“Where is the Hay?” Maggie asked her husband.
“Busby has locked him in his chamber,” Fin answered.
“Then that was the shouting I heard as we came downstairs. Busby said the Hay was shouting at me from the hall.” A small watery giggle excaped her. “Can we leave him there forever, my lord?”
He laughed wickedly. Her suggestion had a certain merit to it. “I’m afraid we must return him to his brother if we are to keep the peace with Clan Hay,” Fin said.
Maggie continued to snuggle in his arms. “He threatened our wee bairns, Fin. He locked our lads in the cellar without food or water, and but a single candle. He said he would not let them out until I wed him. But I got them away to Netherdale. Our daughter, however, is safe in the village. Then the cur put a knife to Grandsire, and he threatened to kill him if I did not sign his damnable wedding contract. I had no choice.”
“The blessing today would have made it seem all was legal,” Fin said quietly. “What did you mean to do tonight when he planned to bed you, Maggie mine?” He looked down into her face, which he now held between his two big hands. His gray eyes were serious and thoughtful.
“I prepared a strong sleeping draft for his wine,” Maggie explained to her husband as she looked up at him. “Two or three sips and he would have been asleep. Then I was going to smother the life from him with a pillow. He would not have been able to fight me, and it would have appeared a natural death. Some might have been suspicious, but I intended shouting to all who would listen that it was God’s judgment on Ewan Hay for marrying a woman whose husband still lived, for I never gave up hope, Fin, that ye were alive, and would come home to Brae Aisir, to me, to our bairns, one day. I told everyone that you were not dead, but they would not listen. Even Grandsire was beginning to lose hope. But I didn’t!”
Dugald Kerr now came into the hall, going directly to Fin and shaking his hand. “Ye’ll have an explanation for yer absence, I’m certain,” he said. “But thank God ye’ve returned home, and just in time.”
“I’ll tell the tale later in the hall for all to hear,” Fin promised the old laird. “For now we must deal with the impatient bridegroom who will be surprised to find his bride’s husband has returned home even as she told him I would. Busby, release the Hay. Tell him naught but that Maggie is awaiting him in the hall.”
“At once, my lord,” the majordomo said with a small smile. Then he went off to unlock the door of the chamber where Ewan Hay was residing. He could hear the pounding and the shouting as he climbed the stairs. His smile grew wider as he reached the door and heard the rather colorful language the Hay was now using. Reaching for the keys, Busby found the correct one, fitted it into the lock, and then opened the door.
Ewan Hay jumped back startled, his hand going to his belt, but seeing Busby, he began to shout. “Who the hell locked me in here? Did no one hear me calling?”
“I believed the chamber empty,” Busby lied. “I would have thought ye had moved yer possessions to the master’s bedchamber by now. The lady is awaiting ye in the hall. I regret the weather is most foul today, sir.”
“My lord, ye fool! Ye will address me in future asmy lord,” Ewan Hay said through gritted teeth. He pushed past Busby and descended the stairs. Shortly the marriage contract signed recently would be blessed by the priest, and then she would be his. She had wanted no celebration. He had seen the pouring rain from his own windows. Good! He would not wait until tonight. They would come back from Brae Aisir chapel, and he would take her to bed immediately. God only knew he had waited long enough to fuck her. But first he intended taking a thick hazel switch to her buttocks and whipping her until she begged him for mercy. He would curb her defiance immediately. In the next few hours he would teach her obedience to his will, and she would never disobey or challenge him ever again.
He had used the hazel switch to good effect on Flora Kerr so that she had ceased fighting him each time her came to her cottage. Instead, she went to her bed immediately, lay down, and pulled her skirts up so he might take his pleasure of her. He would miss that willingness to obey him, but he would choose another lass in the village to service him when his wife was with child, or when he grew bored with her. He had no desire to use the village whore his men-at-arms used. He wanted a mistress who served him only—a wench who could be taught to obey.
Ewan Hay was so caught up in his thought that it wasn’t until he was gone several feet into the hall that he realized it was filled with men-at-arms. And they were not his men. Then at the end of the hall he saw Lord Stewart with the laird, and Maggie. “Yer dead!” his voice croaked. Then Ewan Hay turned to run, only to be stopped by a large hand that clamped onto his shoulder. He recognized the voice of Clennon Kerr, who growled in his ear menacingly.
“Ye canna go yet, sir. My lord wishes a word with ye.” The captain half dragged the Hay the length of the hall to stand before the high board.
“I understand ye intended forcing my wife into a bigamous union,” Fingal Stewart said. He stood, his big palms flat on the board’s surface as he leaned forward to look down at Ewan Hay.
“Yer dead!” the man before him repeated, but his tone was less certain now.
“If I am, ’tis a ghost with whom ye speak, Hay,” Fin said. The creature before him was contemptible. A coward, a bully, and worse, a fool. He slammed his hand down hard on the high board. “Do ye believe me to be a ghost, Hay?” The look of fear upon Ewan Hay’s face caused Lord Stewart to wonder if the man would shame his name further by soiling himself.
“Nay! Nay! I don’t think ye a ghost,” Ewan Hay babbled. “But ye were dead! Few survived Solway Moss. There was no ransom demand. Ye had to be dead!” He was going to pee himself, he thought, struggling to gain a mastery of his emotions, his fear.
“So without waiting for some sort of confirmation of my fate, ye marched yerself to Brae Aisir and attempted to take over Dugald Kerr’s keep and responsibilities,” Lord Stewart said. “And ye tried to take my wife. I must tell ye that I value her far above the Aisir nam Breug, Hay. Had ye harmed Maggie, my bairns, or Dugald Kerr, ye would have faced being hanged at the crossroads for yer insolence.”
“I thought ye were dead!” Ewan Hay cried out. “I’ll fight ye now, Fingal Stewart!” They weren’t going to kill him.
“Fight ye?” Fin laughed scornfully. “Yer a coward, Hay. I won’t engage ye in battle. Instead, I’ll send ye back to yer brother with my compliments, although I doubt he’ll be particularly glad to see ye at this point.”
“The other border lords wanted me here,” Ewan said.
“They wanted a man younger than our laird, and they didn’t trust my wife to do what needed to be done,” Fin replied. “By tomorrow those nearest us will know I have returned, and they will spread the word farther abroad. They have no rights to decide anything with regard to Brae Aisir, or the Aisir nam Breug. Not one of them will protest against me. Now one of the servants will go into the courtyard, and call yer captain to ye. When he comes, ye will tell him to gather yer men, and ye will leave Brae Aisir immediately. Do ye understand me?” Fin stared hard at Ewan Hay.
The man nodded.
“I’ll go, my lord,” Busby said, and hurried out.
“Be careful of the fellow,” the laird warned. “He’s a dangerous sort, and no more to be trusted than this fool standing before us.”
Bhaltair came into the hall, and seeing it filled with Kerr clansmen, stopped where he stood. “My lord?” He looked to Ewan Hay, puzzled.
“Gather yer men,” the Hay said. “We are leaving Brae Aisir now.”
