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answer he had received. “And ye, Fingal Stewart, are ye a prudent man?”
    “I believe such can be said of me, my lord,” came the quiet answer.
    The king looked Lord Stewart of Torra over silently. He was a big man, taller than most, with dark hair like the Munros, clear gray eyes like his own that engaged the king’s gaze without being forward, but a face like a Stewart with its aquiline nose. The king would have easily recognized this man in a crowd as one of his own family. He trusted his mistress’s advice in this matter. Janet Munro was the most sensible woman he had ever known. And he had known many women despite his youth. His stepfather, the Earl of Angus, had seen to that in an attempt to debauch him. Angus was now in exile, and his flighty Tudor mother wed to Lord Methven. However, this man now seated with James in his privy chamber was not just his kin, but kin to his reasonable and judicious mistress as well. He was not allied with any of the king’s enemies. If Fingal Stewart could not be trusted, then who could be? “Jan has told you of my visitor earlier today?”
    Lord Stewart nodded. “She has, my lord. She said she believed you wanted me to go into the Borders to see to the truth of the matter if it could be done discreetly.”
    “Aye, I had thought that was what I desired, but while Jan was gone to fetch you, Cousin , I thought more on it. I am not well beloved by certain families in the Borders—families allied with Angus and his traitorous Douglas kin. My justice towards them has been well deserved, but harsh, I know. If I send you into the Borders to reconnoiter the situation, someone is certain to guess why you are there.
    “The situation into which I am sending you is fraught with danger if I do not strike quickly and decisively. So I have decided you will travel with a dozen of my own men-at-arms at your back who will remain with you. You will present yourself to Dugald Kerr, the laird of Brae Aisir, and tell him I have learned of his difficulties. Then you will hand him this.” He held out a tightly rolled parchment affixed with the royal seal. “I have written to the laird that I have sent him my cousin, Lord Stewart of Torra, to wed with his granddaughter, Margaret, and thus keep the Aisir nam Breug safe for future generations of travelers. The marriage is to be celebrated immediately. I dinna nae trust the laird’s neighbors, especially the Hays. If the lass is wed, the matter is settled, and peace will reign. I want it settled before I leave for France in a few weeks’ time.”
    Fingal Stewart was astounded by the king’s speech. He had expected to travel cautiously into the Borders and carefully ferret out the truth of whatever situation the king needed to know about. But to be told he was to go and wed the heiress to Brae Aisir? He was briefly rendered speechless.
    “Ye aren’t already wed, are ye?” the king asked him. “I did not think to ask Jan.” God’s foot, if Lord Stewart were wed, what other could he choose? Whom could he trust?
    “Nay, my lord,” Fingal managed to say.
    “Nor contracted?”
    Lord Stewart shook his head in the negative. He was trying hard to adjust to being told to marry. How old was she? Was she pretty? Would she like him? It didn’t matter. It would be done by royal command. No one disobeyed a royal command and lived to brag on it. He dared say naught until he heard more of this, and why.
    “Do ye have a mistress ye will need to placate?” James Stewart wanted to know.
    “I canna afford a mistress,” Fingal Stewart answered the king. “I am nae a rich man, my lord. My parents are both dead. Nor do I have siblings. I have my house, but naught else. I hire out my sword to earn my living, and possess but one servant.”
    “So ye are free to leave Edinburgh quickly,” the king said almost to himself. It was perfect. It did not occur to him that Lord Stewart might turn him down. He couldn’t. This was a royal command, and to be obeyed