“Ye fought hard,” Grizel said proudly. “It was a grand contest and will be spoken of in the Borders for many years to come.”
“Few saw it but our own,” Maggie reminded her tiring woman.
“They’ll repeat it to their kin who were not here today, and they will pass it on to others throughout the Borders,” Grizel said.
“God only knows how the tale will end up, for it will be embellished by each person who repeats it,” Maggie said, laughing softly.
“He’s a fine man, and will give ye strong sons and daughters, mistress,” Grizel said. “Is there anything ye would ask of me now that ye face yer wedding night?”
“Nay,” Maggie replied, a faint blush touching her cheeks. “I’ve seen enough lasses and lads in the hay and out on the moors to know just enough to make a beginning of it. And what I don’t know I expect that my husband will tutor me in to make up for my deficiencies.”
“Aye,” Grizel agreed. “ ’Tis better that way, for ye’ll learn to please him. And ye’ll get yer way more often than not pleasing a husband than displeasing him.”
“Help me wash my hair,” Maggie said, changing the subject. “My scalp is soaked wet with all my efforts this morning.”
Grizel brought her mistress a small stone jar filled with scraps of soap that had been melted soft in a bit of water. Taking a small pitcher, she dipped it into the tub and poured the water over her mistress’s head. Then Maggie dipped her fingers into the jar, bringing up a handful of the mixture, which she rubbed into her head. The sweet-smelling mixture foamed up quickly as she scrubbed her head. Grizel rinsed the soap away, and the two women repeated the process. When all the soap was finally erased from Maggie’s hair, she took her tresses into a hank, wringing it out. Then Grizel pinned the wet hair atop the girl’s head so she might continue her bath.
“I can’t decide whether to wear the burgundy or the deep green velvet,” Maggie said to her companion as she scrubbed herself.
“Neither,” Grizel surprised her by replying. “I’ve been working for weeks on a gown for ye to wear on this day, my lady.” She chuckled, well pleased by the look of excitement that bloomed on Maggie’s face. “Finish with yer bath,” Grizel said, smiling.
“Do ye think my lord has bathed too?” Maggie wondered aloud.
“Aye, he has,” Grizel answered her.
“How can ye know?” Maggie inquired.
“Archie is a man who enjoys a bit of chatter,” Grizel said, chortling. “He said he was putting sandalwood oil in his master’s bathwater today.”
“My lord’s manservant likes ye,” Maggie teased her tiring woman.
“Do ye ache less now?” Grizel asked, avoiding the subject of Lord Stewart’s man.
“Aye,” Maggie replied, but her hazel eyes were twinkling. “I don’t think I have ever in my life fought so hard as I did this day. My husband is very skilled with his claymore. Not once did he give me the opportunity to slip beneath his guard and blood him,” she said admiringly.
“Did ye want him to?” Grizel inquired slyly.
Maggie smiled almost to herself. “Nay,” she admitted. “I didn’t.”
“He’s a bold man, and an honorable one too,” Grizel said, nodding approvingly.
Maggie finally emerged from her tub. The water was cooling, and she was beginning to ache again. She dried herself thoroughly, wrapping the cloth about herself. Then she sat down by her hearth to get warm again while she toweled her hair with another cloth and began brushing it out before the fire.
“ ’Tis past noon,” Grizel said at last. “Ye must dress, and then go to the kirk for the blessing. The Netherdale Kerrs haven’t left. They’re staying for the blessing and the feast. Lord Edmund is not happy about yer marriage, but Rafe, yer cousin, seems a good lad. Not at all like his da. Imagine the old fool telling yer grandsire that he wanted to wed ye and bring the two families together,” Grizel said indignantly.
“He wants to control all of the Aisir nam Breug,” Maggie said. “I seem to be the answer to his desire. I’d nae wed him if he were the last man on earth, and as fair as a May morn,” Maggie said. “I’ve never liked him, even as a child.”
Grizel took the hairbrush from her mistress, and running it through the girl’s hair said, “Yer dry now. Let’s get ye dressed, my lady.”
Maggie could see her undergarments laid out upon her bed, but there was no sign of a gown. Grizel handed her mistress a pair of soft woolen stockings that were pale in color and came just below her knee. She drew them on, affixing them with a plain ribbon garter. Standing, she next put on a chemise. It had long sleeves trimmed with gold lace, and a low square neckline also edged in gold lace that would match her gown’s neckline. Next Grizel added two silk petticoats that tied in the back with ribbon.
The tiring woman went to the wardrobe and drew out the bodice, which already had its sleeves affixed, and the skirt that made up the gown that Maggie would wear. The lower half of the gown was a funnel skirt of orange tawny velvet brocade edged in brown fur. The matching velvet bodice had a square neckline edged in gold embroidery, and the sleeves had deep turned-back cuffs of rich brown marten, the gold lace from her chemise sleeves just barely visible. “Well?” Grizel said, smiling.
“It’s beautiful!” Maggie exclaimed. “It’s perfect!” She threw her arms about the older woman. “Thank you, Grizel! Thank you!”
“I want the king’s kinsman to see what a fine lady ye are,” Grizel said. “I want him to know yer the kind of wife he can take to court one day when the king takes a wife. I want him to be proud of ye as all here at Brae Aisir are proud of ye.” She wiped a tear or two from her warm brown eyes.
Maggie was close to tears herself after Grizel’s declaration. “Help me finish dressing,” she said, a catch in her voice. What on earth was the matter with her today? She supposed it was the shock of actually losing the contest. Before this day no one seeking her hand who had dared to take up the challenge had ever gotten past the footrace, although she had raced her stallion just to make a point with Ewan Hay. The contracts had been signed weeks ago. She was already wed to Fingal Stewart. But now he had gained her respect. He had proved himself worthy to be her husband this day, to inherit control of the Aisir nam Breug eventually, to sire bairns upon her.
