Watching Glynis’s daughter now make her way to the high board, Dugald Kerr wished Glynis had lived to see the magnificent heiress she and Robbie had given Brae Aisir. He smiled broadly as Maggie stepped up and, greeting her great-uncle David first, bent and kissed Dugald Kerr’s ruddy cheek. Then she settled herself into the high-backed oak chair at his right hand and gazed out over the assembly.
“Is there anyone in the Borders not eating at your expense tonight, Grandsire?” she asked mischievously, her hazel eyes dancing wickedly.
“Yer husband might be among that pack of borderers, lass,” he replied, smiling at her. Maggie was, he had to admit to himself, his weakness. It was why he had allowed her to run rampant throughout the Borders. Her daring and independence delighted him, although he was wise enough to know it would not have in any other woman.
“There’s nae a man in this hall tonight whom I would wed and bed, Grandsire,” she told him candidly.
“It’s a woman’s place to marry,” David Kerr said softly to her.
“Why? Because we are weak and frail vessels, Uncle? Because we are told that God created man first, and therefore we are less in his eyes? If we are less, then why is it our responsibility to bear new life to God’s glory?” Maggie demanded of him.
“Why must ye always ask such damned intelligent questions, Niece?” the priest asked. His eyes, however, were dancing with amusement.
“Because I love stymieing ye, Uncle. I refuse to fit the church’s mold that women are lesser creatures, fit but to keep house and spawn new souls. I do not want a husband taking precedence over me at Brae Aisir. I am perfectly capable of managing the Aisir nam Breug, and need no stranger to do it for me,” Maggie said firmly.
“And when ye have left this earth, who will be left to care for the Aisir nam Breug, Maggie?” the laird asked her quietly.
She caught his hand up and kissed it. “We will be here forever, Grandsire,” she said to him. “Ye and I will look after the Aisir nam Breug together.”
“That is a child’s reasoning,” Dugald Kerr replied. “Yer no longer a child, Maggie. Ye need a husband to father a child upon ye. A child who will one day inherit what the Kerrs of Brae Aisir have kept safe for centuries. I will not force ye to the altar, but sooner or later ye must choose a man to wed. And I will help ye to find the right man, Granddaughter. One who will respect ye. One whom ye can respect.”
“Nae in this hall tonight, Grandsire,” she answered him.
“Perhaps ye are correct, but before we cast our nets afield, Maggie, we must give our neighbors the opportunity to woo ye,” the laird said.
Maggie picked up the silver goblet studded in green malachite by her hand, and drank a healthy draft of the red wine in it. “I cannot gainsay ye, Grandsire,” she told him. “Very well; let us see what we may find from this showing of lads all eager to win my hand, spend my fortune, and take my inheritance.” And she laughed.
“God help the man who finally pleases ye,” David Kerr said dryly.
The laird laughed and signaled his servants to begin bringing the meal. They streamed into the hall, bearing steaming platters, dishes, and bowls of food. The trestle tables below the high board where the three Kerrs sat had been set with linen cloths, polished pewter plates, and tankards filled with good strong ale. There were round loaves of bread upon the tables, small wheels of hard cheese, and crocks of sweet butter. The servants offered poultry, fish, boar, and venison, which the male guests greedily ate up. Few of the vegetables offered were consumed by the clansmen, who were content with well-cooked meat, fish, game, bread, and cheese.
At the high board the dishes were more varied, and while it was meat, game, and seafood, it was more delicately offered. Trout braised in white wine and set upon green watercress was offered along with a bowl of steamed prawns. There was a roasted duck stuffed with dried apples and bread, and roasts of lamb, boar, and venison. Bowls of peas and a salad of lettuces were presented. The high board had a large round cottage loaf, butter, and two cheeses—one from France that was soft and creamy, the other a good hard yellow cheese.
Maggie watched as the guests wolfed down everything offered to them and quaffed tankard after tankard of brown ale. Some of the men had more delicate manners than others. The clansmen barely mingled, sitting at their own tables and eyeing one another suspiciously. She wondered how long it would be before a fight would break out, but she knew her grandsire’s men-at-arms now lining the hall could handle any unpleasant situation. The high board was cleared, and a sweet was brought for Maggie. Cook had made for her a custard with jam, which Maggie very much favored.
