The Border Vixen by Bertrice Small

and her helpers. “There will be no gossip should you have overheard our conversation. If word gets out before the laird is consulted, and Clennon Kerr is consulted, I will know where to lay the blame. My justice will be harsh and swift. Do ye all understand me?”
    The cook nodded. “I’ll keep all here as silent as the grave,” she promised.
    He nodded, satisfied, and gave her a smile of approval.
    They had finished their meal and now walked upstairs to the hall where those accompanying them were gathering. Some of the men were eating oatcakes and drinking from their flasks. It was the kind of meal they could finish a-horse. Seeing Lord Stewart and his companion, Iver signaled the men to move out into the courtyard.
    It was still dark outside, but the edges of the sky were showing signs of light as they mounted up. With Maggie and Fingal Stewart leading them, they exited forth from the keep’s courtyard. The horses’ hooves made a soft clop clop as they went. A pack of dogs ran by their side, yapping softly.
    “Where are we going?” he asked her.
    “There’s a small water near the pass entrance. The geese overnight there on their way south this time of year. They fly at dawn. We’ll be there in time,” Maggie assured him. “And there’s a boar that has been seen in the the nearby wood.”
    They reached their destination. The sky above them was considerably lighter than it had been when they left the keep. Tethering their horses, they crept through the underbrush to see a large flock of birds floating upon the placid water. They could hear the soft cackle of bird talk as they prepared their bows, carefully notching their arrows, and then waiting patiently for the moment when the birds would instinctively fly.
    The horizon began to show signs of blazing color. The scarlet and gold spread out along the edges of the sky. And then as the sun burst forth over the purview of the blue, the flock of geese rose up from the water, their cackling and the sound of their flapping wings making a great noise. The hunters stood up, and the arrows from their bows being loosed flew towards the birds. Some quicker than others rearmed and shot a second time. A rain of geese fell into the water while the birds that had escaped flew up and southward.
    “Loose the dogs!” Maggie cried.
    The water dogs among the pack dashed into the small pond, swimming towards the dead geese. Finally when all the birds had been gathered up and brought ashore, Maggie instructed one of the younger men among them to take them immediately back to the keep, where they would be hung head down in the winter larder until they would be needed for a meal. They counted twenty-seven geese among their kill.
    “ ’Twas nicely done,” Fingal Stewart said to Maggie.
    “If I couldn’t outthink a goose, what kind of a chatelaine would I be?” she asked him, grinning broadly.
    “Still a beautiful one,” he told her, grinning back as she colored prettily.
    “Now we have a boar to find,” Maggie replied, quickly changing the subject. “He’ll be more difficult, but if he’s young, not so wily as an older boar.”
    They rode away from the little water now devoid of birds, directing their horses’ steps towards a woodland bordering the village. But though they hunted the morning long, they could find no game at all. Just before dark, they took a young stag. Maggie was not at all satisfied. She wanted that boar.
    “We’ll hunt every day until we find him,” she said to Lord Stewart.
    They returned to the keep where the stag was butchered and hung in the winter larder, which was a little more than half full. If the weather remained decent, they should be able to fill it by month’s end, for there was plenty of game in the vicinity, Fingal Stewart thought to himself. Though they had missed the main meal of the day, the cook had provided them with trenchers filled with hot lamb stew that they consumed immediately. Afterwards Maggie spoke with her