Torn (The Handfasting) Page 5

  Now was not the time to speak of Seonaid. Talorc set off again toward the keep.

  "I never didn't want you." Maggie admitted.

  "You just didn't want to want me."

  She laid her head on his shoulder. "Something like that."

  "It could be a lass, you know."

  He spoke of the babe, wanted to ease her mind, for it was a certainty that any son of his would be a warrior. But she couldn't forget Ian's words. "It will be a boy. Just like his da."

  "I'll teach him to be safe."

  "You can't stop fate."

  "That's what we are, lass. Fate’s fruition."

  Maggie sighed. Fate’s fruition was her fear. It brought as much sorrow as joy. Would the grief be far behind? She wouldn't think on that, couldn't. Right now, all she wanted were these precious moments of delight. Tomorrow could tell its own tale.

  CHAPTER 4 – DREAMS

  Heads turned as she rode into the courtyard. Seonaid kept her head high, held back from pulling Deian’s hood further up, to better hide his face. No one knew, no one would suspect she reminded herself. Bold had promised her as much. Explained away her fears.

  Still, she couldn’t help but worry and so she challenged every eye turned her away until none would look directly. It was Paraig who broke the frost, walking out of the stables just as she arrived at them.

  “You’ve returned?”

  “I have.” She nodded, coldly despite the warmth she always felt in Paraig’s presence. A big gruff man with his curly brown hair and blunt features, only his eyes gave away his gentler side. A kindness that led him to go out of his way to check on her at the cottage, or find her in the fields tending sheep.

  He would get down on the floor to play with Deian, sparking a hunger deep inside of her, a virulent desire to have him as her son’s father and as her husband.

  Impossible. She was spoiled goods, a woman no man would want if they knew the truth of it. Nor could she ever conceive of ever wanting a man in the way she believed Paraig wanted her.

  Despite that, she trusted him and Lord knew she trusted few. Few trusted her in return. Hers was a lonely world.

  She dismounted, reached up for Deian but not quick enough. Paraig was already there, lowering her son to the hard packed yard. Unlike her, the lad didn’t need time to adjust to standing despite being astride for two days, trying to find Diedre and Ingrid in all the places Seonaid hoped to find them. The safest places, anyway.

  “The Bold has returned with his handfasted,” Paraig offered, as he encouraged Deian to take one of the horse’s reins. “Only she is no longer his handfasted. She’s wearing a kerchief.”

  Seonaid looked at him. “She was forever pushing him away.” As if she was too good for the man.

  “She’s with child.”

  Anger flourished she followed Paraig and Deian into the barn. “He found one way to keep her.”

  Paraig shook his head. “No, I don’t think that’s the way of it.” He admitted. “There’s more to it than that, even when she tried to be free of him, there was more to it than that. Besides, she’s a woman. She knows what’s best for her.”

  Seonaid stopped. Paraig looked over his shoulder and frowned. “Did you want to tend the animal yourself?”

  Seonaid prayed for patience, though why she bothered was a mystery. “So you’re saying because she’s a woman marriage is best for her?”

  He turned to face her squarely, her son following his example, standing by his side. “She needs a husband and the Bold is a good man.”

  “Aye, he is a good man, one of the best and he deserves a woman who knows that.”

  “Like you?” he challenged.

  It always came to this, for everyone, and no amount of denying ever made a difference.

  “Do you think I climbed into his bed? Is that what you think.”

  He had the decency to flush then he bent down to Deian. “There’s a lad in the last stall. His name is Jamie and his dog just had pups.” He pointed to young Jamie, the stable boy.

  Seonaid blushed this time. Her own son and, with the rise of her ire, she forgot he was there, listening. Little bodies had big ears.

  Paraig nudged him. “Why don’t you go see if he wants to show you the animal.”

  Deian struggled with shyness for a moment, looked to her for support. She smiled and nodded. “Go on then, mind stay within ear shout.”

  “I will!” he garbled as he shot down the length of the stables.

  She felt the brush of Paraig’s arm as he came to stand beside her.

  “Thank you for that.” She offered, refusing to look at him.

