Maggie, freshly bathed, and now in the bedchamber, heard Iver’s words. “Grizel!” she hissed. “Do ye hear him? What am I to wear?”
“The peach velvet with the gold lace,” Grizel said. “ ’Twill make a grand first impression on all those fine lords and ladies. Tomorrow all eyes will be on the bride. Tonight is the night to show yerself to yer best advantage, m’lady. I’ll tell Archie so my lord’s garments match with yers.”
“Fin in peach velvet, Grizel? I think not,” Maggie teased.
Grizel laughed, and quickly seeking out their master’s servant, whispered hurriedly in his ear. Archie whispered back, nodding vigorously. Grizel returned to her mistress and began helping her to prepare for the evening. While she dressed Maggie in the bedchamber, Archie was busily garbing his master in the dayroom. When Grizel had finished, Maggie was wearing a gown of peach-colored velvet with a square neckline edged with gold embroidery. The underskirt of the gown was brocade with gold reembroidery. Her slashed sleeves were tied with gold cords. On her head she wore a gold silk French hood with lace-edged trimming behind which flowed a sheer pale silk veil shot through with gold threads. Beneath her gown her legs were encased in white silk stockings embroidered with gold threads in a vine pattern. Her feet were shod in square-toed flat shoes covered in gold silk and studded with gold beading. She had several rings on her fingers, and her clan badge was fastened to a thick gold chain about her neck.
“Stay here,” Grizel said to her lady, “while I see if his lordship is ready.”
In the dayroom Archie had just finished dressing his master in light brown velvet. Fin wore slashed breeches, and parti-colored hose of brown and gold. His sleeveless doublet was a brown and gold brocade over which Archie fitted his master into a fine short coat of brown velvet with large padded sleeves. He had brown leather square-toed shoes on his big feet, and a fine gold chain about his neck with the greyhound pendant badge of his family. The hat his serving man gave him had a gold silk-taffeta crown and a stiff flat brim. A single short plume dangled from it.
“Ohh,” Grizel said. “Don’t he look grand, Archie! Ye’ve outdone yerself this time, I’ll vow.”
“Where are the garments coming from?” Fin demanded. “And do not evade answering me this time, you scoundrel. I certainly have no coin for such elegance.”
“Tell him!” Grizel said. “He’s ever so clever, my lord, he is!”
“Tell me what?” Fin insisted.
“I make yer garments, my lord,” Archie said, flushing with his embarrassment.
If ever anything had surprised Fingal Stewart in all of his life, it was his serving man’s admission that he made his master’s clothing. “Ye sew my clothes?” he said.
“First I make the pattern on paper, my lord. Cut it, and then cut the materials to match. Ye can afford the cloth, and recently ye have been able to bear the cost of a better quality of cloth. Then I sew it all together. Grizel and I worked many a night together fashioning proper garments for ye and the lady. After ye went to Edinburgh to see the king when the little queen was dying, we knew ye would need fine clothing eventually. So we purchased the cloth we needed from the peddlers coming to Brae Aisir, and we fashioned the garments we thought ye would need. Perhaps they are not quite as fashionable as others, for styles change, but ye’ll not have to be ashamed.”
Maggie had heard all of Archie’s explanation through the open door between the bedchamber and the dayroom. Now she stepped forth to stand by her husband’s side. “Thank ye both,” she told Grizel and Archie. “I don’t think either of us has ever had such beautiful clothing. Yer labors are more than appreciated.”
Both Archie and Grizel flushed with pride at her words.
“How handsome ye look, my lord,” Maggie said to her husband. “The brown and gold of yer garments suits ye, and flatters me.”
There was a knock on the dayroom door. Archie quickly opened it.
“The horses are ready, my lord,” Iver said. “I’ve put the proper saddle on my lady’s animal.”
“God’s toenail, I must ride like a proper lady,” Maggie grumbled. “I’m always terrified I’m going to fall that way.”
“At least you brought the mare, and not that damned devil stallion of yers,” Lord Stewart said.
Maggie chuckled. She refused to give up her stallion, nor would he give up his. But to please him, she had ridden her fine white mare from Brae Aisir. She had noticed on the ferry across the Firth of Forth the beast had received many admiring glances, and she had become concerned she could be stolen. But Iver was an excellent captain, and his men were well trained. It was unlikely anything would get past them.
They bid Grizel and Archie good night and descended downstairs. The inn was now full to overflowing, and as they made their way to the door, a voice shouted out.
“Look lads! It’s Mad Maggie Kerr, the border vixen herself. She whored herself to an Edinburgh man rather than wed a good borderer.” A drunken Ewan Hay planted himself directly in front of them.
Lord Stewart paused only long enough to send the man sprawling. Then turning, he said to a horrified Master Leslie, “See this garbage has been removed by the time we return from the castle, innkeeper.”
“Aye, my lord,” Robert Leslie babbled. “I want no trouble in my inn. Here, you, Willie, Arthur, remove this man at once!”
Maggie was so surprised, she hardly had a moment to react. Her husband’s hand firmly on her elbow, he moved her outside, and lifted her up onto her horse. “Fingal!”
“Not a word, madam,” he told her in a hard voice as he lifted her up onto her mare. “The bastard was offensive to ye, to me, to Brae Aisir.” He mounted his horse.
“We don’t need a feud with the Hays,” Maggie told him quietly as they moved off, surrounded by their men-at-arms. But she found herself thrilled that he had behaved so masterfully in her defense. Was it possible he was coming to care for her? Or had it merely been a matter of his pride? She wished she were clever enough to discern which.
“There will be no feud. Lord Hay will understand,” Fin responded. “He had really best either send his brother away to fight in someone’s war, or find him a wife to settle him down before the man gets himself killed. What a fool he is. Ye would have cut his heart out in short order had ye been forced to wed him, and he is too stupid to realize it.”
“Aye, he is, but Ewan Hay is also a man who holds grudges,” Maggie said. “And he will wait a long time to avenge a fault. “We don’t need him as an enemy, Fin. I’ll be the first to agree with you that he’s a fool, but he’s a dangerous fool.”
