It was Alexander Bruce who spoke for the delegation. “Dugald, we tolerated yer granddaughter’s disobedience in the matter of her marriage when she was a maid. And Lord Stewart was the perfect answer to all of our prayers. But it becomes more obvious as every day passes that Fingal Stewart is dead. We understand Maggie’s grief. And God be praised that she has birthed two fine sons who seem to be escaping the rigors of childhood. Would that our late king had been as fortunate.”
There was a murmur of assent from the other men present.
“But,” Alexander Bruce continued, “while ye have male heirs, there is a need for ye to have a guardian watching over the Aisir nam Breug until they are old enough to do so. Aye, yer still the laird here, but yer an old man now, past seventy. What if something should happen to ye? Who will hold the pass? And dinna say yer granddaughter. Maggie is a woman with bairns to bring up. She should have no time to do what needs doing. Until his unfortunate death, Lord Stewart was that man. But Lord Stewart is gone.
“Lord Hay has spoken to us on behalf of Ewan, his brother, who came to protect ye early last winter, and has remained. The perfect solution would be for Ewan Hay to marry yer granddaughter. Yer great-grandsons would have a father to look up to, and Maggie, having proved a good breeder, would undoubtedly have more bairns, ensuring yer line for generations to come.”
“What ye say has a certain merit to it,” Dugald Kerr agreed, “but my answer is a resounding nay. Maggie doesn’t like Ewan Hay, and she never will. I am not a man to tolerate foolishness, but a woman should at least like her husband, my lords. Maggie will find another man in time. But I cannot force her to wed a man she despises. Ewan Hay’s contribution to this keep has been to ensure his own safety by ridding it of my Kerr clansmen while installing his own Hay men-at-arms. We have had to send the females in the keep—but for the cook, Maggie, and her tiring woman—back to their homes for fear of these undisciplined Hay men and their captain, and even then one among them has not escaped unscathed. If ye would aid me, my lords, then rid me of these Hays!”
“The pass must be kept safe,” Alexander Bruce said.
“When did we not keep it safe?” Dugald Kerr asked him. “In more than five hundred years the Kerrs have never allowed the pass to be used for anything but peaceful travel. What has changed now that you would consider subverting my authority?”
“My lord,” Ian Ferguson spoke up, “times have changed, I fear. King Henry sends raiding parties across the border from all directions in his effort to make the Queen Mother do his will, and give him Scotland’s little queen. He has become ruthless in his pursuit. Ye are old and weak. What is to keep yer English kinsmen from succumbing to pressure from their king, of taking advantage of yer frailty, and letting an army through the Aisir nam Breug into Scotland?”
“The road through the traverse isn’t wide enough for more than one man on horseback at a time,” Dugald Kerr answered. “And the hills press the way so closely, it would be impossible to widen it. No army will come through the Aisir nam Breug.”
“But if a small raiding party was allowed through,” Ferguson persisted, “and they took charge of this keep, they could allow other raiders through until there was a large group bent on mayhem. Spies could use the pass to get in and out of Scotland easily.”
“Spies already use the pass and probably have since its beginnings,” the old laird said dryly.
“Ye’ve let spies use the Aisir nam Breug?” Ferguson gasped.
“Of course they have used it,” Dugald Kerr said. “Are ye daft, man, that ye expect I would know a spy if I saw one? But it would stand to reason the pass is used by them. It’s quick and safe, and ’tis discreet. Pay yer toll, and travel in peace is all that we require of those who use the Aisir nam Breug.”
There was a long silence, but then Alexander Bruce spoke again. “Ian Ferguson has brought up a good point. Have ye ever defended yer keep against an enemy who came through the pass, Dugald Kerr? Has yer granddaughter? To my knowledge neither of ye has done so. But if this keep was attacked, it could not be defended by an old man and a young woman.”
“So say ye,” Dugald Kerr quickly replied. “But I believe yer wrong.”
“I’m not,” Alexander Bruce responded. “Ye need a younger man here with ye. The Hays have stepped to the forefront of this dilemma. Maggie must wed Ewan Hay so this keep and its most valuable asset have a defender.”
“Ewan Hay couldn’t defend a barn full of kittens,” Dugald Kerr answered scornfully. “He’s a bully and a coward. Forcing this man on us will cause more difficulties than you can imagine. My clan folk won’t accept him.”
“They will have to if he is wed to yer granddaughter,” came the reply.
Maggie had listened to all the arguments from her spy hole. What was the matter with men that they could not believe that a woman was capable without a man to direct her every move? But if these border lords were united in their resolve, she was going to have a difficult time evading what was to her a horrific future. And she didn’t trust Ewan Hay not to harm her sons once they were wed. He would want his own son to inherit. Annabelle would be safe, for he would consider her daughter something of value to be married off eventually to someone wealthy or powerful, or preferably both.
“See them wed by Lammastide,” Alexander Bruce said. “This situation with England isn’t going to get any easier.”
“This man has not the strength or experience to defend us,” Dugald Kerr protested. “And I’ll not force my Maggie into a marriage she doesn’t want! Get out of my keep, all of ye, and to hell with the laws of hospitality in the Borders! Begone! And take Ewan Hay with ye if ye would help me,” the old man shouted.
Listening, Maggie was proud of her grandsire. He might be old, but he was still strong and determined. Their neighbors had left, but Ewan Hay had not. Having been given the tacit approval of the nearby lairds to wed her, Ewan Hay made plans to do so.
“I won’t implement the marriage of an unwilling woman,” Father David said. “Until the day comes that Maggie agrees to wed ye, I will not perform the ceremony.”
Undeterred, Ewan Hay sent for his brother’s priest, a man who was less scrupulous than Brae Aisir’s cleric.
“We’ll draw up the contracts,” Father Gillies said.
“She’ll never sign them,” Ewan replied.
“Ah, my son, ye will find the means to force her to yer will as is yer right. And as soon as ye do, we’ll perform the blessing. She will be yers.”
Feeling more reassured, Ewan Hay sought to catch Maggie off guard. One late-spring evening, he watched from the shadows in the hall as she saw that the fires were banked without going out and that the candles and lamps were snuffed out. Then in the dim light of the low fires she headed for the staircase. It was there he caught her, stepping out so they were face-to-face.
“Get out of my way!” Maggie snarled at him.
He quickly slid an arm about her, yanking her close and pinioning her arms to her sides. “We are going to be wed shortly, madam,” he said in a cold, hard voice. “I think it is time ye accepted that I will soon be yer husband and yer master.” Then his hand plunged into her gown, wrapping itself about a plump breast.
