reality planned for the west, where they would not be expected. They would defeat the small band of defenders who would come to protect the area. Lord Stewart told me King James meant but a brief incursion into England. Once there, a small party of bishops, escorted by a troop of men-at-arms, would find the nearest church, where the clerics would read the papal interdict against King Henry. And that would be the end of it. But the plan, while a good one, did not turn out as had been expected.” Iver swallowed down another bit of the laird’s smoky whiskey.

“But there was a spy among the king’s men, and he managed to alert Sir Thomas, deputy warden of the West March.”

The laird nodded. “Sir Thomas is skilled at border fighting,” he noted.

Iver continued. “The English managed to bring two thousand men to the field along with at least several hundred light horsemen. But the king had promised the queen, who is near her time, that he would not take part in the fighting. He returned to Lochmaben the morning of the battle. It was left to those of us who had come to his defense. We were no more than a large-size raiding party who fought that day, my lady, and no match for the English, though we knew not the force we would face then.” Iver’s voice broke slightly, but then with a deep sigh he recovered himself to go on with his tale.

“We expected to dash into England, secure a church for our bishops, and then dash away back into Scotland. The bulk of our army was left to the rear and would have no part in any fighting. They were for nothing more than show. Led by our own warden of the West March, Lord Maxwell, we moved quickly to the mouth of the River Esk, crossed it, and moved onto the Solway Moss. ’Twas there we encountered our difficulties. The land was worse than mire due to all the rains we have had of late. The English army appeared, and it was quickly apparent that we must return as quickly as we could across the Esk back into our own Scotland.

“The infantry was having difficulty moving back across the muddy ground, as was our small cavalry. And then the English light horsemen charged our flank. It was chaos, my lord, my lady. All of our Brae Aisir men were mounted, but some fell from their horses in the fighting. We lost seven, but as it was obvious we were not going to win this battle, Lord Stewart told us to gather up our dead, and their horses, and ride for home.

“Archie was wounded badly, and did not want to leave him. But my lord insisted we take the little man. He’s alive, and Grizel is already attending to him. He’ll be lucky not to lose his left arm. The gash in it is fearsome, my lady.”

“What happened to my husband?” Maggie asked through gritted teeth. It was all she could do not to scream.

“He went off to aid Lord Maxwell, my lady, and that’s the last we saw of him. We heard as we rode home that the king’s forces surrendered, and many were taken prisoner. Ye’ll know if he’s alive when the ransom demand comes,” Iver said.

“What happened to the king?” Maggie wanted to know.

“He’s gone to Edinburgh, I heard, to order a strengthening of the border’s defenses,” Iver answered her.

“He’s alive!” Maggie said in a determined voice.
“Fingal is alive!”

“We can pray for it,” Father David Kerr said. He had come into the hall behind Iver and listened silently as the captain told his tale.

“The keep will need to be fortified more heavily,” the old laird said. “God’s foot, I would have a cannon on our heights! A cannon is the best defense in times like these.”

“I’ll go to the brothers at Glenborder Abbey,” the priest said. “They have a foundry and cannon of their own.”

“Holy priests?” Iver was surprised.

“Glenborder is known for its warrior monks,” Father David said. “The English won’t burn them out like they did Kelso. That’s why they keep clear of Glenborder.”

“Ye’ll need gold,” the laird noted.

“Ye have what we’ll need, and more,” the priest replied dryly.

Dugald Kerr laughed darkly. “Aye, whatever ye need is yers if ye can convince them to sell me a cannon. Iver, go with him, and take a dozen men with ye. Dragging a cannon, even a small one, back across the moor and hills will be hard work.”

“Who is going to go search for Fingal?” Maggie demanded. “Is my husband not more important than yer damned cannon, Grandsire?”

