“Thank God yer home, my lord!” she told him.
He nodded in acknowledgment. “Who is in the hall?” he asked her.
“No one, my lord. The house is empty but for the Hay, yer wife, Grizel, the old laird, Busby, and a few menservants. The rest of them are outside either in the barracks or in the courtyard, my lord.”
“Bar yer kitchen door that leads to the outside,” Lord Stewart instructed her. Then turning he said, “Come, lads, up to the hall with ye. The house is easily ours.”
They exited the pantry, going into the kitchen. The few menservants there gaped with their surprise, but then like the cook, they quietly welcomed their master home. The clansmen now hurried up the kitchen stairs into the corridor outside of the great hall. They filled the hall, surprising Busby who, recognizing Fingal Stewart, ran forward to take up his hand and kiss it.
“Where is the Hay?” he asked.
“In his chamber dressing himself in his finery for the blessing of hismarriage,” Busby replied.
“Lock him in,” Lord Stewart said. “Then go and tell my wife that her husband is awaiting her in the hall. She is to come down immediately.” His gray eyes were twinkling. “Do not tell her ’tis me.”
Busby chuckled. “She has no use for the Hay, my lord. I can but imagine what she’ll say when I bring her such a message.”
Fingal Stewart grinned. Then he turned to Clennon Kerr. “Bar the doors to the house. I don’t wish to be interrupted. Time enough now to clear the riffraff from the house. Where is Father David? And this other priest Iver tells me about?”
“Both are down at the Brae Aisir chapel preparing for the ceremony of blessing,” Busby responded. “Does Father David know yer back, my lord?”
Fin shook his head. “I went straight to Clennon Kerr’s cottage,” he said.
Nodding, Busby bowed, and then went off to fetch Maggie. He hurried up the stairs, unable to believe the sudden good fortune that had brought Fingal Stewart home in time to prevent his wife’s bigamous union. Ewan Hay had several weeks prior moved himself into a small chamber upstairs, refusing to remain in a bedspace in the hall any longer. He claimed it was not fitting. It had been the small room in which the children’s nursemaids slept. Busby went to its door, and quietly inserting a key from the key ring he carried into the door’s lock, turned it. There had been no key in the inside lock. Ewan Hay was imprisoned until Lord Stewart said otherwise.
Then Busby went to the door of his mistress’s chamber. He knocked, and being bid enter, he did, bowing to Maggie as he did. “Yer husband bids ye come down to the hallimmediately,” he said to her, struggling to keep from laughing at the look of outrage that suddenly suffused her face.
“Does he now?” Maggie responded, her tone angry. “Tell the bastard that I will come down when I choose to come down, and not a moment before. I am in no hurry to have a bigamous union blessed by that evil priest.”
Grizel looked equally offended. “The nerve of that wretch to try to order my mistress about in such a scurvy fashion!” she declared.
“My lady,” Busby said in a reasonable tone, for he was teetering on the edge of laughter, “do not lower yerself to his level, for ye know if ye do not come down, he will come huffing and puffing up the stairs to fetch ye. As much as we should all enjoy that, I suggest ’tis better to get this day over and done with as quickly as possible.”
Maggie sighed a deep long sigh. “Aye,” she said. “Yer right, Busby. I thank ye for yer sensible nature, for I am not happy this day at all.” She turned about. “Grizel, get my cape, for I will need it in this rain.”
“I’m relieved yer wearing that old black velvet gown,” Grizel said. “If it gets wet, who will care. We can burn it tonight for I doubt ye’ll want it again.” She picked up a dark silk cloak and put it about Maggie’s shoulders. “I suppose yer ready,” she said.
“I am,” Maggie agreed. “Have my orders been followed, Busby? No one is to come to the church to witness this travesty.”
“Everyone is in their cottage, my lady,” Busby assured her as they went from Maggie’s bedchamber. As they neared the stairs, the majordomo heard a shout from the locked room.
“What was that?” Maggie asked him.
“The Hay is shouting for you from the hall,” Busby said, and hurried them down the staircase. “He is surely an impatient man.” He led her quickly to the great hall.
The hall was full of men, and suddenly Maggie recognized her own Kerr clansmen. They parted to make a path for her as she walked forward, and then she heard a familiar voice.
“Well, madam, ye certainly took yer time coming down to welcome me home,” Fingal Stewart said. “Are ye not glad to see me?”
She stared. She grew pale. Then standing on trembling legs, Mad Maggie Kerr shouted at her husband, “Where the hell have ye been, Fingal Stewart? Have ye no idea of the misery and worry ye have put me through? The danger our bairns have been in? It’s been almost a year, and not a word from ye!” And to her own horror and that of all about her, Maggie burst into tears. Seeing Mad Maggie weep was uncomfortable for all.
Fingal Stewart jumped forward, enfolding his wife in his embrace. “Ah, lass, ’tis good to see ye too. ’Tis a long story, and I promise to tell it to ye, but for now we have another matter to settle—that of yer betrothed husband.” He kissed the top of her head. “What are we to do with Ewan Hay, Maggie mine?” Tipping her face up, he kissed her lips with tender passion. There would be time later to slake their longings.
She wept harder at the treasured and familiar endearment. The touch of his mouth on hers made her remember how much she loved this man. She tried to burrow into his chest. He let her weep until finally her tears eased, and she looked up at him, her eyelashes clumped into spikes, her eyes red. “Does Grandsire know yer home?” she asked.
“Not yet. I thought it better to greet ye first.” He turned to Busby. “Go and fetch the laird, and tell him I’m home. I don’t want to shock him.”
Busby hurried off.
