Border: The Border Vixen Part 22

"I want no premature a.s.saults," Maggie said. "Hay has successfully taken the keep by means of a foul lie, but he will not hold it. However, I need time to consider what must be done and how to do it. Tell Clennon Kerr our men are to remain hidden until I call for them to come to my aid."

"Very good, my lady," Busby replied. "Shall I tell the laird what ye have done?"

"Where is he?" she asked.

"Still in the hall," Busby responded, and again a hint of a smile touched his lips. "He will not relinquish it to the Hay fellow, my lady."

"He will go to bed in his own time," Maggie said. "When he does, send someone to me to let me know. I will speak to him then. In the meantime, keep him calm. Once it becomes apparent that the barracks are empty, perhaps we can get some of Hay's men to take up residence there and get them out of the house at least. Feed them but not lavishly. Just enough to keep Hay from whining, and doing something foolish. As long as he is well fed he is unlikely to complain. Go quickly now, Busby, before the glow of his victory wears off and Hay considers any more mischief tonight."

"Where shall he sleep, my lady?" Busby asked his mistress.

"Give him the best beds.p.a.ce in the hall. One near one of the hearths. He cannot come above for these chambers are for the family only. We have no room," Maggie replied. "I will keep my husband's chamber locked until he returns home. Go now." As Busby hurried from his mistress's chamber, Maggie turned to Grizel. "Have you told Archie yet of this incursion?"

Grizel nodded. "Aye, and, of course, he would try to get up and fight the battle himself. I've been sleeping in his bed with him to be certain he needs naught in the night. I can keep him calm and quiet, my lady. But ye should go and speak with him, for he will take it more kindly if ye do."

"After the house quiets," Maggie said.

Busby finally helped her grandfather up from the hall, a.s.suring Ewan Hay that he would return immediately to see to his comfort. He settled the old laird in his chamber with his manservant, informed Maggie that her grandfather was upstairs, and then hurried back to the hall.

"Have ye prepared me a chamber?" Ewan Hay demanded of the majordomo.

"My mistress has ordered that ye have the best beds.p.a.ce here in the hall," Busby responded. "The one nearest the large hearth. Ye'll be warm and comfortable, sir."

"A beds.p.a.ce? I am now master here, and I expect a chamber!"

"Sir, Dugald Kerr is the laird and master here," Busby said politely. "There is no chamber for ye. This is not some great lord's house. There is a chamber for the laird, one for the mistress and her husband, and another for the bairns. Ye are a gentleman and cannot dispossess them. My lady has requested that ye be placed in the best beds.p.a.ce we have to offer ye. With yer permission, I will see it is prepared now." Busby bowed.

Ewan Hay was aggravated. He was to be the master of this keep, and should not have to sleep in the hall with his men. Still, the servant appeared to be telling the truth and was being most deferential towards him. Worse, he was correct. If the only chambers on the upper floor were for the old man, his granddaughter, and her children, it wouldn't help his cause to force one of them to give up his chamber for him. Not that he cared what anyone thought, but his brother had advised him to at least try and keep the peace at Brae Aisir. Ewan Hay capitulated. "Very well," he said sourly. Soon enough he would be sleeping in Maggie's bed and teaching the b.i.t.c.h how to behave with her man.

It snowed for the next three days. Father David was unable to get up to the keep to celebrate Christ's Ma.s.s. Maggie appeared in the hall only long enough to inquire if the men in the barracks had been fed. Ewan Hay said they would be fed when the snows ceased. Maggie departed the hall smiling to herself. The longer the storm lasted, the longer her men had to hide themselves in the village. She had no doubt they were long gone from the barracks building, but Ewan Hay wouldn't know until the snow stopped.

On December twenty-eighth the morning dawned clear, but gray. Maggie returned to the hall demanding her men be fed, but Ewan Hay said if they wanted to eat they could dig their own way out of the stone quarters, and across the courtyard. Then he laughed nastily. Maggie turned to go.

"Stay!" he commanded her. "I would have yer company."

"But I do not wish yers," Maggie answered him, her back still towards him.

"Ye had best get used to me, my border vixen, for I am here to stay," he said.

"Ye'll remain till ye die, aye, I'll agree to that," Maggie told him. "But I dinna have to bear yer company. What have ye gained? Yer trapped in this keep even as the rest of us are. Now feed my men. After three days without food they should be too weak to battle with yer men." Then she left the hall.

