Tangled (Handfasting) (4 page)

Maggie
stepped back.

"I've
frightened you?"

"No,"
Keeping a distance did not mean fright. Alarm perhaps, a chance to get her
bearings was all.

The
woman scurried over, took Maggie's arms and led her to the chair by the fire,
pushed at her until she sat.

"Do
you want a drink?  A blanket?"  Without waiting for a response, the mouse
of a woman bustled about, pouring water, grabbing a lap blanket, handing the
one over as she plonked the other onto Maggie’s lap.

 Too
stunned to argue, or stop her, Maggie sat still, allowed the ministrations. 
She did not drink the water.

"I'm
very good at taking care of the Laird's wife," Beathag peeked up as she
pushed edges of the blanket around Maggie's legs, "I was his first wife's
maid, you see. I came here with her, was with her when he cut her open."
Tears pooled in the beady, obsidian eyes, "so sad, so very sad that he had
to do her in like that." 

"He
was married before?"  But of course he had been. She knew that.

A
vague recollection, of the women at the MacBede keep, and talk of Talorc being
a widower came to her. Back then, the information had not prompted thoughts of
a wife. An actual woman, who he would have cared for, lived with. Maggie’s gaze
shifted, to look at the huge bed she had been sleeping in.

"Aye,"
Beathag's voice matched her movements, quick, furtive and done before anyone
noticed. "That was their bed. The bed my Anabal died in."  She paused,
head tilted, watching Maggie. "Some say it was murder, but our Laird
wouldn't do that, would he?"

Would
Talorc do that?  A man like her father, her brother, determined to protect and
avenge, not to murder a woman with child, his child.

A
wife dead from her husband’s knife?

Her
dream of Ian came to mind.  There was no time for this.

The
little woman kept speaking. “The Gunn's just sent her off, traded her for
peace. She was such a sweet little thing. As delicate and . . ."

Maggie
didn’t doubt that.  This man was well versed in taking a lass from her home but
to kill her?  She had been a Gunn, a sworn enemy, but the ramifications to his
soul, let alone the clan, would be foolish.  The Bold was no foolish man.

The
door opened with a woosh and there he stood, filling the opening with strength
and steadiness.  Her heart thumped wildly. Relief, she promised herself,
distraction from this odd woman and the thoughts she provoked.

"Beathag? 
What are you doing here?" 

The
old woman cringed.

Talorc
eased the sharpness of his question. "The people have gathered below
stairs. You should be with them." Words directed to Beathag while is eyes
held Maggie's.  Did he sense her distress?

Beathag
bobbed and curtsied and scuttled out of the room. He watched, ensured she left.

"She's
an odd one, Talorc."

He
turned to study Maggie, head to toe, as though searching for injury, beyond the
blow to her head.

"She
never hurt me."

"Good."
He nodded, as though he did not believe her but would let it pass.

"You
were married before." She stood, straightening the blanket, laying it over
the back of his chair, feeling the draw of him, dangerous as any undertow.

He
cursed the door Beathag had scuttled through and rubbed the back of his neck. Maggie
noted his wet hair and clothes, clean and tidy as though it were a feast day. 
In no mood to celebrate she remembered the cloak she needed and crossed to the
trunk Ealasaid had filled with the clothes from earlier.  A massive thing
carved with scenes of a boar hunt.  She lifted the lid, determined to get out
of the castle, escape Talorc’s notice.

"It
is no secret that I was married." He crossed to her. "Though I don’t
remember Anabal much when I'm with you. Truth told, I was certain you knew,
didna’ question it."  He watched her rifling through his clothes. “What
are you looking for?”

Maggie's
cheeks burned. “A cloak, or a plaid.”

"Are
you cold?  Perhaps you should be back in bed."

"I’m
well enough.”

He
frowned. "I'll carry you."

She
raised her eyebrows. "You can keep your hands to yourself. It was my head
that was hurt, not my feet."