“Nay, he is not,” the laird responded in a hard voice Maggie had never before heard him use. “Fingal is either dead and in an anonymous grave, or being held with other Scots nobles in an English dungeon. It will take the English a while to process their prisoners and learn who they are, and where to send the ransom demand. Either way we can do naught, and we need that cannon, Maggie, if we are to defend Brae Aisir.”

David Kerr departed the morning of December first for Glenborder Abbey. He returned on the tenth of December successful, the Kerr clansmen bringing the cannon they had purchased with them along with a supply of powder and shot. The laird immediately oversaw its installation upon the narrow heights of his keep. It had cost him dearly, almost an entire year’s worth of proceeds from the Aisir nam Breug, but now he knew the keep would be relatively safe from invaders.

On the twelfth of December word came that Queen Marie had delivered a daughter, Mary, on the eighth day of the month at Linlithgow Palace. The king had not been with her. He was ill at his favorite palace of Falkland. Less than a week later came the terrible news that King James V had died. Scotland had a king no longer. It had a queen, and she was ten days old.

“God help us all,” Dugald Kerr said grimly.

“God help Queen Marie,” Maggie replied. “The great lords will begin to squabble over who should rule in the little queen’s name. There will be some sort of civil strife, ye may be certain.” Aye, there would be trouble, and here she was with a big belly, an old man, and two lads to look after, along with the Aisir nam Breug. Where was Fingal? Where was the ransom demand from the English? He was not dead.
He wasn’t!

The news of James V’s death reached Netherdale when Edmund Kerr found himself host to an unexpected visitor. It was then he also learned that his kinsman’s heiress was again without a husband. His eyes narrowed speculatively at the news.

“We can be of help to each other, my lord,” Ewan Hay said, smiling a cold smile.

“How could ye possibly help me?” Edmund Kerr demanded to know.

“Ye want to control all of Aisir nam Breug, I am told,” Ewan murmured. “If the rumor is true, then I can help ye achieve yer goal.”

“Give our visitor some wine,” the Lord of Netherdale said.

“Beware this man,” his former mistress, now his third wife, Aldis, said softly. “He is dangerous, and wants more than I think yer willing to give, my lord.” She offered him a sweetmeat, and he opened his mouth to take and eat it.

Ewan Hay took the goblet offered him, and drank deeply to gain his courage. He had a plan, but he needed the Lord of Netherdale to complete that plan.

“Well?” Edmund Kerr demanded. “And what will ye want in exchange for aiding me?” he asked cynically.

“Only one thing, my lord. I want Maggie Kerr. With yer help I can take control of Brae Aisir and the pass. Without Lord Stewart they are helpless, for yer kinsman is near seventy now, and surely will not live much longer. They need a man to manage it all, and despite your being their blood, yer English. They will not accept yer control especially now after the battle at Solway Moss, and the king’s death. They will more easily accept a Scotsman even if his name is not Kerr. Did they not accept Fingal Stewart, my lord?”

“Maggie has two lads, and a big belly that will certainly produce another,” Edmund Kerr said. “They are now old Dugald’s heirs.” As the years had passed, he had given up on the idea of marrying his late half sister’s daughter, but he hadn’t given up on controlling the Aisir nam Breug in its entirety. Still, given the bitterness of what had recently transpired, he knew Ewan Hay was right. Brae Aisir would not accept him, or any of his sons, or grandsons, as their overlord. He had, however, thought to one day match the daughter he had had with Aldis to one of Maggie’s sons. Still, who was to manage until then? “Did Maggie not spurn ye when ye tried to court her years back? What makes ye think she’ll take ye now?” Edmund Kerr asked. “Besides, her husband has not yet been proved dead. The traffic through the traverse is done for the year. The snows will soon make the roads impassable, especially the road through the pass.”

“Send me to Brae Aisir, my lord, in yer name, with yer men at my back to defend yer rights,” Ewan Hay said. “Say with Fingal Stewart among the missing, and yer kinsman elderly and frail, ye want to protect what the Kerrs on both sides of the border have protected for lo these past centuries. Say it is yer familial duty to see to the safety of Brae Aisir’s lady, and her bairns.”

