Prologue
SCOTLAND, 1536
Mad Maggie Kerr could outride, outrun, outfight, out-drink, and outswear any man in the Borders. These were not, however, the virtues a gentleman looked for in a wife. But if a man liked a tall lass with dark chestnut brown hair, hazel eyes, and a fat dower, then perhaps Mad Maggie could be considered acceptable—for those reasons and the fact she was Dugald Kerr’s only heir, and Dugald Kerr controlled the Aisir nam Breug.
The Aisir nam Breug was a deep, narrow passage through the border hills between Scotland and England. No one could recall a time when this transit had not been managed by the Scots Kerrs at its north end and the English Kerrs at its south end. Payment of a single toll gave the traveler the guarantee of a safe trip from one side of the border to the other. Merchants and messengers, bridal parties, and other voyagers all used the Aisir nam Breug. Warring factions did not. It had been an unspoken agreement for several centuries that the Aisir nam Breug could be used only for peaceful travel.
Management of this resource had made the Kerr family wealthy over the years. They did not, however, flaunt their wealth, but their home, set upon a low hill, was more a small castle than a tower or manor house. And the village at the foot of that hill had an air of comfortable prosperity about it that was unique in the Borders. They were loyal to the king and always ready to aid a neighbor. The Kerrs of Brae Aisir were considered both honorable and trustworthy.
But the old laird was certainly in his final days. He was the last legitimate male in his line, with a stubborn girl just turned seventeen as his only heir. And despite her reputation, which had earned her the sobriquet of Mad Maggie, Dugald Kerr needed to find his granddaughter a husband—a man who would be strong enough to hold the Aisir nam Breug for the son he would sire on Mad Maggie. It would not be an easy task, but the laird of Brae Aisir knew exactly the kind of man who could tame his lass. Finding him was another matter, however, and this man would also have to win her respect, for Maggie was proud.
“He must be able to outride, outrun, and outfight her,” Dugald Kerr declared to David, his younger brother, who was the family’s priest.
“I suppose yer right, Brother,” David Kerr said with a small smile, “but ’twill nae be easy finding such a man. I shall have to pray mightily on this.”
The laird gave a snort of laughter. “Aye,” he agreed, “ye will.”
“How will ye go about it, Brother?” the priest inquired.
“I’ll give a feast and invite all the neighbors. Then I’ll announce my intentions to them. I know Maggie frightens many of them, for she is outspoken and headstrong, but surely the lure of the Aisir nam Breug will tempt them to overlook these faults.”
“She’s nae as bad as she pretends,” Father David said. “Yer household runs smoothly because of her. She knows how to direct the servants and care for the sick. She’s nae fearful of hard work. I’ve seen her myself in yer fields, and working with the women salting meat for the winter, and making jams.”
“She’d rather hunt the meat than prepare it,” the laird said with a chuckle.
“Aye, Brother, she would,” the priest agreed. “But she can do what a woman with a large household needs to do. She will make the right lad a fine wife. But I don’t believe you’ll find that lad among the Borders, Dugald.”
“I must begin my search somewhere,” the laird of Brae Aisir said.
Chapter 1
“The hall is full, I suppose,” Maggie Kerr said to her tiring woman, Grizel.
“Aye,” came the tart reply. “All come to stuff themselves and get drunk at yer grandfather’s board,” Grizel snorted. “Armstrongs and Elliots, Bruces and Fergusons, Scotts and Bairds who are forever telling the story of how their ancestor saved the life of King William the Lion and thus gained their lands. There are a few Lindsays, and Hays too, and nae one of them fit to wipe the mud from yer boot, my darling lass.”
“Maybe I’ll nae join them,” Maggie said. “I dislike being presented as Grandsire’s prize mare.” She reached for the cake of scented soap on the rim of her tall oak bathing tub and rubbed it slowly over her arm. “I don’t want to marry, and I am more than capable of holding the Aisir nam Breug myself without interference from a stranger calling himself my lord and master. Jesu, why wasn’t I born a lad?”
“Because ye were born a lass,” Grizel said matter-of-factly. “Now finish yer bath. Ye have to get down to the hall sooner than later. I’ll nae let you shame your grandsire, my dearie. Nor would ye do it. Ye know yer duty better than any.”
Then Grizel went and laid out the burgundy velvet gown that Maggie would wear that evening. It was high-waisted and had a low scooped neckline that revealed most of her shoulders. The tight-fitting sleeves and the hem of the gown were trimmed in dark marten. The servant set out a pair of round-toed sollerets covered in the same velvet as the gown and burgundy silk stockings with matching garters.
As Maggie stepped out of her tub, Grizel hurried to wrap her in a warmed towel. “Sit down, and let me prepare you. Then we’ll put on your chemise, and you can choose the jewels you would wear. You should show to your best advantage, my dearie.”
“God’s balls!” Maggie swore. “Ye too, Grizel? I don’t care if one of those fools asks for my hand or not. I don’t want a husband, and I shall make it very difficult for any man to please me enough to win my favor.” She pulled on her soft linen chemise.
Smiling to herself, Grizel gently pushed the girl down on a stool and began to brush out her hair while Maggie dried her feet. “Yer a Kerr,” she said as she plied the boar bristles through Maggie’s thick chestnut-colored tresses. “Ye’ll do what ye must for the good of the family.”
Maggie snorted at her tiring woman’s words. Grizel was like a mother to her, as her own mother had perished giving birth to her, and her father had died in a border clash six months before she was born. Grizel had lost her husband in that same fray, and her own infant son about the time Maggie entered the world. Grandsire had brought the nineteen-year-old widow up from the village to wet-nurse his new granddaughter. She had been born strong, Dugald Kerr said. There had been no doubt she would survive.
And when she no longer needed nourishment from Grizel’s teat, the wet nurse had remained to raise the child for the laird of Brae Aisir. Maggie loved Grizel dearly, and she hated to disappoint her. She would go into her grandsire’s hall the coming evening and be shown to prospective buyers as if a blood mare at a horse fair, but she would wed no man who could not gain her respect. And there was none among the young men she knew who had ever even been able to command her attention. They were a rough-spoken lot, and she knew their only interest in her was the Aisir nam Breug. Maggie pulled on her silk stockings, fastening the ribbon garters to hold them up.
“Let’s get yer gown on,” Grizel said, and she helped Maggie into the rich, soft velvet, seeing that the tight fur-cuffed sleeves fitted without a wrinkle, then lacing up the garment. The high waist of the gown forced the girl’s breasts up so that they were quite visible above the low neckline. The fabric of the skirt fell in graceful folds.
“Give me my rope of pearls,” Maggie said.
Grizel opened the jewel casket and drew out the pearls as her young mistress picked out several rings, which she put on her fingers. The tiring woman slid the pearls over Maggie’s head. “They look just lovely,” she told the lass.
“Braid my hair now in a single plait,” Maggie instructed.
