chapter 5 - BETRAYAL
It was a clear night with a full moon, eerie shadows and the shimmer of silver light that teased of spirits lurking. It was the season for Lughnassadh, the time for the summer sun to loosen her hold to Tannist, the stingy winter's day. It was a season of the festivals of old.
Talorc the Bold, The Laird MacKay, would be leaving soon for the Samhain. At least he should be, for no Laird of any worth would be away from home when the spirits of the ancients walked freely upon the earth; when the clan would celebrate those newly deceased as well as those to be born.
Maggie hurried past the gardens, grateful that the souls were not yet free to roam in the fey light of a full moon. The only ghosts here were the shadowed furrows of the vegetable beds, empty of all but the withered rubble of a harvest now past. Today's bitter northern wind brought frost, prelude to a carpet of snow.
Snow. Maggie looked toward her destination, the small area surrounded by a low stone fence, peppered with Celtic crosses. It was the home to her ancestors, home to all the family who had passed beyond this life. Home to her brother, Young Ian. Her twin.
This Samhain they would celebrate Ian’s glorious death in battle. He would be honored, praised for going as he had gone. It was selfish of Maggie to wish it any other way, but wish it she did. She wanted to unwrap her plaid, lay it upon his frozen bed, to warm him until the snow could play the part of blanket. But to do so would ignore the chance of his soul rising free of the earth’s embrace. She could not risk the insult.
It didn’t take her long to reach his grave, to see the covering of heather she had planted, gray in the moon's light, sparkling with the frost. A part of her had died with him. Praise God that it wouldn’t resurrect, that her ability to love so deeply would never claim her again.
She thought of the MacKay, and his peculiar hold on her. “I’ll not leave you, Ian.” She promised. “Whatever The MacKay wants, it can’t take me away from here.” She fell to her knees, leaned to the side and supported her weight on one arm. “This is my home.” She picked at the heather. “This is where I belong. These are my people, our people.”
There were no tears this time. Normally, when she visited Ian’s grave, emotions brimmed and spilled. Perhaps she was getting used to his absence.
“Do you know what it is he thinks? Can you watch, from wherever you are? Can you see what’s happening?” Maggie looked up at the sky, before studying the sway of trees that surrounded the graveyard. She’d often wondered if Ian watched.
When he was alive, she would have known what he was thinking without saying a word. The loss, an emptiness that could not be filled.
“You would laugh, you know.” Could hear her even if she couldn’t hear him. “Our warriors told tales and the Bold was daft enough to listen. They turned-around all I ever did to grieve them, until you would think I was the bravest and wisest of women. Really, they did!
“Do you remember the time I threw the rock and hit that Englishman dead on? Och, the look on Nigel’s face. He slung me over his shoulder, as if I had caused the battle, carried me past every warrior on the battlements, through all the soldiers in the yard and into the crowd of the Great Hall. He dumped me. Like no more than a sack of oats, he tossed me at our mother’s feet.
“Aye, you were there. You laughed till your sides split, but it wasn’t funny.” Maggie would never forget how Nigel had stormed, “keep her out of our way.”
She was no warrior.
God willing, the Bold would never know the depth of embarrassment flung at her when he asked about the packets.
A silly impulse and a sleepless night produced them. No more than ten years old, she had imagined being lauded for those little pouches. One for each warrior before he left for battle. They were to serve as a symbol of all they fought for.
They brought no more than absent pats on the head and embarrassed chuckles. Every ounce of her pride had been gobbled up from that day to this, for she didn't know how to stop it. What she did for one, she had to do for the others or it would be a sign of favoritism. A Highlander would take great insult on such a slight.
“What would The MacKay think if he knew the truth of it?” She asked as though her brother could answer.
The wind kicked up. Maggie's sigh rode on it.
“If you were here, Ian, you’d protect me, you’d sit by my side and keep the MacKay at a distance. Och, and the way he makes a body feel!” Maggie fought for words to explain and fisted her belly as though to press away the flutters within. “Ian, be grateful that you’ll never have to feel the way he made me feel. You can't lose it.”
A swift look over her shoulder, toward the keep, was reminder enough that she needed to head back.
“Do you think I could be missing the meal?” She sighed against the hope, her eyes focused on the gray slabs of stone that made up her home.
A movement, near the last tree of the orchard, caught her eye. Two soldiers stood there, watching her with steady interest. In the meager light she could not tell for certain, but she thought they were MacKays.
