She never saw Ewan Hay as he watched her ride the moors, or at the meetings of the border chieftains when she came with her grandfather and he had been with his brother. He fantasized about seducing her; about riding her down, taking her from her horse, and having his way with her in the heather. She would fight him, of course. And each time he considered it, his cock grew to iron in his breeks. He imagined her clawing at him in a desperate effort to avoid his possession. He imagined her screaming at him, cursing him, as he impaled her and fucked her until she fainted.
He still dreamed of her, the duplicitous bitch! Her breasts rising and falling above the gold edging on her bodice were so damned tempting. That coquettish little French hood that framed her face so perfectly enticed him to creep closer. But then suddenly the king and queen were there. And James Stewart was actually talking to her—talking to that border vixen as if they were friends! Her husband came to stand by her side, and together they conversed with smiles and pleasantries with the royal couple as intimates. Ewan Hay couldn’t believe his eyes. How had Mad Maggie Kerr become a king’s friend?
Brae Aisir’s mistress would become the most powerful woman in the Borders, and Maggie’s husband would be the most powerful man. No! It was he, Ewan Hay, who should be that man. And he would have been if James Stewart had given Maggie to him. If only the king had listened to him and then given him the wench to wife, he could have been a happy man. He, instead of Fingal Stewart, would have taken over the Aisir nam Breug. The usurper had no right to Maggie or the land. They should have been his. And they were going to be! Ewan Hay was going to find a way to gain everything that belonged to Brae Aisir—except, of course, Fingal Stewart and his spawn. But how?
James V had a good grip on his throne. While not well thought of by his nobility, he was loved by the people and had strong allies in the church. But his determination to eradicate anyone connected with his former stepfather, his mother’s second husband, Archibald Douglas, the Earl of Angus, made him enemies. James, however, could not put his wretched childhood in Angus’s care behind him.
He had no memories of his father, James IV. But his father had been well liked by all. From all accounts, the fourth James Stewart had been a courtly, educated, dashing prince who had taken his father’s throne from him in a coup at the age of fifteen. He had had several beautiful mistresses, a family of bastard sons and daughters, and the devotion of all who knew him. And he had died at Flodden Hill in a battle against the English in spite of having an English princess for a wife. And with him had died more of Scotland’s nobility than could be counted. Among the thousands dead were the heads of fourteen important families, a bishop, an archbishop, several abbots, and nine earls.
And James V had been only eighteen months old at the time. His uncle, England’s King Henry VIII, wanted physical custody of him. His mother quickly remarried to protect herself and her children. Her choice had been pro-English, but Archibald Douglas, the Earl of Angus, used young James to rule for himself. He did everything he could to see that James was raised ignorant, and debauched. But there were those about the young prince who protected him, and kept him from the worst of Angus’s machinations. And his mother found her second husband quickly lost his charm. She divorced him finally, despite her brother’s exhortation to remain with him for the sake of her good name, and married a third time to Lord Methven, another error in judgment.
By this time, James V had escaped the clutches of the Douglases, taken up his power, and begun wreaking his vengence. Lady Janet Glamis, sister of the Earl of Angus, he burned at the stake on Castle Hill in Edinburgh for the crime of attempting to poison him. The charges were false. He made the Earl of Morton turn over his earldom to the Crown and pressed the heir to the Earl of Crawford to renounce his claim to that title in favor of the king. He came down hard on the border lords who favored the Douglases, bringing them to their knees and under his thumb. He compelled the lords of the Western Isles to his will. James V was not well liked. But he was feared.
But now happily wed to his beautiful and charming queen, he began embarking upon architectural projects to make over some of Scotland’s castles into replicas of the fine châteaus he had seen in the Loire Valley of France. The wealth he had confiscated, the wealth he gained each year, and the generous dowers of his two French queens allowed the king to indulge himself while offering employment to his subjects.
