They could not play the game in his chamber. Temptation and caution tangled in the game they played with each other but he had won, if sharing a bed was the prize. He still played the price of caution, furthered by watching her slip, naked, from the bed.
Temptation.
Soon, he would make her his wife but first he had to find out who was working against the clan.
William caught up with him at the bottom of the castle steps. "Is it Naill and Sim do you think?”
“Aye, and none too soon." He had been waiting for them too long already.
"This is the first you’ve heard of them since they set off?”
Talorc nodded. Sim, their best tracker, along with Naill, who was a wily fighter, pursued the men who attacked Maggie on the road to Glen Toric.
"I thought we might have lost them.” Talorc admitted with a deep sigh. “I was about to send you and Bruce out to look for them."
Bruce strode into the courtyard as the two weary riders came into sight. Their horses lathered and steaming, the men looked no better. They greeted with familiar grunts, nods, and slaps to the back. The only words spoken were swift and short. "Ayes" in response to Talorc's, "You're fairing well?" and then Niall's, "Your handfasted still stands?”
"She’s a harder noggin than that.” he gave a curt nod. “But let's get inside. You men have words to give us."
"That we do, laird," Sim shook his head, "and not good ones either."
The riders handed their horses off to a lad, as the five men headed for the keep. By the time they reached the fire, a pitcher of ale and a plate of cheese had been set out on a table. The bustle of the great hall quieted, cognizant of the riders’ importance, though none left. People milled about in small groups, whispering and waiting to hear what was found.
Sim did not so much sit as collapse at the table, his head bowed low. Niall stood to the fire, hands out. "They know our lands, laird." Curt and to the point, he didn't look up with the telling. "They led us straight into our own lands, quick as you please. You would have thought they knew the way better than we did."
"They ne'r tried to hide their tracks. Bold as you please, they were. They took us through MacKay land, then turned, like they were going to go to Gunn territory. So we followed."
"Could you name them?"
Niall turned around, used his knife to cut a hunk of cheese. "They’re not Gunns, Laird, for they went into Gunn land and played some mischief. We don’t know what for sure, but, well . . ."
"They disappeared." Sim finished. "I lost the track because I was distracted, see, by the Gunns, or true Gunns, if you will." He shook his head slowly. "It doesn't make a wee bit of sense, does it? These men played a trick on the Gunns and then the Gunns retaliated against us."
Talorc held up his hand. "It makes sense, alright. It’s the first thing to make sense in these past few years, why the Gunns have been picking fights.” He caught the eye of each of his men as he admitted. “We’ve not been dealing with the Gunns. They’re not the ones who have been playing us false. It’s renegades set on causing trouble.”
Such a simple thought.
Naill and Sim looked to each other. “But there are so many of them, all together.”
“They’ve no honor,” Bruce spit at the ground, “despicable is what they are, too depraved to live with another. How could they band?” Bruce argued
“Aye,” Talorc explained, “their crimes may be inconceivable to us, so despicable we cast them out. But I wonder if they don’t boast among each other. Hearts of thieves.”
Naill shook his head, “They had naught to lose, but they’ve always been too busy fighting amongst themselves to be any sizeable threat.”
That they banded together to cause mischief, was a fearsome thought. Bold thought of the altars, of the way they tried to get Maggie and scanned the room to see that she was there, that she was safe.
The danger made too much sense. If the renegades had come together, they did so with a strong leader. A man Talorc should have killed himself, rather than ban.
So what had they done, what contemptible act on Gunn land, brought retribution on the MacKays? “You said retaliation, did you not? What do you mean? What retaliation are you talking about?"
"The one that sent us back here, before tracking those men again."
"So you said, but vengeance for what?"
Both men halted, looked to each other, then at their laird. It was Naill who finally said, "Old Micheil has been taken."
Talorc froze.
"Taken?" Bruce bellowed. "What do you mean, taken?"
"Our whisky man's been taken and all his supplies, or what they could carry. What they couldn’t take,” Naill’s eyes filled with tears. “They smashed to pieces, laird. Nothing left of all you planned. Nothing.” And he hung his head as Talorc looked from one man to the other.
“Everything?”
“Aye.” Naill acknowledged. “Sim tracked the kidnap, that's why we didna’ finish tracking those others. Sim knows where Old Micheil is."
Cold ran down Talorc's spine. Old Micheil kidnapped along with his whiskey making equipment. Not an easy task. The master distiller, and their new scheme, was the most closely guarded secret of the clan.
Stunned he looked up and there she was, Maggie, at the threshold of the great room with Deidre’s daughter, Eba. He hadn’t told her what they were about because he wanted to show her, to take her around the MacKay’s land and show her. There had been no time.
Now, their plans had been destroyed. Someone outside of the clan had known where the whisky man lived and what he was about.
The MacKays were a taciturn lot, stingy with words that needed saying-- let alone those forbidden to be said. It was against their nature to share a secret. Kill, thieve, be a scoundrel, yes, but a traitor, never. It was contrary to who they were. Loyalty was taught from birth. A clan was family, their bond meant sustenance for more than food. It was a tightly woven support system. Who would betray that or even want to?
“What about the guards?”
“There was a skirmish, it drew men away.” William cursed, but Naill stopped him. “Patrick stayed behind but was overtaken, a rock to his head, much as your handfasted. He’s up and about now and with the others. They’re bringing Old Micheil’s family to the keep.”
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 t
ime 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.
CHAPTER 7 – TROUBLE FINDS HER
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.
Tangled (Handfasting) Page 6