The Handfasting (35 page)

Two
troops, from opposite sides, joined. They would meet the other clans and amass
a power far greater than any renegade troop.

CHAPTER 10 – CONFRONTATION

Seonaid
stood on the battlements, looking out over the land she’d called home the whole
of her life. Her son’s home.

Her
brother’s son.

The
whole of the clan knew of her humiliation, her family’s shame. The evil that
ran in Lochlan’s blood. The same blood that ran in her viens.

Every
day she feared that evil,that it would rise to consume her. She watched young
Deian, for some sign, but all she saw was a playful lad with a huge heart. Had
Lochlan ever been like that? Something other than a clever bully?  

Early
on, she sought ways to focus anger, fear, so it would not turn on those she
loved. She donned men’s clothes, she learned to fight as a man learned to fight
and struggled against the softness in herself, the vulnerable.

No
more. She was tired. Deep inside tired and somehow the revelations allowed her
to sink into that depth, to stop fighting, to stop bracing herself with
secrets.

She
had to think of Deian.

“You’re
wearing a bliaut.” Padraig’s deep voice flowed over her as soft as a breeze,
making it worth it to have on the garb of a woman.

“Aye.”
Men’s clothes had been a shield, given her a sense of power. A futile gesture.
She had no power.

“It
becomes you.”

She
turned to him then, grateful as she always was to this man. “Thank you.”

He
flushed, shrugged, concentrated on the view she had been looking at. “It’s land
worth fighting for.”

“Aye,”
she didn’t know what else to say to him, knew better than to speak the truths
she felt. That she hungered for him, cared for him. “Impossible.” She admitted,
and put a hand to her lips, as though she could stop the words already slipped.

“What’s
impossible?” He asked.

She
shook her head, then thought to confide in him. “I will be leaving on the
morrow, with Deian. We are going to a place in the west, where a society of
women healers live.”

“You’re
what?” Quiet, harsh, he faced her.

“If
they’ll have me,” She continued. “and Deian. I’m no healer, but I can help
protect them. And though he’s a male, Deian is young, they should not mind.”

He
took her shoulders. “There’s no reason for you to leave.”

Stunned,
she stared at him. “Have you lost your senses, man? I bore my brother’s child! 
I’ll never live past that. Worse yet, Deian will never be able to live past
that.”

“You
could marry me.”

You could marry me.
She
would never forget his offer, the harsh hope in his voice.

But
she could not marry him. She could never marry anyone. Oh, but that he asked, a
mere four words she would cling to for the rest of her life.

Sadly,
she shook her head. “No,” she huffed out a weary sigh, “I canna’ marry you.” She
touched his cheek. “But I’m that grateful that you asked.” And she walked away.

**********************

Talorc
held his face to the wind, as the day threatened with a hint of pink against
the deep gray of night.

He
willed the day to hurry on its way. He willed it never to come.

She
would be leaving with first light.

He
tried to stay away, but the renegades had no strength in direct combat. Their
power had been in malicious whispers, building hidden fears. Their games had
been lost when the Gunns joined the MacKays to oust the trouble makers.

It
hadn’t taken long. They’d cornered them in their own hole, scattered them like
cockroaches to light. Talorc found Lochlan drunk and reeling, laughing at the
accusations, taunting with his misdeeds up to the moment Talorc speared him to
the ground.

Pinned,
like an insect, not killed he’d whined and blubbered.

They’d
not kill them, any of the renegades, but leave them wounded and bleeding in
cages, to starve and thirst as they fought off the vultures, hanging from
arches in the same places they left the bodies of their victims.

Talorc’s
work done, he now stood on the battlement, determined to see Maggie once more.

Maggie.

Feelings,
crammed deep, so they wouldn't interfere with his thoughts, now rushed to the
surface.

It
was true. Maggie had doubled his strength, his power. Even in the end, she was
the one, not him, who sorted out and found the answers to the evil played
against them.

They
had vowed forever. He would live true to that vow, but never would he ask the
same of her. She deserved a man who could protect her.

The
deep gray softened with light. Talorc looked toward the windows of his chamber,
where he knew his Maggie would be preparing to leave his bed.

He
doubted he could ever sleep there again.

Perverse
hunger had him willing someone, anyone, to pull open the shutters, so he could
get a glimpse of her, from here, on the far side of the battlements. Where no
one would expect to find him.

The
shutters flew open with a crash he could hear from across the courtyard, and he
got his glimpse. It was her, wild mane caught in a wind that howled as fiercely
as he wanted to howl himself.

"Bold!"
her voice rang through the air, to waken the worst slug-a-bed.

His
heart thrilled at the sight of her hefting air into her lungs. She was riled,
just the way he loved her to be. It warmed his blood, had it pumping hard in
response. "Bold!  I know you’re here, somewhere. I feel it in my
bones."

Fiona
came up behind Maggie, to urge her back in the room, but Maggie shrugged her
off.

And
she was right. Her instincts spot on target. He was here, playing the coward to
her courageous heart.

"I'm
here, Maggie.” He shouted, refusing to portray himself, as he saw it. Better
she remember his strength.

"You're
set on sending me away?"

How
could she ask that? He had robbed her from her home, her family, and failed his
most basic responsibility to her. He had failed to protect her.

"Now
that the babe is gone, you have no use for me?"

"Don't
be foolish, Maggie." he shouted back, but without force, for suddenly he
realized this was not a private conversation. They were shouting across a
courtyard that was filling with each word.

