Maggie slid from her horse and walked over to him. “Do ye admit defeat, sir?” she asked him coldly. “Ye completed but one of the three challenges.”
“Madam, despite yer wealth, and the power ye will hold, I would nae hae ye for a wife if ye were the last woman on the face of God’s green earth,” Ewan Hay said grimly. “Yer a border vixen, and I pity the man, if he even exists, who will tame, wed, and bed ye. Is that a stallion ye were riding just now?” He stared, surprised.
“Aye,” Maggie drawled, smiling. She bent to pull her stockings and boots back on.
Ewan Hay shook his blond head. “A woman who rides a stallion is nae the lass for me,” he admitted to her, briefly humbled.
“Ye ran a good race,” Maggie said generously.
He looked up at her and shook his head. Then he said to Grizel, “Can ye help me get my boots on, woman?”
“Yer feet are too swollen, sir,” Grizel said. “I’ll wrap them for ye, but ye’ll nae wear yer boots for the next few days.”
Ewan Hay swore beneath his breath. “How am I to ride?” he asked of no one in particular. He stared at his neatly bound feet.
“We’ll get ye on yer mount,” Dugald Kerr said. He did not invite either Lord Hay or his brother back into the keep. “See to it,” the laird told the captain of his men-at-arms. Then he turned to his granddaughter. “The men yer training are waiting, lass.”
“Aye, Grandsire,” Maggie said, going off to drill a small squad of lads awaiting her in the courtyard. She tossed the reins of her stallion to one of the stable boys as she went.
Dugald Kerr gave a final glance to the Hays. “I thank ye for coming,” he said. Then he turned away and returned to his hall where throughout the morning he bid his guests farewell. Most of them had watched as Ewan Hay had been humiliated and soundly beaten. None of them stepped forward to speak with the laird other than to thank him for his hospitality. When the last of them had departed, Dugald Kerr sighed, saying to his priestly brother, “I know Maggie is a formidable lass, David, but are all of our border lads such weaklings that they would not even attempt to meet the challenges set forth?”
“Nae after seeing the Hay beaten so thoroughly,” David Kerr said. “Why must ye insist on a husband for Maggie meeting such a challenge?”
“She will nae love or respect a man who cannot best her. Her husband will need her help, her guidance, in managing the Aisir nam Breug. There isn’t a man in my house, in my ranks, on my lands, who does not respect Mad Maggie Kerr. There are some who even fear her, David. And they are right too. What a pity she was not born a lad!”
“She’s more lad than lassie,” the priest said dryly, “but I suppose yer right. She’ll need a strong man by her side. But after today’s exhibition, I dinna know who’ll have her. I will pray on it, however, Dugald.”
In the weeks that followed, several of the border lords sent to the laird of Brae Aisir; some even returned to speak with him face-to-face in an effort to negotiate a marriage contract between one of their kinsmen and Mad Maggie Kerr. But Dugald Kerr remained firm in his resolve. The man who married his granddaughter had to vanquish her, and earn her respect. Turned away, the lairds finally met at a small inn in the border hills to discuss the matter of Dugald Kerr, Mad Maggie, and the Aisir nam Breug.
“If the old man dies,” one laird said, “what will happen to the traverse? It can’t be left in the hands of a flighty lass.”
“We all know the girl must be wed,” another laird said, “but who is brave enough to force the lass?”
“David Kerr knows enough to hold the Aisir nam Breug,” a voice spoke up.
“He’s a priest. Do we want the church controlling the passage?” another said.
“Dugald Kerr looked sound of both body and mind to me,” a man remarked.
“Aye!” several voices agreed.
“Perhaps we hae best leave things as they are right now,” an Elliot clansman said.
“The lass is ripe for marriage, and if some of the younger lads were to court her, mayhap she would forget her foolishness and choose one of them.”
There were murmurs of assent from the majority of the men in the small inn. They drank a toast to their decision, then scattered in different directions. But Ewan Hay sat brooding over his tankard. He had considered kidnapping the vixen while she was out riding, forcing her to his will, and impregnating her. She would have to wed him then or suffer the shame of bearing a bastard. She would be ruined for any other man and have no choice but to accept him. But such an action was apt to cause a feud between the Hays and the Kerrs. His elder brother had warned him against such an action. He would more than likely end up being killed himself, he said to Lord Hay in an attempt to reassure him that he would not act in a precipitous manner.
“I’ll kill ye myself, Ewan, if ye shame the Kerr lass,” Lord Hay warned. “Find another way if ye really want her. I’m not averse to the Hays controlling the Aisir nam Breug. It’s made the Kerrs wealthy. I should enjoy a bit of that wealth.”
“I could go to the king,” Ewan Hay said to his brother. “I could tell him how old Kerr is coming to his end. Of how a man is needed to watch over such a valuable resource, and the laird has but a frail granddaughter for an heir.”
Lord Hay considered his younger brother’s reasoning. “Aye,” he said slowly. “ ’Tis just possible ye might gain an advantage if ye went to the king. The rest of them are trying to figure out how to get around old Dugald Kerr. This might be the way, and the first man to the post is likely to gain the prize. Aye! Go to the king, Ewan.”
So Ewan Hay took his horse, and a dozen men-at-arms, and rode to Linlithgow where the king, James V, was now in residence.
James Stewart was twenty-four. He was a tall big-boned man with short hair, and icy cold eyes. His features were sharply drawn and fine with a narrow long nose much like an eagle’s beak. Still, he was considered an attractive fellow by the women of the court and already had several mistresses, for he had charm. His charm, however, did not run deep. He was known to be ruthless when he wanted his way. James V was not a man who excited loyalty. The earls and the lairds did not like the king, for he was a hard and greedy man. His common folk loved him. At the moment, the king was contemplating taking a queen, considering candidates from Italy, France, and even Denmark, from where his paternal grandmother had come.
Lord Hay had warned his brother to tread lightly, but Ewan Hay was eager to take his revenge upon Mad Maggie Kerr. He could think of nothing but her fury and frustration when the king ordered her to marry him. And so, having managed to gain a few moments of the king’s time, Ewan Hay went to court, dressed in his finest tunic.
