The Border Vixen (41 page)

“Ye were wounded grievously,” Fin said slowly. “I began to remember more when I saw yer face. Yer left arm?”

“Aye, healed now, but it will ne’er do battle again, I suspect,” Archie said. “It stiffens, especially in cold wet weather.”

“But can ye still sew a fine seam?” Fin asked him.

“Ye remembered that?” Archie chuckled. “Aye, I can still play the tailor for ye, my lord, and from the looks of what yer wearing, I had best see to something more suitable before we return home to Brae Aisir.”

“Brae Aisir?” It had a sweet sound to it, but he could not quite remember.

“I’ll explain, but only after ye tell me what happened to ye,” Archie said, attempting to keep his master from being diverted.

“After ye were taken from the battlefield I fought on, but an English horseman rode at me, and I had but a moment to duck his blade. It caught the side of my head, and the blood obscured my vision so that I lost control of my horse, and fell and hit my head, I recall. When I came to, it was almost night, and the scavengers were among the fallen. My boots were being yanked from my feet, and my family’s signet ring from my finger. I attempted to fight off the thief, but I was still weakened from the loss of blood. He gave me a hard smack upon my pate. I drifted in and out of consciousness for I don’t know how long. I was obviously picked up from the battlefield, and when I came fully conscious again, I found myself in a tiny cottage with an old woman.

“She had seen me being carried along with the other prisoners and swore that I was her son, Bobby, come home from battle. She was so insistent that I was her lad that they let her have me. She nursed me back to health, and while I knew I wasn’t her son I could not at that time recall who I was. I spent the winter in that cottage with Old Mother, as I called her. Bits and pieces of my memory began to return slowly. My name. And I had dreams of a man called Iver, and then of ye.” Fingal Stewart smiled weakly.

“Old Mother grew ill with the approach of spring,” he continued. “I could see she was dying, and as she did, her mind, confused until then, gained clarity. She knew I was not her son who went off to fight at Flodden years ago and never returned. I remained with her until the end and buried her respectfully. As I was now dreaming of this house, I knew I must get to Edinburgh where perhaps I might gain some answers. It was here ye found me this morning just arrived.” He left out his sojourn with the Fifes.

Lord Stewart’s tale had been fascinating, and it certainly explained why no ransom demand had come to Brae Aisir. Now it was Archie’s turn to help his master regain his full memory. “Ye asked about Brae Aisir,” he began. “ ’Tis where ye have made yer home these past few years. Yer wife is the heiress to Brae Aisir. Ye have two fine lads, and a wee lass born just over two months ago.”

“She didn’t want me to go,” Fin said slowly. “She grew very angry, didn’t she?”

“It was last summer she tried to stop ye, but before Solway Moss she was resigned to the fact ye would support yer kinsman, the king. Did ye know the king is dead, and our new queen just a six-month-old infant?” Archie asked him.

Fin shook his head. “
Ever faithful
,” he said. “ ’Tis my family’s motto, and why I insisted upon going. I remember I mocked Maggie. . . .” He stopped. “That’s my wife’s name, isn’t it?” he said excitedly. “Maggie! Maggie mine!”

“Aye, my lord,” Archie said, grinning. “ ’Tis yer lady’s name.”

“And my sons are David and Andrew,” Fin replied.

“Aye, my lord, Davy and Andrew. And yer new lass has been baptized Annabelle,” Archie told him.

Suddenly Fin’s excitement died. “I can’t remember what she looks like,” he said.

“Ye will, my lord,” Archie assured his master. “When we get home to Brae Aisir, ye’ll remember it all. I’m certain of it.”

“Tell me about Brae Aisir,” Fin requested of his companion.

