The Border Vixen Read online

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Afterword

  About the Author

  Praise for Bertrice Small,

  “THE REIGNING QUEEN OF THE HISTORICAL GENRE,”*

  and Her Novels

  “Bertrice Small creates cover-to-cover passion, a keen sense of history, and suspense.”

  —Publishers Weekly

  “Small’s fans . . . know what to expect . . . a good story.”

  —Library Journal

  “Ms. Small delights and thrills.”

  —Rendezvous

  “An insatiable delight for the senses. [Small’s] amazing historical detail . . . will captivate the reader . . . potent sensuality.”

  —*Romance Junkies

  “[Her novels] tell an intriguing story, they are rich in detail, and they are all so very hard to put down.”

  —The Best Reviews

  “Sweeps the ages with skill and finesse.”

  —Affaire de Coeur

  “[A] captivating blend of sensuality and rich historical drama.”

  —Rosemary Rogers

  “Steamy . . . a work of grand historical proportions . . . a must-read!”

  —Romantic Times (top pick)

  “Brimming with colorful characters and rich in historical detail, Small’s boldly sensual love story is certain to please her many devoted readers.”

  —Booklist

  BOOKS BY BERTRICE SMALL

  THE BORDER CHRONICLES

  A Dangerous Love

  The Border Lord’s Bride

  The Captive Heart

  The Border Lord and the Lady

  THE FRIARSGATE INHERITANCE

  Rosamund

  Until You

  Philippa

  The Last Heiress

  CONTEMPORARY EROTICA

  Private Pleasures

  Forbidden Pleasures

  Sudden Pleasures

  Dangerous Pleasures

  Passionate Pleasures

  THE O’MALLEY SAGA

  Skye O’Malley

  All the Sweet Tomorrows

  A Love for All Time

  This Heart of Mine

  Lost Love Found

  Wild Jasmine

  THE WORLD OF HETAR

  Lara

  A Distant Tomorrow

  The Twilight Lord

  Crown of Destiny

  The Sorceress of Belmair

  The Shadow Queen

  MORE BY BERTRICE SMALL

  Darling Jasmine

  Bedazzled

  Besieged

  Intrigued

  Just Beyond Tomorrow

  Vixens

  The Kadin

  Love Wild and Fair

  Adora

  Unconquered

  Beloved

  Enchantress Mine

  Blaze Wyndham

  The Spitfire

  A Moment in Time

  To Love Again

  Love, Remember Me

  The Love Slave

  Hellion

  Betrayed

  Deceived

  The Innocent

  A Memory of Love

  The Duchess

  NEW AMERICAN LIBRARY

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  First published by New American Library,

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  First Printing, October 2010

  Copyright © Bertrice Small, 2010

  All rights reserved

  REGISTERED TRADEMARK—MARCA REGISTRADA

  LIBRARY OF CONGRESS CATALOGING-IN-PUBLICATION DATA:

  Small, Bertrice.

  The border vixen/Bertrice Small. p. cm.

  eISBN : 978-1-101-46445-8

  1. Scotland—History—1057-1603—Fiction. I. Title.

  PS3569.M28B69 2010

  813’.54—dc22 2010022361

  Set in Goudy

  Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise), without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

  PUBLISHER’S NOTE

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

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  For Aneta, who keeps me sane

  A note for my readers: Aisir nam Breug is pronounced:

  Asher nam Breg.

  Prologue

  SCOTLAND, 1536

  Mad Maggie Kerr could outride, outrun, outfight, out-drink, and outswear any man in the Borders. These were not, however, the virtues a gentleman looked for in a wife. But if a man liked a tall lass with dark chestnut brown hair, hazel eyes, and a fat dower, then perhaps Mad Maggie could be considered acceptable—for those reasons and the fact she was Dugald Kerr’s only heir, and Dugald Kerr controlled the Aisir nam Breug.

  The Aisir nam Breug was a deep, narrow passage through the border hills between Scotland and England. No one could recall a time when this transit had not been managed by the Scots Kerrs at its north end and the English Kerrs at its south end. Payment of a single toll gave the traveler the guarantee of a safe trip from one side of the border to the other. Merchants and messengers, bridal parties, and other voyagers all used the Aisir nam Breug. Warring factions did not. It had been an unspoken agreement for several
centuries that the Aisir nam Breug could be used only for peaceful travel.

  Management of this resource had made the Kerr family wealthy over the years. They did not, however, flaunt their wealth, but their home, set upon a low hill, was more a small castle than a tower or manor house. And the village at the foot of that hill had an air of comfortable prosperity about it that was unique in the Borders. They were loyal to the king and always ready to aid a neighbor. The Kerrs of Brae Aisir were considered both honorable and trustworthy.

