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and the
jewels!  Part of her wanted to reach out and touch the sparkle of a gem or the
soft fabric of a gown.  Instead she clung to Birk’s side.
    “They’re
fine people.” She acknowledged. 
    “Oh,
aye.  But so are the MacBedes.”  He covered her hand with his and gazed down at
her.
    Was
that longing in his eyes?  Maggie pulled free, unsettled by the hope in that
look, confused that she still had her breath, that her heart didn’t skitter
with pleasure.  “Aye, we are a fine people, even if our clothes are not so . . .”
    He
put his fingers to her lips. “You are good people, Maggie MacBede, with many a
tale of strength and honor.”
    It
was good to be with an old friend. She squeezed his arm. “Will you be singing
after the meal?
    “That
I will.”  As he tilted his head she suddenly wondered how his skinny neck held his
head upright.  He really was a scrawny thing.
    “I’m not scrawny enough for your tastes?  Is that it?  You won’t be able
to rule me as you might a lesser man.”
    She
stepped back, as Bold’s words rippled through her. Words spoken when she
challenged him for forcing the handfasting on her.  Worse, the thought of him
flowed with the memory filling her with all the excitement she wanted to feel
for Birk.
    She
looked away, not wanting the comparisons, not wanting to feel the foolish
reminder of infatuation, horrified to think she may have married this man.
    He
was a friend.  That was all.
    “I
will see you at dinner then,” she promised and turned back to the flock of
women who shadowed to her.  
    “I
will sing of you.”  He crooned.
    She
welcomed the women as they encircled her, moving her beyond the bard,
whispering over each other.
    “Who
is he?”  Nora asked.
    Another
woman slapped Nora’s arm.  “That’s the Bard, you fool.”
    Maggie
smiled.
    “Babbling
Birk the Bard,” the woman tittered.  “One of your puny men, aye?”  Her eyes lit
up, Maggie lost her smile.
    These
women were not so different from the ones at home.
    “Where
is Ealasaid?” She asked rather than feed their curiosity.
    “Fretting
over that girl.” Diedre complained. 
    “Ysenda?” 
But she didn’t need to ask.  Of course she would be tending to Ysenda.  That’s
what Ealasaid did, she cared for others.  Maggie frowned at Diedre’s lack of
compassion, but didn’t say anything.
    They
had been friends of a sort. Diedre, the only woman to travel with Maggie to
Glen Toric. The first of the MacKay women Maggie met.  She had been full of
stories of the people and place; full of advice on how to enjoy this year and a
day without being trapped for the rest of her life. 
    Maggie had not seen much of Diedre since they returned. Even
for the search for Ysenda.  Diedre didn’t appear until they reached the castle. 
Once she heard the news, she’d not
stopped berating since.  “Whatever got into the girl?”  She snapped. “To
frighten her family, her people, like that.”
    “Come
now, Diedre, you know what it’s like, living way out there in the hinterlands,
no young men about.” Young Ete, justified.
    “But
to go off with a stranger?  With so many lasses going missing?” Nora MacKay
shook her head, confused by the idea.
    “Too
easy to trust a charming man.”  Una fretted as she’d been doing ever since the
girl was found.
    “Aye,
but now we know what’s about. Who the blackguard is.”  Diedre stated.
    “But
we don’t know,” young Ingrid whispered, lifting her head to look at Diedre.
    Something
passed between the two.  Maggie wasn’t sure what it was but the shy girl with
her long blonde hair seemed to challenge the boisterous Diedre.
    “Give
her time.” Diedre murmured.
    Maggie
shook her head against her imaginings, tired from too much of a day.  She
scanned the room for Talorc.
    “Ach,
look at you,” one woman moved forward and brushed hair away from Maggie’s forehead.
“Two black eyes and a lump the size of a goose egg. Who would have