Torn (The Handfasting) (2 page)

Tears
kept Maggie from answering. Not great gulping sobs but quiet tears of anguish. Never,
in her whole lifetime, had she ever hurt her mother, and now she had done so
with a vengeance. The worst of it was, Fiona had been right. Talorc was a good
man in many ways. If he just wouldn't force Maggie's hand so much when she was
powerless to stop him.

He
was a danger to her. Not in the way her family was thinking, but he was a
danger. Maggie would have to put their ideas to rights, later, after she was
warm, fed and rested.

Fortunately,
Fiona didn't seem to need answers. She helped Maggie into the tub as Sibeal,
Feargus the younger's wife, came into the room with a tray full of steaming
mugs and haggis straight from the stoves. The smell of it, the warmth of the
water, the comfort family enveloped Maggie.

"I'll
be staying with you tonight, Maggie. We all know how you don't like the
darkness."  Sibeal offered.

"Did
you tell him about that?" Fiona asked. "Did he know you don't like to
be alone in the night?"

"He
knew." Maggie reassured her ma. "But I'm too old to be fretting about
such things, now."

"Tsk,"
Fiona disapproved. "He left you alone. These warring men just canna'
understand we all have our fears."

"And
we need to learn how to face them."

Sibeal
pulled a chair near the tub, broke off a bit of haggis and put it to Maggie's
mouth, to feed her as if she were a babe. "Was it that bad?  That you had
to face fears like that?"

"No,"
Maggie pulled away from Sibeal's offer, and reached up to take it herself.

"Well,"
Fiona shot out, "Your father and brothers would not let you be harmed in
battle!  And that's the truth of it!" 

Reparations
could not wait until she had her wits about her. She had deliberately distorted
the truth, had exaggerated the distortions, but who would have thought her
family would take it as gospel?  She was known to be dramatic. There was no
choice among a family of boisterous older brothers, and a clan that was no
different. She knew to come in loud and grand or be ignored. Of all the times
for them to take her on her word, they would have to start now.

There
was naught she could do, but defend those she had slandered. "It wasna'
the MacKay's fault. I broke through the protection when a man was felled. You
know how I can be."

"He
should have known."

Maggie
forgot how stubborn her people could be, once they took a side.

"We
all thought the Gunns had gone, turn tailed and fled. They had been gone that
long. But you know the Gunns are a sneaky lot. I'm just that grateful that I'm
free of them. Talorc thought they were set on capture and against that he did a
fine job."

Fiona
fussed over Maggie's forehead. "There's still a lump, lass. He should have
taken the blow."

"I'm
fairing well, ma."

"You'll
fair better, now that you're home."

"Aye,
ma, I'll fair better."

* * * * * * * * * *

If
only it had been true. That Maggie would do better at home but she didn’t.  Her
ma may not have been ill, but Maggie surely was. It came on slowly but soon
took over her life.

At
first, she blamed it on the emotions at battle inside of her. They sucked her
dry, like a sawdust doll that leaked its inners. It left her all floppy and
listless. But it didn't stop there. No. Terrible little sithichean, fairies by
the bucket load, danced and jigged in her belly and soured all she smelled,
made her sick, until she could keep naught down.

Her
mother hovered, too close.

As
all children born in the wee hours of the night, Maggie was expected to be
brilliant as well as wild. Because of that she had been given a fair amount of
freedom. Now, to have her ma, her da, all her brothers and their wives perched
so near, was about to drive her crazy. Even when she retched, someone would
hold her head, another would hand her a wet cloth and the lot of them stood
witness to the embarrassment of her weakness, for Maggie never ailed.

"How
close did you come to be, to the Bold?" Her mother asked after one such
bought.

How
close?  Maggie moaned, which her mother put down to illness. They had been as
close as two people can be. They had also been as far apart as two people could
be.

Or
had they?

"He
was gone, much of the time. And when he was there, he had clan business to see
too. He did not follow me about, if that's what you mean."

"Could
you be his wife?" Finally, the question had come.

"Mayhap,
one day."  Maggie hedged.

"I
see," Fiona nodded, as if that explained all.

But
it didn't. It didn't explain to Maggie why she felt so lonely among the people
she loved. It didn't explain the fear she felt, that Bold would never come for
her. It didn't explain the hunger for kisses and caresses and soft whispered
words.

It
didn't explain why she felt those things never felt before.

* * * * * * * * * *

Talorc
rode into Glen Toric's snow swirled courtyard well after dark. He doubted the
watch knew he was there before he was straight under their noses. Especially as
he had traveled alone, leaving his men to their dinner and sleep. They were not
as anxious to return to the keep. None were newly married. None had just come
to 'know' their wives, nor was the hunger still licking at them to get to know her
again.

 He
told the guards not to announce him. He wanted to surprise Maggie there in the
hall, to see her reaction when he stood waiting for her welcome. No doubt, she
would be as ravenous for him as he was for her. She proved the truth of it in
the barn. It was that good between them.

Together
they would go above stairs, ready a bath so she could bathe him. Her fingers
would run over his head while she lathered it. Her hands would knead the ache
in his shoulders and back as it warmed the cold that had settled in his marrow.
He would teach her how to ease the lower aches as well. To run her fingers from
his shoulders, down his chest, across his belly to his loins.

He
stormed up the steps, to the door of the keep.

The
memory of Maggie held him fast in hand combat, kept him alive, for he promised
he'd not leave her. And he'd not. No more fighting with reckless abandon. Not
now. He had enough experience to fight with skill and care. Maggie gave him the
reason to do so.

