The Handfasting (32 page)

"Should
you wait, Laird?” Bruce had the gall to ask.

"Wait?
To see if she lives or dies, do you mean?” Bruce looked at his feet. If she
lived, how different would they react. If she died . . . her eyelids had
fluttered. Talorc would hang on to that.

"Go
now Sim, and promise we will send another, on the morn, to say if she lives or
dies. And Sim," Talorc looked him straight on, "tell them I broke my
promise. We think she was poisoned by one of our own."

CHAPTER 7 – LETTING GO

Maggie
lay on the bed, white as chalk. Covers pulled up to her waist, where a twisted
sheet and a piece of wood for a tourniquet handle, rested on her belly, the
twist now loosened. Ealasaid leaned against the wall, spent from her efforts.

"What
needs doing?" Talorc asked. She shook her head, words more energy than she
had.

Gerta
pushed forward, "Y' need to sit." And pushed Ealasaid into a chair.
"You," she pointed toward Una, "and you," Deidre this time,
"help me strip the bed down, and take that God awful thing from around
her."

Ealasaid
shoved away from the chair, "She'll be needing water."

They
all looked to the spilled pitcher on the floor, and the drying puddle of blood
beside it.

"Liam's
outside," Talorc told them, as he eased the knot at the top of the
tourniquet sheet, "tell him to fetch fresh water from the stream and warn
him he's to taste it before she has any."

"You
can trust my Liam!" Caitrina snapped, and walked to the door to inform her
husband of his task.

"Caitrina,"
Talorc stopped her, "have Liam tell the rat catchers," the young boys
who made certain the keep wasn't over-run with vermin, "to find me some
live ones.” The girl shuddered, but didn't ask questions as she did his
bidding.

Talorc
lifted Maggie into his arms, as Gerta removed the twisted sheet from around her
waist.

"Hold
her a bit, while we get this bed freshened." Ealasaid stepped in front of
him, "Sit over there. We'll get her into a fresh gown as well."

Caitrina
came back into the room with a bucket full of water and a scrub brush.

"What
are you doing?" Talorc asked.

Caitrina
scowled as Gerta answered. "She's going to clean the floor."

"Don't."

"Laird,
we can't leave it as a memorial, now."

"Don't
clean it. Not until I say. And don't step over there either.” There were
answers on that floor. He needed to find them.

 Maggie's
gown was lifted, to be changed, and revealed a deep purple circlet of bruises.
Great racking shivers coursed through her.

"Shock,"
Talorc mumbled. He held her close to his chest, as he reached over, lifted the
lid of the trunk at the foot of the bed, and pulled out fresh blankets to wrap
her in. He had experience enough with injuries during battle. He knew what he
was dealing with. What he didn't like was the limpness. She was no more than an
empty shell of flesh.

"She
needs water, Laird. She's lost too much of the liquid inside of her. She needs
water."

"It's
coming.” He had to stay calm, for Maggie. If he let his fears, his temper, surface
he would be no help. He had to stay focused.

"Bring
the bucket here, Caitrina," He felt it, ice cold. "Over there, by the
fire, there's a kettle. Bring some hot water so we can wash her before we dress
her again.”

Talorc
helped to get her clean, dressed, back on the bed and under heavy piles of
covers. Liam came in with another bucket of water, and took a sip without being
asked, ended it with a respectful nod to Talorc.

At
least he did not take offense to his Laird's request.

"You’re
a good man, Liam MacGhei.” Talorc nodded him off, then turned to Ealasaid.
"How many people do you need now?"

"Gerta
will do, the rest can go, though you'll be hard pressed to get them to
leave."

"I
want as few people in this room as possible."

Ealasaid
nodded. Talorc looked at the others, then tilted his head to the door. As they
left, they skirted around the blood soaked floor, and toppled pitcher.

Ealasaid
was set on getting Maggie to drink the water, but Maggie refused it. Every try,
the liquid spilled over and down her neck. Talorc stood beside Ealasaid.
"Use a cloth," A slanted look let him know she wasn't stupid.

