Bold (The Handfasting)(14)

Pah! As if risking a life were not foolish in the extreme.

Oh aye, and the Bold knew what he was about. Hadn't he taught her that? His timing was impeccable, waiting until the whisky had filled the men to just the right point, until they were puffed-up with a false bravado, a sense of largesse, yet not so far gone as to be sloppy, or to forget the Bold’s words.

Aye, the men were seeing their world as a bigger and brighter and bolder place, including one wee lass.

Even knowing this, Maggie could not say no.

But neither would she say yes.

“You’ve given me little time, MacKay.”

“Aye.”

“Some would say you’re trying to trap me.” She could feel the tension in the room ease with the anticipation of a spat. They were highlanders; to them a fight was no less than entertainment, especially when they were certain of the outcome. They’d not have respected Maggie if she let him have his way without a battle.

He had wound them all in with his stories, but Maggie knew, just as well, how to ease that coil if not unwind it all together. Or so she hoped.

“Aye, perhaps.” He admitted, answering her accusation of entrapment, “just as I once cornered a horse crazed with fear. We were in a burning wood. Had I let him go, at the least he would have burned to his own death.

“So you see, Maggie, I trapped him to save him.”

He was a more agile opponent than she had expected.

“And you think to be saving me by trapping me?”

He didn’t respond, nor were there the telling little quips coming from their audience to boost her side of the quarrel. It was time to change tactics.

“How,” she asked practically, “do you plan on wedding me when there isn’t a Priest within the Highlands? It is nearly the Feast of Fleadh nan Mairbh, no decent man of the cloth would be found near folks who celebrate such things.”

“Does it matter, Maggie?” He asked her gently, “Do we need a church man to make vows? Are you not a Highlander? Is your word not strong enough without witness?”

Those were fighting words, they were. Maggie narrowed her eyes.

“I would like the blessing of a power greater than either of us, Laird. Surely you can understand that . . . wait for that.”

“There is no time, Maggie. We, the MacKay’s and all her septs, need our wedding,” he ran his finger along her cheek, caught her jaw in his palm when she tried to pull away. “Just as they need the presence of our son.”

“There’s no guarantee of that, Laird.” She defended.

He laughed, threw his head back and laughed. Maggie kicked him.

“Oh Maggie,” he grumbled good naturedly, rubbed his shins to the raucous laughter of the crowd. “Life never offers guarantees, but it can make promises. You’re a healthy lass, a surprise blessing to a ma and da that had already born seven sons. And should you bear me a daughter, you’d not see more delight, for there’s ne’er been a daughter in my line for three generations. Give me a son, or a daughter, and fail that-- we’ll raise those of our clansmen, and teach them our ways.”

He was more of an opponent than she’d ever faced before. She was fighting for all she knew, all she wanted in life, and yet he could come in and take it all from her with one fell swoop of words.

She admired him for it.

She hated him for it.

She willed the tears away, closed her eyes against them, as she fought for the only argument he had yet to slaughter. “And you cannot wait, one season, for a priest, a man of cloth to bind us?”

Talorc looked to the ground, muttered to himself, then looked up straight into Maggie’s eyes. He was well aware that he pressured her, she could see it, and she knew that he knew, with time she could break this thing.

If he’d give her time.

“Maggie,” he sighed, and she knew a concession was coming, “in the tradition of old, in the ways of the Highlanders, we will clasp hands, vow to each other. If you canna’ make vows for life, then promise yourself for a year and a day. Handfast me, Maggie.”

Och, Dear Lord, God in Heaven, Help me. She cried within, though no answering cry returned. Ian, if you’re there, help me, for no one else will.

Talorc reached out, took her hands in his, “Handfast me.”

Ian’s voice failed to ring in her heart.

“I couldna’” she tried to pull away, “it wouldna’ be right.”

“Why wouldn’t it be right? We are Highlanders Maggie, this is our way. Are you so different from the rest of us?”

The flutter of panic in that poor birds wings so long ago, was no match against the flutter of Maggie’s heart. She was trapped. She could feel it and the panic overwhelmed her.

She shoved the Bold straight aside, looked over at her parents, so she could confront them, but her da would not look at her. He looked to his plate in deep contemplation. Her ma, oh . . . Maggie’s shoulders slumped with what she saw there. Her ma’s heart was breaking. She had wanted Maggie to agree to the wedding but if not, then even her ma was willing to push her into a Handfast.

A union where, in a year and a day, the Bold could walk out just as easily as Maggie herself could.

“. . . should you still not be certain of the match,” he continued, “you can walk away. No holds, no binds, you’re as free as that horse was, once I steered him away from the fire.”

“We know nothing of each other but tales told by others.”

“Maggie, the Handfasting is for you, to give you the chance to walk away. ‘Tis not for me. I’ve made that clear. But, I will also make it clear, should you give yourself to me, between the end of the Handfasting and now, should you find that there is no better for either of us, then the priest will bless the union, whatever season he finds us..”

“Aye, Aye” the men cheered, the women sighed and wept, caught in the thrill of a courtship unfolding.

“Ma?” Maggie tried once more, but her mother only shook her head. It was Maggie’s decision to make, and no other. In truth, she dinna’ have a choice.

“I will think on it.” She hedged.

Talorc shook his head. “No, Maggie, my people, our clan, they are waiting. They want me to bring you back with me, to settle you in amongst us before the Feast.”

“It is not possible,” she countered “I have to be here for Fleadh nan Mairbh. I promised Ian.”

She’d startled them all, judging by the mumbles and grumbles of the people.

“Maggie,” Talorc watched her closely, “you do not invite the dead to come near.”

“He was my twin.”

“You have a right to your life. His time had come, do not invite yours away.” Talorc spoke with caring, for everyone knew that the Feast of the Dead was a time of caution. It was a time to hide from the folly of those passed beyond. No one would court such danger.

“It would be more to your purpose to create new life to fill that void. To give your child the name of Ian, in his honor.”

“No." She backed away from his words as the snare of them tightened.

“The two of us, together, this very night.”

“But. . .”

“Marry him Maggie, Marry him . . .” The cheers rang through the hall, the stomping the clapping the voices raised in unison to billow and settle around her.

“Not tonight.” She cried.

“Then in the morn, Maggie, for we leave when the sun shows herself.”

The chorus had died down, all eyes intent on Maggie and Talorc.

Maggie turned to face them all. “It is what you want?” She cried out, one last plea to the people.

“Oh aye, lass,” Old Padruig played the spokesman, “there’s no better for you or for him!”

“Do you all agree?” She shouted, bringing on another resounding cheer. “Then I shall do it.” She promised with a nod of her head. “And the consequences be upon your heads.”

Pivoting, she faced Talorc, “In the morn. There is too much to do tonight, if I’m to leave at daybreak.”

He raised their hands high as everyone joined in cries of delight. As soon as she could, Maggie spun away, headed toward the stairs that would take her up to her room. Chairs and benches scraped back as her mother and kinswomen hurried to join her.

They reached her first, though Talorc was not far behind, despite the delay of those who wished to toast his victory.

“Maggie?” He stopped her.

“Aye.”

“I’d thought,” he leaned in, whispered for her ears alone, “that you would prefer to have our first night together here, with your mother close by to attend you, settle you.”

She stared at him, at his lapse in conviction.

“Are you saying I’m to be so terribly alone when away from here?” When, not if. She’d given her word.

“No,” he shook his head, frowned, “That’s not what I was saying, have no fears on that count. It’s just that a mother is a mother . . .”