He
dropped his hands, let them hang by his sides. She knew the look, useless as any
man faced with illness. She patted his shoulder. “I’m fine,” and thought of a
way to escape, “just need fresh air. The outdoors. Do you have a cloak for me?” 
She hadn’t found one in the chest and time was short.

He
reached into a wardrobe, brought out a folded length of plaid. The colors a wee
bit different than at home. Grand as this place was, their plants did not offer
the same depth of color as the ones at home.

“You’ve
none of mine?”  He could know things Ealasaid didn’t. She frowned and reached for
his offering.

“No,
your trunks were lost. But we’ll find them, we’ll keep looking.”

“All
of my clothing?”  She tsked as she wrapped the folded length of plaid around
her shoulders.  “All the hours I spent embroidering lost?”  She hated needle
work, resented the time it took and it showed. All those tedious hours for
naught.  His chagrin did much to ease her loss though she took little time to
savor it.  Urgency nipped.

 “The
clan’s coming together, below stairs,” he explained. “If you go down, they’ll
want to greet you.”

She
had to distract him.  “Bold, I’m no’ ready for that. Been closed in for days. 
I’ve a need for some time alone, some fresh air first.”

He
narrowed his eyes.  “You’d not meet the people who cared for you, tended to
you?”

She
looked away.

He
bent down, met her eye to eye, “There’s something you’re not telling me?”

Her
cheeks warmed.  The Bold was coming to know her too well in too short a time.  “Why
would I lie about such a thing?”  She challenged.  “It’s as I said.  I need
some time to myself.  There’s no disrespect in that.”

“Aye,
there is, which is not like you.”

Flustered
she shook her hands, turned away to pace.  “You’ve foisted change on me, Bold. 
I’m needing to breathe, out were the breeze can hit my face, where I can look
at the land and see it’s not so different from my own without being surrounded
by strangers.”

Stunned
by her own argument, she realized it was true.

“You
canna’ go alone.”

“I
could if I were home.”

He
shook his head.  “You could at Glen Toric before now but a lass has gone
missing.  That’s why the clan is below, gathering to search.

 “A
lass is missing,” she blurted, “and you’ve wasted time? Washed, fresh clothes?”

He
snorted. “I’ve been sleeping in that chair, in the same clothes we traveled in.
You and I have had a rough few days, I needed to wash that time away. But this,
this is new, we only just heard. They’re preparing for a search.”

 “For
the lass hiding out,” she waved her hand toward the northeast, “out there.”

He
cocked his head.  “I didna’ say she was hiding.”

Maggie
blushed. “She’s in trouble, afraid, but not near as afraid as she should be,
and there’s meager cover where she is.”

Talorc
took her shoulders. “How do you know this?  What makes you think we should go a
certain way?”

She
shook her head. There was no hope, she had to say something. “It was a dream. Ian
lead me to a lass huddled in gorse and heather, trembling. Och, Bold, she’s only
a mite of thing, weak and frightened, and a dark cloud is pressing closer and
closer . . .” Maggie shivered. “And you’re going think I’m mad to be listening
to dreams.”

Talorc
looked toward the window as anxious as she to be on his way. Still he hesitated
before looking back at her.

“Ian,
you say?”

“Aye.” 
She never should have said anything.  He would think her crazy and, even if he
didn’t, how could he use her information without sounding crazy himself?

He
surprised her by taking her shoulders, facing her straight on.  “No, Maggie.” 
Talorc lifted her chin. “Fey mayhap, and I wished it was anyone but your Ian to
talk to you, but not mad.”

Maggie
sat down hard on the trunk, uncaring of tusks or branches digging into her
thigh. “Another lass has gone missing.”

“Aye,
young Ysenda.”  He nodded. “A wee mite of a thing, just as you said, and if you
know where she is, there’s not a soul who cares where the knowing came from, as
long as it takes us to her.”