  “He’s a good lad.”

  “He is that. Better than I could have dreamed.”

  “You don’t usually bring him to the castle.”

  So he had dropped the question of her attraction to Bold for another question everyone wanted to ask.

  “He’s too young. I don’t want him under foot when there are so many people about.”

  “Is that why you rush home when the Bold charges out to fight.”

  Stunned she whipped around to study him while he studied the path her son had taken. “Aye, but that’s not what most think.”

  “When we ride off Bold shuts these gates up, tight orders. Sometimes for days if not weeks.”

  “I can’t be away so long.” She whispered.

  “Doesn’t Ingrid watch him?”

  Seonaid snorted. “Oh, aye, and she was watching him when I went home two days ago. Only she left just after dawn, making him wait alone until I returned near dark.” A shudder ran though her at the memory as Paraig turned to stare.

  “She left him alone?”

  “Aye. I finally tracked her down this morning. She was with Deidre.”

  “They both left him?”

  Seonaid shook her head. “No, I don’t believe so. Deidre seemed as surprised as me.” She hesitated before adding, “I’m happy to have Deidre in my home but Ingrid worries me. She’s not right these days.”

  “You and Deian should move to the castle.”

  “No,” she moved further into the stable, stroked the neck of her horse, “no, there’s more danger here than out where I live. Something’s not right here at Glen Toric and I’d rather Deian not be close to that.”

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

  Maggie.

  "Ian." Maggie sat up in bed. The whisper of her name rode across dreams on the cusp of sleep.

  Why would he do that? Why would he wait until she was at Glen Toric, before giving her a sense of himself? He had done that before.

  She reached out to lay her hand lightly on Talorc's shoulder and waited as the comfort of his presence stilled her heart. If she'd known how it would feel to have him close, she never would have fought the bond. Even the sound of Brutus's now familiar snuffle reassured her against the phantoms of the dark.

  Only, Ian wasn't a phantom to be frightened of.

  "Ian." She whispered, fearful of waking Talorc, who wasn't happy with her attachment to her twin. He treated it as a threat, as though Ian might try to take her away. Ian would never do her harm.

  But they were a pair, bonded. Too hard to explain.

  She waited in the still of the night, her gaze piercing the shadows of the room, her ears strained to hear what couldn't be heard. No figure separated from the gloom. No sound broke through the quiet. Despite his call to her, she didn't feel him near.

  After a few minutes, she lay back upon her pillow and wondered if snuggling would wake her husband. If it did, he could take the blame. Hunger that lapped at the core of her came from his teachings. She smiled, placed a hand upon his broad chest, flexed her fingers, and sighed. Better to let him sleep rather than risk Ian witnessing the wanton she had become.

  If Ian were close.

  She rolled to her side, shimmied her back against the curve of Talorc's front. Deep in sleep, his arms wrapped around her, one hand covering the slight swell of her belly, and pulled her more sec
urely into the nest of him.

  The gentle sounds of night lulled her to a doze, neither awake, nor fully asleep. Like a warm breeze, the call caressed, woke her, wide eyed and worried.

  "Ian," she whispered, caught between dream and a doze. More under illusion than reality she grumbled, "Stop waking me. Talk to me in my sleep." And fell back to slumber.

  This time, when Ian called, she did not bolt into wakefulness but stayed inside the dream. She was in a small boat, on a quiet stream, asleep, but not quite. She turned toward the shore, where she knew she would see them.

  Ian grinned broadly, the boy by his side, tugging to get free, to cross to Maggie. A mere observer, she couldn't speak, could do no more than look down at her lethargic self. One hand dangled in the water, the other laid protectively over her belly. Her mind smiled. She felt good, content in her life. Young Ian was safe in her brother's care, for now.

  Then she frowned. Looked to the swell of her tummy and wondered why, after six month’s time, the babe was still separate from her.

  A breeze rippled, seductive, teased her neck. A warm, wet, enticing nudge of breath. It had to be Talorc. She stretched, able to move to him when she had been unable to move to Ian. She turned her head to give him access and saw the goblet in her hand.

