As for Maggie Kerr, his niece, he had seen her several times. She was a beauty, and his cock tightened in his breeks just thinking about her. A strong lass, she would make a fine wife for a man entering his old age—a young wife just like the king’s, he thought. But more important was that she was the heiress to Brae Aisir. That he was her uncle and that the Church might object meant nothing to him. She was only his half sister’s child. He would have the lass no matter. When he wed her, the Aisir nam Breug would belong to him. He would use this new power to his own advantage.
The peddler finished his meal and, rising, went to stand before Lord Kerr’s high board. He recounted all the gossip about King James while all in Netherdale Hall listened. Then clearing his throat, he delivered the newest tidbit in his arsenal. “The heiress to Brae Aisir has a husband,” he said.
Edmund Kerr grew pale and then flushed with anger. “Say on, peddler,” he commanded the man in a hard, tight voice.
“One of the lass’s rejected suitors went to the king, complaining. ’Tis thought he believed King Jamie would order his marriage to Mad Maggie to protect the Aisir nam Breug. Instead, the king sent his cousin, Lord Fingal Stewart, instructing him to wed the lass, and take charge of the pass himself. Though he has not bedded her yet, the contracts making them man and wife were signed weeks ago,” the peddler concluded.
“How do ye know he hasn’t bedded her?” Lord Edmund asked.
“The old laird has insisted Lord Stewart meet the conditions his granddaughter has set out. He must face her challenge to outrun, outride, and outfight her,” the peddler explained to his host. “He’ll win too, I expect. He’s a big man with long legs.”
Lord Edmund cursed softly beneath his breath. Why couldn’t his life be simple? Now he would have to kill Lord Stewart, and widow the heiress. She could have no love for this stranger sent by her king. The death of an unwanted husband wouldn’t matter to her at all. But it was hardly an auspicious way to begin a courting. “When will this challenge take place?” he asked the peddler. “Do ye know?”
“Oh, aye, my lord, I do. ’Twill be in three days time on the fifth of the month,” answered the peddler. “I only wish I could be there to see it, but the weather is closing in, and I want to get home to Carlisle,” the peddler said. “My wife and bairns are waiting.”
Lord Edmund smiled and nodded with apparent understanding of the peddler’s desires. “Of course,” he murmured. “Travel with St. Christopher’s blessing come the morrow. The news you brought has been most interesting and entertaining.” Then the master of Netherdale Hall departed for his privy chamber.
His eldest son, who had been in the hall, heard the peddler’s tale too. He knew his sire had planned on attempting to convince old Dugald Kerr to give him his heiress as his third wife. Unlike his father, however, Rafe Kerr was more of a realist. He doubted that the old laird would have so easily complied with his English relation’s demand, and there was no love lost between the two family patriarchs. He almost laughed aloud at the thought of his father attempting to tame Maggie, his cousin.
Rafe had met up with her out on the moors several times and knew her for a hard woman. But Lord Edmund Kerr wasn’t used to hard women. He liked meek, compliant wives, although one could hardly call his mistress, Aldis, meek. She was a hot-tempered bitch who usually managed to get her way with his father. And the old man positively doted on the wee bairn Aldis had birthed recently. She had done it, of course, so she might dig her claws deeper into Edmund Kerr, and while he might not realize it, she had succeeded. But while he didn’t like Aldis, she kept his father occupied and away from trouble. But recognizing his father’s ire, Rafe followed him into his privy chamber.
The older man whirled about. “What the hell do you want?” he snarled.
“What are you going to do?” Rafe asked. He was a younger, slender version of his sire. “If James Stewart is interested enough in the Aisir nam Breug to have sent blood kin to wed my cousin, then that’s an end to it.”
“Accidents happen,” Edmund Kerr said ominously.
“Don’t be a fool,” Rafe said. “As long as the Scots kings knew little or nothing of the passage, you had the chance to take it all for us. That opportunity is gone now.”
“James Stewart is interested in only one thing,” Edmund Kerr said. “What he can gain from the Aisir nam Breug. I’m sure I can make the same arrangement with him that he has made with his cousin.”
“You will cost us everything with your greed,” Rafe said bluntly to his father.
