The Handfasting (34 page)

“What
have you done?” Talorc whispered, beyond fury.

“Ruined
you,” Diedre spit. “Destroyed you.”

As
the words fell, like wounding shards of glass Seonaid raised her head alert as
a deer sensing danger. Swift as that deer she broke free of Padraig’s hold,
leapt for the dagger Diedre herself used against Maggie and plunged it deep
into her friend, shoving deep and hard and up, into her friends heart, with a brutal
twist of the wavy blade.

Blood
gurgled from Diedre’s mouth, gushed from the wound to spray the truest of war’s
paint. Eyes wide from the moment she saw death’s approach, Deidre crumbled to
the unforgiving courtyard. Panting, Seonaid loomed over her, the knife gripped
in her hand, dripping with her friend’s blood.

Chaos
erupted, shouts, cries. Seonaid spun around, knife raised, challenging any to come
near before she threw the weapon aside and strode from the swarm of confusion.

"Come,
lass," Feargus pulled Maggie toward the keep.

Maggie
fought to turn back, pleaded. "I should be by his side." He needed
her, the clan needed her at his side.

"Later,
love," Fiona crooned, as she had when Maggie was a child. But Maggie was
no longer a child. She was a woman. She had been wed.

"Bold."
Maggie called, her voice a meager thing, next to the noise of the crowd.

"Maggie,"
Feargus took her by the shoulder. "You’ll be coming home with us."

“We
can’t leave.” She argued.

“After
the battle.” Her mother urged her out of the turmoil.

"I'm
a married woman." Maggie argued.

Her
mother pushed her own. "He's allowed it's not so."

"We
said our vows. We've promised." Maggie continued, as they moved against
the flow of people.”

Her
mother stopped, then, took Maggie’s face in her hands, ignoring the jostling of
the horde. "No man nor woman is held to vows made under force, and not
from the heart."

She
had known this, she had known they were going to play this game. She could not
fight it with her family.

"We
will wait until he returns from fighting.” She said, and watched as her father
caught her mother's eye. They wouldn't wait. They would take her before she
could confront him.

And
suddenly she understood just how Deidre felt to be wed with no husband to claim
her.

“There
is one more thing I can do for my husband.” She announced to no one, to
everyone.

“The
only thing you can do is rest and mend.”

“No,
mother.” She stood firm. “There is one more thing and I will see it done.”

**********************

Burrowed
deep in discussion with his top chiefs, with the MacBede men, Talorc felt the
approaching silence even before it hit him. Feargus MacBede looked up first and
cursed.

“What
now, woman?”

Fiona
bore down on them, her face set.

By
everything Holy, this could only mean one thing and would be all about Maggie.

He
needed her gone, free of him, without the chance to do something selfish and
foolish. Especially now. Time was the enemy. He could not afford to be torn
between her and what needed doing.

Seonaid
slew the only voice that could lead them to the renegades. Oh, aye, the clan wanted
Diedre to pay for her crimes. But their hunger was for greater vengeance than a
quick, clean kill and, most certainly, not before she had told them everything
she knew about the renegades.

They
needed information.

They
needed to know how many clans would be charging for vengeance. How to
circumvent too many dying before they could be aimed at the true enemy.

If
Talorc could convince them, in the heat of battle, that they fought the wrong
people.

Lies
have a tendency to stick, no matter the evidence.

He
didn’t need this, but still he rose from his place at the table and moved to
intercept his wife’s mother, drawn by need. There was no time and yet, for
Maggie, there would always be time.

**********************

Aulay
Gunn halted his men, told them to wait as he rode ahead to scout the lay of the
land. Plan their strategy.  Escape a palpable rage that blinded.

Revenge
vibrated, a tight rope strangling reason. Aulay needed reason.

“It
makes no sense, I tell ya.’” He argued with the two men who rode beside him.

“What
makes no sense? Butchered lasses? Scraps of plaid? Bottles drained while our poor
wee ones were tortured?” Gil snarled, proving he wasn’t so much deaf as beyond
reason.

“They’re
mean bastards, tight as a horse ass, you know this. They’d not waste using
bottles made for trade. They’d fill their own jugs before they’d do that and
then, they’d not leave them behind and have to find another to use.

“So
why waste what could bring them money? Why leave traces of who they are?” He
looked back at the band of men who had ridden out, warriors, craftsmen,
farmers. Restless, edgy, beyond control if he didn’t find answers fast.

He
turned back to his captains. “Easy enough to provoke us to fight without this. And
why would they hurt those who could not fight back? Only a sniffling coward
does that.”

“Heathens!”
Erik cursed. “Not just our lasses but others. Did you not speak to the
runners?”

“Aye,
I spoke to them.” Messengers from other clans still reeling from the gruesome
remains left on their own borders. “And what they’re saying is that the MacKays
 have lowered themselves to butchering women and goading every ally they’ve
ever had, as well as inciting enemies. Now why would they do that?”

“Because
they’re fools,” Gil offered.

Again,
Aulay shook his head. “The MacKay does everything in his power to protect his
clan, not destroy them. Doesna’ make sense.” And he knew it, just as he knew
the destruction of the boats had not been MacKays doing, which left him with a
bigger problem.

Still
clinging to his view, Erik voiced Aulay’s dilemma. “Then who is responsible? Every
other clan around has been brought into this fight. Who’s left?”

Aulay
shot Erik a keen glance. “That’s what I’ve been trying to say. We’re being
used.”

“No!”
Gil fought the mere idea.

“Oh,
aye, the Gunns and every other clan in the highlands is being used to destroy
the MacKay.” They rode in silence before Aulay added, “and use your noggin’,
whoever it is expects the rest of us to be weakened by the fight, for the
MacKays won’t go down easy.

