The Border Vixen (46 page)

“That is something ye’ll have to ask yer wife once we manage to retake the keep,” Clennon Kerr said. “But Mad Maggie is an honorable woman. She will have an honest explanation to give ye, my lord. I know it.”

“Gather the men,” Fingal Stewart said. “It’s time for us to come home.”

Chapter 17

M
aggie was furious with herself that she had not considered her grandfather when she had gotten her children safe from the keep. Why had she not thought to send the laird away? Certainly, it would have been difficult if not impossible to make him go, and where could she have hidden him? He would never have asked sanctuary of his English kinsman. And given the pressure their neighbors had been putting on him to force her into a marriage she didn’t want, she was certain none of them would have protected him.

Now through her own lack of foresight she had been forced to sign a marriage contract, and would have to put her immortal soul in danger by killing Ewan Hay. There would have been a time when the mere thought of killing the wretch would have given her pleasure, but now it did not. Killing Ewan Hay was an absolute necessity, but it was also a sordid imposition. He was a despicable cur, but she would nonetheless feel guilt for the rest of her life for the taking of his life.

But then Maggie considered that Ewan Hay’s threatening Brae Aisir was no worse than an English borderer’s threatening them. She would have no hesitation in picking up her claymore and killing in that case.
But ye would do it face-to-face and not by smothering the man to death
, her conscience reminded her. She pushed the thoughts away. She had to remain strong for the sake of her own sanity, but especially for her bairns and her elderly grandsire. There would be talk, she knew, but as Busby and Grizel had agreed, it would be impossible to prove anything other than a natural death. God’s disapproval of the marriage would be bruited about along with Maggie’s belief that Lord Stewart lived. Although he would go to sleep in her bed, Ewan Hay would wake up in hell, where he surely belonged; yet that was nonetheless a better death than he deserved.

She avoided him for the remainder of the day, but each time she caught a glimpse of him, he was smiling smugly. She wanted to smack the smile off his face. It was the face of a spoiled boy. Her grandsire was none too pleased by what had happened.

“I should have been able to protect ye,” he told her.

“I could not even protect myself,” she replied. “It was the bairns I feared for, but I should have gotten ye from the keep too.”

“I would have been glad to die for ye, lass,” the old man told her.

“Yer the bravest man I know,” Maggie told him. “But he is so determined that he would have found a way, and yer death would have been for naught. The priest is partner in all of this. He’s an evil man. I want him out of the keep, but short of killing him I don’t know how to get him gone, Grandsire.”

“We’ll find a way,” the laird promised. “Jesu, I wish Fin hadn’t been killed.”

“He is not dead, Grandsire,” Maggie insisted. “I just know he isn’t!”

“Well where the hell is he then, lass?” Dugald Kerr wanted to know.

The laird would have been surprised to learn how close his granddaughter’s husband actually was. The summer’s day that had begun bright was now three hours later clouding over with large thunder-heads gathering and racing towards Brae Aisir. In the village the men had gathered discreetly in Clennon Kerr’s cottage, surprised and delighted to see Lord Stewart. Their faces were wreathed in smiles as each of them shook his hand in hearty welcome. Now their captain held up his hand for silence. The room quieted, and the men looked to Fingal Stewart eagerly.

“We must retake the keep, and take it quickly,” he began. “We have two means of accomplishing this, lads. We can either try to go through the secret tunnel that travels beneath the moat; or we can wait for them to lower the drawbridge and storm the keep. The danger in this second plan is that it will alert the Hay, and my wife could be in danger. If we use the tunnel, we have the advantage of surprise. We’ll be in the hall and take the house before anyone knows we’re there. I want no casualties if we can avoid them.”

There were nods and murmurings of agreement from the men in the room.

“The tunnel, however, has not been used in years,” Lord Stewart continued. “We cannot be certain if it is even passable. Clennon thinks it opens into the cellars, but even he has never been through it to learn the truth of that. So first we must learn if we can use this tunnel, but we must hurry, for Father David has told me that the blessing of this unholy union is planned for midday.”

