Torn (The Handfasting) (13 page)

"Deidre?"

Startled,
she looked at him. "Talorc?"  Then at the men who formed a crescent
around where she stood, a mere woman on a domestic errand.

"Fetching
onions?"

She
lifted the basket and raised an eyebrow as she turned to go back into the
kitchens.

"Did
you see or hear anyone, anything, while you were out here?"

"No.
Should I have?"  She brushed past him, but he stopped her.

"Talorc,"
Deidre tried to pull away, her jerk loosened the pile of onions. The top ones
fell. "Look what you made me do."  She scolded, "Big Birtha is
waiting for these."

He
bent to help her.

"Bold!" 
Paraig was anxious to get on with the search. Talorc nodded for him to go but
not before he signaled, with his eyes, for someone to go into the caves.

"Leave
Nail and Sim with me."  He added.

Deidre's
head shot up. She glanced at the men leaving, the ones staying. She settled the
basket on her hip. "May I go as well?"  It was a sarcastic question,
she was already aimed toward the kitchens.

"By
all means."  Talorc murmured. An infinitesimal nod had Nail following her.

Talorc
looked at Sim, who was already down on his haunches, checking the tracks that
traversed the courtyard outside of the kitchen.

"You
know what I'm thinking?"  Talorc asked.

"Maggie!" 
She heard the thunder of her brothers’ approach, lifted her lids and saw them,
as stormy as they sounded, bearing down on her.

But
her vantage point disoriented her. Where was she?  In her father's arms?  Just
inside the keep?  Why?

She
blinked at all the faces that stared at her. Shock, terror . . . a bare breath
of sound escaped with awareness. She had fainted. Stout hearted, strapping
Scottish lass that she was, had fainted like some fragile Sassenach woman.

And
it all came back . . . the boy, too young to be left alone, yet not with
Seonaid at the keep . . . poisoned water. . . Seonaid's distraction. . .
Beathag lost and confused . . . switched mugs . . . arrows . . .

"Bold!"
She screamed at the top of her voice and as she did the flash of another memory
flipped through her mind.

Talorc
spinning around, seeing the arrow, horror, fury, guilt. A moan of worry rippled
through her.

"Let
me down!" She cried as a chorus of voices shouted.

"Maggie,
you've been wounded."

"Who
was the bastard?"  Crisdean was yelling.

"Let's
go!"  Feargus the younger led the charge.  Voices rang around her, as her
father fought to keep her steady.

"Let
me down."  She screamed and fought so hard her father was challenged to
keep her in his arms.

"Do
as she says, da, before she does herself an injury." It was Douglas.

"She's
been . . . Maggie."

She
had jumped out of his hold, spun her back to her siblings and grabbed her
father's arm for support. "Break it off," She commanded over her
shoulder.  "Break the bloody arrow head off." 

Her
head spun, her heart pumped hard but it was the energy, the wild need to move,
that overtook everything. "Break the damned thing."  She was frantic,
refused to be calmed. All she could think of was Talorc's face, the horror, the
guilt. If she didn't show him she was fine . . .

Alec
snapped the arrows shaft, just short of where it left her back. "I think
it only caught the flesh." He smiled as he looked up at the others. "Good
thing she's a ripe one and not too scrawny. It merely took the extra
flesh!"

There
was no time to argue with his teasing. Pinch of flesh or no, the shock of it
shuttered through her. She refused to buckle, it was crucial that she not be
put in another sick bed.

Maggie
clutched the feathered shaft at her arm and yanked it free. "Let's go,”
she bit out as she ran to the kitchens, through them and toward the door that
led to the courtyard beyond.

"Don't
Maggie."  Douglas grabbed at her good arm, but she yanked it away to push
through to the outside. She didn't look, only ran straight into Deidre.

She
was coming to understand the intensity of battle, how the world slowed, as it
had when the arrows shivered through the air and as it did now. She could trace
every movement, each offering its own thought. She felt the force of the
impact, heard her own scream of rage and pain as though a slow, eerie cry. It
wove around Deidre's shout of fury.