Ian’s resting place pulled her once more. “What am I to do?” She rose and dusted the dirt from her plaid. “Who can I get to sit with me if not you?” She studied his grave. “It’s not like I have any great suitors to . . ." she paused, her head high, as if to catch a sound. "Ian, I have it. Hamish. Hamish will sit with me, and then The MacKay will know that my affections are taken and . . .”
She glanced over her shoulder to see the two men still watching her.
“They’ll be leaving soon.” She comforted her brother, for he’d fret for her otherwise. “And Hamish will be there for me, even if for naught but friendship. We have been friends for such a long time.”
Her head snapped back to Ian's grave. For the first time, since she'd lost him, there was an inkling of thought traitorous enough not to be her own.
“Don’t you dare, brother!” She wagged her finger at the heather upon the grave as it swayed with a fresh breeze. She could almost see her brother brushing his hand over it, as he argued with her. “Don’t you dare start putting opinions in my head now. If I want to take Hamish to dinner with me, then I will." The niggle continued to tug at her decision. "You'd have me sit with him? With The MacKay? You're no better than the others.” She snipped, as she spun away from her brother's memory.
“I’ll not listen,” she hissed into the wind.
Defiant, she stomped away, head high as she passed the two warriors. MacKays, of course they were. The MacBedes would have left her to her mourning without notice.
Her step quickened as she heard them turn to follow. Nosey brutes. This was her home, with people milling about everywhere you turned. She’d not come to harm.
“You’ve no need to follow me,” she shouted over her shoulder.
“We’ll see you safely home.”
“This is home.” She informed them, and picked up her pace.
They lengthened their stride to match her near run.
She had to lose them, for it would do no good to have them see her beg Hamish to sup with her tonight. “Go away.”
“We’re to see to your welfare, Mistress Margaret.”
She pivoted, faced them.
“And what makes you so happy?” She bit out.
“You’re a bonny lass.”
Humph. She started off again, through the inner yard, into the outer yard, down the path until she came to the tailor's two story workshop and home.
She banged on the door.
“One of her puny choices?” One warrior asked the other.
She’d not turn around.
The door opened a crack to show Colin, the tailor’s apprentice. He tried to shut the door on her.
“I’m needing to see Hamish,” she blurted and shoved until the poor lad could do no more than let her in. She slammed the door on the two MacKay clansmen. A loud rhythmic creaking filled the room. Maggie looked to the ceiling.
“Hhhhhe’s nnot hhhhere.” Colin stuttered, tried to get beyond Maggie to open the door again.
Maggie ignored him and moved to the ladder that led to the second story. “Whatever is that noise?” She asked Colin before shouting, “Hamish! It’s Maggie MacBede. I’m needing to speak with you.”
Abruptly, the creaking halted, replaced by smothered voices and the rustling of clothes.
Frantic, Colin tried to stop her, “Mimimistress Mamargaret, I think . . .”
Someone pounded at the door.
“Ignore that Colin.” She told the lad as Hamish’s long narrow foot and spindly ankle came into view, followed by a hastily wrapped plaid.
“Ah, Hamish,” Maggie waited, impatient for his descent. The minute his foot touched the ground she rushed up to him, gripped the front of his plaid where it crossed his sunken chest. “I’m needing your help! Och, and it’s dire you aid me!”
“Aye, Maggie.”
She cocked her head at his tone, cringed as he patted her hands. She hated to be treated like a child with pat to her head or her hands.
The pounding started up again.
“Go away!” Maggie shouted before turning back to Hamish. “I need you to come sit with me at dinner.” She told him.
Bewildered, Hamish looked from Maggie to the door. “Colin, who's out there?”
“Nothing, no one,” Maggie lied. “Just a couple of The MacKay's men. Don’t think of them.”
“Warriors?” He gulped.
“Hamish, forget them, just promise me you’ll come to the hall to eat. I’m needing you to sit with me.”
Even in the dark of the tailor's shop, Maggie could see his face turn ashen. She gritted her teeth, determined to convince him but was stopped as a woman’s head, hair all tousled and loose, popped through the opening at the top of the ladder. “What are you about Hamish?” Nora Bayne demanded.
“Nora?” Maggie frowned. “What are you doing here? And what are you doing up there?”
“Now, Maggie,” Hamish pulled on her arm, “You’re not to be thinking . ..”
“What am I not to be thinking?” She tried to glare at him, to look angry, but her heart sank too deep to fuel her anger, her outrage. Hamish was just another man who didn’t want her. “What is Nora to you Hamish?”
“Maggie, now,” Hamish soothed, shooting wary looks at Nora, “you and I have been friends for a long time.”