Clennon Kerr’s two oldest nephews stepped forward and volunteered to see if the tunnel was usable. Its entrance was in the hillside below the keep.

“It’s well hidden,” the Brae Aisir captain said. “There are several trees on the hillside obscuring the entry, and brambles and bushes have grown up about it. But ye cannot be seen from the keep walls even if the Hay thought to position men there. Don’t worry about the growth. Just get inside, and see if the tunnel can be used. Here is the key that should open the tunnel door.”

The two young men nodded, and then slipped from their uncle’s abode. It had begun to rain, which camouflaged them even further. They reached the hillside, and sought the small entry. The bushes were thick, but they finally located the solid, wooden door. The lock was blocked, and they painstakingly cleaned it out with a knife, then managed to fit the key into it. At first the key would not turn at all, but then slowly, patiently, they worked it, jiggling and half rotating it until the key turned suddenly and the door creaked open enough for them to peer into the old tunnel. It seemed to be clear, judging from the small distance they could see.

They squeezed past the door with the single light they had brought. Using a flint, they managed to strike a spark to ignite the oily torch. Then they began to advance forward. The tunnel was narrow. It would be necessary to go through it single file. They were surprised to see the walls were shored up with stone to prevent cave-ins, as was the low ceiling, which was just high enough to allow an average-size man to walk standing up.

Taller men such as Lord Stewart would probably have to bend slightly. The tunnel floor was set with slates. This was a structure that had obviously been built to last. The stone and slate kept it dry and reasonably rodent free.

After they had walked for several long minutes, they came to a flight of six stone steps. Holding the torch up, they were able to see another door at the top of the landing. The two Kerr clansmen climbed the steps to the door. It too had a lock, but the key from the first door would not fit it. One of the young men knelt, and drawing his dirk from his belt, put the tip of the dagger into the lock. He then began working to engage the mechanism so the lock would open for them. The other man held the torch so he might see better exactly what he was doing.

“I’ve almost got it, Huey,” the kneeling man said. “Just a moment more.” There was an audible
click
. “Aah, it’s open now. Let’s see where we are.” He stood up.

Slowly, carefully they opened the door a crack. It creaked loudly. The two men held their breath, waiting to see if they had attracted any attention. Satisfied they had not, they peeped through the entry. They could see wooden shelves and the butchered carcass of a stag hanging from an iron hook.

“ ’Tis the cold pantry,” the man named Huey whispered to his companion. He pushed the door fully open, and they stepped into the room. “We must be near the kitchen.” He looked about him for an exit. Finding it, he motioned the other man forward. Opening the second door, they were faced with a narrow flight of stairs, another door at its top. They crept up to the second portal and listened; but then Huey motioned that they should descend back down the stairs. “The lord said only to see if the tunnel was passable, and to where it led. We dare not get ourselves caught, Dermid.” Huey then drew a small flask from his leather jerkin and oiled the hinges of the door to the tunnel.

Dermid nodded in agreement with his companion’s assessment of their situation. Then they stepped through onto the landing, making certain that the lock to the cold pantry was now open. Closing the door behind them, they descended back into the tunnel, running lightly now that they were sure of the structure and their destination. Coming out into the day again, they quickly made their way back to Clennon Kerr’s cottage where their uncle, Lord Stewart, and the other men were awaiting them. It was raining heavily now, and the weather did not appear as if it would clear any time soon.

“The tunnel is clear,” Huey Kerr told them. “Whoever built it made certain it would remain. We followed it through to a flight of steps that led into a cold pantry. I did not think it wise to go farther, my lord. There is a second flight of stairs up to another door. I suspect it will lead into another pantry or the kitchens.”

Fingal Stewart nodded. “Ye did well, lads, and I commend yer caution. Better we not give ourselves away until we’re ready to fight.” He looked out at the clansmen. “And are we ready, lads?”