Her grandfather waited for her to finish the treat before he stood up. Instantly the hall quieted. “ ’Tis good to have ye all here with us tonight,” Dugald Kerr said, and he smiled down at them. He was a handsome man in his sixties not yet bowed by his years. He was clean shaven and had a full head of white hair cut short, a long face and nose, and sharp brown eyes. He wore a long dark tunic brocaded in gold and trimmed with marten. No one would have ever mistaken the laird of Brae Aisir for anything other than what he was—a wealthy man.
“As you must surely know, I am growing older,” he began. “My only heir is my granddaughter, Margaret. I hope to find a husband for her among ye. However, I will not give her to another lightly. To win her hand ye must be able to outride, outrun, and outfight Maggie. Ye must win her respect. Now, should any of ye wish to put yerselves forth as a possible husband for my granddaughter, come and speak with me before ye depart on the morrow. The man who weds and beds my Maggie will one day control the Aisir nam Breug. But if I can find none among ye who suits her or me, know that I will look elsewhere, but the same conditions will apply. Now drink up, and let my piper entertain you all.” Dugald Kerr sat back down.
A murmuring arose in the hall now, and Maggie almost laughed as speculative glances were cast in her direction by the men below. As it had been guessed that the laird of Brae Aisir was seeking a husband for his granddaughter, many of the other clan lords had come with the sons they had of marriageable age. And several of the lairds themselves were unmarried, or widowers seeking a second or third wife.
“ ’Tis a goodly selection,” her priestly great-uncle murmured. “Lord Hay’s brother looks a possible match for you.”
“I prefer a younger man whom I may control,” Maggie said low. “One who will be content to let me do what needs doing while taking all the credit. I care naught for recognition. I just want the Aisir nam Breug managed properly. If I spawn a son I can teach, then I will do so. But none out there looks to possess any wits at all.”
“Ye cannot judge by just looking at them,” her grandfather remarked. “Let the piper play, and dance with a few of them. Perhaps you will be surprised.”
“More likely I will be disappointed, but I will take your advice, Grandsire,” Maggie replied. Then rising, she called out, “Who will dance with me, my lords?” And she stepped from the dais to be suddenly surrounded by a group of eager males. Looking them all over with a bold eye she smiled, then addressed a young man with pale blond hair. “Ye will do to start with,” she said, holding out a graceful hand.
He eagerly grasped the hand and said almost breathlessly, “Calum Lindsay, Mistress Maggie.” His other arm slipped about her waist as the piper began to play a lively tune. He was unfortunately not a good dancer, tripping first over his own feet, and then hers. He looked to be no more than sixteen, and his Adam’s apple bobbed nervously up and down in his throat as he concentrated on the quick steps of the country dance. Not once did he dare to meet her glance, for he found he was intimidated by the beautiful girl.
Maggie’s chestnut brown hair was tossed about as they danced. It was impossible to engage Calum Lindsay in conversation, as she could see if he had to speak with her, he would lose his concentration with the dance. She was relieved when an older man stepped in to partner her, cutting the lad out to the boy’s obvious relief. Maggie looked directly at the gentleman, recognizi
ng the red plaid of Clan Hay. “And ye are?” she asked.
“Ewan Hay,” he replied shortly as they capered across the hall with quick steps and turned sharply. He lifted her up, swinging her about before returning Maggie’s feet to the floor. “I am twenty-eight, have never been wed, am a third son, and will speak with your grandsire on the morrow.”
“Indeed,” Maggie replied. “And think ye that ye can outride, outrun, and outfight me, Ewan Hay?”
“Yer a woman, for Christ’s sake,” he responded. “Oh, I’ve heard of yer reputation, but ’tis certainly bragging, madam, and nothing more.”
Maggie laughed. “God’s balls, sir, what a fool ye be if ye believe that! Still, ye are welcome to speak with my grandsire. Nothing will give me greater pleasure than to beat ye in all three contests.”
