Tangled (Handfasting) (9 page)

Of
all his worries, he could never have anticipated this. “For them to learn of
Old Micheil, it had to be one of our own.”

He
searched the room again and found her, his Maggie, standing in the shadows,
near enough to have heard what they had said, without knowing the significance
of it.

 Windblown,
she carried fresh air and sunshine. New beginnings, that was what she meant. It
was time now, to tell her.

“You
wouldn’t be knowing.”  He had to look away, to gather himself for the
importance of what he had to say. When he looked back, he wondered if it had
been right to wait, to not have told her sooner what she meant to the clan. Just
why he pushed so hard to have her with him now, rather than later. “We’ve been
preparing things for trading. It’s a new idea, because of you.”

“Me?”

“Aye,
you.”  He smiled, for he knew how she would feel about this. “Your brother,
your Ian, shared a story about you, for a laugh.”  He crossed to her, ready to
tell her the clan’s secret.

 “Laughing
at me?”  She shook her head. “That sounds like any one of my brothers.”

“I’ve
come to see that, but they don’t laugh at you Maggie, they laugh with the joy
of who you are.”

She
pulled in on herself then, crossing her arms before her. “And what was it they
said?”

“Well
now, before you hear what it was, you need to know that it was not so funny as
it made good practical sense.”

Maggie
stood firm. “Go on then, what was he laughing about?”

“Whisky.”

“No
surprise there, they are fond of their whisky.”

“And
you’re full of telling them so.”

She
snorted. “Waste of time that.”

“And
you told them, if they drank less, they could trade what was left and wouldn’t
have to be raiding and fighting to keep their families alive.”

He
didn’t touch her, just stood close and watched as countless emotions shifted
her features, like clouds across the sky. Her awed, “You’re preparing whisky
for trade?” made him feel proud, fueled him with the same excitement the
original idea had inspired.

“Aye.” 
He knew his smile was grand, for the idea of it, the pure simple idea of it. “We’ve
been trading whisky in a small way for the whole of our lives, but the demand
has not been so great until now, with Old Micheil. He’s the finest whisky maker
in these lands.”  He rubbed his hands together. “He’s the best in the world,
and why we haven’t thought to pursue trading I canna’ tell.”

“You’re
going into business.”  She couldn’t seem to get past the thought.

 “Why have you not told
me of this?”

“It’s
still early days, Maggie. We don’t know if it will work. But we do know it all
started with a wee thought from you.”

She
braced herself against a table. “You’ve buckled my knees, that you’re . . . I
mean . . . you wouldn’t need to be fighting.”

He
steadied her, sighed. “Maggie, we aren’t there yet. And fighting is something I
will have to be about.”  He was going to tell her that he would be about it
soon, this very day but she didn’t give him the chance to finish.

“Because
the whisky maker has been taken and all the supplies you’ve been setting up?”

“Aye.” 
Talorc took her by the shoulders. “He’s been taken, and everything we’ve been
trying to put together has been broken or stolen, but we know where to find
him.”

“How
many know of your plans?”

And
that was the worst of it. “Only the closest to me in the clan, Maggie. Only
those on the inside.”

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

The
Bold turned to his men as Maggie stepped back into the shadows. Diedre and
Ingrid were busy filling the table with more food and pitchers of ale. Maggie
should be doing that herself, it was time she got involved, made a place for
herself here, but she couldn’t move.

He
had taken her idea and turned it into reality. Or, at least, he was trying to. He
had taken her seriously.

She
couldn’t stop staring at him. Like a moonstruck lass, she found the line of his
cheek, the lay of his hair, the way words formed on his lips utterly
fascinating. Even the bend of his body as he reached across the table for a
hunk of bread teased her senses.

He
believed in her. The idea of it blew away any resistance she concocted. She had
lost the fight to be free of him. Had fallen hard for a great big bear of a
beast. A beast who could be tender and caring.

That
changed nothing, though. He was a fighting man. There would always be call for
that. She had to face it, challenge it, or accept it. Like her family, she was
prone to fight rather than accept. It didn’t bode for a peaceful marriage.

His
men talked on top of one another, but not Talorc. He stood still, silent, a
warrior steeled and ready for battle. He would have all his senses opened. Aye
and he did too, for he turned as though he knew she watched him.   

She
was selfish enough that she did not want him to go even as she knew he had no
choice, not this time. With his going was the chance he would not return.

She
spun away, accepting that which she had promised herself she would never accept.
She had given her heart to a fighting man. The fear of it rose to her throat.

Hand
shaking she reached into the pouch at her side and found the packet; a bit of
plaid that held soil and heather, a gift from the MacBedes upon her leaving. Her
most cherished possession.

“Maggie.” 
He spoke to her. She brushed away tears, not wanting him to see the ridiculous
reaction that swallowed her whole. Even when she turned to him, she couldn’t
respond, couldn’t get words past her throat.

Of
course he was going. He had to go. That’s who he was, what he was, why she
loved him. And she did love him. How could she ever have thought she didn’t. She
was no cuckoo in the nest. She needed a man like those in her family. She knew
that now, perhaps had known it all along. He wouldn’t have been such a threat
otherwise.

Seonaid
picked that moment to enter the hall. Sun peaked through the only openings to
the outside, slim slits high on the wall.  Meager rays caught on the haze
caused by fire and torch light. They highlighted her, tall and aloof, as she scanned
the room. She drew Talorc’s gaze. He called her over, took her arm and led her
to a quiet place, away from the others.

