“Aye, my lord,” Rafe responded.
“The heir?”
“Aye, my lord. I am Rafe Kerr.”
“Ye look to have more sense than yer sire, laddie. This is Fingal Stewart, Maggie’s husband,” he said, indicating with a wave of his hand Lord Stewart, who sat on his right. “Ye two will be doing business together eventually. Ye should get to know each other. Busby! A goblet of wine for young Rafe Kerr, and his sire too. Come up and join us at the high board, laddie.” He looked to Edmund. “Sit down, Edmund. I don’t like ye, and never have, but yer heir looks to have promise.”
“Go on,” Edmund Kerr hissed at his son, and then he seated himself on a bench at the nearest trestle, taking the goblet offered and drinking deeply.
The younger man joined those at the high board, seating himself next to Lord Stewart. The two men began talking.
The old laird chuckled.
“I almost feel sorry for Lord Edmund,” Maggie said to the laird. “Ye were very hard on him, Grandsire.”
“Pompous fool,” Dugald Kerr muttered. “And the nerve of him to think I would ever consider giving my darling lass to him to wife.”
“He doesn’t want me, Grandsire. He wants to control the entire Aisir nam Breug,” Maggie replied. “You know that’s why he has hot-footed through the traverse this day.”
“Even if ye were a perfect match for him, I wouldn’t have allowed it,” Dugald Kerr said. “This is Scotland. We may be in the Borders, but the boundary between Scotland and England has always been clear in the pass. Ye needed a Scots husband, and ye have one now.”
“Only if he beats me on the morrow,” Maggie said.
The laird nodded. “He will,” he said with surety.
Maggie laughed. “Have ye lost faith in me then, Grandsire?”
“I’ll never lose faith in ye, lass, but this man is the man for ye.”
Maggie was not about to agree with her grandfather. At least not yet. But she had to admit that the past few weeks had been a revelation to her. They had hunted together, and he had not treated her like some delicate creature. He had treated her like an equal. But once the marriage was blessed and consummated, would he behave the same way? He was learning the business of the Aisir nam Breug from her quickly. Her grandfather noted it and was pleased.
She and Fingal had visited every one of the watchtowers along the miles under Scots control. He spoke with the men, and the men liked him. He saw where repairs were needed for both the towers and the narrow stone road. He had asked her who originally built the road, and she had told him no one was really certain, but it was probably a people known as the Romans who had built the wall that was the divide between England and Scotland. He wanted to know how the Aisir nam Breug became the Kerr family’s responsibility.
Maggie had explained that the family traced its roots to an Anglo-Norman family who sent several of their number north in the eleventh century. Two brothers had discovered the stone road deep within the hills. They had divided it, the elder taking the larger section and settling in Scotland, and the younger taking the small section and settling in England. Lord Stewart had nodded. Those were the days when a man could go forth and make his own fortune, and found a dynasty.
Seeing her grandfather, her husband, and Rafe Kerr deep in conversation, she slipped from the table to seek out Busby. “See two bed-spaces nearest one of the hearths are made ready for Lord Edmund and his son,” she instructed the servant. “And send Clennon Kerr and Iver Leslie to me in the library.”
“Aye, m’lady. Is there anything else I can do for ye this evening?” Busby inquired solicitously. “I know the race will be run on the morrow.”
“Make sure the breakfast served afterwards is hearty,” Maggie said with a twinkle in her hazel eyes. “I imagine his lordship will be quite worn-out attempting to win the challenge.”
Busby chuckled. “Aye, my lady,” he said. “I’ll tell Cook to make it a festive meal for ye.” Then he asked with the familiarity of a man who had known her since her birth, “Do ye think he can beat ye, my lady?”
“Perhaps,” Maggie said slowly. “Dinna say I said it, Busby, but the man has long legs.” Then with a grin she hurried off to the library.
Clennon Kerr and Iver Leslie quickly joined her.
“I want a hearth built in the barracks,” Maggie told them. The hall isn’t large enough to comfortably hold all the men at night, but the barracks are too cold now that winter is about to descend upon us. Before the weather becomes bad, the hearth and its chimney must be built. The hunt is over. The cattle and sheep are in the home meadows. The men have more than enough time on their hands. Have them gather all the materials they will need before they open the wall up. And be certain they cover the opening at night so the weather doesn’t get into the barracks.”
“Yes, m’lady,” Clennon Kerr said. “Is there anything else?”
“Nay, and I’m off for bed. I need my rest before tomorrow’s race,” Maggie said.
Iver Leslie grinned. “He’s fast, m’lady,” he told her.
“God’s toenail, I hope so,” Maggie answered him. “My last suitor ran like a lass.” And then she left the two men who were guffawing loudly at her remark. She had told Grizel no bath this evening, but she would surely need one after tomorrow’s race. She had sent Grizel to her own bed; Maggie had no need of her, being perfectly able to wash and undress herself.
Tomorrow, she thought as she finally lay abed. Fingal Stewart was the first man she had ever considered having the ability to beat her in fair combat. She had been running the hills about Brae Aisir for so long, she couldn’t remember when she had first begun. Her grandsire said she was just past two when she had disappeared over the drawbridge one day, giving them all a terrible fright until she came running back up the path from the village. It was quickly observed that Maggie Kerr could run very fast. By the time she was four, the village lads were running with her, and by the time she was six, it was acknowledged that no one could run as fast as she could run.
