She stood silently as Grizel fastened the skirt of her gown. It fell in graceful folds over her petticoats. She slid her arms into the bodice, waiting while Grizel carefully laced it up the back with gold ribbon. She sat carefully, letting her tiring woman brush out her long rich chestnut brown hair. It would be worn loose, attesting to her virginity. A gold ribbon embroidered with tiny glittering bits of gold quartz was fastened about her forehead to hold her tresses in place. Maggie stood and took the soft leather gloves Grizel handed her. They would be riding to the kirk. Her servant slipped a fur cape about her shoulders.
“Yer ready,” Grizel said.
Maggie descended into the great hall where the men of her family awaited her. Her grandfather was dressed in a long, dark brown velvet coat with full-puffed sleeves, and a large fur collar. She smiled at him, but then her gaze went to her husband, and her eyes widened with both approval and surprise. If as Grizel had said, she was fine enough to appear at the king’s court, then so was Lord Fingal Stewart.
Chapter 6
She had always thought him passing fair for a man, but looking at him now, she realized how handsome he truly was. At five feet ten inches, she was considered extremely tall for a woman, but he topped her by at least half a foot. His thick wavy black hair was cropped short. His gray eyes looked out at her from beneath thick bushy black eyebrows. He had a long face with an aquiline nose, and while his mouth was big and thin, when he smiled it changed the severity of his countenance. He smiled at her now, and Maggie smiled back.
“Ye are beautiful, madam,” he gallantly told her, taking her hand up and kissing it.
“As are ye, my lord,” she said, admiring his deep green velvet doublet with its bit of gold embroidery, padded sleeves, and fur cuffs. He had matching slashed breeches, silk stockings that showed his shapely calves, and embroidered shoes.
“Archie seems to have some magic that grants him proper garments for me when the occasion demands it,” Fingal Stewart answered. He had fully expected to wear the black and brown canions he wore to court. He tucked her hand into his arm.
“Can we get to the kirk for the blessing?” the old laird asked impatiently.
“I could do it here, Brother,” Father David Kerr said.
“Nay! I want the blessing pronounced in the kirk,” Dugald Kerr replied. “The kirk is full of Kerrs now waiting for this.”
“We should not keep them waiting another minute then, my lord,” Fingal Stewart said. Then he turned to Maggie and said mischievously, “Do ye want to race?”
She laughed loudly. “Nay, my lord. We shall proceed through the village upon our mounts at a docile pace as is suitable for this day.”
In the courtyard a fine chestnut gelding and a cream-colored mare with a dark mane and tail stood waiting patiently. Lord Stewart lifted Maggie onto the mare, waiting while she pulled on her riding gloves and adjusted her skirts; she did not ride astride this day. Then he swung himself up on the gelding next to the laird and the priest, who were already mounted. Slowly they descended the hill path and into the village. The street was lined with villagers who then fell in behind the riders escorting them.
The priest hurried into the church building with the villagers behind him eager to find places among the keep’s servants where they too might watch the ceremony. Lord Stewart lifted Maggie from her saddle. When her feet had touched the ground, she found herself flanked by her grandfather on one side of her and Fingal Stewart on the other. Together the two men escorted her into the kirk and up the aisle where Father David Kerr stood awaiting them. Without a single word, Dugald Kerr, laird of Brae Aisir, placed his granddaughter’s hand into the hand of Lord Fingal Stewart. Then he stepped back and aside to watch the proceedings as Edmund Kerr glared, angry to have been foiled.
“Kneel,” the priest said. When they had, he pronounced the church’s blessing upon the union of Margaret Jean Kerr of Brae Aisir and Lord Fingal David Stewart of Torra. A hand rested upon the head of the bride and of the groom as he spoke. Then Mass was celebrated for all within the small kirk. When it concluded, David Kerr announced, “Fingal Stewart and Maggie Kerr are now man and wife in the eyes of the church as well as the laws of Scotland.”
“Huzzah! Huzzah! Huzzah!” those within the church shouted with one voice.
“Long life and many bairns to our Maggie and her man!”