Ewan Hay’s face darkened with anger. “We will see, madam, just how ye fare in a contest with me. And when I have put ye in yer proper place, and wed ye, I shall on our wedding night take a sturdy hazel switch and whip the pride out of ye. Ye will learn how to behave like a proper wife in my charge.”
“I would nae wed ye if ye were the last man on the face of the earth,” Maggie said angrily. “Remember my words when I blood ye with my blade.” When the music stopped she pulled away from him and returned to the high board.
“Yer flushed,” Dugald Kerr noted. “Did Lord Hay’s younger brother say something to distress ye?”
“He will sue for my hand, beat me in all three contests, and whip me with a hazel on our wedding night so I learn my proper place,” Maggie told her grandsire and her great-uncle.
The laird’s head snapped up. He looked about until he could find Ewan Hay, then glared at him. “I shall nae accept his suit,” he said angrily.
“Nay, let him try to best me,” Maggie said in a cold, even voice. “He is a man who wants public humiliation, and I shall enjoy giving it to him. Let the bastard try to beat me in fair combat. I shall enjoy shaming him before the rest of them.”
“Be careful, Niece,” David Kerr said warily.
“I will, Uncle,” Maggie replied. She rose again. “Now, sirs, if ye will excuse me, I have had enough tonight and would beg yer leave to depart the hall.”
“Ye have it,” her grandfather said. “Rest well, my bairn.”
Maggie departed the great hall, moving quickly through and past the tables below the board. She had eaten sparingly and drunk little. Tomorrow, when Ewan Hay sought to gain her hand in marriage, she intended pressing him into the battle immediately. Under the best of conditions she could beat him, but he had poured a lot of ale into himself tonight, and she didn’t doubt for one moment that after their meeting he had been tempted to swill more like the pig he was. She smiled wickedly to herself. She must get to bed immediately. A good night’s rest was necessary to teaching Lord Hay’s younger brother the lesson he needed to learn.
Grizel was waiting for her, and she listened as Maggie shared the details of the evening with her. “That Hay laddie is too bold for my taste,” she said.
“He won’t be quite so bold by this time tomorrow,” Maggie said grimly.
“Be careful, my lass. A fellow like that is not to be trifled with, I fear,” Grizel said. “They are said to be hard men, the Border Hays.”
“Wake me at first light,” Maggie said as she finished undressing. She washed her face, hands, and teeth before climbing into her comfortable bed hung with rose-colored velvet curtains.
“I will,” Grizel promised as she put her mistress’s clothing away. Then she hurried from the bedchamber while behind her Maggie blew out the taper by her bed.
As morning began to lighten the sky some hours later, Grizel returned to awaken the girl. Maggie jumped from her bed at once, rested and ready for her challenge. Instructing her serving woman, she pulled on a pair of dark-colored breeks, tucking her chemise into the pants and donning a white linen shirt that she carefully laced up. Then she sat pulling on a pair of light woolen stockings, and her worn leather boots. “I’ll go to the kitchens and get some hot oats,” she said to Grizel, and ran off.
The cook filled a bowl with oat stir-about. Maggie shaved some sugar from the sugar cone the cook offered over her oats and poured heavy cream atop it. Then taking up her spoon, she quickly ate the porridge.
“A slice of fresh cottage loaf, mistress?” the cook asked.
“Just the oats. I think I will be running this morning,” Maggie said.
The cook cackled. “The server says Lord Hay’s brother is engaging the laird in conversation right now. I saw him last night. He has a handsome face, but he used one of the serving lasses hard. His heart is a cruel one.”
“Dinna fear,” Maggie answered the woman. “I’ll nae have him.” Then finished with her oats, she hurried up the stairs to the great hall where Lord Hay and his brother, Ewan, were speaking with the laird. Maggie bounded right up to her grandfather’s side, where she stood looking boldly down at the two men.
“Ewan Hay would have yer hand, lass,” Dugald Kerr said.