She
dipped a clean cloth in the cup and dribbled it over Maggie's lips. Loss of
blood, weak as she was, Maggie managed to tighten her lips against refreshment
and moaned.

“She
doesn't trust the water," It also told him which goblet she had drunk
from.

"Maggie,"
He held her head upright, his face straight on hers, even though her eyes were
closed. "It's fresh water. Liam tried it; I'm tasting it right now.” He
grabbed the mug and took a taste. "It's sweet and clear and refreshing.
Ah, I think I'll drink more." He took her face in his hands again.
"Want a wee drop, of the same cup I drank from?" he didn't expect an
answer in words. He knew it would come as he tipped the cup to her lips. It
went past her lips, into her mouth. She swallowed.

Talorc
closed his own eyes and said a quick prayer.

"Give
her more, Laird," Ealasaid bade him. He did so, murmuring to her as he
gave her small sips, watching as her weakness ebbed. Not by much, she'd been
through a hefty ordeal, but it ebbed enough that her eyes opened a mite and her
tongue had the strength to lick her lips, though not strong enough to offer
words.

"Good,
Laird. You've done good.” Ealasaid leaned wearily against the wall.

He
sat on the edge of the bed, cupped Maggie’s face in his hand, as his thumb
rubbed over the rise of her cheek. She turned into the caress. He kissed her
forehead and rose.

"She's
sleeping." Ealasaid leaned over to lift Maggie's wrist. It was not as limp
as it had been earlier, with the lack of so much blood. The older woman sighed,
deep.

"I
truly thought we had lost her, Bold. I don't know what I would have done."

"Don't
you worry about our lass, here," Gerta told Ealasaid, "You've nursed
her before, when no one thought she would make it. She's got spirit, she does,
spirit through and through." Gerta sat back, tears in her eyes.

Tough
as hide, old Gerta might be, but she had a soft spot for his Maggie. As did Ealasaid.
Maggie was safe with the two of them.

"I
have to go, ask questions, but you need to make me a promise. Any slight
change, better or worse, you send for me. Liam is right outside with
Malcolm."

He
strode from the room, did not stop when others tried to stop him. He ignored it
all, for the stables. Without blanket, saddle, stirrups or even halter, he
mounted his horse, broke free of the keep at full gallop. Hard, fast, he rode
up over the folds of the hills, down one, up another, until he came to a spot
hidden in the roll of the land. Soaked with sweat, his mount heaved in breath,
as Talorc dismounted, careless that the animal might take off and leave him
with no way home but by his feet.

He
didn't care.

Didn't
care about anything.

Numbness
had grown in proportion to Maggie’s lifelessness. He had functioned because he
had to, for her. Now there was no need to cope, to be of use, to see that all
was done with logic, precision.

He
stood, alone, empty. There was no comfort. Fear pummeled his belly.

He
would lose her. He would truly lose her. And not just to death.

He
had broken his promise.

He
had not protected her.

She
was lost to him. Life or no.

Emotion
shattered his nothingness, filled the hollow with shrieks of a thousand
banshees. One moment, stillness, the next, a warrior's roar erupted from the
depths of him, bounced off the hillsides and came back, an eerie echo, creating
a wild, tormented chorus. It grew from the pit of the earth, up through his
toes, his legs, his belly, and out his throat. He shouted his fears, his anger,
acknowledged the tears that streamed down his cheeks, and sank to his knees,
where he begged, pleaded for the Lord to save her, to keep her well, to allow
her life.

As
if in answer, every moment of their time together flashed through his mind.
Guilt swamped his meager soul. He had cajoled, tricked, seduced and inveigled
Maggie into his world, his life, his heart-- against her own wishes. He had
forced her into being his wife and then he had failed to keep her safe.

He
didn't deserve her.

The
truth of it rocked through him, filled him with a self-hatred that he had never
before tasted. No room for self-doubt for the Bold.

But
he wasn't the Bold right now. Maggie had shown more guts, more determination,
more giving in one afternoon, than he had offered in the whole of their time
together.