At Brae Aisir life took on a comfortable routine. The Borders were relatively quiet for the moment. Old Dugald Kerr’s health seemed miraculously restored. Maggie wondered if her grandsire’s former frailty had been a sham to get her wedded and bedded. She had returned from St. Andrews to find that despite her good intentions, she was pregnant once more. A second son, Andrew Robert, was born the following April.
The queen was formally crowned consort in February 1540. In the spring of that same year King James launched a naval campaign against the lords of the northern and western isles who were once again becoming unruly. Late in the previous year, a chieftain in the northwest, one Donald Gorme, had claimed the lordship of the isles, and rebelled. To Fingal Stewart’s surprise, the king invited him to join this expedition. Maggie was not happy to have her husband go off to what would surely be a short but nasty war. What did the northwest of Scotland have to do with them?
“What do ye know of the sea?” she demanded to know.
“Naught,” he replied calmly. “Archie, pack my things, and tell Iver to choose a dozen men to accompany us.”
“Yer going to go?” She was astounded.
“Ye know my family’s motto. We’ve never refused a royal command,” Fin said.
“His message is an invitation,” Maggie pointed out.
“When a king invites ye,” Dugald Kerr said, “ye go, lass. It’s a polite way of commanding. The king hardly trusts the border families as it is. We’re counted among the faithful because of the past behavior of the Stewarts of Torra. Fin has no choice. He must and he will go.”
“Yer capable, more than capable, of managing the Aisir nam Breug,” Fin said to his wife. “ ’Twill be like old times for ye,” he teased her.
“I find I like new times better,” Maggie muttered.
The two men laughed.
“Never did I think I would see the day when ye would be tamed, lass,” her grandsire said, “but ye surely have been.”
“I am not tamed,” Maggie snapped. “But running a household, along with caring for a fussy old man, and two wild lads, is a great deal of work. Now I must add care of the traverse to it? Well, if I must, then I must.”
“Ye’ll do it, and do it well,” Fin told her.
“I’m going to bed,” Maggie told him. “I’m going to need as much rest as I can get if I’m to be burdened with all this work.”
Fin grinned. “I’ll go with ye, madam,” he said, following his wife from their hall and up the stairs.
Dugald Kerr chortled, well pleased. Two great-grandsons, and from the looks of it, Fin would get more bairns on his granddaughter.
“Listen to him chuckling,” Maggie said as they climbed the stairs. “If he were any smugger, I couldn’t bear it.”
“He’s happy because we’re happy,” Fin replied as they entered their bedchamber.
“We are happy, aren’t we?” Maggie said softly.
“Aye, we are,” he agreed, pulling her into his arms. “And why do ye suppose that is, madam?” He kissed her mouth gently. Then he tipped her face up and looked into her warm hazel eyes.
“Because ye love me, of course,” Maggie said mischievously.
“I’ve ne’er said it. I thought it was because ye loved me,” Fin responded.
“I’ve ne’er said it either,” Maggie murmured.
“So then we are agreed that we don’t love each other,” Fin teased her.
“But I know ye love me!” Maggie cried.
“And I know ye love me!” he replied, his gray eyes dancing wickedly.
“Then ye must say it,” Maggie told him.
“I will say it if ye will say it,” Fin answered.
“Ye first!” she said.
“Nay, ladies first! I am a man of manners, madam,” he replied.
“We’ll toss for it,” said Maggie.
Fingal Stewart burst out laughing. “Ye would decide which of us admits first to loving the other by the toss of a coin?”
“ ’Tis fair,” she said, “isn’t it?”
Still laughing, he wrapped his arms about her tightly. “Very well, ye impossible border vixen, I love ye. I probably have since I first laid eyes on ye. Yer bonnie and braver than any woman I’ve ever known. And while it took some getting used to, I find I like yer quick wit and yer quicker tongue.”
Maggie snuggled against him. Then she said provocatively, “I love ye too, Fingal Stewart, and I especially love yer tongue when it plays those naughty games with me.”
She felt him grow hard against her as she spoke the taunting words.
