Bold (The Handfasting) (9 page)

He
repeated his question.  "Did you pledge this as an oath?"

She
shook her head.  "Why should I?  My mind is made up."

“If
you didn't pledge yourself, there’s nothing to fret over, lass.  It's no more
than dreaming of the future.  Not for us to foretell.”  He turned back to the
tables lined with watchful clansmen, both MacKay and MacBede.

 “Oh
Lord!”  Maggie sent the plea heaven word.  “Oh, lord, please help me here.” 
But she knew it was her own fault for wanting him to flirt with her.  As usual,
she had brought this on herself, over estimated her ability to deal with a
situation.

All
eyes were focused on the Bold.  He tugged on Maggie until she stood beside him,
within the curve of his arm.  Her legs trembled until she thought they couldn't
possibly hold her upright.  Talorc gave her waist a squeeze, as if that would
reassure her.  He was a fool if he believed that.

As
though they were alone, as though the whole world were not watching he bent
over her and whispered.  “Will you listen to my plea now?”

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

“Please,
I beg of you.”

“You
beg?”

“Anything,
anything you want.” Roddie MacBede whimpered from beneath the foot of the man
in green. Six other harsh, ragged men aimed spears to take him down should he
try to rise.

“Anything?’

“Aye,”
he sniffled, hiccupped a sob of fear.

“You’ve
been cast from your clan.”

“No,
no,” he stuttered as the man in green pressed his dirk further into his chest,
between two ribs, above the heart.

“Why
not.”

“No
one knows.” Roddie promised.  “I’ve not any chances left with the clan.”

The
pressure of the dirk eased.

“No
one knows what you do,” the man looked over at a bundle of fabric, the limp
form, and smiled.  “Not do, did, to that child? Other children.”

“I’ve
never killed one,” Roddie cried. “I shouldna’ of done it, I know, I shouldna’
of done it, didn’t mean too, just wanted a little fun.  She’s my sisters child,
she was going to tell.”  Once again, the dirk pressed hard.

“Why
not?”  The whimsical question startled Roddie, The lilt of it skewed from
reality just as his joy, in the process of destroying the small body was an
emotion out of step.  Wrong.  He knew it was wrong.

“Why
not.” Whimsy turned hard, cold. “Why shouldn’t you have done what you did?  You
enjoyed it. Admit it.” 

Roddie
nodded, sure, now, the blade would pierce his black heart.

“Can
you find more children?  Can you bring them to us?”

For
the first time Roddie looked up into the eyes of the man standing over him. 
Eyes darker more dangerous than Roddie had ever striven to be.  Evil eyes.

Roddi
shivered, reluctant to nod his assent though he did in the end. “Aye.”  Bile
reached his throat for half of him still held better intentions.  “Aye, I can
coax more to my side.” Fantasies, that’s all they ever were.  Urges not to be
fed. Only, he had fed them, and this one, when he silenced his victim he was
caught for the deed.

The
blade left his breast entirely, a hand offered.  “Rise, join us.  Let us make
merry.”

Talorc's
hand rested upon Maggie's shoulders.  Reassuring it was not, coming from a man
too wild to anticipate, and far too confident.  All evening he overlooked her
and then, just like that, expected to convince her to go away with him, as
though she had no mind of her own. 

“To
all you men who joined me in the battle against the Gunns,"   Maggie
jumped as Talorc's voice blasted out across the hall.  "Have we not failed
to honor the one who pulled us through?”

A
roar rose to the rafters matched by the thunder of stomping feet and fists that
pounded table tops.  Dishes clattered and shook, some fell to the floor. 
Maggie looked about, to see who they were honoring, but all the warriors faced
forward, sights set on the Bold who shouted above the noise. 

“I’ll
do my telling,” He bellowed, “for everyone to hear the glory of our Maggie
MacBede!”

