The Border Vixen

by Bertrice Small

  “He’s quite devoted to you,” Janet noted with a small smile.

  “He fusses like an old woman with one chick,” Fingal replied.

  Archie managed to dress his master in a pair of brown and black velvet canions, which were tight knee breeches. The stockings beneath them were brown, and his leather boots almost covered them. The matching black velvet doublet was embroidered with just the lightest touch of gold breaking the severity of the garment.

  Standing before his cousin, Lord Stewart, now fully dressed, said, “I have no idea where he managed to obtain such garb, or keep it so well hidden from me.”

  Archie grinned and handed his master a dark brown woolen cloak and a pair of brown leather gloves. “I dinna steal it,” he said. “Ye paid for it, my lord.”

  “I’m sure I did,” Fingal replied.

  “I had forgotten what a handsome devil ye are,” Janet said. She pushed a lock of her cousin’s dark hair from his forehead. “Do ye have a hat for him, Archie?”

  “No bloody hat,” Lord Stewart said firmly, “and especially if it has one of those damned drooping feathers hanging from it.”

  “I saved no coin for a hat, as I know how ye feel about them,” Archie said.

  Together the two cousins rode the distance between the city and the king’s favored palace, the men-at-arms surrounding them. The summer day was long, but it was close to sunset when they arrived. Janet Munro sent a page for the king and brought her cousin to her lover’s privy chamber to await James Stewart. It was close to an hour before he came. Outside the windows of the small room the skies grew scarlet with the sunset, and then darkened. A serving man came and lit the fire in the hearth, for the evening was cool and damp with a hint of a later rain.

  Finally James Stewart entered the chamber. He was a tall young man with the red-gold hair of his Tudor mother, and eyes that were gray in color but showed no expression at all. He held out his hand to Fingal Stewart, and a quick glance at Janet Munro told her she was dismissed. She curtsied and departed. “So,” the king said, “I am to understand we are cousins.”

  “Like you, my lord, I trace my descent from Robert the Third through his elder son, David,” Fingal Stewart explained. “You descend from his younger son, King James the First.”

  “I was not aware David Stewart had any offspring,” the young king replied.

  “Few were, my lord. His mistress was a Drummond. When Albany murdered him, her family protected her and the son she shortly bore. Albany was too busy consolidating his position, and frankly, I believe he forgot all about her. When King James the First returned home as a man, his cousin came and pledged his loyalty.”

  “A loyalty my great-great-grandfather certainly needed,” the young king remarked.

  “My ancestor was well schooled in loyalty to his king, and that king saw that he was legally able to take the surname of Stewart. He also gave his cousin a house in Edinburgh near the castle,” Fingal told his royal companion.

  “Where do the Munros come into your family tree?” the king asked.

  “My grandfather married a Munro who was the sister to Janet’s grandfather. I believe Jan was named for her, my lord.”

  The king nodded. “We are but distantly related now, you and I, Fingal Stewart, but blood is blood. Jan tells me you are loyal to me. Is that so? I am not so well loved by my earls, though the common folk revere me.” He looked closely at his companion.

  “I am loyal, my lord,” Fingal Stewart said without a moment’s hesitation.

  “When my father pushed his father from the throne,” the king wanted to know, “which side did Lord Stewart of Torra take then?”

  “Neither side, my lord. He remained in his house below Edinburgh Castle until all was settled. He had been loyal to King James the Third and was equally loyal to King James the Fourth,” Lord Stewart explained.

  “A prudent man,” the fifth James noted with a small chuckle. He had liked the candid answer he had received. “And ye, Fingal Stewart, are ye a prudent man?”

  “I believe such can be said of me, my lord,” came the quiet answer.

  The king looked Lord Stewart of Torra over silently. He was a big man, taller than most, with dark hair like the Munros, clear gray eyes like his own that engaged the king’s gaze without being forward, but a face like a Stewart with its aquiline nose. The king would have easily recognized this man in a crowd as one of his own family. He trusted his mistress’s advice in this matter. Janet Munro was the most sensible woman he had ever known. And he had known many women despite his youth. His stepfather, the Earl of Angus, had seen to that in an attempt to debauch him. Angus was now in exile, and his flighty Tudor mother wed to Lord Methven. However, this man now seated with James in his privy chamber was not just his kin, but kin to his reasonable and judicious mistress as well. He was not allied with any of the king’s enemies. If Fingal Stewart could not be trusted, then who could be? “Jan has told you of my visitor earlier today?”