“Is he willing to meet our terms, Grandsire?” Maggie asked quietly.
“He says he is,” came the reply.
“Today?” Maggie said pointedly. “I dinna like him, Grandsire, and I would quickly put his hopes to an end.”
“Today? Are ye mad?” Ewan Hay burst out. “Ye indulge the wench, my lord, far too much. When we are wed I will nae indulge her so.”
“If ye wish to try to win me, sir, it will be on my grandsire’s terms, and nae yers,” Maggie said coldly. “Today, tomorrow, next week. Ye will nae overcome me, and frankly I should just as soon be quit of ye today as tomorrow.”
“My lord?” Ewan Hay turned to the laird.
“She’s correct, young Hay. So if ye want her, ye will take up the challenge this day. If ye canna win her today, ye will nae be able to win her another day—believe me.”
Ewan Hay turned to his elder brother, but Lord Hay shook his head, saying, “The laird knows whereof he speaks. If ye really want her, then best her this day and be done with it, Ewan. If ye choose nae to, ye canna be blamed if ye dinna want to face this challenge. There are other lasses more biddable for ye to wed than this one.”
“I will nae be beaten by a woman,” Ewan Hay snarled, his face darkening when Maggie laughed aloud.
“We will run barefoot,” she said sweetly.
“Barefoot?” His voice went up a full octave.
“ ’Tis my way, sir.” Then she sat down at the high board, swiftly removing her boots and stockings.
“Decline the challenge, and let us go home,” Lord Hay said to his brother.
“Never!” Ewan Hay almost shouted.
The course they would race both on foot and by horse was to be the same. They would go across the drawbridge, down the hill, run straight through the village, turn about, and come back up the hill again to circle the little keep once before crossing the drawbridge once more. As soon as they returned, they would mount up and redo the identical route a-horse. There would be no stopping.
“And if ye survive the races,” Maggie said, “I will engage ye in swordplay. The match is over when one of us draws blood. Do ye agree?”
“Aye!” Ewan Hay said through gritted teeth. When he had met her challenge and won, he would beat her black and blue on their wedding night for her boldness this day. He yanked off his shoes and stockings.
“Ye hae small feet,” Maggie noted. “They say a man with small feet has a small cock, sir.”
Lord Hay swallowed back his laughter as his younger sibling’s face darkened again with outrage. The lass was baiting him nicely into anger. If he succumbed to that anger, he would drain his energy, but then that was precisely what the girl intended.
He did not expect he would be welcoming Mad Maggie Kerr into their family.
The hall emptied out into the yard and to the drawbridge. Grizel hurried up to her mistress to tie her hair back with a red ribbon. Then Dugald Kerr asked both combatants if they were ready. Gai
ning their acquiescence, he raised his hand up and dropped the white napkin he had been holding. It fluttered to the ground as Ewan Hay and Maggie Kerr sprinted off to the cheers of the onlookers.
But it was obvious from the beginning that the man could not outrun the girl.
She was almost out of sight before he reached the end of the drawbridge. He winced with each pebble that his foot struck, swearing softly as he tried to run to catch up with her. At the end of the village were two Hay clansmen waiting to verify that both parties had gone the full length. Maggie passed him going in the other direction.
“Bitch!” he shouted at her as she dashed by, and he heard her laughter.
Maggie gave it her all. She wanted this over and done with. Regaining the courtyard, she did not even pause to put her boots back on, although she had more than enough time to do so. She leaped upon the back of her dapple gray stallion and raced from the courtyard, leaning low upon the beast, her bare heels digging into the animal’s side. She passed Ewan Hay as he stumbled up the hill to encircle the castle. It was over, and she knew it, but she knew he would not admit defeat until she blooded him with her blade. She was actually looking forward to it, but she was denied the pleasure, for when she rode back into the courtyard, Ewan Hay was seated upon a step, Grizel tending to his bleeding feet. He had not even bothered to mount his horse.
Maggie slid from her horse and walked over to him. “Do ye admit defeat, sir?” she asked him coldly. “Ye completed but one of the three challenges.”
The Border Vixen Page 2
