Bold (The Handfasting)(23)

One moment there were too many attackers.

Then, suddenly, there were none. The noise, the commotion ended as quickly as it started. The battle an illusion except the sight and smell of wounds, of death, of Maggie, a crumpled heap upon the ground, blood pouring down her face, the dead man’s club beside her head.

She had killed the man, avenged herself when Talorc should have kept her safe. Vowed to keep her safe.

Talorc fell to his knees, oblivious to the stunned silence surrounding them, the sudden halting of those returned from the chase. He lifted her lifeless form, curled her body into his heaving chest. He shut his eyes against the fear her body would stay that way forever.

Diedre approached. The only one with the courage to do so.

“Let me look.” She eased Talorc toward a boulder, to sit, as she gently pulled Maggie back from his shoulder. Blood streamed from the wound to her forehead, a wound that would soon grow large and dark with bruise.

“You should leave her here, Bold. Let the carrion get her, let those sods come back for her”

Talorc’s head snapped up. “Are you mad?” He hissed.

Diedre stood firm. “At best, she’ll die from that wound. Worse, she’ll be a half-wit. She’d not thank you for saving her for that. Leave her here, tell her kin she ran away, straight into this band of men. Tell them you tried to retrieve her, to save her.”

Douglas approached. “Laird,” his eyes focused on the wound. “You’ve seen it before, wounds to the head. This is a bad one and if anyone knows the consequences, it’s Diedre.”

“No.” Talorc stood, shaken from shock. “I’ll not tell the MacKay’s I left her dead on the road.”

Diedre leaned in, forced him to focus on her. “You wed her for life, Bold. You did not give her half a vow but the whole of it. She refused that. She refused you, has done her best to be free of you. Let her death be measured by that.”

“Aye,” Douglas argued, “you’ve not joined. You’re free to leave her.”

The woman nodded. “There’s another you could marry, Bold. You know it, we all know it. Give this one up before you return and the breach between the two of you can be crossed.”

Give this one up? When he’d just found her. For what? To appease gossip of the past? Gossip that held no truth? There was no other but Maggie. Never would be.

Tired of the old pressure, Talorc ignored it. “I’ll not leave her here for those heathens to dishonor.” He brushed at Maggie’s hair, locks coated in blood. Too much blood.

“And if she’s a half-wit?” Diedre challenged.

“Then she will be my half-wit.” He vowed for life. He would honor that vow.

Diedre tried to speak, Douglas stopped her with a shake of his head. Talorc understood their exchange. Maggie suffered a double crack to the head, worse than the blow that widowed Diedre.

No sense in fretting whether she’d be a half-wit or wife when she was sure to die.

“My half-wit.” Talorc echoed and strode off with Maggie in his arms.