A
basket flew up, as a shower of onions rained around them. There was a glint of
silver, an undulation of metal in the air as Deidre's arm reach out, to catch .
. .

A
dagger, shaped in the old way, with a wavy blade.

In
Maggie's mind, even as she screamed, even as she shuddered from the collision,
she thought, the dagger, lighter than the onions, flies higher, spirals . . .
mustn't let her have it. And as she thought, she lunged for Deidre who lunged
for the weapon.

They
crashed as time converged on itself. Once again, moments flashed. They were a
tangle of skirts and arms and sharp burning scent of wounded onions.

Maggie
had twisted, to land atop Deidre, and learned the advantage to her extra size. As
much as Deidre squirmed and flayed she could not pull free. Her fight changed,
she pulled at Maggie's hair, her teeth bit into Maggie's good arm, as her fist
swiped at the injured one.

Maggie
had pure mass on her side. Ignorant of her own pain, she hefted a mighty blow
to Deidre's side and felt the other woman deflate. She punched again, in the
same place, in case Deidre faked her weakness. She raised herself, her arm
across the woman's neck, pressed hard with all the angers inside her.

Anger
for her babe, gone before it barely made a mound of her belly, and poor
Beathag, and Anabal and Anabal's bairn who lived for only two days. And for all
the others Deidre must have hurt. Maggie pressed with all she had, only to
weaken as the blast of energy that propelled her out to the courtyard, and into
the fray, suddenly drained.

She
collapsed atop her prey.

Someone
grabbed her around the middle and tugged. She swung on them, a meager assault,
a last touch of aggression from a flow that had all but petered out. And then
she felt herself pulled in tight, with such care that her aches didn't ache so
terrible.

It
was Talorc's arms that comforted her, held her. Finally. She was safe, secure,
could let her tears fall. In her husband’s arms she mourned for a cherished
dream of a babe that was no more, for the pain that now threatened to swallow
her and for the sorrow that he may never hold her this close again.

"It
was her, Talorc." She whispered, "It wasna' my fault."

"Shhhh,
my love, shhhhhh."

"She
poisoned your Anabal. She shot Beathag and me, and poisoned the water . .
."

As
someone wound a cloth around her wounded arm to soak the blood, his great body
rocked her. Maggie didn't look to see who intruded on this moment, but
cherished Talorc's tender embrace. Weariness engulfed her, dried up her tears.

She
leaned back, looked at her husband to find grief staring back at her.

"Talorc?"

He
looked away, up to where her father was and rose. He did not carry her inside,
to their chamber. He passed her to her older brother. She fought the exchange,
at least had the will to do that.

"I'll
walk myself." She kept her head up. If there was nothing left of her, no
hope, no dreams, no warmth, at least she had her pride.

Her
family surrounded her. The people she had never wanted to leave, and now wished
gone. She loved them, but if they meant separation from Talorc, she would do
without.

With
shaking hands, her mother adjusted Maggie's bandage, to better staunch the
seepage, but what did it matter when her heart was bled dry. The pain was a
welcome distraction.

When
they reached the door, she turned to Talorc who faced Deidre, now awake and
held by two huge men. "You know she was the one?"  Maggie asked.

"Aye.
She's always been a good shot with the arrow, but no one has ever seen her
fetch for the cooks in the kitchen before. We found the bow in the root
cellar."

"She
switched the challis. So when it spilled, people would think it was the cup
that Beathag always used. They would think it was Beathag's brew that poisoned
me."

He
nodded, his eyes focused on the slush of the courtyard. "I don’t
understand." He looked to Deidre. “Why?  What harm has the clan ever done
to you?”

“You
stupid, foolish man.” Deidre railed, “You refused to see. Straight in front of
your face, it was!”  Deidre stopped struggling once she had Talorc’s attention.
“I did it for Seonaid. So her son could claim the laird’s place.”