He
did not deserve her.

Fury
forced him to this moment of self-discovery. He pulled his sword from its
sheath, and stabbed the ground, over and over until the blade snapped. He
gripped the handle of his wounded weapon, pierced through earth until that too
gave way, but he did not give up. He punched and pounded and howled until
finally, exhausted, he fell onto his back, eyes closed as salty tears streamed
down the sides of his face.

He
loved her, to the bottom of his black soul. He loved her with such passion that
he would give her the one gift she would treasure.

He
would set her free.

CHAPTER 8 – TORN APART

Determined
to be strong, Maggie grasped the bedpost to steady herself and shut her eyes
against a wave of nausea. The room spun, Maggie tilted.

"Stop
moving." Fiona snipped, too focused on Maggie's pleats to look up.

Eyes
opened wide, Maggie swallowed against the illness. She did not want to be
fussed over. The whole of the MacKays, as well as her own kin, had fretted
enough. All of them, from the oldest to the youngest had bustled about her,
seeing to her needs, putting their hands on her forehead, bringing food to
fatten her up.

All
of them but Talorc.

"Where
is he?” She pulled away from Fiona's tucking and pleating. On edge from days of
attention, ready to be up and about, sick or not.

Fiona
grabbed her daughter's skirts and tugged her back into place. "Where is
who?"

Maggie
snorted and spun around, which managed to unravel half of Fiona's hard work.
"You know who I mean, Ma.”

Fiona
ignored the accusation. "Come here," she waved Maggie to her.
"Let me fix it.” Mother waited, daughter stood firm. Fiona flicked her
wrist again.

"Alright,"
Maggie gave up with a sigh and stepped forward. She managed to hold still, all
but an impatient tap of foot and drum of fingers. "I'm about to walk into
the hall, to see and be seen by the whole of the MacKays, but my husband has
yet to come for me.”

He
hadn't just failed to fetch her; he was never there, ever, any more. The last
time she'd fallen ill, he sat with her hour after hour. Now, he claimed he was
too busy trying to find out how the poison came to be in her cup.

A
memory shifted. She frowned, fingers and feet stilled.

There
was something elusive about that cup. She remembered lifting it to her mouth
and then . . . nothing. No thought, no recollection, nothing. Perhaps that was
best.

"Where
is he, Ma?”

Head
bent to a task she didn't work at, Fiona pressed the edges of her own pleats. It
was a familiar gesture, a thoughtful pose, as she fought for comfortable words
in an uncomfortable situation.

"There's
something you're not telling me.” Maggie accused.

"Me?"
Fiona looked up, looked down, rose to her feet and smoothed her plaid. Delay
tactics.

"Aye,
you.” Maggie snapped, then watched as her mother drew in a deep breath. Oh no,
she thought, no and shut her eyes again, as if to block the words she knew
would come.

"He
wants you to return with us.”

The
world spun, Maggie's stomach plummeted. "Why?"

"He
. . ." Fiona hesitated, as though leafing through thoughts the way one
leafs through a book for information, "You must know your father and I
agree, as do your brothers . . ." Fiona's lips thinned. "Maggie, it's
not safe for you here. Not until he knows . . ."

"I'm
safe enough."

"You've
been hit in the head, poisoned. God knows what else might happen."

"Mother,
I was warned. I may not have heeded it, but I was warned. Ian told me, in a
dream, not to drink the water.”

"So
you claim, and you've always been a canny dreamer, but tell you or no, you
still drank, and swallowed."

"I
know better now."

Fiona
dropped into a chair, motioned for Maggie to take the opposite one.

"Your
Talorc is feeling regret. Not only did he push you, when you weren't ready to
be pushed, but he sent you to danger. He nearly lost you twice for it. All the
signs say he was wrong to take you. You were right to fight the match."

Such
a twisted mess, she had to battle her own arguments. "Ma, it's too late to
go backwards. I've accepted the risks in being married to the Bold. He must
accept the risks in being married to me."

