“Today is Midsummer’s Eve,” Fin said. “Let me tell my tale tonight as we all celebrate about the Midsummer fire. It is an amazing tale, Maggie mine.”
Father David rushed into the hall. “Praise be to God!” he shouted, clapping Fingal Stewart upon his broad back. “Welcome home, lad! Welcome home!”
Fin burst out laughing. “Ye have no idea how great a part God played in this, good Father, but I’ll be telling the tale tonight.”
“Where is that toad of a Hay priest?” Maggie wanted to know.
“They took him with them when they rode through the village,” Father David replied. “It was not a pleasant departure. The villagers threw the contents of their night jars on them as they went.”
The laird and Fin burst out laughing, and even Maggie was forced to giggle.
“I hope most of it hit the Hay,” she said.
“They did save the best for him, and for his priest,” Father David admitted. “I must remember to preach a sermon on charity this Sabbath.” But he was smiling as he said it, and a small chortle escaped him.
“Come,” Maggie said, taking her husband’s hand. “We must go into the village so they may see that ye are truly home again.”
“I should rather take ye to bed,” he whispered in her ear. “It has been close to a year since I’ve made love to ye, Maggie mine.”
She blushed, then smiled at him. “Aye, but I think our pleasure must wait until nightfall, for there is much we must do that our clan folk feel settled and safe again. Only ye and I can do it, my husband.”
“Change yer gown, for I would not go into the village with ye in that black crow’s garment,” he said.
“Ye must wait in the hall,” she said with a small smile. “Grizel, come with me.”
Maggie hurried from the great hall of the keep, and upstairs to her bedchamber. “What shall I wear for him?” she asked her tiring woman.
Grizel thought a moment. “Wear something simple. A skirt, a blouse, a bit of yer Kerr plaid. Tonight ye can wear the claret red velvet gown I made for ye last winter.”
Maggie quickly donned a dark green skirt and a white shirt that laced up the front; then she drew her green Kerr plaid shawl about her shoulders. She had pulled off her stockings and boots. She wanted to be the Mad Maggie of old, bare legged, and barefoot. She loosened her hair from its plait and tucked a small dagger in her wide brown leather belt. “I’m ready,” she said, running from the room and back down into the hall.
“I’m ready, Fingal Stewart. Are ye?” she called to him.
He turned from her grandfather, and saw the girl he had raced that day almost six years ago. He grinned. “Aye, Mad Maggie Kerr, I’m ready,” he said as he came to join her. Then together they walked from the keep, across the bridge, and down into the village where their clan folk waited.
They came forth from their cottages, smiling and greeting Maggie and Lord Stewart warmly. Maggie stood back, letting her husband play the primary role. He greeted men and women by name. He asked oldsters about their health and aching joints, sympathizing with an understanding nod of his head. He teased the young girls, who giggled and blushed with his compliments. He joined in a game with the men and boys that involved kicking a stuffed sheep’s bladder from one end of a field to another. The darkness had lifted with the exit of the Hay and the end of the storm.
It was traditionally the longest day of the year. Dugald Kerr came from the keep to join Maggie and Fin. The clan folk were relieved to see their old laird, for he had been virtually imprisoned in his keep for several months. Maggie left her men together and walked to the tollgate. A small party of merchants was preparing to exit. They were arguing with the gatekeeper. Maggie went to see what the difficulty was.
“I’m telling ye,” the gatekeeper said, “ye paid yer toll when ye entered the Aisir nam Breug. Now if ye were entering here, and not exiting ye would pay a toll. But one toll is all ye pay for one trip.”
“But,” the man in charge of the merchant train said, “when we came up from England in April, we paid at both ends.”
Maggie stepped forward. “It’s all right, Allen, I’ll handle this,” she said to the gatekeeper. “Sir, unfortunately while the old laird of Brae Aisir was recovering from a winter illness, and my husband was away, a dishonest man was put in charge here. When it was found out that he was forcing tolls from travelers come up from the south, he was dismissed. Can ye recall what ye paid when ye last traveled through the pass?”
