“There is a limit,” he warned her. “But if I am indeed to lure the doe onto my spit, then I must exhibit great forebearance else it flee me into the hills.”
“I will not run,” she told him, blushing at the innuendo. I will leave ye now, my lord. We must be up and away before the dawn if tomorrow’s hunt is to be successful.”
He bowed to her. “Good night then, lass,” he said. “I’ll be up on time.”
Maggie picked up her skirts and ran up the narrow stone stairs. She sensed he wanted to follow, but he did not, nor did she look back. He did puzzle her. If he was not an intimate part of the king’s coterie, then what was he? He had been very candid with Father David about his past. And he had been equally candid with her. How had he lived? If he hired out his sword, where had he fought, and for whom? In France? She wanted to know more, but would her curiosity ever be satisfied? Or would she have to accept Fingal Stewart for what she saw, and what he had told her? Was there even more?
She thought there might be, but perhaps he needed to be more certain of her before he would tell her. Had the king investigated his kinsman, or had he just accepted the suggestion and the word of his mistress, who would, of course, want to aid her cousin?
“So,” Grizel said when Maggie had closed her bedchamber door behind her, “yer grandfather is pressing ye again, or so says the gossip from the hall.”
Maggie smiled. “First we fill the larder for winter,” she replied.
“And after that?” Grizel asked, her brown eyes curious.
“I’ve given my word to set the date then for the contest between us,” Maggie said.
“I know yer word is good.” Grizel nodded. “Well, perhaps we’ll have an early snow, and ye won’t be able to settle the matter till spring.”
Maggie laughed as she stripped off her garments. “I’m afraid Grandsire won’t wait that long. I’ve been told he would hold his great-grandson in his arms by next autumn. And the priest concurred.”
“I’ll wager ye didn’t like being told that,” Grizel said as she shook out her young mistress’s gown, and hung it in the wardrobe.
Maggie sighed. “They’re right, Grizel, although I will deny it, should you repeat my words. Lord Stewart seems to be a strong man, and he will hold the Aisir nam Breug as well as any Kerr before him. I can advise him until he is more certain of himself, but the truth is, other than keeping the accounts, my duty is to give Brae Aisir an heir.”
“There is bound to be trouble when the Netherdale Kerrs learn ye’ve wed,” Grizel said. “Lord Edmund has not been unhappy that ye’ve turned away all possible suitors.”
“Edmund Kerr cannot believe that the English could manage the Aisir nam Breug alone. They control but eight miles of it to our fifteen. Those fifteen are Scots soil, not English. This cannot be Berwick all over again with the two sides wrangling over it. The pass would be useless then,” Maggie pointed out.
“I think Lord Edmund hoped to wed ye himself,” Grizel put forth. “He’s put two wives in the ground already, but has been slow to seek another.”
“He has nine sons, which should be enough for any man, and half a dozen are already wed with bairns of their own. Not to mention the bastards he sired on both sides of the border. The Netherdale Kerrs have no lack of heirs,” Maggie remarked. “Besides, he’s my uncle and close to fifty if he is a day. The rumors say he has a very devoted and jealous mistress. There is even speculation that she hurried his last wife to her death in order to become Lord Edmund’s third wife. He can’t seriously have any expectations of wedding me, and if he does, it is simply to get his hands on the entire Aisir nam Breug. I honestly doubt he could outrun, outride, and outfight me, Grizel.” Now in her nightgown, Maggie undid her plait and began brushing out her long chestnut brown hair.
“Will ye hunt tomorrow?” Grizel asked her mistress as she finished putting away all of her garments. She picked up the girl’s boots and polished the dust from them with a cloth she pulled from her skirt pocket.
“Aye, I want the larder filled by Martinmas,” Maggie said. “I’ll take us to that wee loch near the pass entrance tomorrow early. There have been geese overnight there.
“We’ll catch them as they rise from the water to begin their southward flight. If everyone’s arrow rings true, we will come back with a dozen or more.”
“Lord Stewart’s Archie says the villagers have seen a boar in the wood lately,” Grizel told her mistress.
“I had heard,” Maggie answered. “Aye, I’d like to get that boar. If he’s young, he’ll be tender and make a fine feast on Christ’s Mass day.” She climbed into her bed, drawing the down coverlet up and settling back into her pillows. “I love hunting in the autumn the best,” she said. “Good night, Grizel.”
“Good night, my lady,” the tiring woman answered as she departed her mistress’s bedchamber.
As the door clicked shut behind Grizel, Maggie closed her eyes. Tomorrow would be a wonderful day, she decided. She would show Fingal Stewart that she was more than just a female upon whom he would breed up sons. She would take more game than he did, if only to irritate him. He said his patience had limits. She wondered whether that patience would come to an end if she pricked his pride hard enough. With a smile upon her face, Mad Maggie Kerr fell into a sound and most contented sleep.
Chapter 4
She was up before Grizel even came to awaken her the following morning. She could see the dark sky with a narrow shaft of waning moon through the half-open wood shutter. Maggie lay briefly enjoying a few last minutes of warmth before throwing her coverlet back and getting up from the bed. Pulling the night jar from beneath the bed she peed, leaving it for Grizel to empty. Then, going to her small hearth, she added some bits of kindling, coaxing her fire up from the dark red coals. As it lit, she added more wood, then pulled the ceramic pitcher from the coals where it had sat the night long keeping the water in it warm.
Maggie stripped off her simple white cotton nightgown. Pouring some water into a pewter basin, she picked up the washing rag, soaped it with a sliver of soap that had the fragrance of woodbine, and washed herself thoroughly. Then, using her most prized possession, a small brush with short, hard boar’s bristles set into a piece of carved horn, Maggie scrubbed her teeth. Her ablutions concluded, she opened the trunk at the foot of her bed and drew out a cotton chemise that came only to her midthighs. It was lined in rabbit’s fur. Putting it on, she added a white linen shirt over it, lacing it up. Next she pulled on a pair of woolen stockings and dark woolen breeks, which she secured with a wide belt. Next came a fur-lined soft doeskin jerkin and her leather boots.
As Maggie sat back down upon her bed to brush out her long hair and braid it into its single plait, Grizel came into the chamber. “Good morrow,” Maggie said cheerfully, affixing a small bit of scarlet ribbon to hold her braid.
“Ye should have waited,” Grizel said.
“I awoke and couldn’t lie there. Besides, I’ll want to eat before we go.”
