Torn (The Handfasting)

by Becca St. John

  “You have to move her to the keep, laird.”

  So that was the way of it. “She’s gotten to you then? As if you don’t know better.”

  Paraig kept his eyes on the fire. “Maybe she would marry me.”

  William barked with laughter. “She’ll not marry any but the Bold , and well you know it.”

  “I visit with her, when I watch the land. She’s no’ so cold.”

  Both Talorc and William shot Paraig a look. It was William who asked, “Does she know when to expect you?”

  “Great Gods!” Paraig bellowed, “I’m not green you know. What I do, how I do it and when I do it is for my mind. Woman or no, sweet or no, I keep my actions to myself, without sign of order.” He scowled at Talorc. "Do you see any one as the betrayer, Bold?"

  He shook his head.

  "Beathag?" William asked but Talorc was quick to shake his head against that one.

  "I thought it, it made sense. She still thinks I murdered her poor lass, but she's not the one."

  Paraig argued. "Why? Why do you say she's not?"

  Talorc drew in a deep breath of the minty air, as William poured more water on the rocks. "Remember when we rode out, to chase the Gunns off our borders?"

  They both nodded.

  "Well, I told Conegell to keep a watch on her, then I had Brock mention, in front of Una, that we missed the southeastern crag when there were problems there."

  "So you think Una's the one?"

  "No, but she can't keep a secret in her head, and as her Conegell was always near Beathag, Una tends to find reason to be around Beathag."

  "Una told Beathag."

  "Aye, and Conegell, good man that he was, faced me with the truth of it."

  "Could you imagine having to be owning up for your wife's blabbing?"

  "Well, if he has a fault, it's in his silence."

  "So what happened?"

  Talorc couldn't quite make heads of it. "Beathag went to my Maggie, and told her she knew we had a weakness by the southeastern cragg, and with Gunns about, it should be sorted out. Maggie sent men over there straight away."

  "Do you think she knew she was being watched?"

  "No, Una didn't know that much."

  Both of the other men grunted in understanding.

  Aed popped his head in the door. "Room for another," he smiled broadly. Talorc motioned him in.

  "Your wife is a lovely woman, Bold.” Aed had too much energy for someone thick in the heat of steam. Talorc frowned. Aed, oblivious of the animosity, settled himself on the bench and continued. “Very brave, what with the dreams she has and all."

  Talorc grunted. It was enough that he thought Maggie lovely, better than lovely, beautiful and spirited and feisty as a Sidhe. He didn't want other men to take such notice. He looked at Aed’s bony protrusions. All skin and bone and no meat. What did Maggie see in such men?

  "Did she tell you of her dream last night?"

  "Aye, she did. I think it means the boy is not ready to come over yet."

  "She said he couldn't." Talorc admitted. His worst fear, his worst nightmare, was that the boy child was meant to be someone else's. Which meant he couldn't come over, because his true father had yet to mate with his mother.

  "Aye," Aed settled his skinny butt on the bench, his arms and legs like thin tree branches, making Talorc wonder if a man like that could father a son to Maggie.

  He stood, abruptly, and wondered why he was standing.

  Aed didn’t stop his rambling. "The boy can't come yet, because you're to have a lass. That's what it all looks like to me, Bold. Can't have a lad when it's meant to be a lass."

  "A lass?" Talorc sat down hard. "You're telling me the dream means she's to have a lassie? A wee little girl?"

  "Sounds like that to me, but you can't be certain with these things. Not if you don't remember them clear from waking." Aed shook his head with frustration, "She said she got distracted by the night, and forgot much of her dream. What, do I ask you, can so distract that one forgets the importance of dreams?" The storyteller shook his head as if the world did not make sense.

  The shelter grew quiet, an uneasy silence. Aed looked up, confused. Paraig and William coughed. For Maggie's sake, Talorc kept his mouth shut. She was a mite shy about some things.

  He changed the direction of his thoughts. "She spoke of water, her brother Ian."

  Aed perked up and smiled. "Makes sense, doesn't it? Her brother is on the other side. She would have to go out in the water to get near enough to hear him."