Talorc
moved into the doorway of the great room to look over the crowd. Even before he
spotted Maggie, he saw Seonaid there with her child. His inners clenched. His
head shot around, as he scanned the crowd, suddenly aware of the unusual muted
tones. It was Donegal who saw him first.

"Bold."

The
quiet turned to calls and shouts, questions about the battle, urgings for him
to move close to the fire, have a dram. Someone swiped snow from his shoulders,
but it wasn't Maggie.

"Where's
my wife?"  He hadn't meant to bellow, to frighten her with his need for
her. But the escalating fear could not be squelched.

The
room stilled, an ominous thing. Una, always proud to be the first to impart
news, called out. "She's gone to the MacBedes but she said naught about
being a wife."

Lustful
hunger turned to a nest of vipers deep in his gut. "She's my wife. Make no
doubt about that. She should be wearing a kerchief."

"Bold,"
Ealasaid bustled through the crowd with a grim look shot at Una. "You'd
not expect her to face us on her own with such news now, would you?  She would
need you by her side." 

He
acknowledged the truth of it with a grunt. “Is it true? Has she left?"

"True."

"How,
with who?" 

Old
Micheil barged forward, pushed his way in front of Ealasaid. "Her brothers
came for her. Said her mother was ailing and she should go."

Talorc
nodded to Micheil. "Alright then, so she should."  He would follow,
snow or no, be by her side. Make certain they, Maggie included, all knew he was
her mate.

First
things first. Talorc crossed to the fire, to warm the cold that ran to the bone.
He would warm himself, have a bite to eat and a dram to burn out the cold that
ran deeper yet.

Beathag
tugged at his arm. "The MacKays refused our hospitality."

"What?" 
He looked to Micheil, to see the truth of it.

The
old man nodded. "Wouldn't even dismount."

"Shite." 
Talorc grabbed the goblet Seonaid offered and downed the whole of it. The
whisky hit as true as a campfire to his belly. He shook his head, like a dog
shaking off water. "The MacBedes are strong allies. Did you not make them
feel welcome?"

"She
offered it, herself, but they refused to dismount until she insisted." 

"Did
they give reason?"

"Blamed
it on the snow to come."

"Fair
enough."  Talorc took another swig of life then sat on the bench before
the fire. He pushed for days, to return to her, just to face this reception. He
should have waited.

Fatigue
hit with the weight of what was said, and what wasn't. It could be far better
than it sounded. Or it could be far worse. "Their mother was ill and the
weather had taken a nasty turn. Reason enough to be quick about things.”

"They
asked for you, insulted you weren't there to greet them yourself."

"And
did you tell them why I wasn't there?"

"She
did, herself."

"Maggie?" 
In response, the men grunted. Talorc continued to reason it all out rather than
succumb to panic. "She offered them hospitality, she explained my absence,
she worried over her mother. Is there more to the telling?"

"They'd
not speak with us, and wouldn't go to the keep. Just watered and fed their
horses, drank their own draft."

It
didn't make sense. Maggie may have been angry that Talorc was called away, but
her family had no way of knowing. "They were here not six days since. They
left with good heart. What do you think happened to turn their minds?"

"Wasn't
the same two brothers."

"Ach,
crikey!  And you wait to tell me this?  Which brothers came?" 

"Feargus
and Nigel."  Liam told him.

"Feargus
and Nigel?  And they were cold?"

"Aye."

"Was
there anything untoward that happened?  Anything her brothers might report so
the family would send the heavy arms?"

"Laird?" 
It was a soft voice, buried deep in the throng of clansmen around him.

"Speak
up lass."

Lizbeth
moved forward, shy but determined. "Do you think it was something Mistress
Maggie put in her letter?"

Mule
kicked. Maggie and her ways had that effect on him. "What letter?"

"Before
he left, Maggie gave Jamie a piece of parchment for her ma."

"Here
lad," Micheil shoved a flask of whisky into Talorc's face. He swiped it
away.

"Did
any of you write it for her?"  But he already knew the answer. If anyone
around her knew how to read or write, Maggie would have hounded to be taught
the same. She would have written it herself.

"What
do you think it means, laird?"  Ealasaid worried.

"Her
mother's not sick, at least not in her body. She's probably soul sick, though,
if Maggie had her way."

"But
she's your wife. You said so yourself, when you first arrived."

How
could he answer that?  True, he had, had her body, but he didn't have her heart.
Not if she would run like she did. Nor had they said the words that would bind
them in marriage and Maggie had yet to learn that with a handfasting the
binding of bodies was as good, if not better, than words.

He
halfway wondered at the Gunn's timing. It was just a little too true to their
purpose, but how in heaven would they know that?  If he had stayed, if he
hadn't gone to fight the Gunns, she would have been here at Glen Toric and
securely his.

But
there was no way the Gunns could know, on the heels of the event, that he had
consummated his marriage.

He
wanted to believe that nothing would have taken her from Glen Toric, if he'd
been there to confirm that she was his wife. But he doubted the honesty of that.
He had tricked her into going to Glen Toric. He had used her against herself to
keep her, then left at the turn in their relationship.

I
will take thee, Talorc MacKay she had said at the Handfasting. She had yet to
say I take thee. One wee word, a teeny wee word and she was still free.

"Laird,"
Ealasaid said, "She was not so happy to be going but she truly believed
you'd broken a vow."

"I've
broken her maidenhead. My seed is in her belly. That's enough that she should
be here to discuss her concerns with me."