“Nay,” Fin said. “St.Andrews is the most important church in all of Scotland, and the town is set on the sea.”
“Aah,” Maggie replied. “I see now. And it is really more dignified than that inn we stayed at last night, the Pig and Pipe,” she laughed. “But I loved the sign there with the dancing pig playing on the bagpipe.”
“Did ye notice the plaid the pig wore?” her husband said. “It was Hunting Stewart.” And then he laughed too.
They passed through the South Gate, moving down bustling and busy South Street. On the north side of the byway they passed Holy Trinity Church, the oldest in St. Andrews, even older than the great cathedral up ahead. Maggie saw why St. Andrews was thought of as the religious capital of Scotland. They rode past the chapel of the Dominican Friary, the Observantine Franciscan Friary set amid a beautiful garden named Greyfriars after the color of the monks’ robes.
The cathedral was the most magnificent church Maggie had ever seen or expected she would ever see. Its dark stone spires soared into the partly cloudy skies above the town. It had great windows of what Fin told her was called stained glass. The glass had come along with the craftsmen to make the cathedral windows from France several hundred years prior when St. Andrews Cathedral had been built. It had taken between the years 1160 and 1318 to complete the structure. When it had been consecrated, King Robert the Bruce had been in attendance.
“Where will the king and queen stay?” Maggie asked, curious.
“They will be in the castle at the north end of the town on the Firth of Tay,” he answered her. “It’s not a particularly comfortable dwelling, I’m told, but the bishop has offered it to them, and there is no other place, aside from a priory guesthouse and an inn.”
Used to either making what she needed, or purchasing it from a border peddler, Maggie was amazed by the number of shops on South Street. If there was time, she and Grizel would certainly want to at least look in some of them. Several minutes after passing the cathedral they arrived at their inn. Iver had dashed ahead to make certain all was in readiness for Lord Stewart’s party. As they dismounted in the inn’s courtyard, Robert Leslie came forth to greet them.
The innkeeper bowed low. “I am honored, my lord, to be able to serve the king’s own kinsmen,” he told Fin.
“I thank ye for making a place for my wife and me,” Lord Stewart answered graciously in return. Iver had told him how impressed his uncle had been with the knowledge that his nephew’s master was related to James Stewart. And Fin had understood without the captain saying another word that the depth of that relationship had not been probed, yet was accepted as significant by the innkeeper, who needed to know no more than that the king and Iver’s master were related.
“Let me show you to your accommodation, my lord,” Robert Leslie said as he led them into the inn and up the staircase, then down the hallway to fling open the door to the guest apartment. “We aired it out this morning, my lord, and the fires are ready to start. Shall I send a maid to do it for you?”
“My man can attend to it, thank you, Master Leslie,” Fin replied politely.
“There is a tray on the sideboard here in the dayroom with decanters for yer wine and yer whiskey,” the innkeeper said. “Is there anything else I can do for ye now?”
“I want a bath,” Maggie said in a firm voice.
The innkeeper looked surprised. “A bath, my lady?”
“Ye have a decent tub, I assume,” she continued. “Have it set up in my bedchamber by the fire, and filled with hot water. We have been traveling for several days, and I am covered with the dust of the road.”
“Very good, my lady,” the innkeeper responded. A tub? Did they have a tub? And if they did, where the hell was it? And how much water would have to be heated to fill such a vessel? Providing accommodation for a lady was not going to be as easy as he had thought. He bowed to Lord Stewart and his wife and hurried from the apartment.
“Do ye have something she can bathe in?” Iver asked, for he had seen the look of consternation on his uncle’s face when Maggie had spoken.
“I don’t know. I can’t ever remember someone wanting a bath while staying here,” Robert Leslie admitted. “I’ll have to ask my wife. She would know.”
Mistress Leslie laughed at her obviously chagrined husband’s request. “Of course we have a tub,” she said. “My father always said ye needed everything for the unexpected request if ye were to be a well-run inn. Dinna fash, Robert. I’ll take care of Lady Stewart, my dear.” And she bustled off.
Maggie inspected their little apartment, exclaiming as she went to the windows at the pretty garden below with a view of the sea beyond. Grizel hurried to unpack her few gowns and hang them. When Mistress Leslie arrived to direct the setting up of the tub and saw what Grizel was doing, she insisted the tiring woman bring her ladyship’s gowns to the washhouse where they could be steamed free of any wrinkles. Delighted, Grizel picked up the three garments and followed the innkeeper’s wife.
“Her ladyship,” Maggie chuckled. “I don’t think anyone has ever called me that before,” she said to Fin. “But I am, aren’t I?”
“Ye are,” he agreed, amused.
“Lady Kerr-Stewart,” she mused. “I don’t know if I’m up to being Lady Kerr-Stewart. All of this is so strange to me. The town, so many people, the sea beyond the garden windows. And I am here to attend the wedding of a king to his queen. Part of me is excited, and part of me wants to go home right now,” Maggie told her husband.
“Yer the bravest lass I know, Maggie mine,” Fin told her. “Ye’ll do just fine.”
“I’ve never met anyone other than our fellow borderers,” she said. “There will be important men and women here. Great Highland lords, a king, a queen, bishops.”
“And they will be charmed by yer beauty,” he said.
Maggie laughed aloud. “Oh Fingal Stewart, was there ever such a good husband as ye? And do I deserve ye? I am not certain I do.” He put his arms about her shoulders, and Maggie leaned against him, feeling a contented warmth fill her. She liked this man who was her husband. Nay, it was more than like. She was coming to love him. She sighed. Was it wise to love one’s husband? Love wasn’t something with which she was really acquainted, but she knew what she felt now for Fin was more than just a liking.
While Maggie bathed, Lord Stewart sent Iver to the castle so the king would know his unimportant kinsman and his wife were arrived. He expected nothing in return, but at least the king would know they had come. Perhaps the king might even see them at the wedding or in the banquet hall afterwards. It was crucial, however, for James Stewart to know that Fingal Stewart had acted on the royal invitation. He was surprised, therefore, when Iver returned to say the king had sent word he expected to see his kinsman and Maggie this very evening at a reception being held for all the guests.
“He spoke to me himself, my lord!” Iver said excitedly. “I but told a castle servant that I carried a message for the king from his kinsman, Lord Stewart. The next thing I knew, I was ushered into the king’s presence. I could hardly speak at first, but thenhesaid, ‘Why, here is a message from my cousin, Fingal Stewart of Torra.’ Those around him pretended they knew who ye were, my lord, and I almost laughed aloud, so eager were they all to please King James. He knew them to be false, and he laughed. Then he asked what the message I carried was, and I told him. ‘Tell Fingal, my cousin, that I will expect to see him, and his bonnie Maggie, here tonight,’ he told me. I nodded, bowed, and hurried right back to the inn to bring you his message.”
