“I want a bath,” Maggie said in a firm voice.
The innkeeper looked surprised. “A bath, my lady?”
“Ye have a decent tub, I assume,” she continued. “Have it set up in my bedchamber by the fire, and filled with hot water. We have been traveling for several days, and I am covered with the dust of the road.”
“Very good, my lady,” the innkeeper responded. A tub? Did they have a tub? And if they did, where the hell was it? And how much water would have to be heated to fill such a vessel? Providing accommodation for a lady was not going to be as easy as he had thought. He bowed to Lord Stewart and his wife and hurried from the apartment.
“Do ye have something she can bathe in?” Iver asked, for he had seen the look of consternation on his uncle’s face when Maggie had spoken.
“I don’t know. I can’t ever remember someone wanting a bath while staying here,” Robert Leslie admitted. “I’ll have to ask my wife. She would know.”
Mistress Leslie laughed at her obviously chagrined husband’s request. “Of course we have a tub,” she said. “My father always said ye needed everything for the unexpected request if ye were to be a well-run inn. Dinna fash, Robert. I’ll take care of Lady Stewart, my dear.” And she bustled off.
Maggie inspected their little apartment, exclaiming as she went to the windows at the pretty garden below with a view of the sea beyond. Grizel hurried to unpack her few gowns and hang them. When Mistress Leslie arrived to direct the setting up of the tub and saw what Grizel was doing, she insisted the tiring woman bring her ladyship’s gowns to the washhouse where they could be steamed free of any wrinkles. Delighted, Grizel picked up the three garments and followed the innkeeper’s wife.
“Her ladyship,” Maggie chuckled. “I don’t think anyone has ever called me that before,” she said to Fin. “But I am, aren’t I?”
“Ye are,” he agreed, amused.
“Lady Kerr-Stewart,” she mused. “I don’t know if I’m up to being Lady Kerr-Stewart. All of this is so strange to me. The town, so many people, the sea beyond the garden windows. And I am here to attend the wedding of a king to his queen. Part of me is excited, and part of me wants to go home right now,” Maggie told her husband.
“Yer the bravest lass I know, Maggie mine,” Fin told her. “Ye’ll do just fine.”
“I’ve never met anyone other than our fellow borderers,” she said. “There will be important men and women here. Great Highland lords, a king, a queen, bishops.”
“And they will be charmed by yer beauty,” he said.
Maggie laughed aloud. “Oh Fingal Stewart, was there ever such a good husband as ye? And do I deserve ye? I am not certain I do.” He put his arms about her shoulders, and Maggie leaned against him, feeling a contented warmth fill her. She liked this man who was her husband. Nay, it was more than like. She was coming to love him. She sighed. Was it wise to love one’s husband? Love wasn’t something with which she was really acquainted, but she knew what she felt now for Fin was more than just a liking.
While Maggie bathed, Lord Stewart sent Iver to the castle so the king would know his unimportant kinsman and his wife were arrived. He expected nothing in return, but at least the king would know they had come. Perhaps the king might even see them at the wedding or in the banquet hall afterwards. It was crucial, however, for James Stewart to know that Fingal Stewart had acted on the royal invitation. He was surprised, therefore, when Iver returned to say the king had sent word he expected to see his kinsman and Maggie this very evening at a reception being held for all the guests.
“He spoke to me himself, my lord!” Iver said excitedly. “I but told a castle servant that I carried a message for the king from his kinsman, Lord Stewart. The next thing I knew, I was ushered into the king’s presence. I could hardly speak at first, but then he said, ‘Why, here is a message from my cousin, Fingal Stewart of Torra.’ Those around him pretended they knew who ye were, my lord, and I almost laughed aloud, so eager were they all to please King James. He knew them to be false, and he laughed. Then he asked what the message I carried was, and I told him. ‘Tell Fingal, my cousin, that I will expect to see him, and his bonnie Maggie, here tonight,’ he told me. I nodded, bowed, and hurried right back to the inn to bring you his message.”
Maggie, freshly bathed, and now in the bedchamber, heard Iver’s words. “Grizel!” she hissed. “Do ye hear him? What am I to wear?”