After another day Ewan Hay became concerned that no one from the barracks had come forth. He had watched as his men had gathered up the few men-at-arms in the keep and shut them in their stone quarters. He had actually been surprised at their small numbers, but he a.s.sumed Lord Stewart had taken a large force with him to impress the king, and lost them along with his own life. Well, so much the better. He could hold this keep.

Then Ewan noted that there was no smoke coming from the barracks' chimney.

He ordered his men to dig a path to the barracks and break into it. The snow was heavy, and it took several hours before the narrow path reached the thick wooden door. Bhaltair, the Hay captain, lifted the bar from the door, expecting to find the entry locked from the inside. It was not, and he opened it easily. He stepped cautiously into the large dark chamber; the fire in the hearth was out, the few candles set about having burned down to hard puddles of melted wax. He quickly looked about. The cots were empty. The barracks were empty. But it couldn't be. He had watched as the Kerr men-at-arms were marched into this building. There was no way in or out of this structure except the door. And the door had been fixed with a heavy wooden bar.

He shouted for a lantern; when it was brought, he moved farther into the chamber, seeking some other way out. The floor was hard-packed earth, and had not been moved or dug. There were no windows that he could see. Fifteen men had been in this place four days ago. They could not have simply vanished. Or was there magic at work here? He had heard it said that the mistress of this keep was rumored to be a witch. How else could the missing men be explained away? Exiting the barracks, he ran to tell Ewan Hay of what he had discovered.

As Ewan Hay listened to his captain's tale, his face darkened with rage. "Busby!" he shouted, bringing the keep's majordomo running. "Find yer mistress, and tell her I would see her in the hall immediately!" he said.

Busby did not delay. He hurried upstairs to find Maggie. "They've discovered the barracks are empty, my lady. The Hay is furious, and wants ye down in the hall at once," the majordomo told Maggie.

Maggie smiled a cat's smile, and following Busby, went down to the hall. She had barely entered the room when Ewan Hay was shouting at her.

"What mischief have ye done, madam? I demand answers!"

"Answers to what, sir? Obviously something is wrong, but unless ye tell me what it is, I cannot reply with any clarity," Maggie answered him crisply.

"The men in the barracks," Ewan Hay shouted.

"Aye? What about them?" Maggie responded. "Have ye at least had the decency to feed them yet? We dinna practice cruelty here at Brae Aisir."

"I cannot feed them!" Ewan Hay said angrily.

"You cannot feed them? Why can you not feed them?" Maggie demanded of him.

"Because they are not there!" he roared. "The barracks are empty; yet I saw those men marched into it with my own eyes. But when we opened the door just a little while ago, the chamber was empty, the fire in the hearth gone cold, the candles burned to stubs!"

"Ohh, villain!" Maggie cried. "What have ye done with my men? If ye have killed them, ye will pay for it, I promise ye!"

Her outrage was magnificent to behold, Busby thought as he stood quietly, watching as his mistress put the Hay on the defensive.

"What have I done?" Ewan Hay roared. "The question is what have ye done, madam? I have done nothing but lock yer people away. Now they are gone, and it is certain that ye had something to do with it!"

"To my knowledge the barracks have a single door and no other exit," Maggie replied. "Yer men had the watch, for ye imprisoned mine. And I have not left the house since ye came. Again, question yer men to see if I did for I have been in my chamber upstairs much of the time since yer incursion into my home. Ye have murdered my men, and now ye wish to place the blame on an innocent woman to cover yer crime. Shame, sir, shame!" Maggie said. "There is not one of those men I did not know, and now they are foully murdered by ye and yer men. Unarmed. Helpless. May Jesu have mercy on ye, Ewan Hay, for given the chance I shall not," she wept. Then Maggie turned and left the hall, her shoulders shaking in apparent grief, but she was laughing so hard she feared he would discover her subterfuge.

Astonished, Ewan Hay watched her go. He was still faced with the problem that he had placed into confinement fifteen men who were now no longer there. "Bhaltair!" he shouted to his captain.

"I'm here, my lord," the man answered, stepping forward. He was a short, stocky man with a bald pate and small dark eyes. His face had suffered through many fights. His large wide nose had been broken several times as had his jaw, which was slightly skewed. One of his cheekbones had been smashed practically flat. He was a rather fearsome-looking fellow with a short temper, and he took his position as Ewan Hay's captain very seriously.