  But the old laird was certainly in his final days. He was the last legitimate male in his line, with a stubborn girl just turned seventeen as his only heir. And despite her reputation, which had earned her the sobriquet of Mad Maggie, Dugald Kerr needed to find his granddaughter a husband—a man who would be strong enough to hold the Aisir nam Breug for the son he would sire on Mad Maggie. It would not be an easy task, but the laird of Brae Aisir knew exactly the kind of man who could tame his lass. Finding him was another matter, however, and this man would also have to win her respect, for Maggie was proud.

  “He must be able to outride, outrun, and outfight her,” Dugald Kerr declared to David, his younger brother, who was the family’s priest.

  “I suppose yer right, Brother,” David Kerr said with a small smile, “but ’twill nae be easy finding such a man. I shall have to pray mightily on this.”

  The laird gave a snort of laughter. “Aye,” he agreed, “ye will.”

  “How will ye go about it, Brother?” the priest inquired.

  “I’ll give a feast and invite all the neighbors. Then I’ll announce my intentions to them. I know Maggie frightens many of them, for she is outspoken and headstrong, but surely the lure of the Aisir nam Breug will tempt them to overlook these faults.”

  “She’s nae as bad as she pretends,” Father David said. “Yer household runs smoothly because of her. She knows how to direct the servants and care for the sick. She’s nae fearful of hard work. I’ve seen her myself in yer fields, and working with the women salting meat for the winter, and making jams.”

  “She’d rather hunt the meat than prepare it,” the laird said with a chuckle.

  “Aye, Brother, she would,” the priest agreed. “But she can do what a woman with a large household needs to do. She will make the right lad a fine wife. But I don’t believe you’ll find that lad among the Borders, Dugald.”

  “I must begin my search somewhere,” the laird of Brae Aisir said.

  Chapter 1

  “The hall is full, I suppose,” Maggie Kerr said to her tiring woman, Grizel.

  “Aye,” came the tart reply. “All come to stuff themselves and get drunk at yer grandfather’s board,” Grizel snorted. “Armstrongs and Elliots, Bruces and Fergusons, Scotts and Bairds who are forever telling the story of how their ancestor saved the life of King William the Lion and thus gained their lands. There are a few Lindsays, and Hays too, and nae one of them fit to wipe the mud from yer boot, my darling lass.”

  “Maybe I’ll nae join them,” Maggie said. “I dislike being presented as Grandsire’s prize mare.” She reached for the cake of scented soap on the rim of her tall oak bathing tub and rubbed it slowly over her arm. “I don’t want to marry, and I am more than capable of holding the Aisir nam Breug myself without interference from a stranger calling himself my lord and master. Jesu, why wasn’t I born a lad?”

  “Because ye were born a lass,” Grizel said matter-of-factly. “Now finish yer bath. Ye have to get down to the hall sooner than later. I’ll nae let you shame your grandsire, my dearie. Nor would ye do it. Ye know yer duty better than any.”

  Then Grizel went and laid out the burgundy velvet gown that Maggie would wear that evening. It was high-waisted and had a low scooped neckline that revealed most of her shoulders. The tight-fitting sleeves and the hem of the gown were trimmed in dark marten. The servant set out a pair of round-toed sollerets covered in the same velvet as the gown and burgundy silk stockings with matching garters.

  As Maggie stepped out of her tub, Grizel hurried to wrap her in a warmed towel. “Sit down, and let me prepare you. Then we’ll put on your chemise, and you can choose the jewels you would wear. You should show to your best advantage, my dearie.”

  “God’s balls!” Maggie swore. “Ye too, Grizel? I don’t care if one of those fools asks for my hand or not. I don’t want a husband, and I shall make it very difficult for any man to please me enough to win my favor.” She pulled on her soft linen chemise.

  Smiling to herself, Grizel gently pushed the girl down on a stool and began to brush out her hair while Maggie dried her feet. “Yer a Kerr,” she said as she plied the boar bristles through Maggie’s thick chestnut-colored tresses. “Ye’ll do what ye must for the good of the family.”

  Maggie snorted at her tiring woman’s words. Grizel was like a mother to her, as her own mother had perished giving birth to her, and her father had died in a border clash six months before she was born. Grizel had lost her husband in that same fray, and her own infant son about the time Maggie entered the world. Grandsire had brought the nineteen-year-old widow up from the village to wet-nurse his new granddaughter. She had been born strong, Dugald Kerr said. There had been no doubt she would survive.