Maggie
MacBede?  The thought of it nearly suffocated, as the cheers crescendoed.  Her
whole body trembled as warrior after warrior moved forward, crossed their right
arm over their chest, right hand to left shoulder and bowed low to Maggie.  Legs
wobbly, Talorc had to help her stand. 

She
nodded to each man who offered obeisance to her, stunned by the clamor of the
hall.

"Maggie,
Maggie, Maggie . . ." They chanted.

She
could take no more, held her hand out for them to stop. “Please,” she asked
them and immediately they silenced their appreciation.  “I would like to hear
what this is all about.” 

She
stood firm lest they feel they’d frightened her, though frighten they did.  And
it was the Bold's fault.  She was certain of that, because never before, no
matter how many battles the MacBedes had fought, had personal honor come to
her.  It was a heavy weight she never asked for. 

The
men took to their seats again, stilled as the Bold had not been able to still
them.  Once again, Talorc sat her, a hand to her shoulder, before nodding to
her parents, and again facing the tables of warriors before them.

“It
is no secret that these past years have brought great sadness to the
Highlands.  Sassenaches have been trying to send their fancy Lords and knights
to rule our land, our people.  Men from the North, the powerful mighty
Norsemen, have not ebbed in their pursuit of what is ours.  Are the Gunns not
more Norsemen than Scot?”

Belches
and curses fouled the air just as the idea fouled their thoughts.

 “Brave
and glorious the Clan MacKay and all our septs, including the MacBedes, have
faced great losses and grand great warriors.  Our babes have cried with hunger
‘til our souls were torn apart. We’ve faced the mockery of the Sassenach who
see glory only in the silver they eat with and the fancy cloth they wear.

They
laugh at the way we live, as comfortable upon a bed of snow as a mattress
filled with down.

“These
English are men with no hearts, men who have no care for what we are, who we
are and the land we breathe for.  And yet they threaten to rule us.

“And
so, with these sorrows and woes upon our hearts we battled the Gunns over
disputes that were not of our making.  We did this in search of food for our bairnes,
to keep them safe and fed through the winter months.

"And
we did this to avenge the deaths of the likes of the MacBedes’ Ian."

Maggie
shifted with the unpleasant reminder that she had loudly resented Talorc's call
to arms. 

“The
MacKays, the MacBedes, the MacVies, the Baynes and the Reays we all stood
strong, charging into battle, our cries heralding the boast of victory.

 “But
victory did not come.”

Shoulders
rounded against the burden of losses.

“Again,”
Talorc continued, as mournful as the drone of a bagpipe, “grand men were lost,
taken from us, dying honorable deaths but dying the same.”

The
hall had grown so quiet Maggie heard the rustling of a mouse within the reeds,
the spark of a fire-pit none too close.  She looked to the men, their faces grim
and sorrowful.  Aye, it was a fact, the death of those they lost meant greater
burden on those who survived.

She
looked up at the MacKay, to see where his tale would go, only to find him
studying her, a wistful smile upon his lips so contrary to the sorrowful faces
of his men. She was glad to see he had the sense to wipe it from his mouth
before facing the crowd.

“As
was my way, after the second day of fighting, the second day of terrible loss,
I walked through the shadows of the camp, looked to the men, fought for words
to carry them past the grief. 

"The
MacBede men drew me.  They were no different than the others, sitting before
their fires.  As brave as they are, worrying sorrow comes with a battle lost,
that mayhap we would lose again.  There had been too many defeats in too many
years to bolster our spirits.

“That
was when I learned of Maggie MacBede."

The
use of her name didn't touch her at first.  She was listening to a story that
had naught to do with her.  But then, as he stood in silence, his words ran
back through her mind to suck the breath right out of her.  He nodded, as
though he knew, had waited, just for that reaction, before he continued.

“As
I watched, as I fought for a way, any way, to encourage each and every man, as
I felt the despair of my task pull me under, Conegell MacBede asked any who
would listen.  ‘Do ye remember the time young Maggie gave us our talismans?’