“And what’s wrong with friendship, Hamish?”
“Well, it’s just, you know, I’m not, I mean, well, the truth of it is, Maggie, I’m planning to marry Nora.”
Nora’s cooed, “Oh, Hamish,” was swallowed by Maggie’s keening, “Nooooo!”
In all fairness, Hamish only reached out to comfort Maggie, and no more, when the door flew open. He didn't have time to pull away or surely he would have before that sword was stuck to his throat. Granted, it pricked only deep enough to bring a spot of blood, but for Hamish, that was enough.
He fainted.
Colin wet himself.
Nora squealed.
And Maggie glared, as she swatted at the arm holding the offending sword. “Put that stupid thing away, man!” She barked.
Nora, wrapped in no more than a blanket, scurried down the ladder to pull Hamish's head onto her lap.
Colin raised a trembling finger to point at the men. “Maggie,” he stammered, “they’re warriors, you shouldna’ be talking to them so.”
“Of course they’re warriors, Colin.” Maggie said with no bit of respect, “But that doesn’t give them permission to come barging in here when no one's done anything wrong.”
“You screamed,” One of the MacKay’s defended.
“Och.” She ignored him, turned to look down on Hamish whose head was nestled in the soft pillow of Nora. “So you’ll not sit with me at dinner?” It was more statement than question, quiet enough to admit to the shame of asking in front of these men.
Hamish was beyond speech.
“He’s mine,” Nora snipped. “And you’d best stay away from him, Maggie MacBede.”
“Oh, aye,” Maggie pulled her plaid in tight around her. “I’ll stay clear of him, and be happy of it.” With chin lifted, she wrapped her embarrassment as tightly as she wrapped her plaid, strode past the warriors, stepped over the threshold and out the door. The MacKay men fell in step.
“Stop following me.”
“We have to see to your safety.” They told her respectfully, though they did drop back. Unfortunately, it was not far enough to silence there banter.
“Aye, she has spirit.”
“Feisty.”
“She’ll not tame easily.”
"I'll not tame at all." She snapped, her eyes on her destination. Someone would answer for this.
As heads turned to watch the progress of the threesome, Maggie realized that she would have to be the one to take matters in hand. So she would. Determined, she spun around to confront them.
“Do you know, this is MacBede land?” She kept to her most ladylike voice. “And that I am a MacBede?”
“Aye, we are knowing that.” They grinned stupid grins.
“Well then, I don’t know how it is at the MacKay keep, but here a woman is safe to walk on her own.”
“You’ll be safe on MacKay land.” One of them offered.
She stumbled on that, bewildered. There was naught she could say, but still she hesitated. Even when she turned to walk off again she did so with a great deal of wariness. They were fools if they thought she would ever be in MacKay territory. She'd never left MacBede land and had no intention of doing so.
She should set them straight. Walking backwards, she told them. “If I ever visit the MacKay’s, which I doubt would be soon, I’ll be remembering that. But for now, kindly leave me be.”
She stood still, waited.
They stood still, focused on her.
“I’m only going up to the keep,” she informed them as if they were simple in the head.
They nodded.
She turned, took a step and looked back. They hadn’t followed her, but their grins were as wide as a doorway. She hoped their faces ached from them.
She walked a few paces before she checked on them again.
“You’ll do us proud, Maggie MacBede,” they told her.
Harumph. She strode up to the keep, without another turn.
She was not a pleasant person, right now. In truth she was feeling a mite shrewish, and it was all the MacKay's fault.
· * * * * * * * * * * *
The swarm of people within the great hall helped break the chill of the changing season. The MacBedes and their guests milled about the central fire pit as smoke rose, curled about their heads before drifting higher and out the window slits.
The main doors flew open. Fire flared as smoke swirled wildly into a dancing specter. Maggie stood upon the portal, fists planted on her hips, head high. Her glorious mane billowed about her.
Anticipation speared Talorc. She was proud and magnificent and soon she would be his.
“Shut that door, Maggie,” her father called across the cavernous room, “and come speak to The MacKay.”
Talorc watched her advance. Two of his men, William and Bruce filled the entrance, shut the door and followed in Maggie's wake.
Aye, she was magnificent, and raring for a fight. Talorc waited, knowing he was in her sights, knowing that she’d stop no more than a foot's distance. Far enough that she’d not get a crick looking up at him, close enough for confrontation.
There’d not been a day in Talorc’s memory when a woman, other than his ma or even his grandma, had railed at him. Aye, for that, he could not remember a time when a woman was a challenge.
