The Border Vixen by Bertrice Small Page B

thought. Fingal Stewart was already her husband under the laws of Scotland. To put him off any longer was to put Brae Aisir in danger. She already suspected this was the man who could beat her fairly. He was neither afraid of her nor intimidated by her. But she would do her very best, and he would not find it easy to overcome her.
    “December fifth,” she said.
    The laird’s face was immediately wreathed in smiles. “Done!” he replied. “Ye heard her, David. She said December fifth.”
    “I heard her, Dugald,” the priest responded.
    “I agree,” Lord Stewart said.
    Maggie laughed aloud. “You always seem to agree with me, my lord. You would, it appears, be a most reasonable man. I hope it continues after we are fully wed.”
    “I cannot promise, madam, for you are not always a biddable woman,” he said.
    Maggie nodded. “That is indeed true, my lord,” she agreed. “I am not always easy, but I am usually right.” She smiled sweetly at him.
    Now Lord Stewart laughed.
    Dugald Kerr was pleased by what he saw. His granddaughter seemed to be accepting of this marriage of the king’s will. It all boded well but for one small detail.
    Maggie and Fingal were rarely alone, if ever. They needed more time together, but how was he to accomplish it? And then he knew, and the solution was simple. “Maggie, lass,” he said to her, “take Fingal to my library, and show him yer accounts. She’s a clever girl, my lord, as you’ll see when ye look at her books. No one can manage the accounts like my granddaughter.”
    “Och, Grandsire, I doubt Lord Stewart is interested in numbers,” Maggie responded, but she was smiling at her elder.
    “Nay, nay, I am quite interested,” Fingal Stewart assured her. He understood what the old laird was about. He and Maggie did need some time alone, and it was unlikely they would get it in the hall filled with Brae Aisir’s men-at-arms not yet gone to their barracks for the night. Ordering them out of the hall would but give rise to talk.
    Maggie stood up. “Very well,” she said. “Come, and I will show you how I work my magic with numbers.”
    They departed the hall, and she brought him to her grandsire’s library. It wasn’t a particularly large chamber, but it was cozy with a small hearth that was already alight, and a row of three tall arched windows on one wall. Surprisingly there was a wall of books, some leatherbound, others in manuscript form. There was a long table that obviously served as a desk facing the windows, and a high-backed chair behind it at one end. Upon the desk were several leather-bound ledgers. Maggie opened one.
    “I keep an account of every expenditure made,” she said. “This is the account book for the household expenses. We are, of course, like most border keeps, self-sufficient but for a few things. The servants are paid for the year at Michaelmas as are the men-at-arms. The other books are records of the livestock bought and sold, the breeding book, and the book of the Aisir nam Breug,” Maggie explained. “Since the beginning, a careful record has been kept of all those going south into England, and coming north into Scotland. The Netherdale Kerrs keep a similar record.”
    “And ye do this yourself?” he asked.
    “Aye. Grandsire says ’tis best we handle our own business,” Maggie told him.
    “How do ye fix the rate of the toll charge? Or is it simply a set rate?” he asked.
    “ ’Tis one rate for a single traveler or a couple, male and female. A merchant with a pack train of animals pays according to the number of animals he has. A peddler riding with everything on his back pays a set rate. There are fixed rates for wedding parties, families traveling together, messengers,” Maggie explained.
    “ ’Tis well thought out,” Lord Stewart remarked. “You note travelers in both directions though you collect tolls only one way,” he noted. “Why?”
    “To keep use of the traverse honest,” Maggie said. “Over the centuries