“Aye!” cried the people.
For a moment Jennet could only gape at him. Handfast? He means to handfast with me now, then march off to war in some distant land? She was about to tell him he was mad when she realized someone was calling to her. Her mind whirling with a dizzying array of contradictory thoughts, she looked towards Lucais.
“And ye, Jennet Graeme,” Lucais asked, “do ye call Hacon Gillard husband?”
A very sharp voice in her head, which sounded remarkably like her aunt, told her to say aye and worry about everything else later. Jennet stared at Hacon’s father, fighting the urge, but that scolding, carping voice pressed her to agree. And so, she admitted with a silent curse over her own foolishness, did her heart.
“Aye. I call Hacon Gillard husband.”
“Is that heard and accepted?” said Hacon.
“Aye,” cried everyone without a moment’s hesitation,
As the people offered their congratulations, Jennet yanked her hand free of Hacon’s. “There. We are handfasted,” she declared angrily. “Now, ye blood-hungry fool, ye may ride off and get yourself killed.” She raced off to their chambers, desperate to get away and terrified of what else she might say.
Hacon sighed. After ordering Dugald to gather up their men, he started after Jennet, only to have his mother halt him. “I must prepare to ride, Mother.”
“Now? Surely ye dinnae have to leave until the morning.”
“Ye ken as weel as I that little time is needed. After so many years of war, we are always prepared to ride. Our horses are at hand. We but need to grab our blankets, our sacks of oats, and our arms. If more is needed, we may obtain it at the place chosen for the army to be mustered.”
“So, ye will be gone within the hour.”
“Aye, or near to. And I must try to soothe Jennet’s fury in what little time I have left.”
“There will ne’er be time enough to do that. Nay, not before ye are dragged off to war again by these fools.” Her voice trembled with anger, and Hacon regarded her in some surprise. “Just recall what I said—heed her actions, not her words.”
“I will try,” he murmured, “though I find I face her with less courage than I can face armed men.” With a faint smile for his mother, he added, “Tell Dugald that Ranald will stay behind,” then strode off to his chambers.
When Hacon entered, Jennet remained seated on the bed. She wanted to scream at him, to hit him. He had claimed her as his wife before his family and village. While handfasting was not the best of arrangements, since it was not sanctified by the Church, it was enough to bring her happiness and hope. But she was not to be allowed that. The Bruce called, and Hacon answered without hesitation. Although fear for Hacon gnawed at her, her overriding emotions were fury and disgust with men and their ways. She knew some of her anger came from having her hopes crushed. After seeing Hacon so comfortable and content while working at Duhheilrig, she had deceived herself into thinking his days as a knight were over. When he sat on a stool to lace up his cuarans, she cursed and moved to help him. The maelstrom of emotion that seized her made continued stillness impossible.
Reaching out to smooth his hand over her hair as she knelt before him, Hacon said, “He asks payment for the honors given me, for the title and the barony.” When she sat back on her heels, he rose to get his chain mail shirt.
Standing to help him don that armor, she snapped, “Ten years of your life wasnae enough?”
“The Bruce is my liege lord.”
“And that gives him the right to keep ye constantly at war? And Ireland?WhyIreland? Ye cannae tell me the English threaten Scotland there.”
“His brother Edward was made king there. ’Tis clear that support is needed to hold the throne.” Hacon grimaced when he saw the look on her face and quickly buckled on his sword.
“So,” she hissed, “more Scots blood must run to keep a Bruce’s arse on a throne. Ye cannae agree with this. Robert the Bruce was at least a contender to the throne of Scotland, but what claim does his brother have to Ireland’s?”
Not sure of the answer, or even if there was a good one, Hacon repeated, “The Bruce is my liege lord. Honor demands that I answer the call to arms.”
“Honor.” She spat the word as if it was a curse. “Honor has drenched the earth from Stirling to London in the blood of good men. Mayhaps it is past time for honor to step aside so good sense can rule.”
He ached to hold her, but she did not look very welcoming. “I have fought ten years to gain what I now hold. I cannae lose it now.” Succumbing to his need, he reached out to touch her cheek, sighing when she pulled away. “My family will care for you and Murdoc. Ye ken weel that my parents have accepted both of you. Wait for me, dearling. I will return. I declared ye my wife—”
“So ye could hurry away and make me a widow. Do ye expect me to thank you for that?”
“Nay,” he whispered. “Wait for me. I will come back to you. It seems I can do naught else,” he murmured, then hurried away.
Jennet stared at the empty doorway for a long time. She felt as if her heart had been torn from her body. Loving Hacon was all she had feared it would be, brief moments of delight broken by times of terror as he rode off to do battle again and again.
Then suddenly she realized she had sent him off to war with only harsh words. That thought banished all other considerations from her mind. She raced out to the courtyard, knowing only that she needed to rectify that slip in some way.
Hacon stood next to his mount, ending his farewells to his parents. Jennet hurled herself into his arms. She gave him a deep, searing kiss, one which expressed all her need for him, all her desperation and fear. Stepping back, ignoring the ribald remarks and laughter of his men, she pressed her rosary beads into his hand.
