Tangled (Handfasting) Read Online Free PDF Page B

bastard.”
    “Glen,
Ian, and Ben.”
    “You
knew there would be someone to blame.”
    “And you’re going think I’m mad to be listening to dreams.”
    He’d
not betray her.  “The highlands are not as safe as they should be.”  He looked
down at Seonaid.  “You be careful yourself.  I’ve a feeling your brother has a
hand in this.”
    Seonaid’s
nostrils flared as her hand flexed around the dagger at her hip.  “I know how
to fight, Bold.  No one, not even my brother, can hurt me.”
    “Aye.” 
He smiled and patted her head, as if she were still the wee lass who used to
follow him around. She pulled free of his touch.  Still he warned her. “You
know how to care for yourself, but you also know how to be rash, so watch
yourself.”
     
    “Birk!” 
Maggie pushed through the crowd in the great hall, toward the Bard, surprised
by her own eagerness.  She had every reason to ignore the man, yet her she was
running to him, the lone familiar face in this far-away place.  
    “Maggie
MacBede!”  The bard bent his tall gangly body into a bow so low his head nearly
scrapped the floor.  As he uncurled, Maggie halted.
    “Birk?” 
    Wide
and gentle, his smile did not reach his eyes.
    She
had loved his eyes, so expressive and kind and now hinting at a sorrow she
couldn’t fathom.  Cautious, she reached out with both hands.  He took them
immediately, lifted them to his lips.
    “You
look well, lass.”
     
A year ago she would have swooned.  But that was a year ago, when she thought
he loved her, thought he would marry her, dreamed of being the wife of a Bard
and traveling from keep to castle.  It had been an idyllic dream he fanned
until one evening, after filling her with beautiful, treasured, words of adoration,
he left.  Without a word of goodbye she faced an empty morning searching.
    Babbling
Birk the Bard.
    She
would not be taken in with his warm eyes and gentle smile again.  She pulled
her hands free.
    “I
am honored you would have me here at Glen Toric to sing for you, to tell your
story, to spread word of your glorious triumph and . . .”
    “Birk.”
She interrupted for, with all his attractions, the man could get carried away
with words. “Why are you here?”
    Eyes
wide he stumbled to explain.  “You sent for me. Me.  I am humbled by your
request, came as quick as was possible to be here for you.”  He looked around
and she realized they were encircled by the MacKays, leaned in close to whisper
in her ear, “you did not want the handfast, you do not want a warrior.  I know
you Maggie.”  He stroked her arm.
    “No,”
she shook her head.  I didna’ send for you. But I’m that glad you are here.”  Took
his hand from her arm to rest her hand on his, as she nudged him to walk. 
    People
watched them, she felt it, caught it in sidelong glances.  She didn’t care. 
They could gossip all they wanted.  She did not ask to be here, surrounded by
strangers.  
    “I’m
glad to see an old friend.” She squeezed his arm and, as they passed people,
she nodded to any who were the least bit familiar. 
    There
were the men who had ridden with the MacKay when he had gone to her own home, Ealasaid
who tended to her, and Una the gossip. A few recognizable figures in a room of
nameless faces.  An intimidating thing for a lass who had never been beyond
site of her home. Where strangers were a rare thing to wonder about, whisper
about.
     Now
she was that stranger. 
    Babbling
Birk the Bard may have abandoned her but at this moment he was the closest
thing to a friend she had.
    He
lent down, to whisper in her ear again.  She scrunched her shoulder against the
tickle of it. 
    “Are
you happy here, Maggie?  Are you happy with your handfast?”
    Happy? 
She looked about, at the people around them.  Friendly, for the most part, even
anxious to please.  But they were not so simple as her own kind, dressed in their
fancy clothes of the finest weave, edges lined with fur from many pelts