He turned her about, his hands reaching up to first unlace her shirt, and then undo the ribbon holding her chemise together. His hands plunged beneath the material to cup her breasts. They were larger now than when he had first known her, but they were still round and firm to his touch.
“Ummmm,” Maggie sighed, pressing her buttocks against him.
He groaned, his hands tightening about her flesh, and she rubbed against him more as he pinched her nipples, teasing them to hard little points as she worked to shrug off her blouse and the top of her chemise. But he was not satisfied to have her naked to just her waist. “All of it,” he whispered hotly in her ear. She quickly obeyed until she was completely naked. “Now,” he said, “on yer knees, wife.”
“Yer already hard,” Maggie said.
“I need your mouth on me,” he told her. “And then I’ll put my mouth on you.”
Kneeling, she opened his breeches, and his cock burst forward. Wrapping her hand about the firm pillar of flesh, she squeezed him, smiling as he drew a sharp breath.
Still holding him, she ran her tongue around the swollen head, sliding the tip just beneath to follow its edge. His breathing grew quicker. Her thumb and her forefinger now grasped the ruby head, and she began to lick his extended length with long slow strokes of her tongue. Finally she took him into her warm mouth, sucking upon him in an easy and leisurely fashion. She could feel his hand upon her head, his fingers digging deeply into her scalp as she roused him to a fever pitch.
“Enough!” he finally growled, and he pulled her up, his mouth seeking hers desperately as he kissed her until Maggie’s lips were swollen and bruised. He was a man who had always been able to prolong his pleasure and that of his partner, but knowing that they would soon be separated made it difficult tonight. He pushed her on her back onto their bed, kneeling between her legs, which hung over the side of the mattress.
“Aye!” she cried to him. “Aye!”
He laughed low. “Beg me for it, border vixen,” he said.
“Please!” Maggie whispered.
“Tell me what you want,” he insisted. “Tell me exactly what you want.”
“I want ye to tongue my little jewel until it bursts with delight,” Maggie said. “I want ye to suck on it until the sweetness is unbearable. And then I want ye to take that delicious cock of yers and fuck me until I explode with the kind of pleasure that only ye can give me, Fingal Stewart!”
He laughed softly as he parted her nether lips with his thumbs and gave the flesh a slow lick. “Yer certain that is what ye would have me do, madam?” he taunted her.
“I will kill ye if ye don’t!” she said fiercely.
“Ye will kill me when I do,” he responded, and then he began to obey her instructions in slow and careful detail.
Maggie closed her eyes and let the sensation sweep over her as his tongue licked first the soft insides of her thighs, then the interior of her nether lips, and finally found her little jewel. He flicked his tongue back and forth over the sensitive flesh, his rhythm increasing until she was nearly mindless. And when his lips closed over her jewel and he sucked hard about it, she screamed low as the sensation burst with a ferocity that left her weak with her delight.
Fin stood, pulling her to the edge of the bed, legs raised over his shoulders; he thrust into her as he stood, his swollen length pistoning her with long slow strokes at first, and then increasing the cadence until his cock was flashing furiously back and forth, back and forth, back and forth. Her wet heated sheath tightened about him, causing him to almost lose his control. Maggie’s legs wrapped about his neck, encouraging him to bring them both to the pleasure of perfection. And he finally did, roaring his satisfaction as her nails clawed at him. “Jesu, woman!” he groaned happily. “Yer near to killing me with yer sweet loving.” He fell on the bed next to her, still fully clothed.
Maggie sighed contentedly, thinking she was glad she was taking Agnes Kerr’s remedy now, for he had spilled a great deal of his potent seed a few moments ago.
Davy was two now, and Andrew just past one. She wanted no more bairns for the interim. Reaching out, she slipped her hand into his. “I do love ye, Fin. I don’t know when I realized it, but I do. For the love of Sweet Mary, dinna get yerself killed by some northerner. I don’t know why men cannot remain at peace.”
“I’ll not be in the forefront of things, lass,” he promised her. “I’m not important enough to be given a command. I’ll be remaining as much out of sight as possible, although actually the best place to be will be the king’s side. James is no coward, but his lords will not allow anything to happen to him. Especially with his son so small.”