"Do
you think I can't carry another? Or is it that you don't want to try for
one?"

"Maggie.”
He warned, but she would not be stopped.

"Tell
me Bold, just how many times have you been injured?"

He
snorted and headed for the stairs to the courtyard.

She
leaned further out the window, "How many?"

"I'm
a man, Maggie, a warrior. It's my job to be wounded, to defend you.” Which he
had failed to do three times.

"And
I'm a warrior's wife, but I'm beginning to wonder if you're a man or not."

Talorc's
head shot up, his jaw dropped. Even the birds stopped singing to the dawn with
that one.

Maggie
leaned so far out the window, Talorc was certain the only thing that kept her
from falling straight out was the hold her mother had on her skirts. Try as
Fiona did, to pull Maggie back, to hush her, his wife could not be stopped.

"They
call you the Bold, but I think you're nothing but a coward.” She turned, to
shove her mother away and leaned back. "And don't you dare move until I
get down there to give you a piece of my mind."

He
couldn't have moved if he had wanted to. He just kept staring, dumbfounded, at
the empty window, where Maggie shouted like some goddess fishwife.

Only
she wasn't a fishwife. She was a woman with strength and determination. She was
a woman pushed to an edge she didn't want to fall over.

It
felt like the whole of the clan was standing in the courtyard, fidgeting with
embarrassment, for they had come out to watch an explosion that blew up beyond
their expectations. Talorc knew they could no more move than he could. He also
knew they wanted to ease away, discreetly, as if they hadn't heard the slander
against their Laird.

She
had called him a coward. She had questioned his manhood.

There
was only one thing left for him to do. Stand-up and take her fury head-on. But
that was not what would prove him courageous. Nor would it prove him a man.
Those would be seen in his soul, when he still had the courage to set her free
and to do so without ever letting her know the anguish it cost him.

**********************

Maggie
tore down the stairs, her skirts hefted above her knees, so she could run all
the way out to the side courtyard. Her heart pounded. Not from exertion, but
with fear that he would have disappeared.

She
never should have shouted out such rubbish, for all his people to hear. She
should have run down the stairs straight away and confronted him close up. She
may have overplayed her hand, lost him completely.

That
would not happen without a fight.

Jamie
and Crisdean tried to stop her, but she sidestepped them, managed to barrel
through the doorway to stand, heaving for breath.

He
was there. Standing right where she told him to stand. When he raised his hand
and crooked his finger, she went to him. She owed him that much. She could have
sunk into the ground for being so brazen in front of . . . her head shifted to
see the huge crowd of people watching.

Did
they always have to have an audience?

She
looked back at Talorc.

"I'm
not going.” It was all there was to say.

"Fine."

That
was not the response she had expected. "I thought you were sending me
away."

She
watched as he took air into his lungs. Did it take so much patience to deal
with her?

"Maggie,
you can come or go. It doesna’ matter. Sim is taking a missive to the Campbell’s
where they say the priest has settled for the winter. It says I forced you to
wed me, against your will. Your father wrote that he forced you as well."

"That's
a lie.” She watched him shake his head.

"The
church won't recognize a marriage of arms."

"Aye,
you made up my mind for me. You took me to Handfast against my better judgment.
You took me away from my family, my home. You promised me a husband who took
risks with his life every time he left me." She began to pace. "You
expected me to be strong enough to face all of that, when you are too weak to
face the loss of one babe."

He
grabbed for her shoulders, stopped at the sight of the bandage that covered a
wound still fresh. "I almost lost you, three times."

"And
I almost lose you every time you leave this keep."

"It's
not the same."

"It
is. Don't you see, you know how to defend with the sword, you know how to match
wits with another warrior, but you're a fool to think you could fight a woman's
game.”

"Why
do you think a laird needs a wife if not to fight the battles from his blind
side?"

She
stepped back, her eyes narrowed, her jaw clenched. She wasn't done yet. She
knew the rest would come, she could feel it spoiling within her. And then it
did, the words flew from her lips, as she shoved so hard at his chest, he had
to take a step back or fall on his bottom.

"If
you’re the man your clan thinks you are, if you're the Bold, then prove it.
Have the courage to take me as your wife. Have the courage to risk the planting
of a babe. Prove it to me by the morn, or I swear I will leave knowing you’re
nothing but a . . . a . . . trembling. . ."

"Don't
say it Maggie.” He warned.

"Are
you going to prove me wrong?” She sassed.

His
jaw twitched. "Do not say that word again."

"Stop
me."

"Maggie,"
his threat rumbled through her, goaded her.

"Coward.”
She brazened, then spun on her toes, hefted her skirts and took off, three
steps.

Suddenly
she was airborne, flipped and hanging over his shoulder.

Her
head popped up, to see a crowd of faces, as stunned as she felt. And then they
started to grin. It was contagious. Old Gerta winked at her. Maggie had to duck
her head, from embarrassment.

She
meant to confront him, push him to take her back, but in doing so she'd made a
public spectacle out of their bedding.

He
didn't go to the keep, but headed straight to the stables, where they'd first
come together, as man and wife.

"Out,"
she heard him roar at the men tending the livestock.

There
were no empty stalls, but there was a soft mound of hay, where it was stored.
He set her down, on her back, as the last man left the barn with a slam of the
latch.

"Coward?”
He stood above her, hands on his hips.