Edmund Kerr went to strike his eldest a blow, but Rafe blocked him, his own thick fingers tightening about his father’s wrist. His elder grew bright red in the face, his eyes almost popping from his head. Then he said, “Give over, my son, and hear me out.”
Rafe loosened his grip, releasing his sire’s hand. “Nay, you hear me out, Da. But a third of the passage is in England. There is no argument or doubt about it. Yet our kinsmen in Scotland have shared the largesse of this traverse equally with us for centuries. If you succeeded in taking it all for yourself, you would be at the mercy of King Henry, who could force the use of the Aisir nam Breug for ulterior purposes. Then the Scots would retaliate, for the Kerrs’ neighbors would certainly complain to their king. And then our most comfortable living would be gone, Da. It isn’t worth it. My cousin has been wed by royal command. There’s an end to it.”
“But not bedded yet, which means there is no new heir in her belly,” Edmund Kerr said. “If her husband were to die before he planted his seed, then she would need a new husband. There is nothing wrong with my taking her for my own wife if she is widowed. And I would have our son manage their part of the road when he was old enough. Nothing wrong with a father guiding his son, Rafe, is there? I guided and taught you.”
“If you think the Scots king, now knowing of the Aisir nam Breug and its value, will let you marry my cousin and then take over the pass until a son you give her is grown, you have lost your wits, Da. And what if the bairn died? Maggie Kerr is like no woman you have ever met. You don’t know her. All you can remember is a pretty lass you’ve seen now and again over the years. But I’ve seen her grown, Da. They don’t call her Mad Maggie because she’s a sweet young flower. She really can outrun, outride, and outfight any man in the Borders. And she’s proud of it. Who the hell wants a termagant like that for a wife? And there is that little matter of consanguinity to consider.”
“A couple of good beatings would cure her temper,” Lord Edmund said.
“You wouldn’t survive the first blow you aimed at her,” Rafe said candidly. “She’s a proud woman, Da.” He noted his father’s avoidance of the consanguinity.
“You sound as if you admire her,” his father remarked.
“I do,” Rafe replied. “I wouldn’t want her in my bed, or birthing my bairns, and I especially would not want my daughters to be as independent as she is, but aye, I do admire her. I don’t quite understand why I do. I think perhaps ’tis because she is like some magnificent wild creature, a falcon, an eagle, that cannot be tamed.”
His father looked at him. “You’re a damned romantic fool like your mother was,” he said coldly. “However, you do not put me off the lass. Everything you have said intrigues me. With a woman like that by my side, we could make our own terms with both England and Scotland. We don’t have to belong to either.”
“What do you think Aldis will say to what you’re considering?” Rafe asked wickedly. “She is hardly apt to stand by while you court and wed another. She’d kill you first. She gave you a bairn so she might bind you to her more closely.”
“Wee Susan’s a bastard just like a dozen or more others I’ve sired on various women hereabouts,” Lord Edmund said. “Aldis is no fool. She knows her place.”
Rafe Kerr laughed harshly. “Nay, Da, ’tis you who are the fool if you actually believe that. Aldis would be your wife. Marry her. She’s a young wife for your old age.”
“I want to go to Brae Aisir tomorrow,�
�� Lord Edmund Kerr said. “And I want you with me, Rafe. Let us meet this kinsman of Jamie Stewart, and see his mettle. And I want to be a spectator to this challenge between him and old Dugald’s wench.”
“That I will enjoy seeing myself,” Rafe said enthusiastically. “The last man who attempted to win her was beaten so badly he has yet to raise his head from his shame, or so ’tis said. He was a Hay, I am told.”
“We’ll start out at first light,” Lord Edmund said. “We should reach Brae Aisir by late afternoon. I doubt old Dugald will be glad to see me, but hearing of the wedding from our peddler friend, I could not resist coming to add my good wishes as the lord of the Netherdale Kerrs; especially as our two families will be working together to ensure the Aisir nam Breug remains the safe and peaceful route through the Cheviots it has always been.” He smiled toothily at his oldest son, and Rafe laughed.
“You’re a clever old devil, Da,” he said. “Very well, let us go and size up the enemy. But I will wager you’ll never get control of the whole road.”
