“I’ll go right to the cookhouse two streets over,” Archie said, “and get us something to eat, for I’m hungry myself. Will ye wait here for me, my lord? I’ll not be long, I swear it.”
Fin nodded again. He wanted to walk about this house, for to his relief much of what he had seen so far was familiar. He had been born in this house, he realized, and grown up here. “Aye, go and fetch us something to eat, Archie, and then I shall tell ye of my adventures these past months.”
Archie ran from the house and to the cookshop where he obtained a dozen hard-cooked eggs, a large rasher of bacon, a loaf of fresh bread, and a quarter of a small wheel of cheese, to which he added a covered container of ale. He paid for his purchases with a coin from his carefully concealed purse and hurried back to Lord Stewart’s house. He found his master dozing by the fire. Archie was very disturbed by how thin and pale Lord Stewart was. He had always been healthy and strong. Right now he didn’t look up to the task of taking on even a coward like Ewan Hay. What had happened to him? Had he been in an English prison?
The serving man brought plates and cups from the sideboard and set out the meal.
Then he woke Fin, and seating themselves at the board, the two men ate. Archie noticed that his master ate slowly and that his appetite was not what it had formerly been. This, he knew, was the result of a poor diet over the past months. Finally Archie could no longer contain himself. “What happened to ye, my lord? Where have ye been?” he asked. “I would have remained with ye on the battlefield, but Iver would not allow it.”
“Ye were wounded grievously,” Fin said slowly. “I began to remember more when I saw yer face. Yer left arm?”
“Aye, healed now, but it will ne’er do battle again, I suspect,” Archie said. “It stiffens, especially in cold wet weather.”
“But can ye still sew a fine seam?” Fin asked him.
“Ye remembered that?” Archie chuckled. “Aye, I can still play the tailor for ye, my lord, and from the looks of what yer wearing, I had best see to something more suitable before we return home to Brae Aisir.”
“Brae Aisir?” It had a sweet sound to it, but he could not quite remember.
“I’ll explain, but only after ye tell me what happened to ye,” Archie said, attempting to keep his master from being diverted.
“After ye were taken from the battlefield I fought on, but an English horseman rode at me, and I had but a moment to duck his blade. It caught the side of my head, and the blood obscured my vision so that I lost control of my horse, and fell and hit my head, I recall. When I came to, it was almost night, and the scavengers were among the fallen. My boots were being yanked from my feet, and my family’s signet ring from my finger. I attempted to fight off the thief, but I was still weakened from the loss of blood. He gave me a hard smack upon my pate. I drifted in and out of consciousness for I don’t know how long. I was obviously picked up from the battlefield, and when I came fully conscious again, I found myself in a tiny cottage with an old woman.
“She had seen me being carried along with the other prisoners and swore that I was her son, Bobby, come home from battle. She was so insistent that I was her lad that they let her have me. She nursed me back to health, and while I knew I wasn’t her son I could not at that time recall who I was. I spent the winter in that cottage with Old Mother, as I called her. Bits and pieces of my memory began to return slowly. My name. And I had dreams of a man called Iver, and then of ye.” Fingal Stewart smiled weakly.
“Old Mother grew ill with the approach of spring,” he continued. “I could see she was dying, and as she did, her mind, confused until then, gained clarity. She knew I was not her son who went off to fight at Flodden years ago and never returned. I remained with her until the end and buried her respectfully. As I was now dreaming of this house, I knew I must get to Edinburgh where perhaps I might gain some answers. It was here ye found me this morning just arrived.” He left out his sojourn with the Fifes.
Lord Stewart’s tale had been fascinating, and it certainly explained why no ransom demand had come to Brae Aisir. Now it was Archie’s turn to help his master regain his full memory. “Ye asked about Brae Aisir,” he began. “ ’Tis where ye have made yer home these past few years. Yer wife is the heiress to Brae Aisir. Ye have two fine lads, and a wee lass born just over two months ago.”
“She didn’t want me to go,” Fin said slowly. “She grew very angry, didn’t she?”
“It was last summer she tried to stop ye, but before Solway Moss she was resigned to the fact ye would support yer kinsman, the king. Did ye know the king is dead, and our new queen just a six-month-old infant?” Archie asked him.
Fin shook his head. “Ever faithful,” he said. “ ’Tis my family’s motto, and why I insisted upon going. I remember I mocked Maggie. . . .” He stopped. “That’s my wife’s name, isn’t it?” he said excitedly. “Maggie! Maggie mine!”
“Aye, my lord,” Archie said, grinning. “ ’Tis yer lady’s name.”
“And my sons are David and Andrew,” Fin replied.
“Aye, my lord, Davy and Andrew. And yer new lass has been baptized Annabelle,” Archie told him.
Suddenly Fin’s excitement died. “I can’t remember what she looks like,” he said.
“Ye will, my lord,” Archie assured his master. “When we get home to Brae Aisir, ye’ll remember it all. I’m certain of it.”
“Tell me about Brae Aisir,” Fin requested of his companion.
And Archie did. He explained how they had been sent by the king. He had Fin laughing at how Mad Maggie Kerr would wed no man who could not outrun, outride, and outfight her. Lord Stewart’s eyes lit up with an obvious burst of memory that Archie’s tale prompted, and he nodded. Then Archie told his master the true value of Brae Aisir and its history; about the Aisir nam Breug, and its value. Finally he said, “The lady needs to know that yer safe, my lord, for Ewan Hay has made a wicked pact with the Netherdale Kerrs. Old Lord Edmund thinks to control the entire traverse so he may enrich himself further while Ewan Hay thinks to steal it from the Kerrs, and have the lady for his own as well. He is certain yer dead. Many at Brae Aisir believe it to be true, although they will not give voice to it for fear of offending yer lady wife. And they are not yet ready to give their loyalty to the Hay. But if he makes a marriage with a woman he believes widowed, the Kerr clan folk will have no choice but to give the bastard their loyalty. Ye have to get home, my lord.”
Fingal Stewart nodded. “I do,” he said, closing his eyes a moment, “but how can I return to a place, a responsibility, and a woman I cannot fully remember, Archie? Weak and confused as I now am, I should not be able to defend and protect any of them. I need time, and I am safer here in Edinburgh in my own house than back at Brae Aisir. I am hardly the man who outran, outrode, and outfought Mad Maggie Kerr.”
It was true, he realized as he spoke. His wounds still pained him. He had walked forever, it seemed. He hadn’t had enough to eat in months, and the ten days he had spent with Parlan Fife’s daughters had soothed his lust but exhausted him further. He needed a little more time to rest, to heal, to remember. And then he would return to Brae Aisir and kill Ewan Hay.
“At least send a message to the lady at Brae Aisir telling her yer alive and will return home shortly,” Archie said. “I’ll remain here with ye. With good food, and rest, yer memories are certain to return. Many already have. And ye’ll have me to help ye.”
“It’s as good a plan as any,” Fingal Stewart said.
“And I’ll tell Boyle, yer estate agent, that ye’ll not be renting the house for the interim,” Archie told his master.
