chapter 4 - A STORY PROMISED
Talorc moaned with pleasure as he eased into one of two bathing tubs set before the fire. “Ah man, ‘tis weeks since I’ve bathed in anything other than a frigid stream or a frozen loch.”
From the other tub, his host, Feargus MacBede, chuckled. “Keeps a man strong.”
“Aye, it does.” Heat curled around Talorc as he settled deep, knees bent until they poked out from the surface. Better cold knees than a cold neck.
He glanced around at the soft sound of a door opening, but couldn’t see beyond the bathing screen.
“It’s my wife.” Feargus explained. “She’s a great hand when it comes to washing hair and backs, don’t you wife?” Fiona moved within the light of the fire. “Can near put you to sleep she can.”
“Och, flattery, that’s what you’re doin’,” she teased as she ran her fingers through her husband’s thick head of white hair.
Talorc watched, curious. His own father had always said, look to the mother to see what the daughter would become. Fiona was tall and regal, her movements smooth as a gliding falcon. There was a hint of mischief in her smile.
Without warning she dunked her husband until his entire head was drenched.
More than a hint of mischief!
Feargus came up sputtering. “I hope you don’t treat our guest like that!” But his grumble was lost in a sparkling glance. The man had known it was coming.
It was good still to be playing games when you had eight grown children . . . correction, there were only seven now. He knew that well.
Talorc closed his eyes, his head against the rim of the tub. The couple’s companionable banter lulled as gently as the warm water within his bath.
“MacKay?” Feargus butted into his thoughts. “The Gunns grow more vicious of late. Foul as they are, they are not the sort to come at us like they’ve been.”
“Aye,” Talorc nodded. “There’s no understanding to it. They get angry with no ill treatment from us, burn our crofter’s homes, steal in a way that leaves a clan starving. Hunger we know how to live with.” He gripped the sides of the tub, “But now someone’s been thieving young lasses out from under their parents care.”
Feargus grunted. “Aye. One of our crofter’s daughters has gone missing. Young Alicia. No sign of her for months now, and we searched.”
“The same tale can be heard from the Raeys and the Bainses.”
The older man bent his head. “Many a loss, these years past. Young females, good fighting men.”
“The glory of the fight does not take away the sorrow of loss. It was a sad day when Ian fell to the sword.” Talorc reached for his soap as he searched for words not easily found. “These battle losses are mine to bear.” He admitted. “I call the men to fight. They trust me. But there have been too many problems, too many things gone wrong.”
He looked to the older man. “Feargus, you fought with my father, you’ve raised strong men who don’t shy from the fight. Our families have been united for generations. There’s no other man in the highlands I would trust more than you.”
“The MacBedes have always done their part.”
“Aye, more than their part. You’ve offered good counsel. So I am telling what I’ve told no other. I think we have a traitor in the clan.”
“Impossible!” Feargus barked. “It’s the Gunns, that black hearted Angus Gunn. You know, I know, it’s him.”
“Oh, aye, the Gunns play a part.” A traitor was unthinkable but not impossible. Clan loyalty was taught from the cradle, instilled in every highlander. Still it was possible.
He tried to explain. “There are those thrown out of the clans, the outlaws.” Feargus grunted acknowledgement as Talorc continued. “Some still have family inside our care. Loyalties can be divided.”
It cleared his mind to finally speak of this. “For the life of me, I can’t think of who would turn against us. There’s only one MacKay who has family with the outlaws and there was no love lost when he was banned.”
Soap in hand he lathered his chest, his arms, drawn to the smell of it, pine and bay with a touch of spice. A fine odor for a man to wear.
“Laird,” Feargus argued, “you have it wrong. We are not a people for turning on our own. And the Gunns have been there to fight when we go out. They’d not fight the renegade’s battles.”
The room quieted but for the crackle of the fire, the soft splash of water as Fiona scrubbed her husband’s back.
Feargus broke into the silence. “Your wife was a Gunn, rest her soul. I’ve heard they think you murdered her. Anger festers and grows. Do you think that’s what causing these problems?”
