“The Hay removed me from my position,” Allen answered her. “He replaced me with one of his own men. Since no one from the village could come or go into the keep held by the Hays, I had no way of speaking with ye, my lady.”
“How long did this go on?” Maggie wanted to know.
“Since the pass opened again this spring,” Allen told her.
Maggie walked back through the village and up the hill into the keep to find her Fingal and her grandsire. She told them what Allen had told her, what the merchant party had told her, and what Rafe Kerr, her cousin, had said when she had seen him recently.
“ ’Twas a quick and good thought,” Dugald Kerr said, “to refund that traveler his coin, lass. Hay would have destroyed our reputation had he been allowed to continue. It will now be known that the Kerrs are once more in charge.”
“Stewart-Kerrs,” Fin said quietly.
“It pleases me ye would add yer proud name to ours,” Dugald Kerr said, smiling.
“With yer approval, of course,” Fin told the old man. “The Kerr name should remain connected to the Aisir nam Breug.”
Maggie’s eyes grew moist. As proud as she was of her family’s name, she knew that Fin was equally proud of his family’s name, and his descent from a king of Scotland.
It was a generous gesture he was making. “Thank ye!” she told him.
“In the months that I was away from ye,” Fin told her, “all I wanted to do was get home, Maggie mine. I own a house in Edinburgh where I was born and raised, ’tis true, but Brae Aisir has been the only real home I’ve ever had. That is thanks to ye, and to ye, Dugald Kerr. I have always felt welcome here.”
“Hush now, laddie,” the old laird said, wiping a tear from his own eyes. “Of course ye were welcome from the moment ye arrived. Did I not see a husband for my lass in ye when ye came to me with yer command from the king to wed Maggie?” He chuckled. “I knew ye were the one, and ye were.”
“I could have outfought him if ye had not given the match to him just because I fell,” Maggie teased her grandfather.
“Ye were on both knees and could hardly draw a breath,” Dugald Kerr said dryly, his brown eyes twinkling. He had always been proud of Maggie’s fine spirit. “And Fingal was too much of a gentleman to want to blood ye. Of course I called the match. He was worthy of ye when none of the others had been, including that cur Hay.”
They all laughed. It had been just a few short years ago and so much had happened since then. Scotland was never as secure as when it had a king on the throne.
“But what kept ye away from us, lad?” the laird asked as he had earlier.
“Tonight,” Fin promised once again. “I will tell my tale about the Midsummer fire for all our clan folk to hear.”
Maggie left her men folk to go to the kitchen now, and see if there was still time to set out a small feast for the villagers this night. The cook, however, now that the Hay had been driven from the keep, had taken it upon herself to bake enough fresh bread for all. She had sliced cold meats, arranging them upon platters. She had geese and capons roasting upon several spits in her huge hearth. There were several baskets of strawberries, and tiny crisp sweet wafers. Seeing it all, Maggie laughed.
“Did ye at least wait until he was marched away?” she asked the cook.
“I began the moment our clansmen went up the stairs to the hall,” the cook replied. “With the young lord leading them, I knew the Hay would be either hanged or driven off within a very short time. I would have hanged him myself from the chimney in Flora Kerr’s cottage.”
“Grandsire did not wish to begin a feud with Lord Hay,” Maggie said, “but if it had been up to me, I would have hanged him too! I doubt Lord Hay will be pleased to see his brother back.”
“From the first time he came to Brae Aisir, the Hay lusted after ye, my lady. He’ll not cease wanting to have ye, or wanting Brae Aisir’s riches until he’s dead. Mark my words, my lady. The Hay will cause us trouble once again. Ye’ll eventually have no choice but to kill him.”
Maggie had an uncomfortable feeling the cook was right. As long as Ewan Hay lived, he would seek to take what wasn’t his. “Have the men put everything out on the trestles when they’re finally set up outside of the keep. And tomorrow fetch back the lasses who were yer helpers from the village,” Maggie told her.
“I will, my lady, and be glad to see them. Lads in a kitchen are not to be borne,” the cook declared, “and they’ve been little help to me.”
“Don’t forget to come up from yer kitchens and join the rest of the clan folk when all is set out,” Maggie reminded her.
The cook bobbed a curtsy. “I will, my lady.”
Chapter 18
The trestles from the hall and their benches had been brought out and set up on a level piece of land on the far side of the drawbridge. The food was brought forth, and the clan folk from the village came to celebrate the Midsummer holiday, and especially the departure of the Hay and his men. Throughout the late afternoon, men, women, and children had gathered wood for the great fire that would finally be lit at the moment of the sunset. Both men and women brought good-size pieces of wood, and the pyre grew and grew. The little ones found sticks and bits that they added, dashing up to the great pile to fling them on it with shouts of glee.
To the west, the skies finally began to glow with the coming sunset. A wash of orange was streaked with crimson and edged in gold. Small dark purple and pale pink clouds seemed almost stationary in the pale blue sky, its edges trimmed in palest green. The sun sank lower and lower. Torches were lit, and everyone stood poised for the blazing orb to sink behind the now-dark hills. No one spoke. They were surrounded by silence.
Then the old laird of Brae Aisir stepped forward and thrust his torch into the great pile of wood. Maggie and Fin followed. On all sides of the pyre, torches were thrust into the wood. The Midsummer fire caught. It blazed high into the night, and the clan folk cheered. Finally, when the fire was burning well, the laird called for silence, inviting his guests to seat themselves on the benches.
