Torn (The Handfasting) (5 page)

And
she had wanted to adjust to what leaving her first home meant.

They
had more than a few differences to work on. Things had to be settled between
them before spring, when, as she had come to understand, they would be united. Husband
and wife.

In
the spring.

She
thought there was time to work at who they were together, before finalizing
their commitment.

Then
came his announcement. The gall of it, that he should tell the world of their
private affairs. Tell them all what they had been about in the barn. Personal
enough, but then he tells them she carries a bairn, before she had an inkling.

He
lets them know before she knows when it's her body doing the carrying. The
shock of it, especially now, when so fragile, and knowing it was a boy child,
like in her dream. Another man to steal her heart and risk it as easily as her
da, her brothers.

Alright,
so she had been bred to marry a man like Talorc. And he was the man for her. She
no longer had a doubt, knew she would never find another, after being with him.
But she would not allow him to command her life or push her faster than her
emotions could tarry.

"You
can stop your tears."

Maggie
spun around to face Talorc, his eyes colder than the stone of Ian's grave,
voice sharper and harder than the frozen ground. She'd never heard him like
this before.

"We've
made a baby, Bold."  But the magic of it was lost in her words, which
faltered over his icy glare.

What
was wrong with him? 

"Aye,
we've made a babe."  He wouldn't look at her, not really, he looked at her
belly, he looked at the stone before the grave, he even looked at her nose, she
was sure of that. But he wouldn't look at her eyes.

"Why
are you angry with me?"

His
nostrils flared. His fists, held rigid at his side, bunched and flexed. Would
he strike her?  Never.

"I'm
taking you back to Glen Toric, to make sure you don't do any harm to the child.
When it's born, you'll be brought back here. Alone."

She
couldn't breathe. Why was he doing this?  Why had he turned so cruel?

The
whole of her body started to shake. "You'll not have my child."

He
turned away and spit. "Not your child. My child. You let your family, your
whole clan, see well enough how you felt about that."

"What
are you saying?"

"You
said it yourself. Screamed it, like a banshee."

She
remembered now, the look on his face. He did not understand her fury, and took
it upon himself to choose assumptions. Well, he could just swallow those
thoughts.

She
stood. "You tell the world things about me, private personal things,
before you even speak with me."  She closed her eyes. Even to her, the
argument sounded weak, did not warrant the fury she spilled in the hall.

"I
thought you were a better woman, Maggie MacBede. I didn't think you would be so
greedy for my touch and hate me at the same time. Nor did I ever dream your
hatred would carry over to a harmless babe. I never thought you were so . .
."

He
looked away.

He
believed she didn't want him. He imagined she didn't want the babe. Stunned,
she waited to hear just what he thought of her. How wrong he could be.

"Rest
assured, you'll be free to go for one of those puny weak men you want without
burden of my child. I'd not have you near it. It's bad enough that you have to
carry the wee one for months. I can only hope the MacKays will make-up for
that."

He
spun around and left her to the frozen ground . . .

to
a frozen heart . . .

to
a life that appeared as dead as her beloved brother.

Wind
whipped through Seonaid’s hair, a banner of dark tendrils in her wake.  Sitting
straight in the crux of her lap, his face alive with excitement, her son,
Deian, rode before her on the grand gelding.

Ingrid
was gone.  Again.  But this time she left Deian on his own.  A wee child,
barely five years, and she left him alone.  For certain, Ingrid held no love
for Seonaid, but they had an arrangement.  All without family or protection
Seonaid, Deidre and Deidre’s sister, Ingrid banded together.  Power in
numbers.  They managed without a man, helped each other with chores and
watching both Deidre’s Eba and her own young Deian.

Dear
Lord, please don’t let the Ingrid fall prey to the swine who has been stealing
young girls, the same who took Ysenda.

Desperate
to get to Glen Toric, Seonaid pushed their mount goaded by the swell of fear
from the moment she walked through the cottage door.  Ominous silence greeted
her, a heavy, forboding.  So she searched, afraid to call, afraid to draw
attention causing a situation where she would be of little help.

Silent
as one could be on rushes, she moved through three small rooms.  That’s when
she heard a shifting in the loft. A small sound but enough to tell her she
wasn’t alone.  She stood for an eternity at the foot of the ladder, looking up,
waiting for something to happen.  What, she didn’t know, but something so she
wouldn’t have to climb up there, vulnerable to anyone, anything. 

She
would have stayed there except she didn’t know where Deian was, what had
happened to him and answers might be above.  And so she moved, slowly, one foot
up a rung, then another and another  all the while knowing whoever was there
would see the top of her head before she could see anything.  Still she climbed,
her head cocked defensively.  Just before the top she pushed straight up to find
a set of dark eyes peering out from beneath the bed.

“Deian!” 
She whispered and hauled herself up onto the floor to pull him out, hug him
close, rocking, comforting him, comforting herself.

He
wasn’t allowed in the loft.  That’s where the sisters slept and the drop was
too dangerous for a wee tyke.  “What are you doing up here?”

Squirming
he pushed away.  “Can we go down now?”  he asked.  “I need to piss.”  He
wailed, his tunic growing wet even as he wailed.

“Oh,
aye, we can go down.”  She promised, not mentioning the mistake, not pressing
for answers.  “You just let me start.”  She lowered herself onto the ladder and
opened an arm, hunched her body, so he could climb between her feet and her
shoulders.

“I
was good.”  He sniffled.  “I tried hard to wait.”