The merchant named the charge.
Maggie turned to the gatekeeper. “Allen, give the gentleman the amount he has named,” she said. Then she spoke again to the merchant. “The Kerrs of Brae Aisir have held this pass with their English kin for centuries. We are honest folk. I am sorry ye were cheated. Here is yer toll returned to ye. It will not happen again. And when ye return south this time, yer trip will be free.”
“Thank ye, good lady,” the merchant said. “We could not bring our goods to Edinburgh and Perth were it not for this safe traverse. I should not want it said that I spoke treasonably, but King Henry is not a happy man right now.”
Maggie laughed. “I know,” she said with a small smile, “but somehow we shall all survive these monarchs and their quarrels, eh?”
The merchant nodded, and then, signaling, he was on his way again.
Maggie turned to her gatekeeper. “Refund any tolls charged when they should not have been,” she said. “Why didn’t ye come to me, Allen?”
“The Hay removed me from my position,” Allen answered her. “He replaced me with one of his own men. Since no one from the village could come or go into the keep held by the Hays, I had no way of speaking with ye, my lady.”
“How long did this go on?” Maggie wanted to know.
“Since the pass opened again this spring,” Allen told her.
Maggie walked back through the village and up the hill into the keep to find her Fingal and her grandsire. She told them what Allen had told her, what the merchant party had told her, and what Rafe Kerr, her cousin, had said when she had seen him recently.
“ ’Twas a quick and good thought,” Dugald Kerr said, “to refund that traveler his coin, lass. Hay would have destroyed our reputation had he been allowed to continue. It will now be known that the Kerrs are once more in charge.”
“Stewart-Kerrs,” Fin said quietly.
“It pleases me ye would add yer proud name to ours,” Dugald Kerr said, smiling.
“With yer approval, of course,” Fin told the old man. “The Kerr name should remain connected to the Aisir nam Breug.”
Maggie’s eyes grew moist. As proud as she was of her family’s name, she knew that Fin was equally proud of his family’s name, and his descent from a king of Scotland.
It was a generous gesture he was making. “Thank ye!” she told him.
“In the months that I was away from ye,” Fin told her, “all I wanted to do was get home, Maggie mine. I own a house in Edinburgh where I was born and raised, ’tis true, but Brae Aisir has been the only real home I’ve ever had. That is thanks to ye, and to ye, Dugald Kerr. I have always felt welcome here.”
“Hush now, laddie,” the old laird said, wiping a tear from his own eyes. “Of course ye were welcome from the moment ye arrived. Did I not see a husband for my lass in ye when ye came to me with yer command from the king to wed Maggie?” He chuckled. “I knew ye were the one, and ye were.”
“I could have outfought him if ye had not given the match to him just because I fell,” Maggie teased her grandfather.
“Ye were on both knees and could hardly draw a breath,” Dugald Kerr said dryly, his brown eyes twinkling. He had always been proud of Maggie’s fine spirit. “And Fingal was too much of a gentleman to want to blood ye. Of course I called the match. He was worthy of ye when none of the others had been, including that cur Hay.”
They all laughed. It had been just a few short years ago and so much had happened since then. Scotland was never as secure as when it had a k
ing on the throne.
“But what kept ye away from us, lad?” the laird asked as he had earlier.
“Tonight,” Fin promised once again. “I will tell my tale about the Midsummer fire for all our clan folk to hear.”
Maggie left her men folk to go to the kitchen now, and see if there was still time to set out a small feast for the villagers this night. The cook, however, now that the Hay had been driven from the keep, had taken it upon herself to bake enough fresh bread for all. She had sliced cold meats, arranging them upon platters. She had geese and capons roasting upon several spits in her huge hearth. There were several baskets of strawberries, and tiny crisp sweet wafers. Seeing it all, Maggie laughed.
“Did ye at least wait until he was marched away?” she asked the cook.
“I began the moment our clansmen went up the stairs to the hall,” the cook replied. “With the young lord leading them, I knew the Hay would be either hanged or driven off within a very short time. I would have hanged him myself from the chimney in Flora Kerr’s cottage.”