  All thought of Talorc, of the babe or Ian vanished, as she focused on that goblet. She hadn't tasted it, but she knew it was a strange bitter brew.

  Drink! Drink! The command hissed and she did. She drank as Ian's voice, distorted with the distance, called out, “Downed ringa. Down ringa”.

  She frowned.

  Downed ringa? Donn it rinka. She gasped, as the dire warning rang clear.

  "Don't drink! Don't drink!"

  She looked at Ian, confused by what he said as rain drops fell. She opened her mouth to catch them and felt a vise upon her belly so powerful she jackknifed with the pain.

  The idyllic moment vanished. The boat rocked, hard, the water a wild torment. It kept lapping at the boy trying to suck him in to the depths of it. Frozen, she could not move to help him, to go to him, all she could do was cry and wail, "Nooooo!" which made the boat rock with greater ferocity. Then Ian grabbed the boy, held him to his chest.

  "Not yet, Maggie, you can't have him yet."

  Tears streamed down her face as she was rocked to and fro and the cries of her name mutated from Ian's voice to Talorc.

  She opened her eyes. The rocking stopped, though Talorc didn't let go of her shoulders. Frantically, she grabbed him, pulled him in and hung on for the life she so dearly needed. "The babe, Bold, I don't have the babe." And then she scrambled, like a demented thing, to see, to look for witness of the loss, but there was no sign of blood, of water, of a small, unformed life between her legs.

  Tenderly she felt her belly. No pains.

  "Tell me," Talorc asked, with the wariness of a man who didn't know how to step into women's business, but was desperate enough to try.

  She turned to him. "Hold me, Bold, just hold me." And he did, he held her close, settled her trembling, waited for the fear to ease from her. He stroked her back, her head, the length of her hair. He wiped tears from her cheeks, and kissed the paths that he stroked. When, finally, the trembling stopped he looked down at her.

  "What was it Maggie?" But she couldn't tell him, she couldn't say that the babe was not yet with them, and mayhap, would never be. She couldn't say that something was wrong.

  "Just a dream. It frightened me."

  "Frightened you?" He nuzzled her neck. "You, me, even Brutus, the mangy wimp." He chuckled and turned her cheek so she could see the great beast of a dog quivering beside the bed.

  Her smile was meager. The dream had shaken her, more so for the two times Ian's voice had woken her to catch her attention.

  "I don't want you fearful, Maggie. You're safe here, you can count on that."

  She didn't want to worry him, chose instead to distract. "I know," she smiled as she raised her hand to cup his cheek. "Show me." She leaned up to tease his lips with hers, "Show me just how close you can get, to guarantee my safety."

  "You're a dangerous minx."

  "Am I?"

  "Aye." He lowered his mouth to hers, willing to be distracted, to blind her from the terror of the darkness.

  She felt his lips first, as they brushed against her own, teased until she leaned up, further into the kiss, demanding an order that Talorc was quick to obey. It was more than a kiss, he suckled and laved her mouth, her neck, the inside of her arm, all the places she thought quite ordinary and none of the places that should have made her shy. And in his doing her hunger rose until she tormented him in turn, with her own lips and tongue and nips of teeth.

  They rolled, taking turns in submission, sometimes meeting in the middle.

  "Oh Bold," her words caressed his swollen hunger, as she dared to be bold herself and lave and suckle that part of him that separated who they were.

  He groaned, hard and loud. "Did I wound you?" she teased. He hitched her up his body.

  "Aye, you wound me to the core and I want revenge!" He lifted her hips and plunged deep into her softness. As he sheathed himself he pressed the heel of his hand against their joining. Maggie could no more hold back the moan that came from the depths of her, than she could stop the convulsive rhythm of their union, her desperate reaches to match his thrusts until her cry mingled with his hoarse shout, his shudder of release toppling her pulse of the same. She landed hard upon him, the fierce beat of their hearts against each other’s chest. Her hair fell like a silken wave around them both.

  He caressed her derriere, eased them both to their sides, still tangled, still one.

