“Och, Grandsire, we must bring the cattle and sheep from the summer pastures first,” Maggie said. “I have no time for racing now. Just yesterday one of the shepherds thought he heard a wolf in the far hills. I’ll not lose good livestock to those beasties.”
“I agree with her,” Fingal Stewart said quietly.
The laird and his brother looked at each other. Finally Dugald Kerr said, “Well, ’twill not take long, and as yer already legally man and wife I suppose a few more days cannot matter.” And the priest nodded in agreement.
So the sheep and the cattle were brought down from their summer pastures to browse in the fields near the keep during the day, and be penned safely within the village with their dogs at night. Again the laird asked his granddaughter to set the date for the challenge between her and Lord Stewart. But Maggie demurred a third time.
“Grandsire, we have not filled the larder with enough meat to get through the winter,” she said in reasonable tones. “How can I rest and take my own pleasure if I permit this keep to go hungry come the snows?”
“I agree,” Fingal Stewart murmured. “I commend your constancy to duty, madam. We will hunt together every day until we have enough meat to sustain us in the months ahead.” He smiled pleasantly at her. “And then I will meet your challenge so our union may be blessed. The winter is as good a time as any to make an heir for Brae Aisir.”
The old laird and the priest both chuckled at this, for Maggie’s face had taken on a look of annoyance at Fingal Stewart’s words.
“An excellent plan,” Dugald Kerr said. “I’d like to be holding my great-grandson in my arms by this time next year,” he said.
“And I’d like to be alive to baptize the bairn,” Father David said.
Maggie’s temper exploded. “I’ll not be thought of as some damned broodmare to be bred for fresh stock,” she told them.
“ ’Tis yer duty, lassie,” her grandfather told her. “Yer duty to Brae Aisir.”
“I know my duty to Brae Aisir,” Maggie said fiercely. “I have done that duty since I was a wee lass, Grandsire.”
“Aye,” he replied. “Ye’ve done duty by this family, and ye’ve done it well, but yer the last of us now, lassie, and yer duty is to give us a son. Ye’ve been given a good man for a husband. Now let him get a child on ye for Brae Aisir.”
She ran from the hall, shocked by his words. Yet why should she be shocked? Her grandfather had only spoken the truth to her, and Maggie knew it. But still, to give up her authority to a stranger; to be nothing more than a creature to be bred? She did not know if she could bear it. She was close to tears. And then as she stood in the dimness of the corridor outside the hall, an arm went around her. Maggie stiffened her spine.
“He is eager to see an heir,” Fin said quietly.
“Are ye?” The arm about her was more comforting than constraining.
“Aye, but not until yer content with this,” Fin told her.
“Do ye want to bed me because ye must?” she asked.
He laughed softly, the warm breath soft against her neck as he bent down so only she might hear him. “I know ye have a mirror,” he said. “Yer beautiful, lass.”
“So bedding me will not prove too onerous a duty because I am beautiful,” Maggie said testily.
“Lass, we are already wed by royal command. We must bed each other eventually. Am I to be distained because I appreciate that yer fair of face and form? As I come to know ye, I find that I like ye, Maggie Kerr. I admire yer honor and faithfulness to duty. Set the date for yer challenge so Father David may bless our union,” Fin said.
“Ye think ye can beat me?” Her tone was irritable.
“No one remains a champion forever, lass, and I am the man who will defeat ye,” he said with surety. “Why are ye afraid of that?”
It had been comfortable leaning back against him, but now Maggie pulled away. She pushed his arm from her waist, pivoting about as she did. “I am Mad Maggie Kerr of Brae Aisir, and I fear no man,” she said. “But before I set the date for this contest between us, the larder will be filled with meat. When that is done, I will set the time for our contest; ye have my word on it.” She spit into her right hand and held it out to him.
He was surprised by the gesture, for it was not a woman’s, but he spit into his right hand in return and shook her hand. “Done, madam, and done again!” he said.
Her gaze met his. “Yer a puzzlement to me, Fingal Stewart,” she told him.
“Why?” he asked her. He puzzled her? ’Twas interesting, Lord Stewart thought.
“I am used to the society of men, but I have never known a man with such patience as ye have,” she admitted. “Ye could lure a doe onto the spit.”
“Is that why ye work at trying my patience, lass?” he queried, a small smile touching his mouth.
Maggie laughed. It was a loud sound, and filled with genuine amusement. “If there is a limit to yer patience, my lord, I have yet to find it,” she admitted.