"Question yer men," his master said. "See if the lady has been outside of the house since we came. And see if yer men took it upon themselves to slaughter the Kerr men-at-arms, though where they would put the bodies I don't know."

"They could be underneath the snow," Bhaltair said, "but that our lot isn't experienced enough to have done something like that, nor do they have the stones for it. Yer brother gave ye a bunch of untried and lazy weaklings, but I'm getting them into shape for ye, my lord," he said, flattering his master shamelessly.

My lord. Ewan smiled. Here was a man who respected him and his position. "Do what ye must, but I want them in prime fighting condition by the time the snows are gone. Edmund Kerr believes I am his p.a.w.n in this matter, but I am not. I have but used him to gain access to Brae Aisir, and now I have it. But I must hold it. And until the Kerr clan folk accept what has happened, we must be vigilant at all times."

"Understood, my lord," Bhaltair said. "I will go and question the men now."

But none of the Hay men-at-arms had seen the lady of Brae Aisir leave her home since their arrival. And all swore innocence in the matter of the missing Kerr men-at-arms. Upon reflection, Bhaltair, who despite his rough appearance was not a stupid man, though he was superst.i.tious, realized that until this morning they had all been penned in the hall waiting out the storm. He could not hold his men responsible for the disappearance of the Kerrs. But they were nonetheless gone. Only witchcraft could have accomplished such a feat, he decided.

But Ewan Hay did not believe in witchcraft. He went to the barracks himself to inspect them. He had had the chamber well lit so he might see what Bhaltair had obviously not. He looked up the chimney of the hearth, but there was no evidence of disturbance in along the sooty walls. He walked with his eyes down upon the floor seeking something that would indicate an exit. But the hard earth showed no outward sign of a trapdoor leading to a tunnel. He was almost ready to give up when he found the narrow window. Its wooden shutter was blackened with age and to the quick glance seemed a part of the stone walls. The window, however, was barred.

Ewan Hay removed the bar, opened the shutter, and looked down. There was no sign of human traffic on either the sill or the ground, which was about eight feet down, but Ewan was certain this was the means by which the Kerr men-at-arms had escaped. It would not be difficult to get the bar to fall back into its place when the shutter was pulled closed from the outside, provided it was rigged properly to do so.

He had been careless, Ewan Hay realized. He knew little about the keep; before he imprisoned the Kerr clansmen, he should have inspected it more carefully and herded his prisoners into the keep's cellars where there would have been no access to escape, or at least a less easy escape. He couldn't continue to be so negligent and f.e.c.kless if he expected to hold this keep against the English Kerrs. They would leave him be for the winter he could be certain. But once the snows melted and the pa.s.s was open to traffic again, Rafe Kerr was sure to come on an inspection.

He would have to keep Lord Edmund's heir as his prisoner until he could make the greedy Englishman see reason; that he, Ewan Hay, was now master of Brae Aisir, and he didn't intend relinquis.h.i.+ng it. Brae Aisir was after all in Scotland, and he was a Scot. He would need allies, however; men he could call upon to defend his rights from the English Kerrs. And that would mean making Mad Maggie his wife, not his mistress. She was the key to seeing him made legitimate in the eyes of their neighbors. He didn't intend letting that border vixen escape him this time.

Maggie was content for the moment that Ewan Hay could do little harm. Once a path to the village was opened through the s...o...b..nks, she sent all the maidservants from the keep. The Hay men-at-arms were a rowdy lot, and some of the la.s.ses in service were young and apt to be foolish. Grizel, of course, remained along with the men servitors. Her grandfather was not pleased by any of what was happening, but he was afflicted by his annual winter ague coupled with a stiffness in his limbs that tended to cripple him. Maggie's two sons, Davy and Andrew, had taken to being with their great-grandfather, and following him wherever he went, as their nursemaid had been sent away with the other female servants but for Grizel and the cook, Maudie, who kept to her kitchen, directing the young lads now replacing her kitchen wenches.

Maggie herself had returned to the hall as Ewan Hay had sent his men to inhabit the barracks formerly possessed by the Kerr men-at-arms. Once they had eaten in the evening, they stacked the trestles on the side of the hall and disappeared. Ewan had managed to convince Bhaltair that there was no witchcraft involved in the escape of the Kerrs but only their own carelessness and the Kerrs' quick thinking.