“Aye, they claimed I murdered her,” Talorc agreed, “but that was grief speaking and too long ago to still be fighting over.”
“She died in childbirth.” Fiona remembered. “That’s no uncommon thing.”
The weary rustle of his breath shuddered through the room. “She was a wee thing, my Anabel.” A petite lass who tended towards floral soap for man and woman alike. With her gone, the soap of his keep smelled of lye and fat. A man needed a wife for such things.
“If I failed to get her with child, the union would have been for naught. If I did get her with child, well then, what happened could happen. I lost Anabel to the birthing. It was that desperate, we were, that we didn’t want to lose the babe as well so I cut her open.”
“That’s not so strange. We’ve done the same.” Fiona encouraged.
“The Gunns claimed I tried to take it from the mother while she was fit and fine and waiting for the pains. But I don’t believe that’s the thorn that’s causing our problems. I think we have a canker of another sort. I just can’t fathom what it is.”
Both men sat, frowning as they held their own counsel. Fiona moved over to Talorc, eased him forward to wash his back, “Your late wife, Anabel, did you love her?” She asked, as she’d lulled him to peace.
“Loved her?” Talorc scowled.
Feargus sputtered and barked. “Don’t be ridiculous woman, everyone knows The MacKay married for his clan, not for foolish notions of love.”
“No,” Talorc argued, “women wish to know these things, although in truth, I don’t know.” He admitted, adding, “Holding my wife was like embracing a delicate flower. Your heart swells with the beauty, but you fear you’ll bruise it. No,” he shook his head against the memory. “It would take a stronger lass to win my heart, I’m thinking, one who could meet me on my terms.” He looked over his shoulder at Fiona. “Your Maggie is a strapping lass.”
With one hefty push, Fiona shoved him under.
“I didna’ say anything,” Talorc sputtered as he surfaced, “that you dinna’ know.”
“Oh, aye.” Fiona admitted sweetly.
“Did you dunk me for speaking of your daughter?”
“Why would I do that?” Fiona hedged, adding, “but I was wondering, if it’s true, are you here because of our Maggie?”
“Aye.” Talorc admitted.
The fire crackled, water splashed as he reached for a sheet on a stool by the side of the tub. Standing, he wrapped the long sheet around his waist, used another for drying.
Husband and wife looked to each other. ”You don’t know much of our Maggie if you’ve come for her.” Fiona warned.
“Do you mean that she likes her men puny?” Talorc vigorously rubbed his hair.
“Aye,” They both frowned.
“She’s not meant for a puny lad, you know.” He tossed the extra sheet over his shoulder. “And I’ve a mind to help her understand such things.”
The MacBede stood from his own bath scowling. “How do you mean to do that?”
Talorc pulled a shirt over his head, his words caught in the folds of fabric. “Well, MacBede,” his head popped out of the opening, “with your permission, I’ll marry her. She’ll come to understand in time.”
Fiona shoved a warmed sheet at her husband. “You’ll not get her to understand after the wedding, Laird or no, you force Maggie to marry and she’ll make your life a misery. You’ll never win her that way.”
“I mean to have her agree to the wedding.” Talorc defended.
Fiona laughed.
Talorc argued. “You could help persuade her.”
Feargus slumped on a stool. “It’s more than that, Laird MacKay. You’re a fine man, I couldna’ hope for such a grand husband for my lovely Maggie, but she’s more stubborn than the lot of us. She doesn’t want a warrior.”
“You’re her father. You could make her.”
“Oh, aye, I could force it on her, but my Fiona is right. We won’t send her to the altar in tears, and if she goes against her will, there will be tears aplenty.”
“From a lass such as Maggie?” Talorc was appalled.
MacBede chuckled, “Aye, strapping lass that she is, she’s still a female.”
Fiona ignored the understanding that passed between the men and nodded at her own thoughts. “You know,” she said, “you might make it work, if you could spend some time with her, win her over and then stay away when she says nay to a marriage. She’ll pine for you, then come around.”
“There’s 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.”