whose
seed you carry. He'll grow up to go out and fight and leave his mother broken
with pain."
When
she shoved past him he was too stunned to stop her. She stormed through the
room, tossed down the blanket and whipped a kirtle over her head, settled it to
all the curves he craved to caress. He watched as she wrapped a plaid about
herself, a MacBede plaid no thanks to her brothers. That was all he needed now.
A fine reminder that she was not his. Not yet.
She
tossed one last glare his way before she stormed out the door. Where ever she
thought to go, he hadna' clue but he'd leave her to it.
Aye,
she'd lost one brother. One brother out of seven. Her da was still alive just
as the father of their children would stay alive. Talorc would see to it.
But
she needed to do her fuming. He understood that too. She needed to run around
and around in her mind until she was worn weary of the thoughts. Then she would
settle in with him, accept the inevitable.
He
hoped it would happen quickly. He didn't know if he could stand the wait. He
looked at the puddle of blankets on the floor. They'd come so close to being
man and wife.
If
only he'd kept his mouth closed.
* * * * * * * * * *
Mother,
Maggie wrote, then stopped. She had to be very careful with the way she
phrased her life at Glen Toric. If she told her mother that she was well, that
Talorc treated her with respect and honor, she would be there for the rest of
her life.
If
she told her mother that the people of Glen Toric looked up to her, saw her as
a great and wise women, her mother would never believe it.
But
she would want to.
Mother
. . . Maggie began again, the point of the quill on the parchment. She pressed,
as though that would bring words to her mind. No cohesive thought came. She
lifted the pen tip. A large drop of black ink marked her lack of inspiration.
Maggie
dabbed the pen against the blotter, as she thought. She hated to waste a whole
piece of parchment for one slight mistake. Unable to look at it, she turned
aside, her eyes narrowed with thought. Nothing. All she could think about was
the black mark and the pitcher of water beside the basin at the end of the
table that was straight in her line of sight.
She
shot a glance at the small dab of ink on her paper. It was still wet.
With
an air of innocence, though who she tried to fool she couldna' tell, for no one
else was in the room, she crossed to the pitcher of water, stuck her finger in
and came out with a wetted tip. Carefully, she held her finger upright, with
the drop of water on it, as she walked back to the parchment.
Paper
held at an angle, one flick and her stain became a spilled tear.
Hah!
She blew, sanded then waved the paper until it was good and dry and wouldn't
run any more. She set to her task with fresh enthusiasm.
Mother,
May
this find you strong and well. My brothers will tell you that I am up and
about, no thanks to the rock to my head. It happened on the way to Glen Toric,
after I mortally wounded one of the attacking Gunns. It was my first time in
battle. While my soul does shudder from the memory, the Laird MacKay is quite
proud. I think he means for me to join him in all future battles. To his mind,
I am a strong and able soldier.
Strong
warrior lass or no, I was felled, down for three days and four nights. The clan
MacKay thought the Gunns had killed me. But my head can take a stronger
bruising then that.
The
worst of it was, young Ian came to me in my dreams but the MacKay would not let
me go to him, so I have no message for you from that quarter.
She
would not tell her ma about the wee boy. There was no guarantee that it was
Talorc's. She would not encourage her mother to have such thoughts.
Maggie
bent back to her writing.
My
head is mending, the headaches are less severe. The women help to ease my work,
so I don't suffer too terrible, especially a woman called Seonaid. They all say
she had no reason to believe the Bold would marry her. The two are quite
seed you carry. He'll grow up to go out and fight and leave his mother broken
with pain."
When
she shoved past him he was too stunned to stop her. She stormed through the
room, tossed down the blanket and whipped a kirtle over her head, settled it to
all the curves he craved to caress. He watched as she wrapped a plaid about
herself, a MacBede plaid no thanks to her brothers. That was all he needed now.
A fine reminder that she was not his. Not yet.
She
tossed one last glare his way before she stormed out the door. Where ever she
thought to go, he hadna' clue but he'd leave her to it.
Aye,
she'd lost one brother. One brother out of seven. Her da was still alive just
as the father of their children would stay alive. Talorc would see to it.
But
she needed to do her fuming. He understood that too. She needed to run around
and around in her mind until she was worn weary of the thoughts. Then she would
settle in with him, accept the inevitable.
He
hoped it would happen quickly. He didn't know if he could stand the wait. He
looked at the puddle of blankets on the floor. They'd come so close to being
man and wife.
If
only he'd kept his mouth closed.
* * * * * * * * * *
Mother,
Maggie wrote, then stopped. She had to be very careful with the way she
phrased her life at Glen Toric. If she told her mother that she was well, that
Talorc treated her with respect and honor, she would be there for the rest of
her life.
If
she told her mother that the people of Glen Toric looked up to her, saw her as
a great and wise women, her mother would never believe it.
But
she would want to.
Mother
. . . Maggie began again, the point of the quill on the parchment. She pressed,
as though that would bring words to her mind. No cohesive thought came. She
lifted the pen tip. A large drop of black ink marked her lack of inspiration.
Maggie
dabbed the pen against the blotter, as she thought. She hated to waste a whole
piece of parchment for one slight mistake. Unable to look at it, she turned
aside, her eyes narrowed with thought. Nothing. All she could think about was
the black mark and the pitcher of water beside the basin at the end of the
table that was straight in her line of sight.
She
shot a glance at the small dab of ink on her paper. It was still wet.
With
an air of innocence, though who she tried to fool she couldna' tell, for no one
else was in the room, she crossed to the pitcher of water, stuck her finger in
and came out with a wetted tip. Carefully, she held her finger upright, with
the drop of water on it, as she walked back to the parchment.
Paper
held at an angle, one flick and her stain became a spilled tear.
Hah!
She blew, sanded then waved the paper until it was good and dry and wouldn't
run any more. She set to her task with fresh enthusiasm.
Mother,
May
this find you strong and well. My brothers will tell you that I am up and
about, no thanks to the rock to my head. It happened on the way to Glen Toric,
after I mortally wounded one of the attacking Gunns. It was my first time in
battle. While my soul does shudder from the memory, the Laird MacKay is quite
proud. I think he means for me to join him in all future battles. To his mind,
I am a strong and able soldier.
Strong
warrior lass or no, I was felled, down for three days and four nights. The clan
MacKay thought the Gunns had killed me. But my head can take a stronger
bruising then that.
The
worst of it was, young Ian came to me in my dreams but the MacKay would not let
me go to him, so I have no message for you from that quarter.
She
would not tell her ma about the wee boy. There was no guarantee that it was
Talorc's. She would not encourage her mother to have such thoughts.
Maggie
bent back to her writing.
My
head is mending, the headaches are less severe. The women help to ease my work,
so I don't suffer too terrible, especially a woman called Seonaid. They all say
she had no reason to believe the Bold would marry her. The two are quite
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