He wanted to laugh, felt it rise inside of him. Not in jest, never in jest. His Maggie was no laughing matter. This was pure exhilaration. He had to fight it for she wouldn't understand the smile on his face, and she was riled enough already.
He pictured her taunting him, goading him with her luscious body, using a mattress for the battlefield. His body tensed, nostrils flared. Now was not the time for this.
For distraction he focused on William and Bruce. They followed her path, close enough to grab her if need be, far enough to give Maggie her own head.
“Where’s Diedre?” He called to them. He brought Diedre as a companion for Maggie when they left for Glen Toric.
“Visiting with the women in the village.” Not the answer he wanted.
Talorc’s scowl matched Maggie's when he looked down to where she now stood. As predicted, no less than one foot away.
Unfortunately, as his scowl fled a smile spread. She’d not care for that.
“You’re looking fine, lass,” he told her, sure that the compliment would ease the tension.
“Am I now?” She trilled, all wide eyed and false friendliness.
“It’s as I said,” Talorc offered cautiously, more comfortable with her straight forward anger than this show of girlish cunning.
“Ah, so fine, perhaps, that you’re thinking someone might want to snatch me up and run away with me?”
They couldn't have told her. Talorc glared at his men but knew they’d said nothing. They would never betray their plan. Still, her scenario was uncannily accurate.
“Or maybe,” she told him sweetly, conversationally, “you think there is evil lurking in the streets.”
She was determined to play the young innocent, the coquet. Talorc decided it did not suit her.
“I’m thinkin’” she continued with mock solemnity, “that you don’t consider the MacBedes able to care for their own.”
“William?” Talorc ordered.
“It’s not what you’re thinking, Laird.” William offered.
“No, ‘tis no wrong doing of ours.” Bruce added, bringing Maggie’s fury around on himself.
“No wrong doing on your part?” The two warriors were on the far side of the fire pit. Talorc, being so much closer drew Maggie’s ire. She spun back and shoved at his chest, as if she could push him away.
“Hoi, Maggie.” He grabbed her hand. “Tell me what’s troubling you.”
But she didn’t. She didn’t say a word, nor did she move. The touch, her hand to his chest, his hand to hers, froze any action. Her eyes widened as she stared, stunned.
This time, there was no hope but to smile. For she stood before him, her chest rising and falling, so you’d think the air had grown too thin and she needed more, yet couldn’t get enough. To be true, the slight contact sizzled.
He shook his head, knowing all this was new to her. Unsettling.
He raised his free hand to quiet the murmured bluster that surrounded them. God help him, he’d rather have been holding her with both hands.
“Maggie,” his voice a hoarse whisper, not by design but it suited the moment, made it more intimate.
She tried to pull her hand free, to tug it loose, causing him to press it more fiercely against his chest. The room settled, or so it seemed. Perhaps he just didn’t hear it any more, as his focus, every bit of him, was centered on Maggie. When he lowered his free hand to reach for hers, the movement was instinctive. Never did his eyes leave hers. He understood the wariness, the caution in her eyes.
Did she see the promises, the questions in his? Perhaps, for she lowered her gaze which drew his glance to her lips. Full and red as a summer's berry, dipped and curved as neatly as his bow. The luscious fruit parted as the tip of her tongue snuck out to slowly wet what he so hungered to taste. Talorc swore time slowed, each movement measured by an eternity of sensation. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, felt the whole of his body tense with tortuously exquisite reactions.
“They . . .” Her words a whispered breath. “They followed me, wouldn’t let me be.”
He leaned closer, not understanding her complaint. “You mean William and Bruce?”
“Aye,” she broke the moment with a swift look over her shoulder. The sight of his men brought a return of her fury. When she tugged at her hands, he let them slip from his grasp, not surprised when she tucked them behind her.
He didn’t consider her step away from him to be cowardly. They needed distance if any rational discussion was to take place. Straightening, clasping his own hands behind him, Talorc waited for her to continue.
“You know, Laird MacKay,” He watched as she took a deep breath and smoothed her plaid down her sides, “I was born here.” When he nodded, she acknowledged it with one of her own as she turned to pace. “And I was raised right here in this keep.” She pointed to the rush covered floor that she crossed, back and forth, before him. “To be sure, by marriage and blood I’m kin to everyone within the walls of this place.” She halted, her brow knotted thoughtfully before she looked up at him. “Do you get my ken?”
Again, Talorc nodded for her to continue, for he didn’t have the slightest idea where she was going with all this.
“Well, now, I’m not saying things are different for the MacKays . . .”