Fiona
shook her head. "You don't understand, Maggie. He's the reason you are in
peril. And besides, love," She leaned over, brushed hair away from
Maggie's forehead. "Men may have more brawn, but women are stronger and
braver in affairs of the heart."

"That's
just too bad. He's going to have to live with that."

"Maggie.”
Fiona stood, not to be thwarted. "We're leaving on the morrow and you're
coming with us."

"I
have no say?"

"He'll
not make it easy for you, and neither will I."

"You
act like I'm a guilty, thoughtless child. You put me in this place and now that
I want to be here, you mean to take me away?” Unfairness swamped her.

Maggie
met Fiona's steady glance, but her steadiness did not stop Fiona's arguments.
"At least come home until he finds out who is guilty of wishing you harm.”

Fury
edged Maggie forward. "Am I never to make my own decisions?" She
jumped up, paced, voice rising with each step. "He regrets making my
decisions earlier, but refuses to stop doing so. I have a mind to . . ."

Fiona
grabbed Maggie by the shoulders, tears pooling in her eyes. "It broke my
heart to lose you to another keep, but daughter mine, to lose you to foul play,
och, I couldna' stand that."

Like
a fish on dry land, Maggie's heart flipped and flopped between tender emotion
and frustration. She could have used her mother’s argument a hundred times as a
child, raised in a household with men who insisted on facing death square on.
Everyone knew that each battle fought, diminished the odds of their surviving.

This
time, Maggie was on the other side of the fear. It was her safety that
tormented now.

"Ma,
life comes and it goes. We can't determine what it is for God to fate."

"Easy
for you to say."

Maggie
threw her hands up. "You face such dangers with my brothers without
argument."

"Don't
try that.” Fiona snapped. "You were the one who cursed them for making me
face their risks."

"Aye,
and you never said a word. You never made their decisions for them."

"They
were sons. Why do you think I craved a daughter so?"

Maggie
huffed. "I'm a woman now, Ma. Grown, married, carried a babe in my belly.
I don't even live with you, it's time I act on my own mind and that says I
won't go."

"Even
for a visit?"

"I've
done that.” Now all she wanted was to be held by her husband. They had lost
their child, their babe. She wanted to be held, to be told of his love for her.
Instead, he stayed away, avoided her presence, from the day she drank the
poison.

He
chose to send her away.

"It
was not my fault.” She argued aloud. Fiona moaned, deep in her throat, and
reached to hold Maggie, but it wasn't a mother's hold Maggie wanted.

Perhaps
Talorc never loved her. Perhaps she was no more than a goal that had lost its
value.

"I've
done nothing wrong."

"Maggie."

She
spun to see Talorc in the doorway.

"No
one thinks you did anything wrong,”

She
yearned to run to him but held back, by battered emotions. He chose to send her
away. It was there, in the way he stood, remote, just a few feet away. He could
be all the way to England and be closer.

She
sighed. "It's your chamber, as well as mine. You can step into it.”

He
didn't move. "Are you ready to go below stairs?”

He
didn't want her, could barely be near her. The reality of it yanked at her
security. There was no energy to fight him. Emotions cloaked, she refused his
offered arm when she reached him. She'd not force herself to his care.

"Are
you coming, Ma?" She looked over her shoulder. Talorc took her elbow,
urged her forward.

"Fiona
will follow us.”

How
different this time, to the first, when he'd taken her along this same hallway
to meet his clan. He had wanted her then, confessed or not. She had known, had
sensed it. Now the affection was gone, the caring an act of manners, not heart.
She had become a stranger he couldn't be rid of fast enough.

They
reached the stairs to solemn silence. No shouts of joy, no cheers of welcome.
Not this time. She had lost a child, an heir to the Laird. The clan's
respectful stillness, in a time when Talorc refused to share the sorrow, nearly
broke her.

Needing
support, she reached, gripped his arm, surprised by his gentleness, when he
laid his hand upon hers. She glanced up. His gentle touch contrasted with the
harsh mask of his expression, focused far from her.