Again,
she rode a horse, to make the going swift. A rare privilege to these
highlanders but the ache to her head from the jolt of it hurt so bad she could
barely see. Not that the seeing was any good. It all looked the same, the roll
of the land, the harshness of thorny gorse and heather.

Few
rode, even Talorc was afoot, off-times jogging, leading her mare.  The others,
throngs of people, swept out in long lines, sweeping the area. Most walked,
some had donkeys or ponies. Bagpipes played soul-full notes, as a draw for the
lass.

Maggie
closed her eyes, fought heaving her last meal and felt grace when her ride
halted.

That’s
when it came to her, as sharp and clear as a bolt of lightning.

“Stop!” 
She whispered, not opening her eyes, not looking to see if any listened. “Quiet.”

Talorc
promised not to tell about her dream, or that she had a ‘feeling’ about where
the lass was, so she didn’t know why they all listened to her, how they even
heard her quiet words, but they did. By signal or look, she didn’t know, her
eyes were closed, but as quick as she spoke the long line of people on either
side of her had stopped. The music wheezed to a close.  Nothing but the sound of
the breeze and a slight whimper.

“There”
she opened her eyes.  “Do ya’ hear that?”  But they all just stared at her.

Maggie
slipped from her horse, turned to see the same land as in her dream and she
knew, knew where to look, though half-afraid the lass would be gone, or not
there yet or that the terrifying black cloud would be hanging over the spot. 
Still, she turned and pointed.

“What?” 
Talorc whispered from beside her.

“Look,”
she told him and knew the moment he saw, down below them, crumpled on the
ground, what looked to be a pile of plaid that blended so well with the ground
you would miss it if you weren’t certain it was there.

“Oh
my lord!”  A woman cried. “It’s my Ysenda!  My girl!” 

As
quickly as they had stilled, everyone shouted and raced for a way down the
steep drop.  One man took no notice but leaped to the ground below, fell then
ran with a hitch to each stride.  Hurt but not halted.

That
mound of fabric rose, stood, a young girl swaying with weariness.

“Mama?” 
A meek cry, but there. “Is that you?”  And she tried to run to them, stumbling
and pulling herself up. Her cries threaded through the hoorahs of others.

Maggie
slipped down, cross-legged, onto the ground, her head in her hands.

“You
found her, Maggie.”  Talorc crouched beside her.

“No,
not me.”  Tears blossomed as she felt the fear ripple through her. “The poor
child.  The poor, poor lass.”

“The
poor lass might have been lost for good if not for you.  We were concentrating
our closer to her home.  We’d not have found her.”  He brushed her hair from
her face. “If not for a fine faerie, do you think?”

She
swatted at him. He pulled her onto his lap. “No, you’re too big for a faerie. Could
be a Sidhe,” Caught her wrists, held Maggie close while he watched the people
fuss over Ysenda. He continued to tease. “No, not a Sidhe either. It’s a Valkyr,
you are, like the northerners speak of.”

Laughter
brought pain. “You’re cruel!”  She complained.

“Not
so cruel to let others know what you were about.”  He was serious now. “I’ve
not told them of your dream, of Ian.”

“What
of when I asked them to be silent?”

“You
heard her cries.”

She
let loose a breath she hadn’t known she held. “Thank you.”  She whispered.
“Thank you. I’d not have your people frightened of me.”

He
continued to watch the people below.  “Our people.”  He corrected but did not
push. “I will need to speak to the lass. Will you come with me?”

“There’s
nothing I can do.”  Her life was changing, too fast. She couldn’t take it in,
worried that she would never be the same, would never be able to return to her
own without being a stranger. “I wouldn’t know what to do, Bold, but yes I will
sit with you as long as you don’t need me to speak.”

He
turned on her, with a fierceness that startled. “You promised a handfast, a year
and a day as my wife, a laird’s wife.  You’d not be so small as to skirt
that?”  Voice lower, softer, he added.  “You knew where she was, you’ll know
what questions to ask that I would not think of.”