They arose from the velvet-cushioned kneelers. Fin swept Maggie into his arms and kissed her quite thoroughly to the delight of the clansmen and women. Then they hurried from the church together, the old laird coming behind them, accepting the congratulations of his folk. Rosy with blushes, Maggie was already seated upon her mare.
Fin aided Dugald Kerr to clamber upon his horse, then mounted his own animal, and they returned to the keep, the Netherdale Kerrs and the village coming behind them.
In the courtyard Maggie and Fin greeted each Kerr, giving them a small but useful gift; honing stones for the men, a small basket of colored threads for the women, and a sugar plum for each child. There were ale and sweet cakes for everyone. A health was drunk to the bride, the groom, and the laird. Then the clan folk departed back to their own cottages, allowing the wedding party to reenter the hall where the celebratory feast would now be enjoyed by the family and its retainers.
It was midafternoon now. The day had cleared. As the sun set and the fires blazed in the hall hearths, the food was brought forth to the high board. Fresh trout and salmon were served on platters of peppery wild cress. This was followed by a roasted goose, a leg of lamb, a ham, and a rabbit stew with tiny onions and sliced carrots in a rich brown gravy flavored with red wine. There was a bowl of late peas from the kitchen garden, and some lettuces braised in white wine along with fresh bread served with both butter and two cheeses. The cups, studded with green agate, were filled with dark red wine that tasted sweet to Maggie’s tongue.
Below the high board the men-at-arms and the family’s retainers enjoyed trout, ham, rabbit stew, bread, and cheese, while their cups were never empty of the laird’s good ale. There was much camaraderie and laughter between the trestles, for the men of Brae Aisir and Lord Stewart’s men were now one and the same.
Lord Edmund glowered out over the small assembly. He had lost his chance to gain the whole of the Aisir nam Breug today. But there was always tomorrow. Maggie could prove infertile. She might die in childbed or birth only daughters. Discord could be sewn among the Kerr clan folk when old Dugald died. Did the Kerrs really want a Stewart overlord and master? Despite his son’s warning, Edmund Kerr wasn’t ready to yet concede his loss. His fist tightened about the stem of his goblet, and his lips narrowed.
“We’re leaving immediately on the morrow,” Rafe Kerr said quietly to his sire. “The head groom in the stable says there’s a storm coming in another day or two. I’d just as soon be home in Netherdale Hall when it does.”
“Aye,” his father agreed. “No need for us to remain here any longer. My cousin will be glad to see the back of me, I’m certain.”
Rafe laughed. “Aye, Da, he will, ’tis truth. Old Dugald doesn’t like you at all. He told me he holds you responsible for not telling him that Glynis was frail.”
“I had hoped my half sister would produce an heir for Brae Aisir whom I would one day influence and match with one of my daughters,” Edmund Kerr said.
“So you’ve meant to have it all along, Da, have you?” Rafe was surprised, but then once his father got an idea he liked stuck in his head, it was difficult, if not impossible, to move him in another direction. He was his father’s heir, and he certainly did not want the entire responsibility of the Aisir nam Breug to fall upon him. Their eight miles were enough for him. His father hadn’t managed his responsibility in years. It was Rafe who had overseen their part of the pass since he was sixteen. He was now past thirty. Some years were more difficult than others depending on whether England and Scotland were quarreling. And if they were, keeping the Aisir nam Breug safe was harder.
But from the looks of Lord Stewart, his cousin’s bridegroom was a strong man and would sire strong sons on Maggie. She was nothing like her mother had been. Glynis Kerr had been beautiful, but a wise man would have seen she was frail. Sadly, Dugald Kerr’s son was not wise, and Rafe was frankly amazed she had lived to birth three bairns despite the fact the only one surviving was a lass. Dugald Kerr had blamed Edmund Kerr for not pointing out that Glynis was delicate, and for the sake of them all discouraging the match between his half sister and the laird’s son. But Dugald had had three sons then, and several other grandchildren. Who could have anticipated all that had happened, and that a lass would end up the last of the Kerrs of Brae Aisir?