“For
Seonaid?” 

“No!” 
The woman in question stepped out of the shadow of the kitchen, rushed to
Deidre only to be held back by William. “Not for me.”  She sobbed. “I didn’t
want this.”

“Deidre!” 
Ingrid ran from the castle, tried to reach her sister. “What have you done?”

For
a moment, Deidre faltered, the sight of her sister halting her. “You almost
caught me, Ingrid. But I’m glad you didn’t.  You don’t belong in my world.”

“Deidre?”
Tears streamed down Ingrid’s cheeks.

Deidre
smiled at her, a small sad shaping of her lips before she turned her anger on
Seonaid. “You were so blind! But I saw.” She nodded toward the Bold.  “There he
was, all so good, all so grand yet he never claimed his own son.  He never
watched over or took care of his son’s mother!”

“No!” 
Seonaid wailed and pulled free, fought her way to take Deidre’s face in her
hands.

“No
my sweet love, the Bold is not the father of my child. Never.”

Deidre
looked from one to the other, as though trying to asses. “Of course he is.” 
But Seonaid only shook her head, tears in her eyes.

“He
is,”  Ingrid hissed, “but who can blame him for not wanting, Seonaid.  She’s
more man than woman.” 

“Don’t.” 
Deidre ordered.

“It’s
true.” Ingrid cried. “Why would you fight for what she’s not willing to fight
for?”

“He’s
the father of her son!” Deidre shouted.

“He’s
not,” Seonaid wilted, tears flowing.

“Then
who?” Deidre demanded.

Seonaid
kept crying. Big Birtha knelt beside her, wrapping the woman in her arms. “Och,
Deidre, it’s not pleasant things you talk of.”  She cooed to Seonaid, stroking
her hair. “But it’s time it’s been spoken of.”

With
trembling hands, Seonaid swiped at her tears, nodded as she pushed away from
the cook. “It was no’ the Bold, Deidre, it was my brother. Lochlan. That’s why
he was sent away. He raped me Deidre, beat me and took me more often than I can
count.

“But
one time,” she shuddered with her tears. “One time he was careless, out in the
field. I was trying to run away and he caught me. That’s how Talorc found us.

“He
nearly killed Lochlan, but I stopped him. He was my kin. Shamed as I was,
shamed as I am, he was my kin.”

“No,”
Deidre’s eyes filled with confusion. “Not Lochlan, not him.”

“You’ve
yet to see the bad in him, but it’s there.”

“He’s
my husband, Seonaid. We’ve pledged our troth. He claims it was Talorc who was
caught with you, that was why he was banished.”  Deidre whispered. “He’s helped
with the planning, says your son has a right to be laird.”

“His
son, Deidre, my boy is my brother’s son!”  Seonaid wailed then fled the
courtyard, the people, the shame.

"You
defied your clan."  Maggie accused.

"You
know nothing."  Deidre argued.

Talorc
stepped forward. Maggie shook her head at him. This was women's business. That's
why he had been unable to protect her. He thought it was man's business,
strategy of his own kind.  

"You
wanted Seonaid to wed Talorc, to put her son in line to be laird?" Maggie
said, "Only Talorc didn't wed her."

“He
was the traitor to his clan. Marrying a Gunn, turning our clan into measly
traders. He was to be destroyed. His strength was waning with the loss of
battles and then you came. You needed to be killed. A sacrifice. Your power for
my power.

“A
second wife murdered, and no one would have trusted him. Not only would he have
lost the aide of the MacBedes, he would have gained them as an enemy. Other
clans would shift allegiance.

"And
the Bold, ah yes, he was weak in his need for you. Losing you, when you were
under his protection, would have broken him. It nearly already has and you're
not even dead yet." 

"Enough!"
Talorc shouted over the chaos of words flung in fury. "You will lead us to
the renegades and we will fight one on one, like true men. None of this using
women to play games.”