“Grandsire did not wish to begin a feud with Lord Hay,” Maggie said, “but if it had been up to me, I would have hanged him too! I doubt Lord Hay will be pleased to see his brother back.”
“From the first time he came to Brae Aisir, the Hay lusted after ye, my lady. He’ll not cease wanting to have ye, or wanting Brae Aisir’s riches until he’s dead. Mark my words, my lady. The Hay will cause us trouble once again. Ye’ll eventually have no choice but to kill him.”
Maggie had an uncomfortable feeling the cook was right. As long as Ewan Hay lived, he would seek to take what wasn’t his. “Have the men put everything out on the trestles when they’re finally set up outside of the keep. And tomorrow fetch back the lasses who were yer helpers from the village,” Maggie told her.
“I will, my lady, and be glad to see them. Lads in a kitchen are not to be borne,” the cook declared, “and they’ve been little help to me.”
“Don’t forget to come up from yer kitchens and join the rest of the clan folk when all is set out,” Maggie reminded her.
The cook bobbed a curtsy. “I will, my lady.”
Chapter 18
The trestles from the hall and their benches had been brought out and set up on a level piece of land on the far side of the drawbridge. The food was brought forth, and the clan folk from the village came to celebrate the Midsummer holiday, and especially the departure of the Hay and his men. Throughout the late afternoon, men, women, and children had gathered wood for the great fire that would finally be lit at the moment of the sunset. Both men and women brought good-size pieces of wood, and the pyre grew and grew. The little ones found sticks and bits that they added, dashing up to the great pile to fling them on it with shouts of glee.
To the west, the skies finally began to glow with the coming sunset. A wash of orange was streaked with crimson and edged in gold. Small dark purple and pale pink clouds seemed almost stationary in the pale blue sky, its edges trimmed in palest green. The sun sank lower and lower. Torches were lit, and everyone stood poised for the blazing orb to sink behind the now-dark hills. No one spoke. They were surrounded by silence.
Then the old laird of Brae Aisir stepped forward and thrust his torch into the great pile of wood. Maggie and Fin followed. On all sides of the pyre, torches were thrust into the wood. The Midsummer fire caught. It blazed high into the night, and the clan folk cheered. Finally, when the fire was burning well, the laird called for silence, inviting his guests to seat themselves on the benches.
“My grandson will now tell his tale of Solway Moss, and why it took him so long to return to us.” Dugald Kerr sat down next to his granddaughter.
Fin stood upon one of the trestles in their midst so he might be seen. His deep, almost musical voice carried to all the tables. He told them of the battle, and how because a spy among the Scots had warned the English, the attack, which should have been successful, turned into a rout. He told them of how many of the king’s lords would not fight for James V. Too many of them remembered Flodden when so many of Scotland’s first families had lost all of their adult males.
“Many of these lords embrace the new Protestant faith,” Fin explained. “They felt the king went into England for the pope’s sake, not Scotland’s.”
There were some small murmurings among the trestles, but Maggie didn’t know if they were in ageement with the king or those who espoused the new faith. Times were changing in Scotland, and men preaching the new religion had come through the Aisir nam Breug ready to lead Scotland away from the Catholicism of its ancestors. While there were some things about the church that chafed at Maggie, she wasn’t certain she was quite willing to give up one faith for another. God was God, and Jesu, Jesu.
Fin continued telling them of the battle. He explained that when he had seen how things were going, and that there was no hope of the Scots’ prevailing, he had sent his own men away. “I remained for the sake of my kinsman, King James, may God assoil his soul. I fought on until I was injured.” He explained to all his fascinated listeners that the blow to his head had taken his memory from him, a condition worsened when he was struck a second time after having awakened to find scavengers stealing his boots, among other things.
He told them how he recalled nothing else until he found himself upon a stretcher, and an old woman shrieking for all who could hear that he was her son, Bobby. “Finally the officer in charge had them carry me to her cottage,” Fin said. “I suppose they thought I would die, so they let the old woman deal with it if she wanted me.”