  Lord Stewart nodded. “She has, my lord. She said she believed you wanted me to go into the Borders to see to the truth of the matter if it could be done discreetly.”

  “Aye, I had thought that was what I desired, but while Jan was gone to fetch you, Cousin, I thought more on it. I am not well beloved by certain families in the Borders—families allied with Angus and his traitorous Douglas kin. My justice towards them has been well deserved, but harsh, I know. If I send you into the Borders to reconnoiter the situation, someone is certain to guess why you are there.

  “The situation into which I am sending you is fraught with danger if I do not strike quickly and decisively. So I have decided you will travel with a dozen of my own men-at-arms at your back who will remain with you. You will present yourself to Dugald Kerr, the laird of Brae Aisir, and tell him I have learned of his difficulties. Then you will hand him this.” He held out a tightly rolled parchment affixed with the royal seal. “I have written to the laird that I have sent him my cousin, Lord Stewart of Torra, to wed with his granddaughter, Margaret, and thus keep the Aisir nam Breug safe for future generations of travelers. The marriage is to be celebrated immediately. I dinna nae trust the laird’s neighbors, especially the Hays. If the lass is wed, the matter is settled, and peace will reign. I want it settled before I leave for France in a few weeks’ time.”

  Fingal Stewart was astounded by the king’s speech. He had expected to travel cautiously into the Borders and carefully ferret out the truth of whatever situation the king needed to know about. But to be told he was to go and wed the heiress to Brae Aisir? He was briefly rendered speechless.

  “Ye aren’t already wed, are ye?” the king asked him. “I did not think to ask Jan.” God’s foot, if Lord Stewart were wed, what other could he choose? Whom could he trust?

  “Nay, my lord,” Fingal managed to say.

  “Nor contracted?”

  Lord Stewart shook his head in the negative. He was trying hard to adjust to being told to marry. How old was she? Was she pretty? Would she like him? It didn’t matter. It would be done by royal command. No one disobeyed a royal command and lived to brag on it. He dared say naught until he heard more of this, and why.

  “Do ye have a mistress ye will need to placate?” James Stewart wanted to know.

  “I canna afford a mistress,” Fingal Stewart answered the king. “I am nae a rich man, my lord. My parents are both dead. Nor do I have siblings. I have my house, but naught else. I hire out my sword to earn my living, and possess but one servant.”

  “So ye are free to leave Edinburgh quickly,” the king said almost to himself. It was perfect. It did not occur to him that Lord Stewart might turn him down. He couldn’t. This was a royal command, and to be obeyed without question.

  “Aye, my lord,” Fingal Stewart replied. He was agreeing to this madness because he had no other choice. It was his family’s tradition to be loyal without question to their kings. Still, he made a small attempt to reason with James Stewart and learn more of what was expected of him. �
�Why must this lass be wed quickly, my lord? May I know what more is involved in this situation? What will the laird of Brae Aisir think of your sending a cousin to wed his heiress? What if he says nay?”

  James Stewart barked a short laugh as he realized in his eagerness to solve this problem he had told Fingal Stewart little or nothing of it. “The Kerrs of Brae Aisir possess control of a pass through the Cheviots into England. The pass is called the Aisir nam Breug. Their English kin, the Kerrs of Netherdale, control the other end. The pass has always been used for peaceful travel; never for war nor raiding. The Kerrs on both sides of the border have defended it against such use. The laird is old. He has one heir, his granddaughter. She will not choose a husband from among their neighbors. Indeed, she is said to be called Mad Maggie, for she is willful and wild.