  And when she no longer needed nourishment from Grizel’s teat, the wet nurse had remained to raise the child for the laird of Brae Aisir. Maggie loved Grizel dearly, and she hated to disappoint her. She would go into her grandsire’s hall the coming evening and be shown to prospective buyers as if a blood mare at a horse fair, but she would wed no man who could not gain her respect. And there was none among the young men she knew who had ever even been able to command her attention. They were a rough-spoken lot, and she knew their only interest in her was the Aisir nam Breug. Maggie pulled on her silk stockings, fastening the ribbon garters to hold them up.

  “Let’s get yer gown on,” Grizel said, and she helped Maggie into the rich, soft velvet, seeing that the tight fur-cuffed sleeves fitted without a wrinkle, then lacing up the garment. The high waist of the gown forced the girl’s breasts up so that they were quite visible above the low neckline. The fabric of the skirt fell in graceful folds.

  “Give me my rope of pearls,” Maggie said.

  Grizel opened the jewel casket and drew out the pearls as her young mistress picked out several rings, which she put on her fingers. The tiring woman slid the pearls over Maggie’s head. “They look just lovely,” she told the lass.

  “Braid my hair now in a single plait,” Maggie instructed.

  “I will nae do it!” Grizel said vehemently. “Yer grandsire said ye were to leave yer tresses loose this evening. I’ve a gold ribbon band with a small oval of polished red quartz for ye to wear as a headpiece.”

  “Christ Almighty! The mare is to be presented as never mounted,” Maggie swore.

  “Well, ye never have,” Grizel said sharply, “though yer wild behavior has left many wondering. So ye’ll do as yer told, Maggie Kerr, and nae shame yer grandsire or yer clan’s good name this night.”

  Maggie laughed. Grizel rarely scolded her so severely. “Oh, very well. My hair shall fall about me like that of a fourteen-year-old lass, for not only am I willful, at seventeen I am fast growing out of my breeding cycle,” Maggie teased the older woman. “So let my suitors think I am a helpless creature. If they would delude themselves.”

  Now it was Grizel who laughed. But then she secured Maggie’s long hair with the gold ribbon band. “Put yer shoes on, and yer ready to make yer entrance,” she said.

  Maggie slipped her feet into the pretty slippers, then stood up. “You realize,” she said to Grizel, “that I will frighten all those clansmen in the hall with my grand entry. I’m not the usual border woman in her one good gown trying to please. I’m the heiress to Brae Aisir, and I won’t let them forget it.”

  “Dinna,” Grizel replied. “The man who wins you will love you and respect your position. He must be worthy of you, my lass. You must nae accept a lesser man. Beware, however
, of those who will try to seduce you to gain an advantage over you.”

  Maggie laughed. “I have managed to hold on to my virtue for seventeen years, Grizel. I will continue to hold it from those lusting after my wealth, my body, and my family’s power. I can tell you that I know the man I must eventually wed is nae in Grandsire’s hall this night.” She reached out to take the hand of the older woman. “Come along now, Grizel. To the hall! It should prove an amusing evening.”

  They left the girl’s rooms and descended the winding stairs. Maggie’s apartment was in the southwest corner of her grandfather’s home. They entered the great hall, Grizel shoving the men crowding the large room aside so her mistress might get through to the high board, where her grandfather was awaiting her arrival.

  Dugald Kerr watched her come. There was pride in his brown eyes, and his mouth quirked with his amusement. The wicked wench had dressed to intimidate, and by the open mouths he could now see as he looked out over his hall, she had been successful in her attempt. She was fair enough to evoke lust in not just a few of the men there. But she did not come eyes downcast, shrinking away from his guests. She strode with the sureness of who she was—Margaret Kerr; his only heir, and closest blood relation other than his brother, David.

  He was proud of her, especially because he had never expected that his frail, weak daughter-in-law, dead with Maggie’s birth, could have given him any heir, let alone such a strong lass as Maggie. His youngest son, Robert, had married Glynis Kerr, one of the Netherdale Kerrs. After several centuries, they were but distantly related. Unfortunately Glynis had proved frail. She lost two sons before Maggie had been born. When Robert had been killed in the early days of Glynis’s confinement, Dugald Kerr had despaired.

  His two older sons, their wives, and their children were dead. The eldest of his three sons, like the youngest, had died in the border wars. He had been newly wed, and his wife had not yet borne a bairn. She had returned to her family and made another marriage. His middle son had succumbed with his wife, and two little boys, to a winter epidemic. Robert had been sixteen then. A year later he was wed, and three years later he was dead. His wife, however, understanding the gravity of the family’s situation, had forced her sorrow away from her until she could birth her child safely. But seeing her father-in-law’s face when the child slid from her body, Glynis had whispered but two words, “I’m sorry,” loosened her hold on life, and died.