The Handfasting Read Online Free Page A

to where the man pointed.
    “See
that?” Old Ros wailed. “See those holes?” His hands trembled with distress.
“They’ve been punched in there.” Tears threatened. “How am I to go out and get
fish? How are we to feed ourselves?”
    This
was not the first fisherman to have lost boats to sabotage.
    “Aye,
you’ll not be using that boat this day. You tend to it, see if it can’t be made
seaworthy again. I’ll get young Taran to help you.”
    “And
you’ll go after the MacKays, now?” Ros’s voice firmed, fueled by retribution.
    “Oh,
aye,” Aulay promised. “Don’t you worry. We’ll get the lousy MacKays if they’re
the ones who are doing this.”
    “Of
course they’re the ones who are doing this, mon. Who else would do such a
thing?”
    “I
don’t know, Ros, I just don’t know.” Aulay shook his head, fretting over just
that. The MacKays might be mortal enemies, stealing livestock and raiding goods,
but that was no different than the Gunns were want to do.
    Malicious
destruction for its own sake was not something The MacKays would condone. The
man had his sense of honor. This was not honorable.
    Much
as Aulay hated to admit it, he and the MacKay were not that different. On
separate sides of the fence, but with the same responsibilities. The MacKays
had no reason to start a war with the Gunns. Everyone in their part of the world
knew the man had just filled his stores. Why do something that would drain
those resources? It made no sense.
    “If
it’s the MacKays, we will get them for this. But I want to find out just who
the vermin is before we strike.”
    “Bloody
MacKays, that’s who it is, mon, who else would go against us like this?”
    And
that, Aulay knew, was the crux of his problem.
     
    * * * * * * * * * *
     
    Maggie
slipped through the keep headed for the kitchens, relaxed, as always , amid
scents that embraced, succulent and heady as only a kitchen can be. This was
her home, her place, amid the bustle of clan's women, within this room rich
with roasting meats, spicy steam and yeast. As a child she had helped tend
whole haunches skewered on spits set before the huge fire with ovens placed in
the wall around that fire. It was here the clanswomen baked cakes and bread
while the warmth aided the brewing of strong, dark beer in heavy casks set deep
in the shadows.
    Simon,
her young cousin, stole a bannock cake straight off the rack where it cooled.
Maggie chuckled, but did not try to stop him,
    “Did
you see The MacKay?” Sibeal, wife of Maggie's oldest brother, asked any who
would listen.
    Simon
headed to the spit handle he had abandoned. Maggie shooed him away and grabbed
the handle herself, near enough to hear the chatter, far enough removed that,
she hoped, no one would notice her. It was no more than gossip, the women were
about, but Maggie found she was drawn to their foolish natter.
    “Oh,
aye,” her cousin Muireall sighed. “What a man that one is.” Maggie snorted.
Everyone knew Muireall thought the same of all men.
    “He’s
even larger than The MacBede.” Another cousin brayed. Too true, Maggie
glowered.
    “Did
you see his eyes?” Muireall trilled, “I’ve never seen anything so blue in my
life. They’re as clear as the summer sky.” Summer sky? Nay, not so simple. They
were more like a gem and its playful light, fire and ice all in one place. Just
as likely to burn as to make you shiver.
    And
shiver she did, remembering his eyes when he looked at her. Thoughts of him
were like a fierce undertow. A body could drown in it while scrambling for a
shore that was safe and secure. Maggie released the spit’s handle, startled by
her own thoughts. She had to get out of the room, away from the talk, talk,
talk.
    “Are
you fancying him then, Muireall?” Alec's wife, Caitlin, lured Maggie back with
her question. “For you must know when a man is that large, he’s that large
allllll over.” Maggie blushed, remembering what she felt, pressed against him
in that tower.