“Aye,
you did lad.”  She comforted.  “How long did you wait.”

“A
long, long time.”

“Och,
no,”  she helped him jump the last few rungs, “so long, too long I’m thinking.”
She wanted him safe, but she also wanted him comfortable. 

She
looked down at the sorrowful bow of his head.

“She
promised me you would be quick.” He sniffled.

“Me
now?”

“Aye.”

“Ingrid
said this?  Was she alone?”

He
scrunched his shoulders and tried to undo the ties of his braies.

“Here,” 
Seonaid freed his hands so she could finish the task before he was all in
knots.  “Did Ingrid put you in the loft?”

“Aye.” 
He wiggled out of his wet breeches.  “told me to wait until you were home. 
Said you wouldn’t be long but you were long and I’m hungry.”

She
wasn’t long, at least not as long as Ingrid would have expected.

“When
did she do this?”

“Before
I could finish my porridge.”  He grumbled through the cloth as Seonaid pulled
the wet Tunic over his head.

In
the morning?  Ingrid knew Seonaid was seeing to the sheep, that she wasn’t
expected until near dark.

“Did
you hear anyone else?”

He
shook his head as she lead him, naked over to the fire place.  It was cold, but
not so cold that it had been put out before the girl left.  It had been allowed
to burn itself down. 

She
stared at a glint of hot ash and felt her own anger spark.  One spit of the
fire would have ignited the rushes on the floor.  One snap, and Diean would
have been trapped in the loft.  She banked her own fury, to focus on getting
him out of there and tracking Ingrid.

She’d
dressed him in fresh tunic and braies with wool chausses like a grown man.  Clothes
Deidre made for him.  Clothes that matched the Bold’s.  She hated putting her
boy in them, though he took great delight in feeling so grown-up.

“Do
you want to go to Glen Toric with me?”  She’d asked, knowing the answer,
knowing he always wanted to go up to the castle.

“Will
the Bold be there?”

“No,
not just now.  He’s off to find his handfasted.” 

The
lad loved the Bold, loved the excitement of Glen Toric.  As much as he thrilled
to the infrequent visits she hated them. Hated the way everyone looked at him,
guessing who is father might be.  

Oddly
enough, everyone thought it was The Bold.  No one realized the lad looked just
like the man who seeded her belly.  The dea too horrific for them.  Still she
she tried her best to hide him away. 

“Will
Paraig be there?”

That
startled her.  “Paraig?”

He
nodded. 

“Aye,
I believe Paraig will be there.”  She told him as she wrapped him in his cloak
and got them both out of there before anyone could come find them.

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

Frozen
between fury and despair, Maggie's lungs shut down. Her lips immobile, her body
rigid. Her eyes the only part of her to shift, narrow, as she watched him walk
away.

The
great hulking clod. He had his nerve, to tell her where she would be when. To
decide whether or not she could have her own babe.

"I'm
the one getting sick. I'm the one keeping the child."

He
did not turn around.

"Don't
you dare walk away from me!"  She shouted.

He
called over his shoulder. "Be ready to leave on the morrow."

"Who
the bloody hell do you think you are?  You have no right to take my child. You
won't succeed."

Taut
fury, barely leashed, Talorc turned. Maggie's blood chilled.

Her
entire life had been spent in the world of warriors, but never once had she
been the focus of their violence, all the more potent for being leashed. The tremble
of his body proved restraint a fragile barrier. Maggie willed him to keep a
distance as her mind raced, a frantic search for a way to deflate his fury. Then
she looked to his eyes and realized it was not anger that swirled around her. It
was not fury that he kept at bay.

It
was despair.

She
had broken his heart.

Cautious,
against an eruption of emotion, she rose, took a step forward. Talorc didn't
move. She took another step, and then another and another until she stood close
enough that the fog of her breath touched him. But still, other than to turn
his head away, he remained immobile. She jammed her finger in his chest.

"You're
not a man of your word."

A
muscles twitched at the side of his jaw. She had enough brothers to know it for
the warning it was. "You don't want the babe."

"You
are like all the rest. A foolish, stupid man."  She pivoted, to pace, but
he grabbed her arm, whirled her back to face him. He wanted to blast her with
anger. She cut in first. "You think you are smart enough to tell me how I
feel. What I want."  Pushed beyond caution, she taunted. “You know nothing.
You're as thick as the rest of them. Thick as two short planks." 
Disgusted, she pulled free, twirled on her heel, went back to Ian's grave.

He
caught her by her collar. She turned and bit him. With a yelp he let go.

"That
will teach you to stop me when I mean to go."

"Aye,
and you left me when my back was turned."

"My
mother was ill."

"Ill
over a letter you wrote."

She
hadn't expected him to know that. Nor had she expected his expressive eyes to
be as barren as the winter's trees.

"Do
you know what it was like for me?  Do you have any idea?"

"Maggie,"
He raised hands, in appeal, then dropped them, listless to his sides. "There's
no point in going on with this. You didn't want the handfasting, you don't want
to be my wife and you don't want the child. Leave it, leave me be."

He
turned away, his shoulders rounded, mirroring the way he pulled into himself.

Let him go
she thought,
but was beyond holding in the last words. "Ealasaid tried to stop me from
going, but it was you who could have. If you'd been there.

"But
no, you were off to leave me halfway to marriage and not quite there." She
swiped at her eyes, afraid that crying would keep her from talking and she
didn't know any other way to stop him. "It's not an easy place for a lass
to be."