  "Aye," Talorc nodded slowly, but as the thoughts rushed in, his head bobbed with more earnestness. He slapped Aed on the shoulder, hard enough to pitch him toward the stones. "Sorry, man," Talorc righted him, brushed at the ash on his arm, "Sorry." Aed was puny, but smart.

  A lass.

  Talorc let out a bellow of laughter. A sweet lass, just like her mother . . . well, more tart then sweet.

  She would enchant him.

  He had been troubled about Maggie's dream, but with the ease he felt more open to listening.

  “Aed,” definitely more amicable, “I was thinking, mayhap in your stories, in our history, you know of any who might just hold bad feelings for his people.”

  Aed screwed up his face as he thought. He had a repertoire of stories that outlined the history of the clan. Legends of warriors who had fought under Talorc's own father and before. Accounts of lovers and loves crossed. He was even bold enough to tell the story of Seonaid and her boy, despite the frowns that Talorc threw his way.

  Maggie said she would find out who the father of Seonaid's child was, but so far she had only drawn more questions. It was best that way. Seonaid, for the few moments she had been here, refused to talk to Maggie. Diedre, on the other hand, was not shy of speaking about the two. About how Seonaid and the Bold were such close friends. Of how he had saved her once, when a Gunn snuck up to her farm. Of how he always traveled to the woman’s farm, even if it was out of his way. And how he talked to her about everything.

  It had all been true. Talorc had done that and more for all his people. He checked on all those who lived in remote areas. It was part of who he was as laird. As for talking, well, Talorc knew what he could talk about and what it was best not to speak of.

  "Come on Laird, Aed's about talked out." Paraig and William led the way out of the sweating room, into the early gloom of the afternoon and down to the stream.

  Talorc joined them in their roars as the cold water washed over steam dampened skin.

  "Oh Aye." William shouted, as he sloughed water over his face, his head, "Firms a man up."

  Paraig laughed. “And shrivels his privates.”

  "Speak for yourself." Talorc charged as he sloshed from the water, his back to the others.

  The sweat had eased his muscles, cleared his head but couldn't wipe away the worry that someone, out there in his clan, caused trouble. The stories hadn’t helped. There wasn't much he could do about it now. Maybe it would be his turn to dream up answers in the night.

  He threw his shirt over his head, and wrapped his plaid around his waist then up, over his shoulder.

  "Come on men, I think we'll have a bit of fun before we go back. Let's have a tug of the rope with the keep guard."

  William grinned. "How many to a side?"

  "Six of them to our three," Talorc looked at Aed, "Unless you want to join us."

  "No," the storyteller backed off, "but I'll tell the tale of it after we sup."

  They headed up the slope, shouted to the warder guard, on the wall that protected the keep.

  "Any men for a game? Tug of war?" Paraig shouted. "Six warders on one side, Your Laird, William and myself on the other."

  "Aye," one of the guards shouted down, "and if it took six of us to beat your three than a sorry lot we would be. Fair odds, here. Kenneth, Liam and Colban to you three, and I'll bet my best harness!"

  "Oye, what about me?" Adam shouted from above, "Why can't I put a hand in?"

  "I could
do better than Liam!" Cal argued.

  Talorc punched Paraig, "Go get Naill and Sim, find Bruce, and anyone else you can find. If they want even odds . . ."

  A wild screech tore through air.

  Talorc froze.

  They all froze, William, the warder guard. Before any could react Talorc was off and running.

  "Maggieeeeeeeeeee!" he roared, because no one, no living body in this world would scream for him with such pain and terror but his Maggie. Her voice rocked his world, pummeled his belly. And as he ran he called, the sound of a wild, stricken mate determined to let its partner know help was coming.

  He hit the hall to chaos, people running, others standing immobile and frightened. Again, that eerie wail.

  "Up here, Laird!" Nora called from the balcony, "Up here!"

  He charged for the stairs, took them three at a time and barreled into his room to be confronted by a wall of women, their backs to him, busy as a hive of bees.

  "Where is she?" he roared, because he could do no other.