  When he spoke, his words were no more than a series of pants. "Tell, me wife. Tell me what you dreamed."

  But, like so many dreams, it had dissolved with only a few reminders. She frowned. "The babe, Talorc, it's not young Ian. Not yet." And she let sleep claim her to a night of restless darkness.

  Talorc left William and Padraig to stand by the door of the low sod building, while he waded into the stream, to fetch a bucket of water. The river was frigid, would have iced, if the current hadn't kept it moving too fast to form any covering. He welcomed the way it numbed to his knees, for it sent a shock of alertness to his senses.

  He turned back to find both of his men had shed their clothes, ready for the steam. Talorc reached them, handed over the bucket so they could go in before him. He rid himself of his own garments, and ducked under the low lintel.

  William ladled water onto fiery rocks mounded on top of coals nestled in a small depression in the middle of the dirt floor. Around it there were low benches, with slightly taller ones behind those. Talorc grabbed the sheet he had left there, and wrapped it around his middle, so he wouldn't burn his backside when he sat.

  He breathed in deeply, of the steam, of the mint that had been added to the fire and felt every passage in his head clear. "Aye, this is what I needed." He adjusted the sheet so he could lie back upon the bench. "But where is Aed?"

  William, happy with the amount of water he had put to hot rock, finally sat down himself. "He's with your lady wife. Seems she had a dream of sorts, wanted to ask him about it."

  Talorc grunted. He didn't like her with the storyteller, their heads close together in discussion. Not that he didn't trust Maggie, despite her peculiar caring for puny men. He couldn't deny her dream last night, or the way it terrified her, had her grabbing at her belly.

  He shook it off. A dream was merely a dream. There were other, real problems, to sort through.

  Paraig doused himself with a ladle of the frigid water until it dripped from his hair, to his nose down his massive beard. Like a dog straight out of the loch, he shook it off. Talorc lifted his forearm over his eyes, to protect himself from the slash of water.

  "You've watched all the boundaries?"

  "Aye. Winter or no, there’s been activity.”

  "Any sign of one of ours meeting them?"

  William no longer smi
led. “Ours and theirs cross each other. But no sign that they stop to chat.”

  "What did you learn from Old Micheil,” Paraig asked, “when you were closed up with him all day yesterday?"

  "Says the same as you, there are comings and goings out east.” Talorc ran a hand down his face. “He's too close to the Gunn boarder for my comfort but he’s too stubborn to stay at the keep for longer than a report."

  "There are others closer to the boarder."

  "Aye, Seonaid is out there. She claims it's quiet like, but then she's a woman, and not trained to look for problems."

  “Tracks skirt her, but don’t go near.”

  "She's the one you have to move closer to the keep, laird.” Paraig argued, “A woman and child on their own . . . it's not good."

  Talorc doused himself with the frigid water, felt his muscles bunch with the shock of it. He knew the truth of what Paraig said, but it was not that easy. "She doesn't want to come." And my relationship with Maggie is just that new, just that fragile, he thought. It was no secret that Talorc didn't want the other woman near enough to cause a problem. "I tried to get her to join up with Nail’s people, but she doesn't want to move. Says it was her father's croft, and it's rightfully hers.”

  “As if we would take it from her." William grumbled.

  "She needs to marry." Paraig kept to the woman like a dog to a bone. "That would keep her boy safe."

  Talorc looked at William and they both laughed. It was not a humorous sound. Neither explained their reaction, but William did offer, "Her cousin Roger and his family live close."

  "And what has he said?"

  "Signs of too many intruders.” The burly man looked at Talorc, “He thought we had gone that way, when we went to fight the Gunns. He was that shocked when he heard we hadn't. He's thinking of moving his family closer in to the keep. Maybe they can convince Seonaid to move with them.”

  "You think?" Paraig brightened.

  "No." Talorc shook his head and frowned at Paraig. Seonaid was too independent, too eccentric to fit in with those at the keep. That's why she liked to stay by herself. As for the rest of it, Talorc was beyond thinking. He'd thought and thought and all he did was bite the tail of an idea, only to find he was right back where he started.