Bold (The Handfasting) - By Becca St. John Page 0,13
no time for that. I want to take her with me tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow?” Feargus stormed. “Never lad. I’ll see her settled in her feelings first.”
“Timing, MacBede. You know, I know, timing is everything. It has to be now.”
“Why?”
“You’ll understand tonight when I tell my tale.”
“You’ll be telling me now.”
“No.” Fiona's soft words broke through. “No, he is right, husband. Maggie doesn’t need time to come up with excuses and reasons not to marry him.”
“You can’t be serious, wife?”
“Aye, I am, and as her mother, with your approval, I will give my blessing if he can convince her to marry him on the morrow.”
“He’ll never do it.”
“Perhaps not. But I’m thinking, if he fails, it will be our Maggie who will lose in the end.”
“I’ll not fail.” Talorc claimed.
Fiona nodded at his confidence. “Fail or no, I’ll not grant my blessing until you promise me two things.”
“Aye.”
“You'll not force yourself on her. She has to give of herself willingly otherwise we'll not accept the marriage.”
Talorc agreed. “Neither would she, and I know that, but I also know she'll come around. The bond is there already, she just doesn't recognize it.”
“Aye, well and good.” Feargus nodded. "But you know, if she doesn't come around, if she keeps her distance, we expect her back in the same pure state she'll have left us. I'll not see her returning with a kerchief on her head for the whole world to know she's not a maiden anymore."
"Aye." Talorc agreed. "I'd want no different for my own daughter, if I'm ever blessed to have one."
“You will also vow," Fiona continued, "never to hurt my daughter, to strike her or beat her or punish her in any physical manner.”
“I vow to you she shall never be harmed by me or mine, in any manner. If I fail in that, I will return her to you.”
“So be it. If you can convince her to say yea, you may have my daughter.”
“Oh, for a certainty, she will say yea. She’ll have no other choice or she’s not the woman I think her to be.”
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