Free The Handfasting by Becca St. John

Not real, except she
would not wake.
     “Tell
me? Why not kill the lass?” Whimsy turned hard, cold. “You enjoyed it. Admit
it.”
    Roddie
nodded, sure, now, the blade would pierce his black heart.
    “The
bairn would have destroyed you if ya’ had not destroyed her.”
    Roddie
nodded.
    “We
can find you more lassies who will fight you and lose. Would ya’ like that?”
    Roddie
shivered against a flicker of excitement. He looked up into eyes dark with the
same lust he fought and knew he’d met the devil. He hadna’ meant to do it. He
was a better man than that, he knew he was.
    “Well?”
    “Aye,
I would like that.” Whimsical thoughts, that’s all they ever were. Urges not to
be fed. Only he had fed them, and this one time, when he silenced his victim,
he was caught for the deed.
    The
blade left his breast, a hand offered. “Rise, join us. Let us make merry.”
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     

 
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
    CHAPTER 7 - A STORY TOLD
     
    Talorc's
hand rested upon Maggie's shoulders. Reassuring it was not, coming from a man
too wild to anticipate, and far too confident. All evening he overlooked her
and then, just like that, expected to convince her to go away with him, as
though she had no mind of her own.
    “To
all you men who joined me in the battle against the Gunns,”  Maggie jumped as
Talorc's voice blasted out across the hall. "Have we not failed to honor
the one who pulled us through?”
    A
roar rose to the rafters, matched by the thunder of stomping feet and fists
that pounded table tops. Dishes clattered and shook, some fell to the floor.
    Maggie
looked about, to see who they were honoring, but all the warriors faced
forward, sights set on the Bold, who shouted above the noise.
    “I’ll
do my telling,” He bellowed, “for everyone to hear the glory of our Maggie
MacBede!”
    Maggie
MacBede? The thought of it nearly suffocated, as the cheers crescendoed. Her
whole body trembled, as warrior after warrior moved forward, crossed right hand
to left shoulder and bowed low to Maggie. Her legs wobbly, Talorc had to help
her stand.
    She
nodded to each man who offered obeisance to her, stunned by the clamor of the
hall.
    "Maggie,
Maggie, Maggie . . ." They chanted.
    She
could take no more, held her hand out for them to stop. “Please,” she asked, and
immediately they silenced. “I would like to hear what this is about.”
    She
stood firm lest they feel they’d frightened her, though frighten they did. And
it was the Bold's fault. She was certain of that, because never before, no
matter how many battles the MacBedes had fought, had personal honor come to her.
It was a heavy weight she never asked for.
    The
men took to their seats again, stilled as the Bold had not been able to still
them. Once again, Talorc sat her, a hand to her shoulder, before nodding to her
parents, and again facing the tables of warriors before them.
    “It
is no secret that these past years have brought great sadness to the Highlands.
Sassenachs have been trying to send their fancy Lords and knights to rule our
land, our people. Men from the North, the powerful mighty Norsemen, have not
ebbed in their pursuit of what is ours. Are the Gunns not more Norsemen than
Scot?”
    Belches
and curses fouled the air, just as the idea fouled their thoughts.
     “Brave
and glorious the Clan MacKay and all our septs, including the MacBedes, have
faced great losses and grand great warriors. Our babes have cried with hunger
‘til our souls were torn apart.
    We’ve
faced the mockery of the Sassenach, who see glory only in the silver they eat
with and the fancy cloth they wear. They laugh at the way we live, as
comfortable upon a bed of snow as a mattress filled with down.
    “These
English are men with no hearts, men who have no care for what we are, who we
are and the land we breathe for. And yet they threaten to rule us.
    “And
so, with these sorrows and woes upon our hearts, we battled the Gunns over
disputes