  Ealasaid turned. Faithful calm Ealasaid. "Out!" she ranted at him, "Be gone with you! We haven't time for you." But with her back turned, she had opened a gap, where he could see Maggie, her face scrunched with pain, her hair wet and plastered to her skin. She looked up, a wounded animal on the verge of hysteria, and reached out an arm. She mouthed it, though no sound came. She wanted him, needed him, more than any other.

  Then she was gone, scrunched up around her belly. Her plaid, her dress, hiked up indecently, with all the women there, mopping and pressing and blood, so much blood. Puddles of it, pools, a near loch’s worth of blood streaming from between her legs.

  He didn't care what Ealasaid said, he didn't care if this was women's work. It was his wife, in the same pain as his last one had been and look where that got her.

  He reached Maggie's side, wrapped his arms around her, so she could lean over the one, the other a brace to her back. He kissed her head, his tears blending with the sweat that formed in large droplets on her forehead.

  She moaned, a keening sound, and he heard her gag. Again, nothing came out. She wasn't there, really, she was caught inside her pain, a long way from where they all were. Her eyes were glazed with shock, her skin pasty from loss of blood.

  "There's no more babe, Laird." Ealasaid huffed, and then he heard her voice hitch to a sob. "And if we don't stop the blood, there'll be no more Maggie."

  Chapter 5 – GRUESOME CELEBRATIONS

  In all the turmoil the store rooms, and in turn the caves, were empty. No guards at the front, anyway. She slipped in, as quick as a snake and slithered through the rooms. She knew where she was going, hoped her man would be there waiting, though he probably wouldn’t be. To many guards these days, watching too close for a man to pass as a woman, for anyone without taking note of who they were and when they passed.

  Oh, aye, but she needed to see him, to celebrate, excitement running high in her veins, between her legs. She had killed the child, probably the mother too. There had been so much blood.

  Och, and the Bold, poor thing, was in torment.

  She bit back a laugh, afraid of the echo, and rounded a corner into the body of a man whose smell she knew oh so well. Her man.

  “Did you bring food?” He whispered into her ear causing her to heat even more.

  “In the basket.” She lifted her arm, showing the large woven basket she carried, holding up a candle in the other hand so he could see. “But I’m hungry too.” She offered.

  He looked over his shoulder. The darkness shifted, revealing at least three more men. “Me first?” He asked then turned away to pull a hunk of cheese from beneath the cloth that covered her wares.

  “Not here,” she hissed. They were too close to the store rooms, too close to where bored guards would hunt down any sound.

  As he bit into the cheddar his other hand cupped her breast. “I thought you were hungry?”

  And she was, damn him, and ready for all he offered, even to the others. The thrill of danger spiked the heat in her. “You’re not a silent lot when you get going.” She charged.

  “No, I suppose not.” He smiled against her face, “but neither are you.”

  “Go on, the lot of you,” she pushed at his shoulder, “lead me out of here to where I can tell you just how bad it is in the castle. To where we can laugh and make merry at the torment caused.”

  He slapped her backside. “I’ll make you scream.”

  “Oh, aye, you always make me scream just as I make you beg.”

  She saw his frown but she didn’t care. She had the power, stolen from the Bold, one loss too many for the man.

  There had been a time when she thought the MacBede wench had broken him by leaving. But he brought her back and with her a brewing babe. The man was too full of himself with all that. He deserved to be brought down.

  She accomplished that. The arrogant bastard would be no more. His heart would be broken, his spirit trampled and his reputation shredded.

  Oh, aye, she had the power now.

  CHAPTER 6 – DEVIL’S CLAN

  "If you're staying, be useful. Lift the girl, get her to the bed," Ealasaid commanded, and suddenly Talorc pulled from his stupor.

  He lifted Maggie in his arms, held her as Ealasaid bustled forward, her commands cutting through his stupor as she pulled back sheets. "Gerta, get that hide on here, so she doesn't ruin the bed, and Caitrina, help your mother, move the pillows to where we'll lay her hips. They need to be higher."

