not from the Borders,” Lord Stewart said.
“Nay, I come from a village near Aberdeen,” Iver informed his new master.
“Good! Then ye’ll have no loyalties but to me, and to the king,” Fingal Stewart remarked. “Are any among yer lot borderers?”
“Nay, I know them all, my lord. They all come from Edinburgh or Perth or somewhere in between. None are from the Borders,” Iver replied.
Lord Stewart nodded. “Tell them where we are going, and why. We are not invaders but the king’s representatives. I expect good behavior. Any man who can’t behave will face punishment at my own hand. I’m a fair man, and expect the truth from every mouth. I’ll not punish a man for the truth, but if I catch him in a lie, ’twill go hard on him. Do ye understand, Iver?”
“I do, my lord, and I’ll see the lads understand too. Might I ask if the laird is expecting us?”
“He is not, but the king believes he will welcome us nonetheless.”
“The king would know,” Iver replied pragmatically.
Archie returned. “I’ve got the horses, my lord.”
Lord Stewart flung his cloak about his shoulders. Iver called to the men to come. Archie brought up the rear, and locked the house door behind him. He then climbed up onto his horse, taking the lead rein from the horse serving as a pack animal for them. The rain was falling steadily as they clattered down the lane and out onto the Royal Mile. The serving man hunched down. It was late summer, and while the rain wasn’t cold as it might have been in another season, it was still uncomfortable. He hoped the weather would turn for the better by nightfall or at least on the morrow. It didn’t.
They rode until it grew too dark to ride. There was no shelter but a grove of trees when they stopped. It was too wet to light a fire. They pulled oatcakes and dried meat from their pouches, washing them down with some of the contents from their flasks. The horses were left to browse in the nearby field while their riders huddled beneath the greenery with only their cloaks to keep the rain from them. The next day and night were no better. They avoided any villages along their way so as not to arouse curiosity.
“Yer captain has explained where we are going. A troop such as ours would cause chatter if we passed through them, or sheltered in them,” Lord Stewart explained to his men on the second night. “We don’t want the laird’s neighbors becoming inquisitive. We’ll reach Brae Aisir tomorrow sometime, if that is any comfort to you. It will be warm, and ye’ll get some hot food in ye then.”
They all held on to the thought that night, their backs against a rough stone wall, the thunder booming overhead, the lightning crackling about them. The horses had to be staked out and tied to prevent the frightened animals from fleeing. The rain poured down. The next morning, however, dawned bright and sunny. Lord Stewart instructed his men to change their shirts and stockings if they had the extra clothing. He was relieved that they all did. He wanted his men looking smart, not hangdog, when they entered Brae Aisir. The dry garments would help to raise their spirits.
Brae Aisir . He didn’t know what to expect, but with its dark stone, a moat, a drawbridge that was up, and obviously fortified, it certainly wasn’t what looked like a small keep upon a hillock. He wondered whether the king knew of this structure; perhaps he assumed that a prosperous border laird lived in a well-kept tower house or manor. Fingal Stewart was suddenly aware that the Aisir nam Breug was more important than just a traverse between England and Scotland. How had they managed to keep warring factions from using it? He obviously had a great deal to learn about his new responsibilities. He hoped old Dugald Kerr was up to teaching him. They had stopped to observe the keep.
Now Lord Stewart turned to Iver. “Send a man ahead to tell them I come for the laird on the king’s business. We’ll wait here until we
“Nay, I come from a village near Aberdeen,” Iver informed his new master.
“Good! Then ye’ll have no loyalties but to me, and to the king,” Fingal Stewart remarked. “Are any among yer lot borderers?”
“Nay, I know them all, my lord. They all come from Edinburgh or Perth or somewhere in between. None are from the Borders,” Iver replied.
Lord Stewart nodded. “Tell them where we are going, and why. We are not invaders but the king’s representatives. I expect good behavior. Any man who can’t behave will face punishment at my own hand. I’m a fair man, and expect the truth from every mouth. I’ll not punish a man for the truth, but if I catch him in a lie, ’twill go hard on him. Do ye understand, Iver?”
“I do, my lord, and I’ll see the lads understand too. Might I ask if the laird is expecting us?”
“He is not, but the king believes he will welcome us nonetheless.”
“The king would know,” Iver replied pragmatically.
Archie returned. “I’ve got the horses, my lord.”
Lord Stewart flung his cloak about his shoulders. Iver called to the men to come. Archie brought up the rear, and locked the house door behind him. He then climbed up onto his horse, taking the lead rein from the horse serving as a pack animal for them. The rain was falling steadily as they clattered down the lane and out onto the Royal Mile. The serving man hunched down. It was late summer, and while the rain wasn’t cold as it might have been in another season, it was still uncomfortable. He hoped the weather would turn for the better by nightfall or at least on the morrow. It didn’t.
They rode until it grew too dark to ride. There was no shelter but a grove of trees when they stopped. It was too wet to light a fire. They pulled oatcakes and dried meat from their pouches, washing them down with some of the contents from their flasks. The horses were left to browse in the nearby field while their riders huddled beneath the greenery with only their cloaks to keep the rain from them. The next day and night were no better. They avoided any villages along their way so as not to arouse curiosity.
“Yer captain has explained where we are going. A troop such as ours would cause chatter if we passed through them, or sheltered in them,” Lord Stewart explained to his men on the second night. “We don’t want the laird’s neighbors becoming inquisitive. We’ll reach Brae Aisir tomorrow sometime, if that is any comfort to you. It will be warm, and ye’ll get some hot food in ye then.”
They all held on to the thought that night, their backs against a rough stone wall, the thunder booming overhead, the lightning crackling about them. The horses had to be staked out and tied to prevent the frightened animals from fleeing. The rain poured down. The next morning, however, dawned bright and sunny. Lord Stewart instructed his men to change their shirts and stockings if they had the extra clothing. He was relieved that they all did. He wanted his men looking smart, not hangdog, when they entered Brae Aisir. The dry garments would help to raise their spirits.
Brae Aisir . He didn’t know what to expect, but with its dark stone, a moat, a drawbridge that was up, and obviously fortified, it certainly wasn’t what looked like a small keep upon a hillock. He wondered whether the king knew of this structure; perhaps he assumed that a prosperous border laird lived in a well-kept tower house or manor. Fingal Stewart was suddenly aware that the Aisir nam Breug was more important than just a traverse between England and Scotland. How had they managed to keep warring factions from using it? He obviously had a great deal to learn about his new responsibilities. He hoped old Dugald Kerr was up to teaching him. They had stopped to observe the keep.
Now Lord Stewart turned to Iver. “Send a man ahead to tell them I come for the laird on the king’s business. We’ll wait here until we
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