“We’ll see,” Lord Edmund Kerr replied to his eldest. “First things first, however, Rafe. Now I must go and have Aldis make certain I show at my best.”
Rafe laughed all the harder. His father would have his mistress dress him in his best finery so he might go and court another man’s wife. Aldis would hardly be pleased. Edmund Kerr was certainly a brave fellow, his son thought, amused. Brave or foolish, perhaps a bit of both; Rafe Kerr wasn’t entirely sure which.
Chapter 5
The day dawned dry and cold. A weak sun hung low in in the winter gray sky. Late the previous afternoon Brae Aisir had unexpected guests when Edmund Kerr and his son, Rafe, arrived. The sun had already set. Maggie welcomed them graciously, although she was suspicious of this sudden visit from their English kin. The old laird was less tactful than his granddaughter. Seated at the high board he glared down the hall as the visitors were announced and entered. His mouth was flint-thin with his disapproval of his English kin’s arrival. His brown eyes grew hard with mistrust.
“Good evening, Cousin Dugald,” Edmund Kerr said by way of greeting, though they were related in several ways. He bowed along with his son, smiling.
He wants something, Maggie thought. The smile showed too many teeth. She had never liked Edmund Kerr on the few occasions they had met when she was a child. This uncle reminded her of a fox, always looking at her as if she were something to eat, and he was just waiting for her to ripen and fall into his mouth.
“This is unexpected,” Dugald Kerr replied to his kinsman’s greeting. “What the hell brings ye to Brae Aisir on a winter’s night, Edmund?”
“Bad news, Dugald,” the Lord of Netherdale replied. “Bad news. I hosted a peddler a few nights past who said your heiress was wed by royal command. I cannot believe such a thing is true. Certainly you knew I would be offering for Margaret now that I have been widowed once again. With no male heir to follow you, a match between us is the perfect solution to keeping the Aisir nam Breug in the hands of the Kerr family. You would let strangers have our heritage, Dugald?”
The laird of Brae Aisir stood up, glaring down at his kinsman as he leaned over the high board, his broad hands flat upon its smooth surface. “Brae Aisir is Scotland, Edmund, not England. I was glad to give Maggie into the keeping of a good Scots husband, the king’s kinsman, I might add. Besides, ye don’t need a wife. Ye’ve had two. Ye’ve a quiver full of bairns. Ye’ve a mistress the gossips say is jealous of any female who casts an eye upon ye. There’s even a rumor she helped yer last wife to her death. Yer Maggie’s uncle, for God’s sake! She is wed to Fingal Stewart, and that’s an end to it. I’ll give ye and yer lad shelter tonight, but on the morrow I expect ye both gone back through the Aisir nam Breug. I dinna hope to see ye again.” Dugald Kerr sat back down.
“The marriage hasn’t been consummated,” Edmund Kerr said boldly. “It could be annulled by the archbishop in York.”
The laird leaned back in his chair. “Yer balls are as wizened as yer brain, Edmund,” he said. “Yer too close in blood for me to have ever considered such a match. For sweet Jesu’s sake, her mam was yer half sister. The marriage will be blessed tomorrow by the keep’s priest, and consummated soon after. Why the hell would I turn away King James’s own kinsman, a strong vital Scot, for an ancient Englishman?”
A snicker rippled through the hall from the men at the trestles.
“I’m young enough to have just sired another child,” Edmund Kerr said angrily.
“I’m sure ye labored mightily to get that bairn, if indeed it’s yers,” the laird replied.
Now there was open laughter among the men-at-arms.
“My father is disappointed, as would any man be to lose such a lovely young woman as the lady Margaret,” Rafe Kerr said in an attempt to ease the situation. His father was looking more foolish with each word he uttered.
“Are ye the eldest?” Dugald Kerr asked the young man.
“Aye, my lord,” Rafe responded.
“The heir?”
“Aye, my lord. I am Rafe Kerr.”