And Archie did. He explained how they had been sent by the king. He had Fin laughing at how Mad Maggie Kerr would wed no man who could not outrun, outride, and outfight her. Lord Stewart’s eyes lit up with an obvious burst of memory that Archie’s tale prompted, and he nodded. Then Archie told his master the true value of Brae Aisir and its history; about the Aisir nam Breug, and its value. Finally he said, “The lady needs to know that yer safe, my lord, for Ewan Hay has made a wicked pact with the Netherdale Kerrs. Old Lord Edmund thinks to control the entire traverse so he may enrich himself further while Ewan Hay thinks to steal it from the Kerrs, and have the lady for his own as well. He is certain yer dead. Many at Brae Aisir believe it to be true, although they will not give voice to it for fear of offending yer lady wife. And they are not yet ready to give their loyalty to the Hay. But if he makes a marriage with a woman he believes widowed, the Kerr clan folk will have no choice but to give the bastard their loyalty. Ye have to get home, my lord.”

Fingal Stewart nodded. “I do,” he said, closing his eyes a moment, “but how can I return to a place, a responsibility, and a woman I cannot fully remember, Archie? Weak and confused as I now am, I should not be able to defend and protect any of them. I need time, and I am safer here in Edinburgh in my own house than back at Brae Aisir. I am hardly the man who outran, outrode, and outfought Mad Maggie Kerr.”

It was true, he realized as he spoke. His wounds still pained him. He had walked forever, it seemed. He hadn’t had enough to eat in months, and the ten days he had spent with Parlan Fife’s daughters had soothed his lust but exhausted him further. He needed a little more time to rest, to heal, to remember. And then he would return to Brae Aisir and kill Ewan Hay.

“At least send a message to the lady at Brae Aisir telling her yer alive and will return home shortly,” Archie said. “I’ll remain here with ye. With good food, and rest, yer memories are certain to return. Many already have. And ye’ll have me to help ye.”

“It’s as good a plan as any,” Fingal Stewart said.

“And I’ll tell Boyle, yer estate agent, that ye’ll not be renting the house for the interim,” Archie told his master.

“Who has been renting it?” Lord Stewart was curious.

“Ye’ve let the agent rent it out to lords and churchmen with no homes, but business here in Edinburgh. Kira, the goldsmith, has yer funds, my lord. We can live comfortably while ye remain in the town.”

Fin nodded. “Where is the queen now? Not the bairn; her mother.”

“Still at Linlithgow. The wee queen has become a prize to be squabbled over by the Protestant lords and those who hold with the old faith,” Archie said.

“Does Queen Marie ever come into Edinburgh?” Fin wondered aloud.

“I can listen to the gossip in the streets, my lord,” Archie replied.

“I would pledge my loyalty privily, but I suspect it is better I not go to Linlithgow where I might be seen. My loyalty is to the royal bairn, and not to the factions that seem to arise in cases like this. I remember when King James was a lad being fought over. The lords were like dogs with a particularly meaty bone.”

“It was not a good time,” Archie agreed.

“Angus was a bad stepfather, and Lord Methven little better. Queen Margaret was not the woman Queen Marie is. This Queen Mother will not take another husband as her predecessor did.”

“I believe yer correct, my lord,” Archie said. “Everything she has done so far has been done with measured carefulness for her daughter.”

That same day Archie went into the market to purchase parchment, ink, and a fresh quill. Bringing the items home, he helped Lord Stewart compose a brief missive to his wife.

Madam
, he began,
I have just returned home from England. I am quite alive but have been unable to communicate with you until now. Archie has joined me, and we will remain here while I complete my business. You may expect me home within another month. My felicitations to your grandsire.
It was signed,
Your loving husband, Fingal Stewart
. While his signet ring had been stolen from him, he had a another seal in his house. He pressed it deeply into the thick wax he had drizzled onto the parchment.

The next morning, Archie took the tightly rolled parchment and went to the small square where men who hired themselves out as messengers were waiting for employment. He stepped up on a square stone put there for the very purpose of hiring a man. “I need someone to ride into the Borders for me and deliver this message to the lady of the keep at Brae Aisir,” he called out. “There’s a silver piece in it for the man I hire.”

“The Borders grow more dangerous every day,” someone in the crowd of waiting men said. “Just where is this keep?”

“In the mid-Borders,” Archie said. “Away from Berwick and Carlisle.”