  Talorc tilted his burden, hips higher than head, as Deirdre held a sheet, once white, now scarlet, between Maggie's legs.

  Too much blood. Too much bloody blood. "We need cold.” He commanded. “There's ice at the pond but not down by the stream, don't waste time with that." He looked about the room, caught his cousin Seana standing in a shocked stupor, "Go tell the men, we need ice and now!"

  He was glad to see Seana run, to do his bidding, to escape a smell sharp with scent of battle. It was the blood, Talorc told himself. Not a battle, not an attack. It was a matter of nature.

  He felt useless, helpless as he stood there, pushing against the pressure of Deirdre who pushed hard with the sheet, against the apex of Maggie's thighs. The bed was readied, a hide down, fur side up for comfort, a cool sheet over the top. He laid her down carefully, with pillows under her hips. As soon as he did, Ealasaid pushed forward, to lift Maggie up and over as she placed a twisted sheet under her.

  "What are you doing, woman? Moving her about so."

  "You ever use a tourniquet on a man?" Ealasaid barked at him. "Well leave us to our own devices."

  "Don't let her die."

  Ealasaid stopped, her beefy arm swiping at the sweat on her forehead, her eyes on her patient. "Your Maggie is stronger than Anabal was, Bold. She's stronger, there's a greater chance she'll make it." She bent to her task again. Talorc lifted his wife, so the woman could get everything where it needed to be.

  Maggie's head lolled from side to side. He thought of her concussion, of the temptation to go to her twin, and jostled her. "Maggie, wake-up, don't die on me. Don't you dare put me through this again."

  "Stop it, Laird," Gerta tugged on his arm. "Let us tend to her. She's better sleeping against the pain."

  Pain. For the second time, in the short time they had been together, she lay upon their bed, near death.

  "Why, Gerta?" He asked as though there were an answer. "Why does this have to happen?"

  The old woman clammed up, her lips pressed so tight they nearly turned blue. There was an answer, when he expected none. No one could explain nature. But wrong doing was another thing, entirely.

  Something was wrong.

  Talorc whirled on Ealasaid, "What happened here?" his fury tinged with panic. "Why is she bleeding like this?"

  "She lost the babe. She's a red head. Put the two together and you've got blood. Lots of it. So get out of the way." Ealasaid refused to look at him, though he heard the choke of a sob. "This is no time for talk!"
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  Gerta tugged at his arm, again, someone pushed gently at his back. A man collided with him, at the door, a slab of ice in his arms. Helpless, Talorc watched as the ice was passed to the women and the man scurried out of the room. Away from the tragedy. Talorc followed, crushed by his inability to be of help.

  There was nothing he could do. When Anabal had been in this state, he had mourned, but at the same time he had the hope of a babe. But there would be no babe this time, no chance of one. That was already gone. Now, his only hope was that Maggie live.

  Please, God, let her live.

  He slid down the wall, elbows braced on his knees, head in his hands. The hallway filled with quiet murmurs as clansmen joined his vigil. Old Micheil pressed a goblet of whisky into his hand.

  Talorc could not swallow. "Give it to Maggie; see if it fires up her life."

  "I did that first. They've poured it down her throat." Micheil urged him to drink, but the threat of tears, lumped in his throat. He turned away.

  His Maggie, his feisty spirited girl, now limp as a doll and as pasty as raw dough lay on the other side of that door. She had not chosen to come here. He used her own family against her, fueled the MacBede clan to add pressure and added the hefty weight of a battle won to cap it. He thwarted her own wishes and connived to handfast her. He seduced her to child, allowed her to think it was her brazen nature and not his hunger to spill his seed in her womb. He trapped her, against her own ideals, against her sense of time. He'd rushed her, when he could have waited, should have waited.

  And now, here she was, the child lost, her reason for staying with him gone.

  I vow she shall never be harmed by me or mine, in any manner.

  Twice she lay near death under his roof, amid his people. He had promised differently.

  "Laird," Conegell hunkered down before him, "Something's wrong."

  Talorc's head snapped up. "Aye, my wife is losing blood. That's wrong.

  "Like your first wife."