The winter deepened, and the snows continued. Maggie grew larger with her coming child. She sat by one of the hearths sewing and wondering where her husband was, why he had not returned, why there was no ransom demand. She would not accept that he was dead. She knew she would feel something if he were dead, and she didn't. As long as there was winter, they were safe; Ewan Hay could do nothing in the winter. But once the winter ended, if Fingal didn't return home, Maggie found herself fearful for what might happen. Of late Ewan Hay had attempted to charm her as she sat in the hall.

"The bairn must soon be due," he said one late-February day. "Will it be another lad, do ye think?" He attempted a smile.

Maggie looked at him bleakly. "It will be what it will be, sir. Only G.o.d knows."

The longer he stayed, the more she hated this intruder in her home.

"Ye did not answer my question," Ewan said. "When will ye birth this child?"

"When is not yer concern," Maggie answered him rudely. "The bairn will come when it comes, and not a moment before. Why do ye care?"

"I am but curious, madam, nothing more," Ewan replied. Then he changed the subject completely. "When does the pa.s.s usually open again?"

"When the snows are gone completely," Maggie said. "Once the melt begins, and we can enter the pa.s.s safely, we patrol its length each day until we are certain it is clear. I will be brought the reports," she told him.

"Nay," he responded in a hard voice. "The reports will be brought to me first. Because I am ignorant of the pa.s.s, I will confer with yer grandfather until I am sure of what I am doing. Yer responsibility is to care for yer bairns and prepare for yer marriage to me as soon as possible."

"Marry ye? Yer mad, Ewan Hay! Raving mad! I have a husband. His name is Fingal Stewart. I need no other husband but him," Maggie said, and the child in her womb stirred restlessly. Her hand went immediately to her belly to soothe it.

"Madam, sooner or later ye must face the fact that Lord Stewart did not come home after Solway Moss. No ransom demand came to Brae Aisir. If one does not come in the spring, and yer husband does not return home by then, ye must wed me," Ewan Hay said. "G.o.d's foot, madam, yer place is here in the hall with yer bairns, not out riding the Aisir nam Breug like some clansman."

"I will do as I d.a.m.ned well please!" Maggie told him angrily.

"Nay, ye will cease being a border vixen, and become a good border wife," Ewan said. "With our king in his grave, and a wee bairn on the throne, ye may be certain the English will be at our doors come summer. The traverse must be protected, and no woman is capable of such a task."

"I'll not wed ye," Maggie said quietly now. She didn't want the bairn disturbed again, and all the shouting was indeed distressing it.

"Ye have no choice. I need the cooperation of yer clansmen, and I cannot gain it unless ye are my wife. Stewart may have gotten bairns on ye, but yer still Dugald Kerr's heiress in the eyes of yer Kerr clan folk," Ewan Hay said.

Maggie grew pale with his words. He was right, d.a.m.n him to h.e.l.l. But if, G.o.d forbid, she had indeed been widowed at Solway Moss, she had no intention of remarrying, let alone marrying Ewan Hay. He was a coward, and she despised him. "I will never wed ye, and the sooner ye understand that, the better it will be for ye, sir."

"Ye'll wed me," he told her with a nasty smile. "Ye have yer bairns to consider, Maggie Kerr, and if there is one thing I have learned in my weeks here, it is that yer a good mother. Ye'll not allow anything to happen to yer lads. Fight me on this, and I'll send them through the pa.s.s to be fostered by yer greedy English kin."

"If ye think my uncle would harm my sons, yer wrong, sir. I know how Edmund Kerr thinks. He would wed the little daughter his mistress gave him several years ago to David and raise him to do his bidding, or try," Maggie countered.

"And if he turned the lad English, then it would be the fine Scots sons ye'll give me who inherit Brae Aisir, and not Fingal Stewart's lads. Yer clan folk would give their loyalty first to a good Scot, and ye know it," he matched her.

"Fingal Stewart is not dead," Maggie responded. "He will come home, and he will drive ye from Brae Aisir if I don't do it first."

Ewan Hay laughed. "Let him try and I will slay him," he said boldly.

They had two heavy snows in the first half of March. The pa.s.s would open late.

Finally as the month began to draw to its end, the hills began to quickly show signs of spring. The white snows and the gray melting began to give way to the open earth. The hillsides gave off a hint of hazy green. Ewan Hay came into the hall on the last day of the month to learn that Maggie had gone into labor in the night. The keep was oddly silent. Old Dugald sat at the high board after the morning meal playing the board game of Hare and Hounds with his two grandsons. Grizel entered the hall with another woman.