Did
he trust the woman that much?  Did he confide in her when he couldn’t even tell
Maggie of his plans for trade?  Whatever he said angered Seonaid.  She yanked
her arm from his grasp, backed away, her head shaking back and forth in denial.
 His response was lost in the distance but it fueled Seonaid to turn her back
on him and run to the kitchen.

Had
he accused her of something?  Was Seonaid connected to the renegades?  Is that where
she went when she left the keep?

Trouble
usually looked for trouble.  At least, now, there was something Maggie could
do.  She set out after Seonaid.

The
kitchen was a bustle of women filling sacks, preparing for the men to ride out.
Maggie wasn’t certain how the word had gotten to them, but it had. Judging by
the concise way they worked, they knew exactly how many were going and that
they were leaving quickly.

How
was it then, from this experienced kitchen, Talorc and his men had ridden out
with tainted food and lost supplies, as they had only a few months before? That
could have been an accident?

Maggie
fiddled with the talisman in her pocket. Love him or no, she had to return to
the MacBedes one more time. First, though, she had work to do.

A
shout came from the back of the kitchen, a dark corner.  Seonaid held Deidre’s
arms as they quarreled. Other than the one shout, their voices were low, urgent
hushed whispers. Still, there was no mistaking the sharp hand movements, the
deep frowns, the bits of strident argument.

Busy
as the kitchen was, the women were give a wide a berth, though no one shied
from glancing their way. Eyes rolled when they took their fight to the outdoors.

Maggie
wove through the bustle of preparation, down the stairs and out a far door to a
courtyard.  It was empty.

 At
a tug of her skirt she found Eba pointing toward a small mound. “The guard is
following her.”  The lass whispered. “In the cellars.  They go all the way to
the center of the earth where great hungry monsters live.”

‘following her’
 Of
course, she meant them or her mother but a child doesn’t always know which
words to chose.

In
the caves?  Maggie shuddered. Diedre told her about the caves beneath the
castle. “Great monsters?” She asked as they circled to the mound to find a short
flight of stair down to a small door.  She could wait for the guard to return.

If
that’s who he was following. There’d been no time for the two women to move out
of site in any other direction.

She
had to find out. Maggie took a step down. Eba held back. “I don’t like it in
there.”

“No
need for you to come, Eba. Go on back into the kitchens.”  She directed
doubting she would like the place herself. Cellars were dark places and Maggie
did not like the dark.

Prepared
for the worst she was surprised to find the space lit. A lantern fitted into
the wall beside the door, which meant someone was in there.

She
stood for a moment, becoming familiar with the chamber, listening.

Caves
they may be, but it was much the same as the storehouses at home. Built below
the surface of the ground, they held a steady temperature, perfect for keeping
foods fresh.

Like
the ones at home, from the outside it was no more than a small mound. Unlike
home, this storage area was cavernous with endless rows of goods on shelves,
huge barrels lined a rack as sacks, bulging with grain, hung from the ceiling. More
food than her clan could eat in years carried on beyond the meager light of the
lamp.

Except,
Maggie saw, a halo of light at the end of the first row of shelves. It illuminated
a second doorway.

“Mother
of God,” she whispered. “Do I really need to go there?”  A wasted prayer, for
she knew she had to, knew she had to see who moved beyond this great store
room.

Caves,
dark places, bats and rodents and deep crevices. Nightmares were tamer than
this adventure.

Baskets
of root vegetables on her left, the wall to her right, Maggie edged through the
room, scanned the shadows and the looming dark deeper in the yawning cavity. This
was a foolish venture, for sure. The women were merely on an errand and would
return soon. Or the guard would bring them back.

On
the verge of convincing herself of this, the light that drew her flickered and
shifted, dimming as it moved beyond the dark mouth of the second door. Maggie
hurried to catch-up.

One
step over the threshold of the second room smacked her with the scent of smoke.
It had been there all along, she realized, only now it enveloped her. Some
great ox of a person stood between her and the glow of the lamp. Heart beating
a vicious tattoo in her chest, she reached out and grabbed the shadowy figure. Not
an ox nor a man, or even a woman. It was a ham. She had moved into a smoke
house or, at the least, the chamber where the meats were stored.

“Oh
lord,” she prayed to herself. “What have I gotten myself into?”  She was too
far to turn back yet, what little light remained was moving swiftly away.

A
hole of blackness threatened, between either light. Maggie shouted for Deidre,
certain she would help, just as the torch light, went out. Her call echoed
back, shuddering the silence.

This
was no mere storehouse. These were caves that ran forever beneath the keep.

 “Seonaid?” 
Maggie tried for help once more but even to her own ears it was a weak attempt.
There was nothing for it but to head back, use the same grounding touch she had
used to get this far. Except she had left the wall when she raced after the
dimming light.  With relief, she saw way back was still illuminated.

As
quickly as the thought flickered through her mind hairs rose on the back of her
neck.

The
door to the smoke room slammed shut.

She
didn’t like the dark.

An
icy stream of fear ran down her back. Rigid she searched the black before her.  There
were no shadows to run from, no sounds to alarm but still, she conjured a million
ways to die a horrible death in this place.

These
caves were the pride of Glen Toric, a perfect defense against thieves. Ideal
for storing foods but dangerous for the uninitiated. Deep crevasses, soft
ground, endless tunnels to get lost in, threats enough when one had light.

“Don’t
be foolish.”  She admonished herself. “There’s naught to fear.”  That door
would have been weighted to swing shut just as the great door had been. Focused
on the only thing she had to do, which was get back to the first chamber, she
used the cured meat as a guide.