“The peach velvet with the gold lace,” Grizel said. “ ’Twill make a grand first impression on all those fine lords and ladies. Tomorrow all eyes will be on the bride. Tonight is the night to show yerself to yer best advantage, m’lady. I’ll tell Archie so my lord’s garments match with yers.”
“Fin in peach velvet, Grizel? I think not,” Maggie teased.
Grizel laughed, and quickly seeking out their master’s servant, whispered hurriedly in his ear. Archie whispered back, nodding vigorously. Grizel returned to her mistress and began helping her to prepare for the evening. While she dressed Maggie in the bedchamber, Archie was busily garbing his master in the dayroom. When Grizel had finished, Maggie was wearing a gown of peach-colored velvet with a square neckline edged with gold embroidery. The underskirt of the gown was brocade with gold reembroidery. Her slashed sleeves were tied with gold cords. On her head she wore a gold silk French hood with lace-edged trimming behind which flowed a sheer pale silk veil shot through with gold threads. Beneath her gown her legs were encased in white silk stockings embroidered with gold threads in a vine pattern. Her feet were shod in square-toed flat shoes covered in gold silk and studded with gold beading. She had several rings on her fingers, and her clan badge was fastened to a thick gold chain about her neck.
“Stay here,” Grizel said to her lady, “while I see if his lordship is ready.”
In the dayroom Archie had just finished dressing his master in light brown velvet. Fin wore slashed breeches, and parti-colored hose of brown and gold. His sleeveless doublet was a brown and gold brocade over which Archie fitted his master into a fine short coat of brown velvet with large padded sleeves. He had brown leather square-toed shoes on his big feet, and a fine gold chain about his neck with the greyhound pendant badge of his family. The hat his serving man gave him had a gold silk-taffeta crown and a stiff flat brim. A single short plume dangled from it.
“Ohh,” Grizel said. “Don’t he look grand, Archie! Ye’ve outdone yerself this time, I’ll vow.”
“Where are the garments coming from?” Fin demanded. “And do not evade answering me this time, you scoundrel. I certainly have no coin for such elegance.”
“Tell him!” Grizel said. “He’s ever so clever, my lord, he is!”
“Tell me what?” Fin insisted.
“I make yer garments, my lord,” Archie said, flushing with his embarrassment.
If ever anything had surprised Fingal Stewart in all of his life, it was his serving man’s admission that he made his master’s clothing. “Ye sew my clothes?” he said.
“First I make the pattern on paper, my lord. Cut it, and then cut the materials to match. Ye can afford the cloth, and recently ye have been able to bear the cost of a better quality of cloth. Then I sew it all together. Grizel and I worked many a night together fashioning proper garments for ye and the lady. After ye went to Edinburgh to see the king when the little queen was dying, we knew ye would need fine clothing eventually. So we purchased the cloth we needed from the peddlers coming to Brae Aisir, and we fashioned the garments we thought ye would need. Perhaps they are not quite as fashionable as others, for styles change, but ye’ll not have to be ashamed.”
Maggie had heard all of Archie’s explanation through the open door between the bedchamber and the dayroom. Now she stepped forth to stand by her husband’s side. “Thank ye both,” she told Grizel and Archie. “I don’t think either of us has ever had such beautiful clothing. Yer labors are more than appreciated.”
Both Archie and Grizel flushed with pride at her words.
“How handsome ye look, my lord,�
�� Maggie said to her husband. “The brown and gold of yer garments suits ye, and flatters me.”
There was a knock on the dayroom door. Archie quickly opened it.
“The horses are ready, my lord,” Iver said. “I’ve put the proper saddle on my lady’s animal.”
“God’s toenail, I must ride like a proper lady,” Maggie grumbled. “I’m always terrified I’m going to fall that way.”
“At least you brought the mare, and not that damned devil stallion of yers,” Lord Stewart said.
Maggie chuckled. She refused to give up her stallion, nor would he give up his. But to please him, she had ridden her fine white mare from Brae Aisir. She had noticed on the ferry across the Firth of Forth the beast had received many admiring glances, and she had become concerned she could be stolen. But Iver was an excellent captain, and his men were well trained. It was unlikely anything would get past them.
They bid Grizel and Archie good night and descended downstairs. The inn was now full to overflowing, and as they made their way to the door, a voice shouted out.