Talorc stopped her, wanting to make sure she understood they were not so different. “The MacBedes are descendants of the MacKays and well you know that. We are kin, Maggie, distant mayhap, but . . .”
“Och,” she stilled him, “What I’m saying is that on MacBede land, within the walls of this keep, I am safe from harm. No one would hurt me. Now, mayhap, a MacKay woman is not so safe . . .”
“You go too far, woman!” Talorc roared, the MacBede men joining in against their own.
Maggie ignored them all as she leaned in to face Talorc head on with the fury of her own anger. “Then tell me,” she snapped, “why these brutes find the need to follow me? Here in my own home. On the land where I’ve run free as the wind. In the keep that comforts my heart? Why would they be thinking I need protection? They insult us, Laird MacKay.”
Talorc said nothing just looked to his men who no longer smiled.
“We didna’ intrude until she screamed.” Bruce vowed.
“Screamed?” Talorc, Feargus, all of Maggie’s brothers rounded on her, their hands on the hilts of their swords. For the second time that evening, third time that day, Maggie backed away. She did not like the feel of retreat.
“Why did you scream?” Talorc asked, his voice far too calm, far too quiet.
“It’s not what you’re thinking.” She backed up further.
“Maggie,” her father barked, “where were you when you screamed?”
Ah, anger, that she could face. She turned to her da. “It was naught but a yelp of surprise.”
“Laird MacKay,” William started, “I think it was . . .” But Maggie spun on him before he could go further.
“’Tis not your story to tell,” she bit out, “and it’s no one else’s business but my own. There was no harm meant or done, so go away and stop following me.” Maggie ordered.
She gave them her back, stormed to the kitchens rather than wait for an outcome. She could not miss the sound of Talorc’s voice as he asked where she had been. They would answer him, there was no doubt to that, and then everyone would know of her humiliation. Her life would be a misery.
“Maggie,” Fiona caught up with her, turned her daughter around for a good look. “Ah Maggie, mine, you’ve grown into a fine lass, love.” And gave her a hug, tight as could be.
“Don’t say that so loud, ma. The others will think you’ve gone daft.”
“Nay, but I’m going to ask you to be a bit kinder to our guests.” She shoved Maggie back, fussed with her hair, “You’re a Highlander lass and a MacBede. You’d not shame us now would you?”
“Is that what you think? That I’d shame you?"
“You don’t treat him as you treat our other guests, Maggie, and you know it’s true.”
She wanted to remind her mother that their other guests did not call her brothers to battle, but she knew her mother would object. “Our other guests don’t treat me the way he does.”
“He’s not unkind.”
“Nay.”
“He’s not rude?”
Maggie might have argued that, as well, but to no better results. “Nay”
“Then how does he treat you different that you act so queer around him?”
Maggie shrugged, digging at the floor with the toe of her slipper. “I don’t know what it is ma, he just . . .” She looked away, avoided her mother’s eyes. “He just frightens me so.”
Fiona frowned, “He leaves in the morn. Can you hold your temper that long?”
“In the morn?”
"Aye."
Maggie studied the man who had caused her to misbehave. “For tonight?”
“Aye.”
“That I can do, ma, for tonight. But it would be best if we keep apart.”
"Maggie." Fiona touched her daughters face. “You say he frightens you. I’ve never known you to be frightened. Ever. And it can’t be the size of him, for you know enough of grand men.”
“He’s a great beast of a man, Ma.”
“He’s not so much grander than your da or Jamie.”
“But he’s so,” Maggie fought to explain what she’d yet to understand. “He makes me feel peculiar, Ma. He makes my insides tumble about something fierce. I think he’s got the power of spirits so they jump and dance inside of me when he's close. I dinna’ like it. I want him to leave us.”
Mother looked to daughter, as though for the first time in a long while and was startled by what she saw. With a shake of her head came laughter, light and loving as a joyful embrace. At the same time, tears filled her eyes. It made no sense to Maggie. No sense at all.
“Ah, daughter mine,” once more, she gave a quick, hearty hug. “A day will come when you’ll be wishing for just that sort of feeling.”
“Never.”
“Oh, aye,” her mother laughed again, as she pushed Maggie toward the kitchens to oversee the last of the preparations. “And I’ve a mind to sit him right beside you, so you can find out what it is I’m speaking of.”
“You wouldn’t, Ma! You wouldn’t do that to me, would you now?”
“Oh, aye, I would.” Fiona chuckled. “Just as soon as I speak to your da.” She shoved Maggie off as she turned back to the great room.