“And if yer by his side, he’ll know ye’ve come,” Maggie remarked. Then she considered. “Nay, just let him see ye, and then stay in the background. Now take yer clothes off, and let us continue what ye began when ye admitted to loving me.”
“Yer insatiable, madam,” he said, chuckling, but he arose, and began to pull off his garments, not bothering to lay them neatly aside, but tossing them to lie where they fell, the quicker to return to her warm arms and loving embrace, for on the morrow he would depart Brae Aisir to join the king.
“Take an extra man to send back to me that I know ye’ve arrived safely and joined the king,” Maggie said the next morning as she stood by his horse in the courtyard.
“I’ll send Archie back,” Fin told her. “I’ve no need of a serving man, but he’s so used to being by my side I could not tell him nay.”
Maggie nodded. “Grizel will be relieved,” she said low.
“So that’s the way it is,” Fin replied, smiling.
“We’re not supposed to know,” Maggie told him, “but I have eyes in my head.” She took her husband’s gloved hand and kissed it. “Be careful, Fingal Stewart, and do not take chances. I want ye back. I need ye back!”
“I will be back,” he promised her.
Father David stepped forward now to bless Fingal Stewart, and his party of men, praying aloud to God and the Blessed Lord Jesu and Holy Mary for their safe return.
Maggie watched him as he rode off, her grandsire by her side. There were tears in her eyes, but she sensed with every fiber of her being that he would be back.
Very little word of the king’s expedition seeped into the Borders. Each family had sent some form of representation in order to keep on the king’s good side. Ewan Hay had watched his brother ride off, but he would not go. Why would he fight for a man who had taken Mad Maggie Kerr from him? Besides, James Stewart wouldn’t care if Ewan Hay was fighting in his war or not. He had Ewan’s elder brother, Lord Hay of Haydoun, among his warriors. If Lord Hay didn’t return, it didn’t matter to him since Ewan was not his heir. His brother had two half-grown sons in good health, and then, of course, Ewan was the youngest of three brothers. Their middle brother had not gone to war either.
The spring turned into summer. There was no word from the north on how the king’s war was going. Traffic through the Aisir nam Breug was busy, however, with the groups of merchants
headed for Edinburgh, Perth, and Aberdeen, along with family parties and single peddlers. A caravan of gypsies exited the pass one afternoon and asked for permission to spend two nights on Brae Aisir’s lands because their leader’s wife was about to give birth to her first child. Maggie gave her approval, walking down to personally speak with the gypsy leader. She liked the gypsies, for they had always brought her luck.
“Yer welcome to stay,” she told the man, “but dinna steal my livestock. We’re just a border family and have nothing to spare but water and a welcome.”
“Ye’ve a king’s favor,” the gypsy said to Maggie.
“Do we?” Maggie responded, pretending amusement.
“Aye, and ye know ye do,” the gypsy responded. “Yer man will be back safe in a short while, but beware, my lady, for ye have an enemy nearby who seeks to claim all that is yers. He hates ye, but desires ye too. He is dangerous.” Then the gypsy bowed. “That is all I see, my lady.”
Maggie had felt a shiver go down her spine when the gypsy man’s eyes had suddenly become unfocused and he spoke. But she respected the sight he possessed. “Thank ye,” she told him. “Does yer wife need anything?”
“Nay, but I thank ye for the asking,” the man said.
Maggie turned and walked back to the keep. Who secretly desired her, but also hated her? She couldn’t begin to imagine an answer, and put the gypsy’s prophecy from her mind, concentrating on the fact he had said her husband would be home soon. That meant more to her than some vague prediction that she had an enemy. And how long was a short while? A week? A month? Did the gypsy really know? Or had he just said it, knowing that most every woman in the Borders was without her man right now? More than likely that was it, but she did believe in the sight, and the gypsy seemed genuine.
The Border Vixen Page 22