“Look lads! It’s Mad Maggie Kerr, the border vixen herself. She whored herself to an Edinburgh man rather than wed a good borderer.” A drunken Ewan Hay planted himself directly in front of them.
Lord Stewart paused only long enough to send the man sprawling. Then turning, he said to a horrified Master Leslie, “See this garbage has been removed by the time we return from the castle, innkeeper.”
“Aye, my lord,” Robert Leslie babbled. “I want no trouble in my inn. Here, you, Willie, Arthur, remove this man at once!”
Maggie was so surprised, she hardly had a moment to react. Her husband’s hand firmly on her elbow, he moved her outside, and lifted her up onto her horse. “Fingal!”
“Not a word, madam,” he told her in a hard voice as he lifted her up onto her mare. “The bastard was offensive to ye, to me, to Brae Aisir.” He mounted his horse.
“We don’t need a feud with the Hays,” Maggie told him quietly as they moved off, surrounded by their men-at-arms. But she found herself thrilled that he had behaved so masterfully in her defense. Was it possible he was coming to care for her? Or had it merely been a matter of his pride? She wished she were clever enough to discern which.
“There will be no feud. Lord Hay will understand,” Fin responded. “He had really best either send his brother away to fight in someone’s war, or find him a wife to settle him down before the man gets himself killed. What a fool he is. Ye would have cut his heart out in short order had ye been forced to wed him, and he is too stupid to realize it.”
“Aye, he is, but Ewan Hay is also a man who holds grudges,” Maggie said. “And he will wait a long time to avenge a fault. “We don’t need him as an enemy, Fin. I’ll be the first to agree with you that he’s a fool, but he’s a dangerous fool.”
“He had best remain clear of Brae Aisir. I will not have my wife insulted in a public place. Had he not been drunk, I would have been forced to kill him,” Fin said.
“ ’Twould not have been an auspicious start for our visit, my lord. I do not doubt that whatever small favor we have garnered from the king would be lost by such actions, and more,” Maggie told him pointedly.
They moved through the town from South Street to North Street and followed along with others who had been invited to tonight’s festivities and were also making their way to the castle. Maggie looked about her and decided that she and Fin fit in quite nicely. Reassured their garments were suitable, she felt her courage return; she laughed softly at herself to realize she had been frightened by something as foolish as fashion. She had never been a woman who cared that much for gowns and fripperies. But she also realized that a woman who attended a king’s reception before his wedding to a French duchess needed a respectable wardrobe, and she was glad she had one.
They reached St. Andrews Castle, and in the courtyard their horses were taken from them while their men-at-arms found themselves invited to sit at the trestles that had been set up in the large open enclosure. Maggie, her hand on her husband’s arm, followed along as they walked with other guests to the great hall of the castle. It was a damp evening, but the big fireplaces in the hall were heaped high with logs, and took the chill from the night. The king and Marie de Guise had not yet joined their guests.
“Every lordling in Scotland must be here,” Maggie said, looking about. She saw no one she knew. And the variety of clothing was striking. Many were dressed in the same style of fashionable garments as she and Fin. But others, Highlanders, she immediately realized, came in leather breeches, their plaids pinned with their clan brooches slung across their chests, and over one shoulder. They wore caps with eagle feathers on their heads, and their hair was unfashionably long, some with it tied back, others with it left loose about their shoulders.
“Aye,” Fin agreed. “The northerners have come to gain a sense of this man who has barged into their territories, forcing them to his will.”
“Do ye know any of them?” Maggie asked, curious.
“Nay,” he said. “I have spent most of the last years as a mercenary in France and the Italian and German states. Those Highland chiefs do not venture far from their own lands.”
There was a musicians’ gallery above the end of the hall where they had entered.
In it a dozen or more musicians sat playing. Servants passed among the crowds, offering small goblets of wine. At the other end of the hall a dais was set up. An awning of wide cloth of gold and royal purple stripes was set over it. On the dais were two high-backed chairs with carved and curled arms. A tufted purple cushion had been placed on the flat seat of each chair. One chair, however, was smaller, and lower than the other. Maggie moved forward to get a better look at what had obviously been set up as thrones.
