“I will nae do it!” Grizel said vehemently. “Yer grandsire said ye were to leave yer tresses loose this evening. I’ve a gold ribbon band with a small oval of polished red quartz for ye to wear as a headpiece.”
“Christ Almighty! The mare is to be presented as never mounted,” Maggie swore.
“Well, ye never have,” Grizel said sharply, “though yer wild behavior has left many wondering. So ye’ll do as yer told, Maggie Kerr, and nae shame yer grandsire or yer clan’s good name this night.”
Maggie laughed. Grizel rarely scolded her so severely. “Oh, very well. My hair shall fall about me like that of a fourteen-year-old lass, for not only am I willful, at seventeen I am fast growing out of my breeding cycle,” Maggie teased the older woman. “So let my suitors think I am a helpless creature. If they would delude themselves.”
Now it was Grizel who laughed. But then she secured Maggie’s long hair with the gold ribbon band. “Put yer shoes on, and yer ready to make yer entrance,” she said.
Maggie slipped her feet into the pretty slippers, then stood up. “You realize,” she said to Grizel, “that I will frighten all those clansmen in the hall with my grand entry. I’m not the usual border woman in her one good gown trying to please. I’m the heiress to Brae Aisir, and I won’t let them forget it.”
“Dinna,” Grizel replied. “The man who wins you will love you and respect your position. He must be worthy of you, my lass. You must nae accept a lesser man. Beware, however, of those who will try to seduce you to gain an advantage over you.”
Maggie laughed. “I have managed to hold on to my virtue for seventeen years, Grizel. I will continue to hold it from those lusting after my wealth, my body, and my family’s power. I can tell you that I know the man I must eventually wed is nae in Grandsire’s hall this night.” She reached out to take the hand of the older woman. “Come along now, Grizel. To the hall! It should prove an amusing evening.”
They left the girl’s rooms and descended the winding stairs. Maggie’s apartment was in the southwest corner of her grandfather’s home. They entered the great hall, Grizel shoving the men crowding the large room aside so her mistress might get through to the high board, where her grandfather was awaiting her arrival.
Dugald Kerr watched her come. There was pride in his brown eyes, and his mouth quirked with his amusement. The wicked wench had dressed to intimidate, and by the open mouths he could now see as he looked out over his hall, she had been successful in her attempt. She was fair enough to evoke lust in not just a few of the men there. But she did not come eyes downcast, shrinking away from his guests. She strode with the sureness of who she was—Margaret Kerr; his only heir, and closest blood relation other than his brother, David.
He was proud of her, especially because he had never expected that his frail, weak daughter-in-law, dead with Maggie’s birth, could have given him any heir, let alone such a strong lass as Maggie. His youngest son, Robert, had married Glynis Kerr, one of the Netherdale Kerrs. After several centuries, they were but distantly related. Unfortunately Glynis had proved frail. She lost two sons before Maggie had been born. When Robert had been killed in the early days of Glynis’s confinement, Dugald Kerr had despaired.
His two older sons, their wives, and their children were dead. The eldest of his three sons, like the youngest, had died in the border wars. He had been newly wed, and his wife had not yet borne a bairn. She had returned to her family and made another marriage. His middle son had succumbed with his wife, and two little boys, to a winter epidemic. Robert had been sixteen then. A year later he was wed, and three years later he was dead. His wife, however, understanding the gravity of the family’s situation, had forced her sorrow away from her until she could birth her child safely. But seeing her father-in-law’s face when the child slid from her body, Glynis had whispered but two words, “I’m sorry,” loosened her hold on life, and died.
Watching Glynis’s daughter now make her way to the high board, Dugald Kerr wished Glynis had lived to see the magnificent heiress she and Robbie had given Brae Aisir. He smiled broadly as Maggie stepped up and, greeting her great-uncle David first, bent and kissed Dugald Kerr’s ruddy cheek. Then she settled herself into the high-backed oak chair at his right hand and gazed out over the assembly.
“Is there anyone in the Borders not eating at your expense tonight, Grandsire?” she asked mischievously, her hazel eyes dancing wickedly.
“Yer husband might be among that pack of borderers, lass,” he replied, smiling at her. Maggie was, he had to admit to himself, his weakness. It was why he had allowed her to run rampant throughout the Borders. Her daring and independence delighted him, although he was wise enough to know it would not have in any other woman.
“There’s nae a man in this hall tonight whom I would wed and bed, Grandsire,” she told him candidly.
“It’s a woman’s place to marry,” David Kerr said softly to her.
“Why? Because we are weak and frail vessels, Uncle? Because we are told that God created man first, and therefore we are less in his eyes? If we are less, then why is it our responsibility to bear new life to God’s glory?” Maggie demanded of him.
“Why must ye always ask such damned intelligent questions, Niece?” the priest asked. His eyes, however, were dancing with amusement.
“Because I love stymieing ye, Uncle. I refuse to fit the church’s mold that women are lesser creatures, fit but to keep house and spawn new souls. I do not want a husband taking precedence over me at Brae Aisir. I am perfectly capable of managing the Aisir nam Breug, and need no stranger to do it for me,” Maggie said firmly.
“And when ye have left this earth, who will be left to care for the Aisir nam Breug, Maggie?” the laird asked her quietly.
She caught his hand up and kissed it. “We will be here forever, Grandsire,” she said to him. “Ye and I will look after the Aisir nam Breug together.”
“That is a child’s reasoning,” Dugald Kerr replied. “Yer no longer a child, Maggie. Ye need a husband to father a child upon ye. A child who will one day inherit what the Kerrs of Brae Aisir have kept safe for centuries. I will not force ye to the altar, but sooner or later ye must choose a man to wed. And I will help ye to find the right man, Granddaughter. One who will respect ye. One whom ye can respect.”
“Nae in this hall tonight, Grandsire,” she answered him.
“Perhaps ye are correct, but before we cast our nets afield, Maggie, we must give our neighbors the opportunity to woo ye,” the laird said.
Maggie picked up the silver goblet studded in green malachite by her hand, and drank a healthy draft of the red wine in it. “I cannot gainsay ye, Grandsire,” she told him. “Very well; let us see what we may find from this showing of lads all eager to win my hand, spend my fortune, and take my inheritance.” And she laughed.
“God help the man who finally pleases ye,” David Kerr said dryly.
The laird laughed and signaled his servants to begin bringing the meal. They streamed into the hall, bearing steaming platters, dishes, and bowls of food. The trestle tables below the high board where the three Kerrs sat had been set with linen cloths, polished pewter plates, and tankards filled with good strong ale. There were round loaves of bread upon the tables, small wheels of hard cheese, and crocks of sweet butter. The servants offered poultry, fish, boar, and venison, which the male guests greedily ate up. Few of the vegetables offered were consumed by the clansmen, who were content with well-cooked meat, fish, game, bread, and cheese.
At the high board the dishes were more varied, and while it was meat, game, and seafood, it was more delicately offered. Trout braised in white wine and set upon green watercress was offered along with a bowl of steamed prawns. There was a roasted duck stuffed with dried apples and bread, and roasts of lamb, boar, and venison. Bowls of peas and a salad of lettuces were presented. The high board had a large round cottage loaf, butter, and two cheeses—one from France that was soft and creamy, the other a good hard yellow cheese.
Maggie watched as the guests wolfed down everything offered to them and quaffed tankard after tankard of brown ale. Some of the men had more delicate manners than others. The clansmen barely mingled, sitting at their own tables and eyeing one another suspiciously. She wondered how long it would be before a fight would break out, but she knew her grandsire’s men-at-arms now lining the hall could handle any unpleasant situation. The high board was cleared, and a sweet was brought for Maggie. Cook had made for her a custard with jam, which Maggie very much favored.