“Just deliver the parchment? Nothing else?” the voice inquired further.

“Just deliver the message to the lady of the keep,” Archie repeated. “Ye dinna have to wait for a reply. Just deliver.”

“I’ll do it.” A rough-looking bearded man stepped from among the crowd. “Where’s the silver?”

“Do I look the fool?” Archie said, glaring up at the fellow who stood at least six inches taller than he was. “My master is Lord Stewart of Torra House beneath Castle Hill. Come there when ye return with the name of the person at the keep into whose hands ye placed this message, and ye’ll have yer coin. Here’s a copper to show my good faith. Now will ye take the commission or nay? I’ve no time to haggle with ye. The price is indeed more than fair, but because the ride is long, my master is inclined to be generous with ye.” He tapped the rolled parchment against his boot impatiently.

“Give it to me! I’ll take it,” the big messenger said, holding out his hand for the copper piece promised as good faith. The little man was right. The price offered was fair. He tucked the message into his jerkin for safety. Two days there; two days back, he thought. The messenger went to his horse, mounted up, and kicking the beast, trotted from the little square.

Archie hurried back to his master. The messenger returned to Edinburgh several days later, coming to Torra House for his payment. “Who took the parchment from ye?” Archie asked him as he held the coin up.

“Didn’t catch his name,” the messenger replied. “He came up to me in the keep yard and took the message from me. I said it was for the lady. I did my part.”

Archie gritted his teeth. The messenger had been given specific instructions, but to argue with the clod would accomplish naught. Reluctantly he flipped the man the promised coin.

Chapter 15

S
ix weeks after Annabelle Stewart had been born, her mother was churched in the Brae Aisir chapel in an ancient ceremony of thanksgiving that celebrated a woman’s safe passage through the ordeal of childbirth. In order to keep Ewan Hay from his great-niece, Father David declared the ceremony could be attended only by the women of the village. Knowing no better, Ewan Hay was forced to keep away.

It was the middle of May now, but no ransom demand had come for Lord Stewart.

Still there was gossip that King Henry had released a number of lords back into Scotland.

Archie had managed to slip away to Edinburgh to search for Fin in case he had gone to his house beneath Castle Hill first. Ewan Hay knew nothing about Archie, as Fin’s servant had returned before his arrival at Brae Aisir, and Archie had been kept in a small chamber in the attic being nursed. Maggie held out hope yet that her husband would return.

But few others did. Even her grandfather believed now that Fingal Stewart had died at Solway Moss and lay in an unmarked grave. Father David had attempted to reason with Maggie, but she would not listen to his words of comfort. May came to an end, and one day a group of several neighboring lairds came to see Dugald Kerr. They would not speak with him until she had left the hall. She refused to go until her grandfather had quietly asked her to leave them.

Maggie had never refused any request her grandsire had asked of her. She curtsied to him, and walked from the hall, her head held high. But once out of sight of those in the hall, Maggie hurried to a small alcove on one side of the chamber’s wall that had a spy hole. Here she could see and hear all that transpired. What she heard did not please Maggie in the least.

It was Alexander Bruce who spoke for the delegation. “Dugald, we tolerated yer granddaughter’s disobedience in the matter of her marriage when she was a maid. And Lord Stewart was the perfect answer to all of our prayers. But it becomes more obvious as every day passes that Fingal Stewart is dead. We understand Maggie’s grief. And God be praised that she has birthed two fine sons who seem to be escaping the rigors of childhood. Would that our late king had been as fortunate.”

There was a murmur of assent from the other men present.

“But,” Alexander Bruce continued, “while ye have male heirs, there is a need for ye to have a guardian watching over the Aisir nam Breug until they are old enough to do so. Aye, yer still the laird here, but yer an old man now, past seventy. What if something should happen to ye? Who will hold the pass? And dinna say yer granddaughter. Maggie is a woman with bairns to bring up. She should have no time to do what needs doing. Until his unfortunate death, Lord Stewart was that man. But Lord Stewart is gone.