Face
taut, he studied the people in the hall, reminding Maggie that one of them had
murdered their child. It seemed impossible. The only one at odds with Maggie
was Seonaid, who kept her distance. Seonaid understood men, not herbs. She had
little time or tolerance for Maggie, but that was her general tone toward all
women.

She
was a loner. Not a murderer. Possessive, not crazed.

As
Talorc guided Maggie down the staircase, she tried to see what he would have
seen, but failed. No one prompted her to fury. Not even Beathag, who stood on
the outskirts of the gathering alone, fearful. Some suspected her, but Maggie
did not.

She
glanced up at Talorc again. He refused to look at her. She stopped, mid-step.
The surprise forced him to glance her way, a frowning slant of a look, gone as
quick as it had come. It was the first time he had looked directly at her since
the poisoning.

He
was probably as reluctant to touch her.

Fine.

She
pulled her hand from his arm, lifted her skirts ankle high. He whispered her
name. Head high, she ignored him, made her own way down the stairs, with a
smile for everyone gathered below. As she moved, she noticed Beathag again. The
older woman sat huddled in the back of the great hall, her shivers visible from
across the smoky chamber.

"Excuse
me," Maggie nodded, as she wove through the crowd, toward the pitiable old
nursemaid. She was halfway there when someone walked straight into her.

"Seonaid?"

"I'm
sorry, I didn't see you there before I moved.” The brunette swiped at her plaid,
as if soiled from their encounter. Maggie stepped away.

"So,
you're better.” Seonaid's cold concern chilled Maggie's spine. "What a
shame that someone was fool enough to gather water and wild venomous plants in
the same place."

"Is
that what happened?"

"That's
what's said."

"Interesting.”
Maggie murmured, and looked back at Beathag, only Beathag wasn't there anymore.
Maggie swiveled, tried to spot the older woman.

Seonaid
interrupted the search. "I knew you would not stay.”

"Oh,”
Maggie’s fury rose. “It is not I who chooses my leaving.”

"No?"
Seonaid frowned, leaned closer. "Perhaps I have not seen you in a true
light.” Maggie raised an eyebrow. Seonaid continued. “Perhaps you and I should
speak."

"Now?”
Stunned, Maggie looked up, half wondered if she was looking into the eyes of a
murderess. "It's a bit late for us to be talking."

"About
your going?" Seonaid gripped her hard, "You could come back."

"Aye.
I’ve a mind to" Maggie yanked free, confidence building. Talorc hadn't
been with her, but neither had he been confiding in the other woman. "If
you don't mind, I'm looking for someone."

"Beathag?"

Maggie
tilted her head, surprised by Seonaid's unusual persistence. "You don't
want to be talking to Beathag. She's so overwrought with what happened to you
that she can't even speak."

"So
I've heard, she just shivers and shakes. But it's not talking I mean to do, not
that it's any matter to you."

"The
woman's crazy. It's my thought she did poison you. She is a Gunn, after
all."

"Is
she? And why isn't she with them now? Her charge, bless her soul, isn't here
anymore."

Seonaid
lowered her eyes, the frown grown deeper, marring the perfection of her brow.
As though to convince herself, she murmured. "Beathag's nothing but a hag.
I doubt the Gunns want her any more than we do.”

"Who
says the MacKays don't want her?"

Rather
than answer her, Seonaid looked over her shoulder and Maggie knew Talorc was
there, before he took her arm.

"Go
away.” She didn't bother to look at him.

"Maggie?”
He tugged.

She
shrugged him off. "Go away."

"Whatever
you have to say to each other, you can say to me."

"I'm
thinking she doesn't look well, Bold," Seonaid lied. "She needs to be
going back to bed."

Talorc
had the grace to ignore her, but he did study Maggie. His gaze a sensation, it
rippled through her. She had missed it. But he was sending her away. "I'm
fine, Bold, better than when I was above stairs."

"I
don't want you upset, or bothered."

Maggie
looked anywhere but at him. "You're the only one who bothers me now.” Which
was true. Her eyes shifted back to his face, filling up on memories.