"Who is this?" Ewan Hay demanded.

"The midwife," Grizel told him bluntly.

"Is she all right?" he asked.

"She's laboring to bring forth a bairn," Grizel replied, and then hurried on with Mistress Agnes up the stairs.

"Why does she need a midwife?" Ewan asked Dugald Kerr. "She's had two bairns before this one being born."

"She's not some animal giving birth," the laird said irritably. "Every birth is different, ye dumb clot." He turned back to his game.

The main meal of the day was served. The laird, Ewan, and the two little boys ate at the high board. This was a rare treat for the two brothers who usually ate in the kitchens with Maudie. At one time, their nursemaids had eaten with them, but now they were gone. The laird directed his great-grandsons in their table manners and in how to properly use their napkin. Ewan noted that the laird was extremely fond of the two little lads. He could use that as a weapon to force Maggie to the altar, for he knew she loved her grandsire dearly and would do whatever she had to to see him happy.

The afternoon wore on. The days were noticeably longer now. The hall was silent. The laird had fallen asleep in his chair by the hearth. Davy and Andrew had disappeared. The dogs sprawled about lazily, following their master's example. Ewan Hay was bored. He decided to ride out and see how the melt was progressing. When he returned an hour later, the hall remained exactly as he left it.

"Busby!" he shouted, and the majordomo was at his side almost immediately.

"Has the lady birthed her bairn yet?"

"Not yet, sir, but Grizel tells me it will be quite soon," Busby answered. "Is there anything else, sir?"

"Get me some wine!" Ewan snapped. He was irritated, and he didn't know why.

Busby brought him a large silver goblet studded with green agate. It was filled with a rich red wine, the pungent aroma of which filled his nostrils. Ewan took the goblet from Busby and drank deeply of it. The d.a.m.ned servant annoyed him, and yet he had done nothing since Ewan arrived that should irritate him. He was polite-deferential to a fault-and Ewan wondered why. The other servants practically ignored him, avoiding all contact with him until spoken to, at which point they answered him, but no more than that. And the old witch who looked after Maggie made no secret of the fact she could barely tolerate him at all. He'd send her packing when he married Maggie, and he would put in her place some buxom little thing he could swive when his wife's moon link was broken.

He hadn't had a woman since he arrived at Brae Aisir. Maggie had swiftly sent all the young female serving wenches back to their family cottages in the village as the snows began. And the clansmen kept a close eye on their women whenever the Hay men-at-arms came into their midst. Of late, however, Bhaltair had mentioned that Brae Aisir had a wh.o.r.e who was willing to make herself available for a coin or two. He shouted for his captain, and questioned him further.

"Ye said there was a wh.o.r.e in the village. Where is she?" he demanded.

"There are two, but one will only service the lads whose wives are big in the belly," Bhaltair replied. "The more willing one lives on the edge of the village where the Aisir nam Breug begins and ends. Her name is Jeannie."

"Take me to the more reluctant wh.o.r.e," Ewan said. "If she will take a c.o.c.k, she cannot be fussy about the c.o.c.k she takes. Come with me, and we'll make an evening of it. This enforced celibacy is not to my taste."

The two men departed the hall, and taking their horses, rode down to the village, stopping at the cottage Bhaltair said belonged to Flora Kerr, the widow. They entered, startling the woman, who was kneading bread for the morrow. Her pretty, plump hands were covered with flour. Flora knew instantly what they wanted.

"I serve only the lads whose wives are with child," she quickly said. "You will find what you seek at the end of the lane, sir."

"But I don't want the well-traveled c.u.n.t of the village wh.o.r.e," Ewan told her. "My captain and I deserve something finer, Flora Kerr. It is Flora, isn't it?"

Flora nodded.

"Do ye know who I am, Flora? I am the new master of the keep, of Brae Aisir itself. Ye dinna want to displease me now, do ye?" Ewan smiled at the woman, but his eyes were cold, his tone menacing.

"Sir, I am not a common wh.o.r.e. I give of myself for the women's sake," Flora said in a trembling voice. "I take naught for my service."

"I am pleased that ye are not common," Ewan said, stepping up to her, and quickly putting a restraining arm about her waist. "Ye will serve me, Flora Kerr, and tonight ye will also service my captain." He thrust a hand into her blouse, his fingers closing about a very plump breast.

"Please, sir," Flora began, and then she cried out, for he had cruelly pinched the nipple of the breast he now was holding.