Torn (The Handfasting) (4 page)

"You're
ma says you've been ill."  He called up to her.

"Aye." 
She started down.

The
Bold crossed to meet her.

"Are
you better now?  Can you travel?"

She
didn't know her answer, procrastinated with a touch to his shoulder,
"You're wet."

"Aye,
it's snowing out there."

"Well
come with you, then."  She stepped off the stairs, tugged at his arm, and
led him toward the table. "You need the fire and food. I'll not have you
thinking the MacBedes don't take care of travelers."

He
moved with her, like a docile pet. She bit back a grin, determined to fuss over
him as she settled her own feelings. But as they neared his plate the stench of
rotten meat soured Maggie's fragile stomach. She pulled back in horror. "Ma." 

"What?" 
Fiona looked about as if she couldn't find the problem that was right under her
nose.

Even
her brothers looked innocently surprised by her reaction, but they were good at
pulling the innocent when set on pranks. She would put this down to them,
although how it got past her mother, was beyond her ken.  

"Did
you do this?"  She grabbed the plate and shoved it at her siblings,
mindful to keep one hand across her nose, away from the foul smell of it. "Which
of you would insult my handfasted by bringing out putrid meat?"

"It's
fine," Talorc reached over her arm for a drumstick, kept Maggie from
pulling it away as he took a bite, all the while, his eyes intent on her.

Horrified
Maggie yanked his arm, to keep the meat from his mouth, and gagged. As the meat
juices ran down his hand, bile rose in her throat. She tore away, searched for
an exit, made it as far as a bowl left for the dogs and retched, despite a too
empty stomach. The foul scent wafted around her, stirred another bout of
gagging.

Talorc
curled around her back, his arm across her stomach, one hand holding her hair
from falling forward. She heaved a deep breath, slumped away from him, against
the wall. Talorc took a mug of ale from her mother.

"Are
you alright, now lass?  Would you like a bite of this bread?"  She moaned,
shoved his arm away as he tried to give her a piece. The whole of her family
hovered.

"She's
been sleeping more than you think she needs?"  Talorc asked her ma instead
of herself. Maggie was sick enough not to care.

"Aye,"
Fiona admitted, "we told you she was ill."  But he didn't pay
attention to Fiona's worries. Instead he knelt down next to Maggie and urged
her to eat the bread.

"Trust
me lass, it will make you feel that much better."  She kept trying to move
away, as he tried to force it past her lips.

"Leave
her be."  Feargus stormed but Fiona waylaid him.

"No
Feargus, let him feed her. I think he has the right of it."

Maggie
could hear her brothers and her da grouse, but, as usual, Fiona had the last
say.

Maggie
ate the bread, just so he would leave her alone. But he didn't leave her alone.
He picked her up and carried her back over by the fire, and that horrible smell.
She must have flinched for her ordered, "Someone take the chicken
away."

"There's
naught wrong with your chicken."  Fiona argued but she took the plate and
passed it to one of the clanswoman who had come out to watch the commotion.

"There's
naught wrong with Maggie, either."  Talorc had the nerve to smile, an
indulgent lift of lips.

"You
have no heart," Maggie moaned and pushed out of his arms, surprised that
she didn't wobble with sick.

"Feeling
a bit better with the bread?"  He asked.

"A
body always feels better once the sick is out. Besides, that foul meat is
gone."

She
couldn't read his pleasure, but it was there, in his eyes, in the slant of his
mouth. She was sick and he was thrilled. Stupid oaf.

"Maggie,"
he cajoled, "if you're feeling a mite better, we need to have words."

"You
talk to her here."  Fiona placed an arm around her daughter.

"Is
that how you want it Maggie?"

Confused
over his delight in her illness, Maggie couldn't think, didn't want to. If he
was to tell her the Handfasting was over, she did not want to be alone. She
nodded.

"Alright
then," He stood, surrounded by the men in her family, confronting Maggie
and her ma. "Have you told your family we're no longer handfasted?"

Her
roiling stomach contracted. She should have asked to be alone. Had not truly
anticipated his words or the kick they held. But no, she asked her family to
stay. A vocal lot, now stunned to silence as he ended their time together.

Pride
squashed the urge to turn in to her mother's hold. She broke free, stood tall,
and fought for words as the silence was broken by outraged gasps of her family.

His
voice rose above it. "Acknowledge it or no, after what went on in that
barn, you’re my wife and you know that."

"In
a barn?"  She didn't know whose bellow it was, or how many were yelling
and threatening but this was her fight.

The
blasted man had no discretion. No thought to protect her modesty. Who did he
think he was?

She
shoved at his chest. "How dare you?"  As if to push back his words. "You
great big loud troll. You have the mouth of a harpy."  He caught her
wrists, she kicked him. "I'm so bloody sick of you confronting me with an
audience."

"I
tried to talk to you in private."

"Well,
you could have tried harder."

"Crisdean,"
Maggie yanked her hands free. "Punch him for me, will you?"

Her
da stopped him. Maggie scowled. Her father looked like he wanted to cry and
didn't know if he was happy or sad about it.

"Da?"  Maggie asked.

Fiona murmured.
"She's
not sick, then."

"Of
course I'm sick. Didn't you just see . . ." her words were dwarfed by
Talorc's snort.

Oh
Lord, she groaned, batted at Talorc's arms, as he swept her up in his hold.

"She
insults me by clinging to a bare head and the MacBede colors."  But Talorc
didn't look insulted. He looked boastful, the great big loud mouthed brute.

"Oh
. . . my . . . Good Lord!"  Fiona's hands flew to her cheeks, "Did
you hear that Feargus?  Did you hear what the Bold is saying?"

