“Say on, Hay,” Lord Edmund responded, and his eyes narrowed as he sat back in his chair.
“The Earl of Lennox would like me to take the keep at Brae Aisir for him. I will then remain to govern the keep in his name. In exchange, ye will be allowed to collect all of the tolls,” the Hay said.
“Except for those ye steal at the other end,” Lord Edmund replied.
“Nay, only ye will collect the tolls. My function is to provide the earl with a safe passage for his messengers, and a secure refuge in the Borders for his allies in Scotland whenever they need to meet.”
“How long will he want Brae Aisir?” Lord Edmund sought to know. “This warring will end sooner or later. Some of the high and mighty will forgive one another, or will be forgiven by the Queen Mother, who is grateful for allies, and some will return home. Others will exile themselves into England even as Angus did. Those ordinary men among us on both sides of the border will be left to gather up what remains of our former lives. We will be judged by our associations, Hay.”
“King Henry will be very grateful for yer aid,” Ewan Hay said.
“King Henry wouldn’t know me from a wart on his bottom,” Lord Edmund said pithily, causing Rafe to smile. “He knows naught of me or mine.”
“But the Earl of Lennox does, and this earl has King Henry’s ear, my lord,” the Hay reminded his host. “Ye could find yerself created Baron Kerr.”
Edmund Kerr laughed aloud. “An empty title costing the parsimonious Henry Tudor nothing but a piece of parchment upon which the words will be written.”
“Then what do ye want?” Ewan Hay asked.
“I want all of the Aisir nam Breug for the Kerrs of Netherdale. I want David Kerr for my daughter’s husband,” Edmund Kerr said. “If ye can promise me those things, then I will help ye attain yer goal so ye can stand in high esteem with the earl.”
“I was only authorized to allow ye the tolls collected,” the Hay said.
“Ye think to have Brae Aisir for yerself, Ewan Hay, but I am no fool. Ye may hold the keep for the earl until the mighty stop their haggling over the Scots queen. But there is no need for ye to retain it after the settlement that will eventually come. It is Kerr land, not Hay land. Now, what will ye do with Fingal Stewart and my niece? And of course old Dugald will not give in to ye so easily.”
“I mean to slay Lord Stewart, and take his wife for my mistress. Once I would have wed her, but no more,” Ewan Hay lied to the Lord of Netherdale. He would find another priest lacking scruples and force the widow to the altar. Then her sons would meet with a tragic accident. It would be his children who inherited Brae Aisir, not Fingal Stewart’s and certainly not the grandchildren of Edmund Kerr. But right now he would tell his host whatever it would take to gain his alliance.
“If ye will guarantee me Brae Aisir after ye have finished with it, I will help ye,” Edmund Kerr said.
Rafe Kerr listened to his father, appalled. The familial relationship between the Kerrs of Netherdale and the Kerrs of Brae Aisir had always been stronger than politics and kings. It was the Aisir nam Breug that mattered; that, not the fortunes of the mighty, came first with the Kerrs. However, Rafe wisely held his own counsel and kept silent. He had thought his father had given up on his craving to control the entire traverse, but it had obviously become a desire that Edmund Kerr could not control or let go.
Ewan Hay remained at Netherdale Hall, now an honored guest. Rafe listened as Ewan Hay outlined his plan. He knew how Fingal Stewart had regained the keep, for Maggie had told him when the three had met in the pass one day. Early one morning as the sky began to lighten, Rafe Kerr wrote a note to his cousin on a miniscule piece of paper, folded it into a tiny scroll, and fitted it into a little metal cylinder, which he affixed to the leg of a pigeon he took from the dovecote. Releasing the bird, he watched it as it soared into the skies above Netherdale and then turned north. This was a means of communication used by the Kerr families in times of emergency, and this was certainly an emergency. He wished the bird Godspeed and silently prayed it would reach its destination without being hunted down by a hawk.
Several hours later the pigeon reached the dovecote at Brae Aisir. Fortunately, it was seen by little David Kerr, who ran to his mother saying, “Mama, a bird has just come into the cote. There is something on its leg.”
Maggie ran to the dovecote, and peeping inside, saw the bird among her own. Reaching in, she drew the pigeon out, unfastened the cylinder, and then set the creature back among the others. Hurrying to the house, she called to David, “Go and fetch yer da.”
The little boy ran off. Going into the hall, Maggie opened the cylinder, carefully drew out the little scroll, unrolled it, and spread it out flat upon the high board. The message was written in tiny letters, but she could read it.
Hay here. Assured Scot. Wants keep, pass, for Lennox.
Seeks secret entry. Will kill to learn it. What to do?
The message was signed by Rafe Kerr, her cousin.
Fingal came into the hall. “What’s happened?” he asked her.
Maggie pointed to the message, and her husband read it slowly. Finally she said, “I am so tired of Ewan Hay, Fin.”
He nodded his agreement. “Tell Rafe to somehow give the information to the Hay,” he said. “We’ll barricade the far end of the tunnel so there is no way he can enter the keep. And once Hay and his men are halfway down the tunnel, we’ll roll boulders in front of the outside entrance. With both ends of the tunnel tightly sealed, Hay and his men will die down there. After a few months, we’ll open the passageway up again, and give the bodies a Christian burial,” Fin said.
“If I didn’t think we might need the tunnel again someday, I would suggest we flood it when they are down there,” Maggie said fiercely.
“It’s obvious that the Hay told the English about the Aisir nam Breug, but if he doesn’t return to his masters, they will probably forget all about it. They probably wanted the convenience of a discreet refuge to meet with their assured Scots on this side of the border,” Fin said, “but I don’t believe it’s very important to them, as many of those men are borderers and have nearby homes.”
“I’ll let the pigeon rest the day, and send it back with our reply just before dawn tomorrow,” Maggie told her husband, and he agreed.
At Netherdale, Rafe Kerr watched the next morning for his bird to return. He prayed that none of the Hay’s men would notice the avian. His prayers were answered as he saw the pigeon swoop down from the sky and dance into its cote. He hurried to get the capsule, and taking it to his own apartments, he opened the cylinder, spread the parchment out, and read the following message:
