Now Lord Stewart laughed.
Dugald Kerr was pleased by what he saw. His granddaughter seemed to be accepting of this marriage of the king’s will. It all boded well but for one small detail.
Maggie and Fingal were rarely alone, if ever. They needed more time together, but how was he to accomplish it? And then he knew, and the solution was simple. “Maggie, lass,” he said to her, “take Fingal to my library, and show him yer accounts. She’s a clever girl, my lord, as you’ll see when ye look at her books. No one can manage the accounts like my granddaughter.”
“Och, Grandsire, I doubt Lord Stewart is interested in numbers,” Maggie responded, but she was smiling at her elder.
“Nay, nay, I am quite interested,” Fingal Stewart assured her. He understood what the old laird was about. He and Maggie did need some time alone, and it was unlikely they would get it in the hall filled with Brae Aisir’s men-at-arms not yet gone to their barracks for the night. Ordering them out of the hall would but give rise to talk.
Maggie stood up. “Very well,” she said. “Come, and I will show you how I work my magic with numbers.”
They departed the hall, and she brought him to her grandsire’s library. It wasn’t a particularly large chamber, but it was cozy with a small hearth that was already alight, and a row of three tall arched windows on one wall. Surprisingly there was a wall of books, some leatherbound, others in manuscript form. There was a long table that obviously served as a desk facing the windows, and a high-backed chair behind it at one end. Upon the desk were several leather-bound ledgers. Maggie opened one.
“I keep an account of every expenditure made,” she said. “This is the account book for the household expenses. We are, of course, like most border keeps, self-sufficient but for a few things. The servants are paid for the year at Michaelmas as are the men-at-arms. The other books are records of the livestock bought and sold, the breeding book, and the book of the Aisir nam Breug,” Maggie explained. “Since the beginning, a careful record has been kept of all those going south into England, and coming north into Scotland. The Netherdale Kerrs keep a similar record.”
“And ye do this yourself?” he asked.
“Aye. Grandsire says ’tis best we handle our own business,” Maggie told him.
“How do ye fix the rate of the toll charge? Or is it simply a set rate?” he asked.
“ ’Tis one rate for a single traveler or a couple, male and female. A merchant with a pack train of animals pays according to the number of animals he has. A peddler riding with everything on his back pays a set rate. There are fixed rates for wedding parties, families traveling together, messengers,” Maggie explained.
“ ’Tis well thought out,” Lord Stewart remarked. “You note travelers in both directions though you collect tolls only one way,” he noted. “Why?”
“To keep use of the traverse honest,” Maggie said. “Over the centuries there have been times when some sought use of the Aisir nam Breug for less than peaceful purposes. We have caught the few and ejected them. Once we blocked the way. The watchtowers above the pass know who is in each party. We allow travel north from dawn in the morning, and south from the noon hour until sunset. In the dark months, travel alternates days going north Monday, Wednesday, and Friday; and south Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Saturdays. Sundays the pass is closed but for emergencies such as a messenger.”
“How long have the Kerrs on both sides of the border held this responsibility?” Lord Stewart asked.
“For more than five hundred years,” Maggie told him.
How sad, Lord Stewart thought, that Maggie should be the last of the Kerrs of Brae Aisir. Perhaps he should add the Kerr name to his own. Others had done it in similar situations. Yet he was proud of his name. He would think on it.
“That is all I have to show ye,” Maggie said, breaking into his thoughts. “Do ye have any questions to ask of me, my lord? If not, I should like to go to my chamber and bathe. We have another day of hunting ahead of us on the morrow.”
“Stay,” he said to her. “Can we not talk together?”
Maggie looked puzzled. “Talk? About what? Have ye questions?”
“Aye, questions about the girl who is my wife, yet not my wife,” Fingal Stewart answered her. “Sit by the fire with me.”
“There is only one chair,” Maggie told him.
“Then sit in my lap,” he said. “Or I can sit in yers,” he teased.
She eyed him warily. “Sit in yer lap? Can I not answer yer questions standing? And what can ye possibly want to know about me? Why should it matter, for yer wed to me by the king’s command, my lord.”
“Aye, I am,” he agreed pleasantly, “but what I know of ye so far, Maggie Kerr, I like. I would know more. And I would have ye like me.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Maggie said bleakly. “We’re wed.”
“I was told ye had no other ye preferred,” Lord Stewart said. “Have I taken ye from another who has engaged yer heart?”
“Nay, I don’t,” Maggie answered, “but I have never liked being told what I must or must not do, my lord. ’Tis childish, I know. Even if I might control the Aisir nam Breug alone, I canna bear an heir for Brae Aisir without a husband. Had there been a man among our neighbors who pleased me, I might have taken him as such, and shared the responsibilities of the traverse with him. But there was none. The young men fear me, for I am not a maid willing to sit by the hearth, and murmur yes, my lord, to a husband I canna respect, or one who does not respect me. I have said it often enough. None of them wanted me for myself, but only for my wealth and power. So I chose none among them. They thought my grandfather was so desperate for a husband for me he would do whatever he had to do. But my grandsire knows me well, and he loves me. He understands my needs. But now King James has interfered in this matter.” She sighed. “I will not let you win, Fingal Stewart. Ye must overcome me fairly.”
“I will,” he promised her.
“I know some think me selfish that I would have my way. I am not. I have controlled the Aisir nam Breug for almost three years now by myself. Grandsire is not well enough to do what must be done. I need a man who is willing to learn from a woman. That fool Ewan Hay was hardly the man.”
