Torn (The Handfasting) (11 page)

Talorc
closed his own eyes and said a quick prayer.

"Give
her more, Laird," Ealasaid bade him. He did so, murmuring to her as he
gave her small sips, watching as her weakness ebbed. Not by much, she'd been
through a hefty ordeal, but it ebbed enough that her eyes opened a mite and her
tongue had the strength to lick her lips, though not strong enough to offer
words.

"Good,
Laird. You've done good."  Ealasaid leaned wearily against the wall.

He
sat on the edge of the bed, cupped Maggie’s face in his hand as his thumb
rubbed over the rise of her cheek. She turned into the caress. He kissed her
forehead and rose.

"She's
sleeping." Ealasaid leaned over to lift Maggie's wrist. It was not as limp
as it had been earlier, with the lack of so much blood. The older woman sighed,
deep.

"I
truly thought we had lost her, Bold. I don't know what I would have done."

"Don't
you worry about our lass, here," Gerta told Ealasaid, "You've nursed
her before, when no one thought she would make it. She's got spirit, she does,
spirit through and through." Gerta sat back, tears in her eyes.

Tough
as hide, old Gerta might be, but she had a soft spot for his Maggie. As did
Ealasaid. Maggie was safe with the two of them.

"I
have to go, ask questions, but you need to make me a promise. Any slight
change, better or worse, you send for me. Liam is right outside with
Malcolm."

He
strode from the room, did not stop when others tried to stop him. He ignored it
all, for the stables. Without blanket, saddle, stirrups or even halter, he
mounted his horse, broke free of the keep at full gallop. Hard, fast, he rode
up over the folds of the hills, down one, up another until he came to a spot
hidden in the roll of the land. Soaked with sweat, his mount heaved in breath,
as Talorc dismounted, careless that the animal might take off and leave him
with no way home but by his feet.

He
didn't care.

Didn't
care about anything.

Numbness
had grown in proportion to Maggie’s lifelessness. He had functioned because he
had to, for her. Now there was no need to cope, to be of use, to see that all
was done with logic, precision.

He
stood, alone, empty. There was no comfort. Fear pummeled his belly.

He
would lose her. He would truly lose her. And not just to death.

He
had broken his promise.

He
had not protected her.

She
was lost to him. Life or no.

Emotion
shattered his nothingness, filled the hollow with shrieks of a thousand
banshees. One moment, stillness, the next, a warrior's roar erupted from the
depths of him, bounced off the hillsides and came back, an eerie echo, creating
a wild, tormented chorus. It grew from the pit of the earth, up through his toes,
his legs, his belly, and out his throat. He shouted his fears, his anger,
acknowledged the tears that streamed down his cheeks and sank to his knees,
where he begged, pleaded for the Lord to save her, to keep her well, to allow
her life.

As
if in answer, every moment of their time together flashed through his mind. Guilt
swamped his meager soul. He had cajoled, tricked, seduced and inveigled Maggie
into his world, his life, his heart-- against her own wishes. He had forced her
into being his wife and then he had failed to keep her safe.

He
didn't deserve her.

The
truth of it rocked through him, filled him with a self-hatred that he had never
before tasted. No room for self-doubt for the Bold.

But
he wasn't the Bold right now. Maggie had shown more guts, more determination,
more giving in one afternoon than he had offered in the whole of their time
together.

He
did not deserve her.

Fury
forced him to this moment of self-discovery. He pulled his sword from its
sheath, and stabbed the ground, over and over until the blade snapped. He
gripped the handle of his wounded weapon, pierced through snow to earth until
that too gave way, but he did not give up. He punched and pounded and howled
until finally, exhausted, he fell onto his back, eyes closed as salty tears
streamed down the sides of his face.

He
loved her, to the bottom of his black soul. He loved her with such passion that
he would give her the one gift she would treasure.

He
would set her free.

Determined
to be strong, Maggie grasped the bedpost to steady herself and shut her eyes
against a wave of nausea. The room spun, Maggie tilted.

"Stop
moving." Fiona snipped, too focused on Maggie's pleats to look up.  

Eyes
opened wide, Maggie swallowed against the illness. She did not want to be
fussed over. The whole of the MacKays as well as her own kin, had fretted
enough. All of them, from the oldest to the youngest had bustled about her,
seeing to her needs, putting their hands on her forehead, bringing food to
fatten her up.

All
of them but Talorc.

"Where
is he?"  She pulled away from Fiona's tucking and pleating. On edge from
days of attention, ready to be up and about, sick or not.

Fiona
grabbed her daughter's skirts and tugged her back into place. "Where is
who?"

Maggie
snorted and spun around, which managed to unravel half of Fiona's hard work. "You
know who I mean, ma." 

Fiona
ignored the accusation. "Come here," she waved Maggie to her. "Let
me fix it."  Mother waited, daughter stood firm. Fiona flicked her wrist
again.

"Alright,"
Maggie gave up with a sigh and stepped forward. She managed to hold still all
but an impatient tap of foot and drum of fingers. "I'm about to walk into
the hall, to see and be seen by the whole of the MacKays, but my husband has
yet to come for me." 

He
hadn't just failed to fetch her; he was never there, ever, any more. The last
time she'd fallen ill, he sat with her hour after hour. Now, he claimed he was
too busy trying to find out how the poison came to be in her cup.

A
memory shifted. She frowned, fingers and feet stilled.

There
was something elusive about that cup. She remembered lifting it to her mouth
and then . . . nothing. No thought, no recollection, nothing. Perhaps that was
best.

"Where
is he, ma?" 

Head
bent to a task she didn't work at, Fiona pressed the edges of her own pleats.  It
was a familiar gesture, a thoughtful pose as she fought for comfortable words
in an uncomfortable situation.

