“Even blood cannot always be counted upon,” Fingal Stewart said wisely. “I am an exception not just because of my blood tie to the king, but my maternal grandmother was sister to the grandfather of the king’s current mistress, Janet Munro. So the king and I are doubly bound. It was Janet Munro who informed the king of my existence, and how the Stewarts of Torra have never betrayed their kings. Until that day, the king had no knowledge of me at all despite our blood tie.”
“I have heard stories both positive and negative about the king,” Father David replied. “Yer tale is most interesting, my lord. It is a good thing that James Stewart acknowledges yer kinship, but also a good thing that ye have never been involved in any of the conspiracies that have surrounded him since his unfortunate childhood.”
“I am six years the king’s senior,” Lord Stewart said.
“Then ye are thirty years of age, or thereabouts,” the priest noted.
“Thereabouts,” Lord Stewart agreed.
“Yer late to wed, or have ye been wed before?” the priest inquired.
“I have not been wed prior, nor to my knowledge do I have any bastards, and while I have known several women, I could not afford to keep a mistress,” Lord Stewart said. “Is there anything else ye would know, good Father?”
The priest chuckled. “Ye understand why I ask, my lord. Ye are unknown to us, but ye come with written instructions from the king to wed our heiress. We cannot refuse the king’s command, but we would know the kind of man into whose keeping we are placing our Maggie. One day when ye give yer daughter in marriage, ye will remember this day and understand.”
“I descend from King Robert the Third through his murdered son, David, who got a son on his mistress, Maire Drummond. When the first James Stewart returned from an eighteen-year exile in England, his nephew came to pledge his undying loyalty. In return that king saw his nephew was permitted to use the surname Stewart; and he gave him a stone house with a fine slate roof below Edinburgh Castle, which is how we became the Stewarts of Torra. When the first James was foully murdered, that same nephew was one of the men who got the queen to safety and saw her son secured upon his throne. Since that day we Stewarts of Torra have never deviated in our loyalty,” Fingal told the priest.
“We have never had the authority or the wealth to be involved in the battles to control the boy kings James the Second and James the Third. Nor did we take sides when the fourth James saw his father overthrown. We have simply remained loyal to the Stewart kings in power in any way we might. We have never broken faith with our kinsmen. So when our king told me to wed the heiress to Brae Aisir, I could give but one answer. Aye, my lord. My family’s motto isEver faithful. Our clan badge is a greyhound lodged in front of a crown proper. Is there anything else you need to know, Priest?”
“Ye have no siblings?”
“Nay. My father was content when I was born that he had a son. He had thought his line to die with him, for he was not a rich man and had not wanted to take a wife to share his poverty. He wed my mother, the orphaned kin of a friend, to keep her safe. She was sixteen and he past fifty when I was born. But he loved her, and she him. She died when I was ten, and my father just a few years ago.”
“He would have been very old,” Father David said.
Fingal chuckled. “He was eighty and had a strong constitution.”
“Now I know what ye can tell me, my lord. The rest I shall learn as I come to know ye better. My brother, the laird, will not be unhappy with what you have told me.”
Maggie had listened as Fingal had spoken to her great-uncle. His family might have had no wealth, but it would seem to be respectable with good clan connections—Munros, Drummonds, and Stewarts. She snuck a quick look at him from beneath her lashes. He was fair to her eye with his long face and shock of short, coal black hair. And his form was strongly built, and well muscled. She was tall for a woman, but he had topped her by at least half a foot. Could he overcome her fairly in the challenge? Would she let him? Or would she beat him as she would any man who attempted to best her?
Only time would tell, and Maggie needed to get to know Fingal Stewart better.
The following day they signed the marriage contracts drawn up by Father David, then met in the courtyard of the keep. They would ride with several men-at-arms, and she would show him the Aisir nam Breug. A late-August sun shone down on them, and above the skies were clear blue. They rode down the hill and through the village of Brae Aisir. A half mile from the village, Maggie turned her horse to the right, and Fin realized they were on a narrow and very ancient paved stone road. He was surprised when the hills suddenly rose up around them.
Seeing the look on his face Maggie said, “Aye, it comes upon ye suddenly, doesn’t it. This is the beginning of it. Our part runs for just over fifteen miles before the border is reached, and ye can cross into England.”
“How do ye know when ye’ve reach the border?” he asked her.
“There is a cairn of stones topped by an iron thistle. A few feet farther on the other side of the pass is a second cairn of stones topped by a rose. Pass by it going south, and yer in England. Pass by our cairn going north and yer in Scotland. ’Tis that simple, my lord,” Maggie explained patiently.
“I can see the road is too narrow for an army or group of raiders to travel with any urgency,” Fingal Stewart noted, “but do ye have any defenses at all?”
Maggie smiled mischievously. “Look up and about ye, my lord.”
He did, and it was then he saw the low stone watchtowers set at intervals, and carefully staggered on both sides of the pass. Lord Stewart was impressed.
“We keep three men in each tower,” Maggie told him. “In case of an emergency, one man is sent to Brae Aisir or Netherdale, whichever is closer, to give the alarm.”
“Yer English kin keep faith with ye first?”
“As we keep faith with them,” Maggie replied. “The welfare of our folk is paramount for us all. Without the tolls we collect, how could we care for our people? We are not disloyal to our kings, and the pass has in its time prevented a tragedy or two because it has been a safe traverse through the Borders when there was no other way.”
He nodded. It had all been carefully thought out, and it had been done several centuries ago. He was astounded that the Kerrs had been able to keep the Aisir nam Breug neutral and free of strife for all these years. Would he be able to successfully carry on the tradition? And what would the English Kerrs think of a Stewart marrying the last of the Brae Aisir Kerrs? They traveled that day to the border and back. And in the weeks to come Fingal Stewart took several of his men and rode the pass himself, familiarizing himself with the landscape, the watchtowers, the road itself.
August and September were over. The fields had been completely harvested, and the villagers were allowed to glean in them, gathering up what remained of the crops for their own families. The hillsides were bright with their autumn colors. One evening as October began, Dugald Kerr spoke to his granddaughter.
“It is time for ye to set the date of the marriage challenge,” he said to Maggie.
