Bold (The Handfasting) - By Becca St. John Page 0,31
do not give myself?”
As Fiona took a deep breath, Sibeal marched up to them.
“Maggie, there’s no more time, lass. Get over there and into that tub, or you’ll be wearing a drying cloth to your Handfasting.”
She straightened, looked to her mother, “If it’s as you say, then you can prepare to have me back here in a year and a day from this moment. For I’ll not give my heart.”
Rather than join the throng of women caring for her daughter, Fiona stood quietly and watched as Maggie crossed to the bath. The lass had regained her spirits, ‘twas in her step, in the way she let the others tease her.
Quietly, Fiona touched three fingers to her forehead, her heart, to either shoulder. When the others cast glances her way, they thought she made the sign of the cross in preparation of prayers for her daughter. They could not be knowing that Fiona was praying for forgiveness of the half-truth she’d been telling.
For a half-truth, meant a half lie.
A Handfasting was no more than a betrothal. Oh, aye, the couple would live together, may even share a bed but, despite bawdy innuendos to the contrary, should they mate, should the relationship become more than a promise, married they would be. Priest or no priest.
The whole of the Highlands knew this. That Maggie didn’t came as a surprise. God’s will, Fiona prayed, for she had used Maggie’s naiveté mercilessly. Aye, it was for Maggie’s own good but still, it had not been with clear honesty. It was just that the girl didn’t understand what was in her best interest. And if Fiona judged things right, what was between Maggie and the Laird MacKay . . . well . . . it was nothing, if not physical.
Heart or no, they would be wed before the night was out, or Fiona didn’t know her daughter.
CHAPTER 9 - SACRIFICE
She was a stranger to herself.
From her seat on the broad back of a placid gelding called Tairis, Maggie reached for those who stretched to touch her, waved to those who stood high on their toes, necks craned for a view of her as though they hadn't just talked yesterday.
Somewhere between the dark of night, and the sun’s glow, she had become someone else, someone extraordinary, someone she didn’t recognize. She had been perfectly happy with the old Maggie MacBede, thank you very much.
How many times had she resented her brothers’ stoic farewells? Their restless need to be gone when everyone wanted a fair share of good-byes. Now she was the one in the saddle, desperate to be away from the fawning praise, off to do what must be done.
If she didn't leave at once, she may not leave at all.
Old Maighread reached for her. Maggie bent low, risked the woman’s sensitive fingers. The woman had a fey touch, her fingers seeing what her eyes could not.
Old Maighread nodded. “Don’t fear child. The one who sings of crows will receive its message.”
“Crows?" Crows meant death.
"Maghread!" Fiona snapped.
"No, mother,” Maggie shivered with the old woman’s warning, took her gnarled hand in her own. "Who?"
“They will try, child," Maighread's cackle rose above the gathering, "they will try. But keep an ear to Ian. He will keep you safe. And your man there, don't let him have fear. You are stronger than anyone thinks, including yourself.”
“Grandmother," Fiona pulled Maighread away, "don’t fret the lass.”
Was she strong? Maggie wondered. She didn't feel strong right now. She felt hapless, helpless, caught on everyone's whim but her own. Tears threatened. Frantically, Maggie sought out the man to blame for her sorrow.
The man who had vowed his life to hers forever.
She had only given him a year and a day.
He was near enough to grab her reins, as though he half expected her to bolt. Silent though it was, he acknowledged her frantic appeal. With a nod and a wry smile, he raised his fist, let loose a warrior's bellow. As one, with no more warning, The MacKay Clansmen stormed through the bailey, out the gate, with Maggie and Talorc in the center of their charge.
Maggie fought to keep her seat, clung to her mount, her head low upon its neck. In any other time, circumstance, she would have thrilled to the challenge, but not today.
Today an old woman had warned of crows. Too true. Life, as Maggie knew it, was dead. Maggie who used to be, was no more. That her body would follow suit made perfect sense, for everything happened in threes,