"There's
something you're not telling me."  Maggie accused.

"Me?"
Fiona looked up, looked down, rose to her feet and smoothed her plaid. Delay
tactics.

"Aye,
you."  Maggie snapped then watched as her mother drew in a deep breath. Oh
no, she thought, no and shut her eyes again, as if to block the words she knew
would come.

"He
wants you to return with us." 

The
world spun, Maggie's stomach plummeted. "Why?"

"He
. . ." Fiona hesitated as though leafing through thoughts the way one
leafs through a book for information, "You must know your father and I agree,
as do your brothers . . ." Fiona's lips thinned. "Maggie, it's not
safe for you here. Not until he knows . . ."

"I'm
safe enough."

"You've
been hit in the head, poisoned. God knows what else might happen."

"Mother,
I was warned. I may not have heeded it, but I was warned. Ian told me, in a
dream, not to drink the water." 

"So
you claim, and you've always been a canny dreamer, but tell you or no, you
still drank, and swallowed."

"I
know better now."

Fiona
dropped into a chair, motioned for Maggie to take the opposite one.

"Your
Talorc is feeling regret. Not only did he push you, when you weren't ready to
be pushed, but he sent you to danger. He nearly lost you twice for it. All the
signs say he was wrong to take you. You were right to fight the match."

Such
a twisted mess, she had to battle her own arguments. "Ma, it's too late to
go backwards. I've accepted the risks in being married to the Bold. He must
accept the risks in being married to me."

Fiona
shook her head. "You don't understand, Maggie. He's the reason you are in
peril. And besides, love," She leaned over, brushed hair away from
Maggie's forehead. "Men may have more brawn, but women are stronger and
braver in affairs of the heart."

"That's
just too bad. He's going to have to live with that."

"Maggie." 
Fiona stood, not to be thwarted. "We're leaving on the morrow and you're
coming with us."

"I
have no say?"

"He'll
not make it easy for you and neither will I."

"You
act like I'm a guilty, thoughtless child. You put me in this place and now that
I want to be here, you mean to take me away?"  Unfairness swamped her.

Maggie
met Fiona's steady glance, but her steadiness did not stop Fiona's arguments. "At
least come home until he finds out who is guilty of wishing you harm." 

Fury
edged Maggie forward. "Am I never to make my own decisions?" She
jumped up, paced, voice rising with each step. "He regrets making my
decisions earlier, but refuses to stop doing so. I have a mind to . . ."

Fiona
grabbed Maggie by the shoulders, tears pooling in her eyes. "It broke my
heart to lose you to another keep, but daughter mine, to lose you to foul play,
och, I couldna' stand that."

Like
a fish on dry land, Maggie's heart flipped and flopped between tender emotion
and frustration. She could have used her mother’s argument a hundred times as a
child, raised in a household with men who insisted on facing death square on. Everyone
knew that each battle fought, diminished the odds of their surviving.

This
time, Maggie was on the other side of the fear. It was her safety that
tormented now.   

"Ma,
life comes and it goes. We can't determine what it is for God to fate."

"Easy
for you to say."

Maggie
threw her hands up. "You face such dangers with my brothers without
argument."

"Don't
try that."  Fiona snapped. "You were the one who cursed them for
making me face their risks."

"Aye,
and you never said a word. You never made their decisions for them."

"They
were sons. Why do you think I craved a daughter so?"

Maggie
huffed. "I'm a woman now, ma. Grown, married, carried a babe in my belly. I
don't even live with you, it's time I act on my own mind and that says I won't
go."

"Even
for a visit?"

"I've
done that."  Now all she wanted was to be held by her husband. They had
lost their child, their babe. She wanted to be held, to be told of his love for
her. Instead, he stayed away, avoided her presence from the day she drank the
poison.

He
chose to send her away.

"It
was not my fault."  She argued aloud. Fiona moaned, deep in her throat,
and reached to hold Maggie, but it wasn't a mother's hold Maggie wanted.

Perhaps
Talorc never loved her. Perhaps, she was no more than a goal that had lost its
value.

"I've
done nothing wrong."

"Maggie."

She
spun to see Talorc in the doorway.

"No
one thinks you did anything wrong," 

She
yearned to run to him but held back by battered emotions. He chose to send her
away. It was there, in the way he stood, remote, just a few feet away. He could
be all the way to England and be closer.

She
sighed. "It's your chamber as well as mine. You can step into it." 

He
didn't move. "Are you ready to go below stairs?" 

He
didn't want her, could barely be near her. The reality of it yanked at her
security. There was no energy to fight him. Emotions cloaked, she refused his
offered arm when she reached him. She'd not force herself to his care.

"Are
you coming, ma?" She looked over her shoulder. Talorc took her elbow,
urged her forward.

"Fiona
will follow us." 

How
different this time, to the first, when he'd taken her along this same hallway
to meet his clan. He had wanted her then, confessed or not. She had known, had
sensed it. Now the affection was gone, the caring an act of manners not heart. She
had become a stranger that he couldn't be rid of fast enough.

They
reached the stairs to solemn silence. No shouts of joy, no cheers of welcome. Not
this time. She had lost a child, an heir to the laird. The clan's respectful
stillness, in a time when Talorc refused to share the sorrow, nearly broke her.

Needing
support, she reached, gripped his arm, surprised by his gentleness, when he
laid his hand upon hers. She glanced up. His gentle touch contrasted with the
harsh mask of his expression, focused far from her.

Face
taut, he studied the people in the hall, reminding Maggie that one of them had
murdered their child. It seemed impossible. The only one at odds with Maggie
was Seonaid who kept her distance. Seonaid understood men, not herbs. She had
little time or tolerance for Maggie, but that was her general tone toward all
women.