“Talismans,
I thought, thinking of old hags and their mysterious witchcraft.  But the man
did not speak of an old hag, or of sorcery.  Nay, straight on the heels of his
asking, another chuckled.  Oh, aye, he remembered the lass, no more than eight
years, and there she was giving the men more strength in her little parcels
than any drop of draught could do.

“I’m
telling you now,” Talorc placed his hands flat on the table as he leaned out in
his telling, “the curiosity alone drove away my wretched worries.  I stood and
listened as others were beginning to do, for the MacBede fire pit held the only
voices to sound the sound of vigor.  They chuckled, they spoke of strength
being given.  It was a night when all were hungry for such sounds.

“So,
as the other men left their fires to stand around the MacBedes, the tales
continued.  I learned that an eight-year-old lass strode out to the courtyard
as the MacBede warriors prepared to leave.  She ignored wives and mothers and
sisters who stood near their men, and approached each and every warrior to hand
him a small parcel.

“It
was a square of plaid, no more than a scrap, and inside that plaid she’d placed
a piece of heather amid soil from the land.  Then she told them, in her earnest
child’s way, to carry that parcel with them for it would remind them of what
they fought for; the land, the name and the wild glory of both.”

The
cheers of earlier were no match for these which shook the very walls of the
keep.  And as Maggie looked out at the wild shouts she saw, to her amazement,
that every MacBede man held his little packet of plaid and soil and heather in
the fist of his hand.  Some so old, soil spilled from the worn fabric.  Others
were bright and new.

They
had kept them?  They had not tossed them in a stream as they left the land? 
They had not laughed at her, or thought her so foolish that they could not
answer her?

 “As
you can guess, the men were stunned beyond words for the fear that tears might
fall.  That a child, a mere little child, bonny as she was, could speak what
each needed to hear . . . ah, she was a one to be remembered.”

Maggie
slumped upon her bench, startled by what she was hearing, seeing.

“But
it did not stop there, Maggie girl,” Talorc said directly to her, though his
voice filled the entire hall.

“Nay,
it did not stop there.  For tales abound of the young girl, Maggie MacBede, of
her throwing a rock and downing a Sassenach, of topping an enemy who tried to
climb over the wall.

“There’s
talk of a little bairn, six years at the most, making a nuisance of herself on
the battlements, carrying water and lugging pebbles, whatever she thought the
warriors would need.

“My
heart swelled with the hope that one day I would have such a daughter when the
stories turned, and this wee lass was not so wee any more.  No, she had grown
in the space of the telling, into a strapping lass whose honor was much sought
after.  It took all seven of her brothers to keep suitors at bay.”

“There
were not so many!”  Maggie snapped, slapping her hand over her mouth in
embarrassment.

The
Bold laughed, an audacious bellow.

“You
think not, lass?”  He calmed enough to ask,   “And why do you think you're left
with nothing but puny men to look to?”  Maggie could do naught but shake her
head.  She wanted to say that puny men were all she wanted, but she could not,
so Talorc continued.  “The rest, my sweet, the men more worthy of you, have
been warned away.  Which pleases me to no end.”  Talorc confided to the whole
of his audience.  “For I mean to make her my own.”

“No!” 
She screamed, pushed beyond control by his bluntness.

No
one took any notice.  No one cared that her hands shook at the way he was openly
courting her, putting her in a place she didn’t want to be.  A place she might
not be able to extract herself from.

The
Bold continued his tale.  “I am The MacKay, the Laird of our clans, and yet
this woman, your fine, gentle and true Maggie MacBede rounded the men with
spirit and fire.  

"The
following day was dark with the omen of death, but it was not a fearful day for
us, nor was it our deaths the day spoke of.  Hearts full of tales of Maggie
MacBede, we stood tall and bold, strong in the face of battle, and shouted our
warrior’s cry,