"Should
you be wearing a kerchief, Maggie?" her da asked.

Maggie
blushed, a hot, burning, face reddening blush. "He's sayin' nothin'"
Maggie tried to distract them, but no one listened to her.

Maggie
was dizzy from looking from one to the other. Her ma, her da, had the strangest
looks. Her brothers were not much better. Crisdean blushed, embarrassed, which
was impossible to believe, even with seeing. Sibeal, Feargus the Younger's wife
had moved up beside him. He had his arm around her shoulder and was smiling at
her.

None
of it made sense. They talked riddles around her, as if she weren't there. Did
her family understand what the Bold was saying?  Would he now boast of her
begging for him to take her?

"Bold,"
she warned him. This was private business. And not at all settled, the way he
told it.  

"Remember
when I carried the twins?  Remember how I was to the smell of roasting
bird?"

Feargus
looked like he'd been hit by a bull. "You seduced my daughter," his
words ominously soft.

"I'm
married to your daughter, you old goat!"  Talorc bellowed to the rafters.

"Don't
call him an old goat."  Maggie stormed. "He's my father, and I never
pledged marriage to you."

"Then
you better do so, Maggie MacBede."

She
pushed out of his hold, settled her skirts with a harsh snap of fabric and a
more gentle brush of hands, then looked up, ready to confront him. "Just
tell me why, Talorc MacKay."  She lifted her chin. "Tell me why I
have to do anything of the sort, when I'm safe, here with my family?"  Aye,
maybe, just maybe, she was his wife but he had a few things to learn before she
would be ready to leave with him.

"Maggie." 
Her mother hissed.

Talorc
was gentler. "Maggie, have you not been listening to what we've been saying?"

"Aye,
I've been hearing you tell tales that are best left between us."  She
punctuated her words by shoving at him, glancing away only once at her da's
startled bark of  . . . well it wasn't quite laughter but it was far from anger.
Which made no sense at all.

Once
again, they sided with the Bold against her. It had been the way of things from
the first moment of their meeting as well as his habit of cornering her in
front of others. They ganged up without her any the wiser, and ill prepared for
the conflicts that would change her life.

For
once, she would like to know what everyone else knew ahead of her.

For
once.

But
the Bold would never give her that advantage.

Everything
was beyond her except for his high handed tendency to push her into tight
places and make her a public spectacle.

She
was just as angry with her parents. They always knew what he was up to but they
never told Maggie. They let him tell her, humiliate her, take all her own
choices away before she knew herself.

Fiona
beamed. Maggie scowled.

"Bold,"
Maggie tugged at his sleeve, "You're right. It's time we had a private
chat."

"It's
too late for that Maggie."  He took her hand as if it were a precious,
fragile thing. She snorted. She was no little blossom. "Maggie, you've
been sleeping, you can't keep your food down and my dinner smelled foul to
you." 

"You've
been told, I haven't been well."

"You're
well enough, Maggie."

She
pulled out of his hold, "Easy for you to say. You tell him ma," but
her ma only grinned.

Talorc
leaned closer. "Your ma knows you aren't ill, lass. You're with child. Our
child. We're going to have a wee bairn."

She
blinked. Saw the huge smiles of everyone around her. She stood, like a silent
jackdaw, mouth agape. Words wouldn't come. And then she realized, they had all
known, her brothers, her parents, the clan members who still stood in the hall.
They knew from the twisted words he'd been saying.

He
did it again. A huge moment in her life had been laid bared to everyone before
she had a clue. As if she was the least affected by it all. Her scream erupted
from the depths of her, a tormented banshee shriek, loud and shrill enough to
split the drums of the ear.

"You
bloody, brutal, warring, skunk!"  She heaved in air, fought to crush wild,
uncontrollable tears.

Married
to the Bold there would be no romantic, sentimental journeys of memory. Each
one was wiped out by a power play. He had taken, controlled and conquered. She
was no more than another victory.

In
this moment she hated him.

Her
nostrils flared as she sucked in air, trembling with the loss of a magical
moment. The Bold's proud pleasure transformed from joy to a frown, bewilderment
to rigid icy horror. He bent over, a wary look in his eyes as he met hers.

"We're
talking about an innocent bairn here, Maggie."

Aye,
they were talking about her child as well as his, though you wouldn't know it. Too
angry for words, she spat at the ground.

"Do
you hate me so much, you would hate my child?"

My
child, he had said. Fury trembled through her.

"Your
child, is it?"  She shoved her finger against his chest. "Everything
is about you, what you want, the way you want it. Victory for you, no thought
for me."  She spun half way, took a step, turned back. "You're having
a bloody child, but I'm the one heaving."  She shoved him, hard, in the
chest and ran out of the hall, out of the keep, and as far from The Laird
MacKay as she could get, to her brother, her twin, Ian.

She
collapsed on his grave; lay upon the snow, oblivious to the burn of ice against
her bare hands as she heaved air, sobbed dry tears.

"It's
too much, Ian. Every time I turn around there's a new change, a massive, never
to be the same kind of change and I'm the last to know of it, the last to be
told the truth.

"First
you leave me, then the Bold comes into my life. Gone no more than a cycle of
the moon, two at most, and I return home to find it's not the same, the people
are changed."  She rose up, braced herself on her elbows. "At least
to me they are. And now . . .” her hand fisted at her belly. "I've a babe,
Ian" she told him in wonder, "I've a babe, right here, in my belly. Maybe
it's the boy you showed me."

Tears
filled her eyes, different from the ones that had tried to flow when she fled
the keep. These were tears of happiness, fulfillment, excitement. She had not
wanted the world to know of her and Talorc. She had wanted to have time
together, to get to know each other in that wondrous way they had found in the
barn.