“Ye look to have more sense than yer sire, laddie. This is Fingal Stewart, Maggie’s husband,” he said, indicating with a wave of his hand Lord Stewart, who sat on his right. “Ye two will be doing business together eventually. Ye should get to know each other. Busby! A goblet of wine for young Rafe Kerr, and his sire too. Come up and join us at the high board, laddie.” He looked to Edmund. “Sit down, Edmund. I don’t like ye, and never have, but yer heir looks to have promise.”
“Go on,” Edmund Kerr hissed at his son, and then he seated himself on a bench at the nearest trestle, taking the goblet offered and drinking deeply.
The younger man joined those at the high board, seating himself next to Lord Stewart. The two men began talking.
The old laird chuckled.
“I almost feel sorry for Lord Edmund,” Maggie said to the laird. “Ye were very hard on him, Grandsire.”
“Pompous fool,” Dugald Kerr muttered. “And the nerve of him to think I would ever consider giving my darling lass to him to wife.”
“He doesn’t want me, Grandsire. He wants to control the entire Aisir nam Breug,” Maggie replied. “You know that’s why he has hot-footed through the traverse this day.”
“Even if ye were a perfect match for him, I wouldn’t have allowed it,” Dugald Kerr said. “This is Scotland. We may be in the Borders, but the boundary between Scotland and England has always been clear in the pass. Ye needed a Scots husband, and ye have one now.”
“Only if he beats me on the morrow,” Maggie said.
The laird nodded. “He will,” he said with surety.
Maggie laughed. “Have ye lost faith in me then, Grandsire?”
“I’ll never lose faith in ye, lass, but this man is the man for ye.”
Maggie was not about to agree with her grandfather. At least not yet. But she had to admit that the past few weeks had been a revelation to her. They had hunted together, and he had not treated her like some delicate creature. He had treated her like an equal. But once the marriage was blessed and consummated, would he behave the same way? He was learning the business of the Aisir nam Breug from her quickly. Her grandfather noted it and was pleased.
She and Fingal had visited every one of the watchtowers along the miles under Scots control. He spoke with the men, and the men liked him. He saw where repairs were needed for both the towers and the narrow stone road. He had asked her who originally built the road, and she had told him no one was really certain, but it was probably a people known as the Romans who had built the wall that was the divide between England and Scotland. He wanted to know how the Aisir nam Breug became the Kerr family’s responsibility.
Maggie had explained that the family traced its roots to an Anglo-Norman family who sent several of their number north in the eleventh century. Two brothers had discovered the stone road deep within the hills. They had divided it, the elder taking the larger section and settling in S
cotland, and the younger taking the small section and settling in England. Lord Stewart had nodded. Those were the days when a man could go forth and make his own fortune, and found a dynasty.
Seeing her grandfather, her husband, and Rafe Kerr deep in conversation, she slipped from the table to seek out Busby. “See two bed-spaces nearest one of the hearths are made ready for Lord Edmund and his son,” she instructed the servant. “And send Clennon Kerr and Iver Leslie to me in the library.”
“Aye, m’lady. Is there anything else I can do for ye this evening?” Busby inquired solicitously. “I know the race will be run on the morrow.”
“Make sure the breakfast served afterwards is hearty,” Maggie said with a twinkle in her hazel eyes. “I imagine his lordship will be quite worn-out attempting to win the challenge.”
Busby chuckled. “Aye, my lady,” he said. “I’ll tell Cook to make it a festive meal for ye.” Then he asked with the familiarity of a man who had known her since her birth, “Do ye think he can beat ye, my lady?”
“Perhaps,” Maggie said slowly. “Dinna say I said it, Busby, but the man has long legs.” Then with a grin she hurried off to the library.
Clennon Kerr and Iver Leslie quickly joined her.
“I want a hearth built in the barracks,” Maggie told them. The hall isn’t large enough to comfortably hold all the men at night, but the barracks are too cold now that winter is about to descend upon us. Before the weather becomes bad, the hearth and its chimney must be built. The hunt is over. The cattle and sheep are in the home meadows. The men have more than enough time on their hands. Have them gather all the materials they will need before they open the wall up. And be certain they cover the opening at night so the weather doesn’t get into the barracks.”
“Yes, m’lady,” Clennon Kerr said. “Is there anything else?”
The Border Vixen Page 10
