The Handfasting (16 page)

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, oft’-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 soulful 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 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 search 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 reins 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 at 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 raged. She
hadn’t been safe, 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.”

“Men
have gone looking for the bastard.”

“Glen,
Ian, and Ben.”

“You
knew there would be someone to blame.”

“And you’re going to 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 here 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, yet now hinting at a sorrow she
couldn’t fathom. Cautious, she reached out with both hands. He took them
immediately, lifted them to his 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 good-bye, 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, watching. Birk 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.”
Bothered by the brush of his hand along her arm, she took his hand, placed it
on her forearm, 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
sight 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.

He
lent down, to whisper in her ear again. She scrunched her shoulder against the
tickle of it.

“Are
you happy here, Maggie? Are you happy with your hHhandfast?”

Happy?
She looked about, at the people around them. Friendly, for the most part, even
anxious to please. But they were not so simple as her own kind, dressed in
their fancy clothes of the finest weave, edges lined with fur from many pelts,
and the jewels!  Part of her wanted to reach out and touch the sparkle of a gem
or the soft fabric of a gown. Instead, she clung to Birk’s side.

“They’re
fine people.” She acknowledged.