"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.”
No, she thought. No, no, no. She was not like that, in either sense. She was not one to skirt what needed doing but this was not her land, her people. Even more so, she was not one to go finding lost lasses. “I’m not fey, have never done such a thing before. There’s no promise it will happen again.”
“Once was enough.” He rose, Maggie still in his arms. “But questions can wait until tomorrow. We’ll leave Ysenda to her parents for now and get you back to the castle. You’re still mending, need your rest.
Maggie pushed out of his arms and eyed the horse she’d been riding.
“Here,” he lifted her again.
“Stop.” She wrestled from his hold.
“Just helping you mount.”
“I’ll walk.”
“No,” he caught her by the waist, “you’ll ride, one more time.” He settled her on the back of the animal. “We don’t know what happened with Ysenda, or who attacked us in the woods, but if they decide to come again, escape is easier on a horse.” He handed her the reigns and looked toward the people coming back up onto the rise.
“What about you?”
“I’d best see to Ysenda and her family. If they want to go home they’ll need a guard around their cottage.”
Maggie looked to the people and saw the lad from the courtyard. The one Bold had spoken with. The boy headed their way. Talorc noticed him too, signaling for the lad to wait where he was.
“Get yourself back to the castle.” He nodded to one of his men. “Bryson will see you stay safe.”
She watched him walk away, toward the lad, surprised when he took his arm and bent his head so the two could speak closely, privately.
“Who is that lad?” Maggie asked Bryson.
“Lad?” He asked.
“Aye, the one speaking with Bold.”
Bryson took the reins from her and started walking away. “That’s just Seonaid.”
“Seonaid? That’s a girl’s name.”
“Aye.”
Maggie looked back over her shoulder at Talorc and the lad. Things were even more different at Glen Toric than home if they gave girls names to boys.
Bold listened to Seonaid as he watched Ysenda, her parents and half his clan, move up to the high ground.
“She’s worn to the bone, Bold, and badly bruised but she’s alive.”
“Has she said anything?”
“No, crying is all.”
“Not lost.” It wasn’t a question. This far from home, it wasn’t likely. He thought of Maggie’s dream.
“She thinks she killed someone. That much did come clear.”
“That little thing?” He scowled, relieved she was safe even as fury, that she hadn’t been, that she had needed to kill, raged.
“. . .a mite of thing, weak and frightened and a dark cloud is pressing closer and closer” The threat was not gone.
“See to them, Seonaid, Ysenda and her family. Convince them to come back to Glen Toric.” He ordered.
“They’ll be wanting to go home.”
“That they might, but we need to be sure they’re safe. Their cottage is beyond everything else. I’ll send them with a guard. That will take time to organize and need time to do so.”
“Men have gone looking for the bastard.”
“Glen, Ian, and Ben.”
“You knew there would be someone to blame.”
“And you’re going think I’m mad to be listening to dreams.”
He’d not betray her. “The highlands are not as safe as they should be.” He looked down at Seonaid. “You be careful yourself. I’ve a feeling your brother has a hand in this.”
Seonaid’s nostrils flared as her hand flexed around the dagger at her hip. “I know how to fight, Bold. No one, not even my brother, can hurt me.”
“Aye.” He smiled and patted her head, as if she were still the wee lass who used to follow him around. She pulled free of his touch. Still he warned her. “You know how to care for yourself, but you also know how to be rash, so watch yourself.”
“Birk!” Maggie pushed through the crowd in the great hall, toward the Bard, surprised by her own eagerness. She had every reason to ignore the man, yet her she was running to him, the lone familiar face in this far-away place.
“Maggie MacBede!” The bard bent his tall gangly body into a bow so low his head nearly scrapped the floor. As he uncurled, Maggie halted.
“Birk?”
Wide and gentle, his smile did not reach his eyes.
She had loved his eyes, so expressive and kind and now hinting at a sorrow she couldn’t fathom. Cautious, she reached out with both hands. He took them immediately, lifted them to hi
s lips.
“You look well, lass.”
A year ago she would have swooned. But that was a year ago, when she thought he loved her, thought he would marry her, dreamed of being the wife of a Bard and traveling from keep to castle. It had been an idyllic dream he fanned until one evening, after filling her with beautiful, treasured, words of adoration, he left. Without a word of goodbye she faced an empty morning searching.
Babbling Birk the Bard.
She would not be taken in with his warm eyes and gentle smile again. She pulled her hands free.
“I am honored you would have me here at Glen Toric to sing for you, to tell your story, to spread word of your glorious triumph and . . .”
“Birk.” She interrupted for, with all his attractions, the man could get carried away with words. “Why are you here?”
Eyes wide he stumbled to explain. “You sent for me. Me. I am humbled by your request, came as quick as was possible to be here for you.” He looked around and she realized they were encircled by the MacKays, leaned in close to whisper in her ear, “you did not want the handfast, you do not want a warrior. I know you Maggie.” He stroked her arm.
“No,” she shook her head. I didna’ send for you. But I’m that glad you are here.” Took his hand from her arm to rest her hand on his, as she nudged him to walk.
People watched them, she felt it, caught it in sidelong glances. She didn’t care. They could gossip all they wanted. She did not ask to be here, surrounded by strangers.
“I’m glad to see an old friend.” She squeezed his arm and, as they passed people, she nodded to any who were the least bit familiar.
There were the men who had ridden with the MacKay when he had gone to her own home, Ealasaid who tended to her, and Una the gossip. A few recognizable figures in a room of nameless faces. An intimidating thing for a lass who had never been beyond site of her home. Where strangers were a rare thing to wonder about, whisper about.
Now she was that stranger.
Babbling Birk the Bard may have abandoned her but at this moment he was the closest thing to a friend she had.
Tangled (Handfasting) Page 3