At that moment the doors at the far end of the hall were opened. A flourish of trumpets sounded from the musicians’ gallery, and a stentorian voice pronounced, “My lords and my ladies, the king and the queen.” The crowds parted to either side of the hall, making an aisle for the royal couple to move forward to their thrones. Maggie panicked, realizing that in her effort to see the dais better she had become separated from her husband. She stood silently in the very forefront of the crowd, her heart hammering nervously as King James and Marie de Guise came forward.
When the couple had almost reached their destination, James’s eye caught Maggie’s, and she curtsied lower than she had ever curtsied in her life. “Aah, here is the lady of Brae Aisir, wife to my kinsman, the Stewart of Torra.” Raising Maggie, the king said, “Marie, I present to you Lady Margaret Kerr. Where is Fingal, Maggie?”
“I am here, my liege,” Fin said, pushing his way through the crowd. He bowed elegantly to the king, and then kissed the new queen’s outstretched hand. “I salute ye, madam, and the great house of Guise from which ye sprang. Welcome to Scotland,” he said in perfect French.
Marie de Guise broke into a smile. “I thank ye, my lord,” she answered him in her own native tongue. “Ye have obviously lived in France.”
“I have fought in France, madam,” he answered her.
“We must speak again,” Marie de Guise said, “and your lovely wife, my lord.”
“We will be honored, madam,” Fin said.
“My kinsman is not an important man, ma chérie,” the king told her. “But he is the kind of man you can have complete faith in, for his branch of the family have never betrayed their kings. Not even once. Their motto is Ever faithful, unlike many you will meet this night among my great lords.” His gaze met Fingal Stewart’s. “Thank ye for coming, my lord and my lady.” Then, with a bow to them, the king moved on with his new wife to gain the dais and sit upon their thrones.
It was to be the highlight of their visit to St. Andrews, for they did not get close to the king and his bride again. As the king himself had said, they were not important. It made no difference to Maggie. She stood in the great cathedral on the twelfth day of June, watching as the king was formally married to Marie
de Guise. She partook of the wedding feast in the castle’s great hall that day from a trestle in the back of the chamber.
They had departed the celebration early that night, for in the morning they would begin their return trip to the Borders. Their life was there rather than among the high and mighty who surrounded the king and his new queen. But Mad Maggie Kerr would never forget those few wonderful days she and Fin spent in St. Andrews.
Chapter 10
Ewan Hay had never been more surprised in his life than he was when Mad Maggie Kerr’s husband had without a single word sent him crumbling to the floor. As he sat dazed upon the floor of the Anchor and the Cross, Ewan tasted the blood in his mouth, and at least two of his teeth felt loose. But there was no time to feel sorry for himself, for the landlord’s two sturdy sons pulled him up, and hustled him out the inn door, tossing him rudely into the street.
“Dinna come back!” the taller of the two said to him.
“Ye have no right,” Ewan blustered. “I paid for my accommodation!”
“Ye forfeited it when ye insulted the wife of the king’s kinsman,” the innkeeper’s son said. “Begone with ye now!”
“I want my money back!” Ewan yelled as he got to his feet.
“What ye’ll get is a beating ye’ll ne’er forget if yer not on yer way by the time I count to three,” came his answer. “One! Two! Three!” The innkeeper’s son stepped forward menacingly, his two big fists balled tightly, his look fierce.
Ewan Hay turned and ran. The laughter that followed him didn’t help his mood. His stomach rolled, and stepping into an alley, he vomited much of the sour wine and ale he had consumed that day. Then he stepped out of the narrow passage, straightened his garb, dusted himself off, and followed along with the crowds headed for St. Andrews Castle. He managed amid the excitement and confusion to gain entry into the great hall before the king and queen arrived.
As he wandered through the jovial crowd of guests, he suddenly spotted Mad Maggie Kerr in her peach velvet gown. He edged himself closer and closer to her. Her husband was nowhere in sight. Ewan had wanted her for years, although she didn’t know it. He had first seen her when she was about thirteen, riding across the moors. She had been hell-bent for leather, leaning low over the neck of that great dapple gray stallion of hers, her skirts hiked high, her bare white legs visible to anyone with eyes to see. Her rich brown hair had been blowing in the wind, and Ewan Hay thought she was the most beautiful and desirable girl he had ever seen. She hadn’t seen him.
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