Lord Stewart continued on with his tale. He told his listeners that while he could dredge up no memory of who he was, or where he had come from, he knew for certain he was not the old woman’s son, Bobby. But Old Mother—he never learned her Christian name—nursed him back to health over the next few weeks. The winter had now set in, and because he had no idea of who he was or where he belonged, he remained with her. Then his memory began returning in small bits and pieces. He dreamed of a man named Iver, and then of one called Archie.
“I had no idea who they were,” Fin told his wide-eyed audience, “but I realized I must find them. But then Old Mother grew ill. I remained to nurse her, and I buried her when she finally died.” At that point, he explained, she realized that he was not her son. Her son had gone off to war almost thirty years prior and died at Flodden among the English dead. More of his memory returned. He knew he owned a house in Edinburgh, and he realized he had to get there if he was to unravel the mystery of who he was.
“It was there I found him standing before the door of his house,” Archie broke in.
“Aye, he did,” Fin said. “And thanks to being with my old friend and retainer, the rest of my memory was restored over the next few days. When I finally remembered, Archie told me of the troubles here at Brae Aisir with the Hay. We rode for the Borders, arriving in the village a few days ago and driving the Hays from the keep. That is the tale of why it took me so long to return home and why no ransom demand came for me.”
“Ye didn’t remember me?” Maggie was glaring at her husband, and a ripple of laughter arose from the clan folk around them.
“To my discredit, Maggie mine, I did not,” Fin admitted candidly.
She threw her silver goblet at him, but he ducked, avoiding another injury to his head. The clan folk roared with laughter as Fin leaped from the trestle, grabbing his wife, whom he turned over his knee. He smacked her bottom twice, then tipped her back onto her feet and kissed her long and passionately.
“Yer a fool, Fingal Stewart!” Maggie shouted at him, breaking away from his embrace and dashing off into the darkness.
He followed after her shouting, “Come back here, ye damned border vixen!”
Dugald Kerr smiled, watching them go. He wondered if they would return to the keep tonight or settle their silly differences in the heather. He drained his own goblet down; then turning to Clennon, Kerr said, “Take me in, man. The night air, for all ’tis summer, i
s making my old bones ache. I need my hearth.”
Fingal Stewart found his wife quickly, for she made no effort to hide as she crashed down the hillside in her temper. Catching up with her, he pulled her into his arms again. “If I promise never to forget ye again, will ye forgive me?” he asked, and he kissed her on the very tip of her nose.
Maggie didn’t struggle. Her outrage was gone as common sense had set in. Still, she would not allow him to believe he could wheedle her so easily. His arms felt wonderful about her—making her all warm and safe. “Yer a great fool,” she repeated. “How does a man forget a woman he says he loves? Have ye stopped loving me?”
“Nay, I love ye now more than I ever have, for I could have lost ye, Maggie mine. Had my memory not been restored to me, I would not have known where to come home,” he told her. He looked down into her face. “I loved ye yesterday. I love ye today. I’ll love ye tomorrow and forever,” he promised her. “I always knew something was missing,” he told her. “There was always something I was struggling to recall.”
“No more wars!” Maggie said sternly.
“No more wars,” Fin promised her. “James Stewart is dead, and my first loyalty is now to ye, to our bairns, to Brae Aisir. I’ll fight only in defense of these lands. The French queen knows little of me. She has a coterie of great lords squabbling to rule for her daughter. Marie de Guise is a strong woman. She’ll struggle with every bit of her being to see that the little queen is safe. Remember her powerful kin in France, her brothers, François, the duke de Guise, and Charles, the cardinal of Lorraine. And for all the reformers, Scotland is still a Catholic land. Our biggest worry must be the English king, for I heard in Edinburgh that he wants our little queen as a bride to his son and heir, Prince Edward. Many favor such a match.”
“I don’t want to talk politics tonight,” Maggie said boldly.
“Ye don’t?” he teased her softly.
“Let’s go home, my lord,” she invited him.
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