“So
who hates the MacKays more than us and thinks they can take the whole of the
highlands?”

“It’s
not so hard to hate the MacKays.” Gil said.

“And
it’s not so hard to use us against them.” Erik added.

This
time it was Gil who nodded.

“We’ve
some angry men with us.” Each looked over their shoulders. On horseback they
were furlongs ahead of their clansmen, most who followed by foot. Even with the
distance, Aulay sensed fury burgeoning beyond control.

“I’ll
go spread the word that we may be fighting someone other than the MacKay.” Gil
offered but Erik stopped him with a curse, pointing to the hilltop ahead of
them.

“We’re
too late.”

Aulay’s
curse rode on a wave of disbelief. “A woman and a boy, riding from the MacKay’s?
He sent a woman?” He spat. “You, Gil, go stop our men. Erik, come with me. We’ll
meet the riders and see what is going on here.”

Blood
curdling warriors cries stopped Gill a second time as the Gunn’s, a mass of
roiling fury, surged forward.

Aulay
motioned Gil to turn, ride with him and Erik, fast as their mounts would lead,
to reach the MacKay riders. The two approached swiftly, down the slope. Above
and behind them, on the edge of land the two riders left, a long line of MacKay
warriors appeared.

Had
he got it wrong, Aulay wondered? Were these two riders a tease?

Never,
it still made no sense.

The
woman, with a wild mane of hair, rose on her galloping horse, feet braced in
some sort of stirrup. She waved one arm madly, the other held at her chest with
a swath of cloth. She halted her ride down in the gully, an awful position, as
Aulay’s men could not see him if he met her there.

Her
cry filled the gully. “Stop them! The MacKays are not at fault for this! Stop
your men!”

Obviously
the boy had some training for he urged her to ride up the hill.

Erik
reached them first, his mount rearing as he pulled on the reins. He circled the
two, pointing to the high point, where the Gunns could see their Laird. Aulay
and Gil arrived, blocking any other exit as they, too, corralled the two.

Women,
they were both women though one was dressed as a man.

Eyes
sparking with determination, the one with the wild red hair sat stiff, her head
high, nostrils flared. Proud and strong, much like the beast she rode. An
attractive woman. Maggie MacBede, now MacKay, he guessed.

He
turned to look at the other one. At this range rider’s breeches, sheathed
dagger, a bow and quiver of arrows over the shoulder failed to disguise a
woman’s figure.

Seonaid
MacKay. Well known to the Gunns. Her cottage, near enough to their border,
teased his men with her presence, a woman as beautiful as she was contrary.

He
would deal with her later.

“Maggie
MacKay.” He fought to hide his gripping tension. “Bold as your husband claims
to be.”

“Aye,”
She nodded, allowing them to edge her still higher on the slope. “And your
ransom to ensure my husband will not fight you or yours.”

“Why
should we bother with ransom? You seem to know what has provoked us. The murder
of young women.”

“It
was not our men. But we know who it was, and need you to join forces with us.”

Caustic
and hard he laughed at her naivette. “Give me more than that. I need more to
stop them.” He gestured to the approaching army as they had reached the rise. He
didn’t trust this any more than he trusted the battle they headed toward.

 “Lochlan,”
Seonaid broke-in. “It was my brother and renegades from all the clans who did
this. Lochlan.” She, too, held her head high.

“Lochlan?”
Oh, aye, finally something made sense. Lochlan  MacKay, a conniving, evil man.

“Laird
Gunn, tell your clansmen to stop their charge!” A command weakened by the
tremor in her voice. He didn’t blame her. The ground shook, the air burned with
the approach.

“And,”
he shouted, “who’s to stop your men?”

For
the first time, Maggie MacKay looked to the land she had crossed not moments
before.

“Oh
shite!” She sniped. “Who told him?” She grasped Aulay’s arm. “He doesn’t know
what we are about, but he doesn’t want this battle.”

“No
doubt you were not his first choice for ransom.”

She
shook her head, proud and defiant. Aulay felt a twinge of sympathy for the man.

“We’ve
no time for him to listen.” She pleaded over the growing rumble of the ground
as both sides stormed closer. “You’re going to have to trust me.” And without
any sign of fear she maneuvered her horse, signaled for Seonaid to follow suit  “We’ll
take your back, you take ours.”

And
so their mounts’ rumps faced the threat from the Gunns.

She
turned her back on the enemy.

Without
time to consider alternatives, Aulay nodded for Erik and Gil to follow his lead
as he turned his back on The Bold, their backs to a charging army charging.

Five
against two armies, stood firm. Propelled by a black well of hatred, there was
no guarantee his men would stop despite their own laird.

And
what of the MacKays, with no notion their Laird’s bride meant to form a truce? Aulay
knew, if he wasn’t trampled by his own men he may just end up with a knife in
his back.

He
heard The Bold’s shout to halt but still, the Gunns surged forward.

He
rose in his seat, held his hands high, fury pumping through him, that his own
men could, quite possibly, betray his lead.

Slowly,
Gil and Erik moved toward the advancing army. Shouts lessened, speed slowed
until, finally, they held still, close enough Aulay could see the rise and fall
of their chests, as they heaved in their own restraint.

Then
he turned to the MacKay.

“It
seems we have a common enemy.” He called across the divide.

“Aye!”
The MacKay returned. “A wily fox who would be best cornered from all sides. Are
you with us?”

Aulay
paused as horses side stepped and snorted. “We are with you.” He confirmed.

Maggie,
Seonaid by her side, led the Laird Gunn to his adversary, the Laird MacKay,
before leaving them to form, if only for this day, a bond.