  “The laird fears his neighbors will attempt to wrest his control of this crossing from him, or from his granddaughter when he is gone, but the lass has him at an impasse. He’ll nae refuse my command that she take ye for a husband. If old Kerr had his own choice for the lass, the matter would have been long settled. He obviously did not. His neighbors are already eyeing the Aisir nam Breug, I’m told. If this Hay fellow had the stones to attempt to steal a march on them, and come to me in an effort to gain an advantage, then he fears someone else gaining what he covets. Ye’ll be the answer to Dugald Kerr’s prayers, Cousin. Now get ye into the Borders before there is blood-shed over the matter. I have only just gotten the lairds there settled down after years of running roughshod over my authority,” the king said. “Return to Edinburgh on the morrow to fetch yer servant. Shut up yer house. Then go south, Fingal Stewart. Hopefully the lass will be pretty enough to please, but if she isn’t, just remember that all cats look alike in the dark.” And James Stewart laughed. “Bring her back to court when I have returned with my queen.”

  “Yer taking me from relative obscurity, gifting me with a wealthy wife, and giving me control of an asset that is valuable to you, and to Scotland. I will be a man of power, my lord,” Fingal Stewart said quietly. “Other than my undying loyalty, what will ye require of me in return for this bounty?” His candid gaze met the king’s eyes, and James Stewart laughed aloud.

  “Yer a canny fellow, Cousin,” he complimented his companion. “I will take half of the tolls ye collect from travelers, payable on Michaelmas each year in hard coin.”

  “One-third,” Fingal Stewart dared to counter. “The pass must be maintained in good condition, and the laird I am certain supports his people with these monies. Remember I am a stranger coming at your behest to wed its heiress, and take control no matter whether the old laird welcomes me into their midst. Nothing must appear to change for the Kerrs of Brae Aisir other than a husband for the heiress. Remember, my lord, I have naught but my sword and yer word to recommend me. My purse is empty.”

  James Stewart nodded. He was known to be tightfisted, but he was also no fool. A third of the yearly tolls from this traverse was a third more than he had previously had.

  He held out his hand to his cousin. “Agreed!” he said as they shook.

  Lord Stewart rose from his chair, recognizing that he was now dismissed.

  “Thank ye, my lord. My sword and my life are yers forever.” He bowed low.

  The king nodded his acknowledgment of the words, and with a wave of his hand he dismissed his cousin from his presence.

  Fingal Stewart turned and left the privy chamber. He found Janet Munro awaiting him in the dim corridor, and he told her of what had transpired.

  “Yer a man of property now,” she said in a well-satisfied voice. So many royal mistresses enriched themselves and their families during their tenure. She had not, accepting only what was offered. She knew her parsimonious lover would see her and her child comfortably supported. She was satisfied now to have done something for the cousin she had always liked. He was a good man and deserved a bit of good luck.

  Digging into her skirt pocket, she pulled out a small pouch. “Ye dinna have to tell me the condition of yer purse, Fin. And ye canna travel without coin. The king wanted ye to have this.” Janet thrust the purse at him. “Yer men-at-arms are just paid for the year. Ye may retain them for yer own, but next Michaelmas ye must pay their wages yerself. Ye have a house in the town, gold in yer purse, a servant, and twelve men-at-arms. Ye will nae appear a poor man when ye come to Brae Aisir, and yer the king’s own blood to boot.” Then standing on her toes, she put her arms about him and kissed his cheek. “God bless ye, Cousin.”

  He returned her embrace. “Thank ye, Jan. I know ’tis ye who have brought me this good fortune. Should ye ever need me, ye have but to send for me,” Fingal Stewart said. He suspected the gold in the purse she had given him was from her own small store.

  “Come along now,” she said briskly. “There is food in the hall, and I’ve found a place for ye to lay yer head this night.”

  He followed her and while he ate at a table far below the high board in the king’s hall, he looked about him. The chamber was filled with the mighty. Before she left him to join her lover, Janet Munro pointed out the Earl of Huntly; the young Earl of Glenkirk; Lord Hume, who was now warden of the East March; the provost of Edinburgh, Lord Maxwell; and George Crichton, bishop of Dunkeld, among others. Fingal Stewart watched the panorama played out before him, listening to all the gossip spoken.

  He was, he decided, glad to be a simple man.