“
Aye!
” they roared their agreement. Outside the thunder rumbled.

Fin conferred with Clennon and Iver. “Are we agreed then that the tunnel is our way back into the keep?”

The two captains spoke as one. “Aye, my lord!” they said.

“Gather yer weapons then, men, and follow me,” Lord Stewart instructed them.

They ran through the pouring rain to the hillside, where they entered the tunnel one by one. A single young lad was left outside to make certain no one discovered the entrance by chance. Once inside, the clansmen moved single file through the passageway. Several of them carried torches to light the way. Their shadows were dark and large upon the firelit stone walls. Up the stairs they climbed and into the cold pantry. Here they stopped, gathering to make certain that everyone had gotten through. Then they ascended the second staircase.

Lord Stewart put his hand upon the door’s latch. The door opened slowly. Another pantry chamber greeted them. The clansmen poured into the room behind their master. At that moment the door from the kitchen opened, and the cook herself stepped inside. Her hand went to her heart in surprise. Her mouth flew open to shriek, but then she saw Clennon Kerr, her brother. He put his finger to his lips, and the cook’s lips closed with a snap. When she saw Lord Stewart, her hand flew to her mouth.

Tears began to flow down her plump cheeks. Lord Stewart stepped quickly forward, putting his arms about the cook and giving her a hug.

“Thank God yer home, my lord!” she told him.

He nodded in acknowledgment. “Who is in the hall?” he asked her.

“No one, my lord. The house is empty but for the Hay, yer wife, Grizel, the old laird, Busby, and a few menservants. The rest of them are outside either in the barracks or in the courtyard, my lord.”

“Bar yer kitchen door that leads to the outside,” Lord Stewart instructed her. Then turning he said, “Come, lads, up to the hall with ye. The house is easily ours.”

They exited the pantry, going into the kitchen. The few menservants there gaped with their surprise, but then like the cook, they quietly welcomed their master home. The clansmen now hurried up the kitchen stairs into the corridor outside of the great hall. They filled the hall, surprising Busby who, recognizing Fingal Stewart, ran forward to take up his hand and kiss it.

“Where is the Hay?” he asked.

“In his chamber dressing himself in his finery for the blessing of his
marriage
,” Busby replied.

“Lock him in,” Lord Stewart said. “Then go and tell my wife that her husband is awaiting her in the hall. She is to come down immediately.” His gray eyes were twinkling. “Do not tell her ’tis me.”

Busby chuckled. “She has no use for the Hay, my lord. I can but imagine what she’ll say when I bring her such a message.”

Fingal Stewart grinned. Then he turned to Clennon Kerr. “Bar the doors to the house. I don’t wish to be interrupted. Time enough now to clear the riffraff from the house. Where is Father David? And this other priest Iver tells me about?”

“Both are down at the Brae Aisir chapel preparing for the ceremony of blessing,” Busby responded. “Does Father David know yer back, my lord?”

Fin shook his head. “I went straight to Clennon Kerr’s cottage,” he said.

Nodding, Busby bowed, and then went off to fetch Maggie. He hurried up the stairs, unable to believe the sudden good fortune that had brought Fingal Stewart home in time to prevent his wife’s bigamous union. Ewan Hay had several weeks prior moved himself into a small chamber upstairs, refusing to remain in a bedspace in the hall any longer. He claimed it was not fitting. It had been the small room in which the children’s nursemaids slept. Busby went to its door, and quietly inserting a key from the key ring he carried into the door’s lock, turned it. There had been no key in the inside lock. Ewan Hay was imprisoned until Lord Stewart said otherwise.

Then Busby went to the door of his mistress’s chamber. He knocked, and being bid enter, he did, bowing to Maggie as he did. “Yer husband bids ye come down to the hall
immediately
,” he said to her, struggling to keep from laughing at the look of outrage that suddenly suffused her face.