Edmund Kerr laughed aloud. “Jesu, ye want the wench, don’t ye? But why? She doesn’t like ye, and will probably kill ye given the opportunity. As for sending my men, nay. It’s one thing for me to send a Scotsman to oversee Dugald Kerr’s portion of the Aisir nam Breug. That can be counted as familial regard and show a certain delicacy on my part. But to send English men-at-arms makes it a threatening gesture. Ye’ll need yer own men. Surely yer brother would be willing to lend you some of his own people. Did he answer yer late king’s call to arms? Did ye for that matter, Ewan Hay?” And Edmund Kerr laughed again. “Nay, I’ll wager neither of ye did.”

“If I have yer assurance that ye support my going to Brae Aisir, then my brother could probably be prevailed upon to give me some of his clansmen to back my actions,” Ewan Hay said. “Ye must write it or he will not believe me. And seal it with yer seal.”

“I’ll sleep on it,” Lord Edmund said. Then he left his hall, going to his privy chamber where Rafe, his eldest son and heir, awaited him, for Aldis had sent for him.

“Don’t do it,” Rafe advised his father. “This Scot is not to be trusted, Da. He will attempt to force Maggie to the altar if her husband is not found among the prisoners to be ransomed and does not return. She’ll kill him before it’s all over. And what of her bairns? With that man at Brae Aisir, they will be in danger. Dugald Kerr and his granddaughter are strong enough together to manage their portion of the Aisir nam Breug. They, we, need no interference from another.”

“If we are canny, Rafe, we can have it all,” his father said slowly, his brown eyes gleaming with greed. “The Scots are beaten for now, for many years to come. Their king is dead. Their ruler is a puling female infant sucking at the breast of her French mam.

“Our own king is certainly coming to the end of his life, and his heir’s a sickly boy, and two lasses, one whose legitimacy has always been doubtful. And the Protestants are fighting with Holy Mother Church for control of those heirs.

“Think on it, Rafe! We have an opportunity to control all of the Aisir nam Breug! And no one will care in the least what a seemingly unimportant northern lord is doing, for they will all be too busy on both sides of the border trying to control these child monarchs. As long as the traffic flows smoothly through the traverse and none are inconvenienced, no one will know or worry about what is happening to the Aisir nam Breug or who is controlling it.”

“Wait at least until spring before you institute this plan, Da,” Rafe said. “There is no traffic now in the pass, and we are certain to hear some word of Lord Stewart by the spring. To swoop down on Brae Aisir now is a mistake, and ye will live to regret it. I don’t trust Ewan Hay. He wants more than he says he does. Wait, I beg ye.”

“If we wait until the spring, Mad Maggie and her grandfather will have reasserted their authority, and we will have no chance of taking it all for ourselves,” Edmund Kerr responded. “Now is the perfect time. My kinsman is old and undoubtedly grieving for Fingal Stewart, for he loved him like a son. His granddaughter is heavy with child, concerned for her husband’s safety, and in no position to resist. And then there are her sons. We could take both lads from her and bring them here should she attempt to mount a resistance against us,” Edmund Kerr said. “Let Ewan Hay have Mad Maggie if he could indeed master her.” The Lord of Netherdale wanted nothing but the Aisir nam Breug, the power and the riches having all of it would bring him.

“This is a mistake,” Rafe Kerr said. “What if Fingal Stewart hasn’t been killed? Possibly he’s been wounded, captured. What will happen when he makes his way back to Brae Aisir and finds Ewan Hay in his keep, and trying to mount his wife?” the son asked his father. “He’ll not thank us, Da.”

“Any ransom demand must come to Brae Aisir. If one does, it will be intercepted, and Mad Maggie will never know. It will allow us to learn where Fingal Stewart is. We’ll find him and have him killed,” Edmund Kerr said.