  When the evening grew late, Janet Munro came to him again and brought him to the stables where his horse had been taken. “Ye can sleep here, Cousin,” she told him, “but be gone by first light. Yer men will join ye at yer house tomorrow before ye depart.”

  He thanked her a final time, noting she did not reveal aloud to where he was traveling, for she was wary of being overheard. His mission was after all a clandestine one; a preemptive strike to be carried out before anyone could prevent it. He slept several hours before rising in the pale light of the predawn, saddling his stallion, and riding back to Edinburgh. It was a chilly ride beneath the light rain now falling.

  His manservant, Archie, was awaiting him anxiously. There had been no need for him to go with his master the previous day, but he had been concerned when six men-at-arms had arrived with Lady Janet to conduct Lord Stewart to Linlithgow. “My lord!” The relief in Archie’s voice was palpable. “Yer home safe.”

  “Pack up all our personal possessions, what few we have, Archie,” Fingal Stewart said. “I’m to have a wife, and a great responsibility that goes with her.”

  “My lord?” Archie’s plain face was puzzled.

  His master laughed. “Is there something to eat?” he asked.

  “I’m just back from the cookhouse, my lord. Aye, come into yer hall,” his servant said. “I’ve fresh bread, hard-boiled eggs, a rasher of bacon.”

  “Then let’s eat, man, and I’ll tell ye all,” Lord Stewart said.

  They went into the small chamber that served as the house’s hall. The fresh food was already upon the high board, for Archie had taken the chance his master would return sooner rather than later. He quickly served his lord, poured him a small goblet of watered wine, and was then waved to a place by his side. The two men ate silently, quickly, and as the last piece of bacon disappeared from the plate, Fingal Stewart spoke.

  Fingal explained all to Archie, concluding, “So, Archie, we are leaving Edinburgh and settling down with a wife, and a real home, and probably a covey of bairns eventually. Do ye think yer ready for such an existence?” Lord Stewart chuckled.

  “I am!” his manservant said without a moment’s hesitation. “ ’Tis a blessing, it is, my lord, to have been given such a bounty. We’re not getting any younger, either of us.”

  As big as his master was, Archie was a wee bit of a man, short and wiry with stone gray hair and sharp blue eyes. His family had served the Stewarts of Torra for many years, and but for his master, he was alone in the world now.

  “Perhaps we’ll find ye a nice plump lass to warm yer bed on those
cold border nights,” Fin teased, and he laughed aloud.

  Archie laughed with him. “Aye, my lord, ’twould please me greatly if we did.”

  “My cousin, Lady Janet, has given me a purse, and the king has supplied us with twelve men-at-arms to go with us. They will be here shortly to escort us into the Borders, Archie. Ye had best hurry and pack us up now,” Fingal Stewart said with a smile. “Can we leave within an hour or two? And shall I send for Agent Boyle and rent the house?”

  “Nay, keep the house empty for now, my lord. What if ye want to bring yer lady to court once we have a queen? There’s never any room at court for unimportant folk.”

  “The king prefers Linlithgow Palace to Edinburgh Castle,” his master replied. “But yer right. I should not be hasty. Still send for Boyle and see what he says. We’ll need the house watched so nothing is stolen while I am in the Borders.”

  Archie hurried from the hall, and opening the front door of the house, gestured to one of the lads always about the small street. “Go and fetch Agent Boyle to Lord Stewart. He must come immediately,” Archie said. “There’s a copper in it for you when you return with him.”

  The boy pulled at his forelock and ran off. The rain was beginning to fall more heavily. Archie then went about the business of packing up what they would take. Less than half an hour had passed when a hammering came upon the front door. Archie ran to open it, admitting the house agent. He flipped the lad his copper while ushering Boyle inside. He led the man to the hall where Lord Stewart was packing up his weapons.

  “Boyle’s here, my lord,” he announced.

  Fingal Stewart looked up, beckoning the man to a seat by the fire. “Sit down, Boyle,” he said. “Sit down. Archie, a dram of whiskey for Master Boyle.”

  “Thank ye, my lord, thank ye. ’Tis damp outside.” He accepted the dram cup, and swallowed down its contents. Then he looked to Lord Stewart. “How may I serve you, my lord?” he asked politely.