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Talorc held his face to the wind as the day threatened with a hint of pink against the deep gray of night.
He willed the day to hurry on its way. He willed it never to come.
She would be leaving with first light.
He had tried to stay away, but the renegades had no strength in direct combat. Their power had been in malicious whispers, building hidden fears. Their games had been lost when the Gunns joined the MacKays to oust the trouble makers.
It hadn’t taken long and so he rode back to Glen Toric to see once more, his one vulnerable spot.
Maggie.
Feelings, crammed deep, so they wouldn't interfere with his thoughts, now rushed to the surface.
It was true. Maggie had doubled his strength, his power. Even in the end, she was the one, not him, who sorted out and found the answers to the evil played against them.
They had vowed forever. He would live true to that vow, but never would he ask the same of her. She deserved a man who could protect her.
The deep gray softened with light. Talorc looked toward the windows of his chamber, where he knew his Maggie would be preparing to leave his bed.
He doubted he could ever sleep there again.
Perverse hunger had him willing someone, anyone, to pull open the shutters so he could get a glimpse of her, from here, on the far side of the battlements. Where no one would expect to find him.
The shutters flew open with a crash he could hear from across the courtyard, and he got his glimpse. It was her, wild mane caught in a wind that howled as fiercely as he wanted to howl himself.
"Bold!" her voice rang through the air, to waken the worst slug-a-bed.
His heart thrilled at the sight of her hefting air into her lungs. She was riled, just the way he loved her to be. It warmed his blood, had it pumping hard in response. "Bold! I know you’re here, somewhere. I feel it in my bones."
Fiona came up behind Maggie to urge her back in the room, but Maggie shrugged her off.
And she was right. Her instincts spot on target. He was here, playing the coward to her courageous heart.
"I'm here, Maggie." He shouted, refusing to portray himself, as he saw it. Better she remember his strength.
"You're set on sending me away?"
How could she ask that? He had robbed her from her home, her family and failed his most basic responsibility to her. He had failed to protect her.
"Now that the babe is gone, you have no use for me?"
"Don't be foolish, Maggie." he shouted back, but without force for suddenly he realized this was not a private conversation. They were shouting across a courtyard that was filling with each word.
"Do you think I can't carry another? Or is it that you don't want to try for one?"
"Maggie." He warned, but she would not be stopped.
"Tell me Bold, just how many times have you been injured?"
He snorted and headed for the stairs to the courtyard.
She leaned further out the window, "How many?"
"I'm a man, Maggie, a warrior. It's my job to be wounded, to defend you." Which he had failed to do three times.
"And I'm a warrior's wife, but I'm beginning to wonder if you're a man or not."
Talorc's head shot up, his jaw dropped. Even the birds stopped singing to the dawn with that one.
Maggie leaned so far out the window, Talorc was certain the only thing that kept her from falling straight out was the hold her mother had on her skirts. Try as Fiona did, to pull Maggie back, to hush her, his wife could not be stopped.
"They call you the Bold, but I think you're nothing but a coward." She turned, to shove her mother away and leaned back. "And don't you dare move until I get down there to give you a piece of my mind."
He couldn't have moved if he had wanted to. He just kept staring, dumbfounded, at the empty window, where Maggie shouted like some goddess fishwife.
Only she wasn't a fishwife. She was a woman with strength and determination. She was a woman pushed to an edge she didn't want to fall over.
It felt like the whole of the clan was standing in the courtyard, fidgeting with embarrassment, for they had come out to watch an explosion that blew up beyond their expectations. Talorc knew they could no more move than he could. He also knew they wanted to ease away, discreetly, as if they hadn't heard the slander against their laird.
She had called him a coward. She had questioned his manhood.
There was only one thing left for him to do. Stand-up and take her fury head-on. But that was not what would prove him courageous. Nor would it prove him a man. Those would be seen in his soul, when he still had the courage to set her free and to do so without ever letting her know the anguish it cost him.
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Maggie tore down the stairs, her skirts hefted above her knees, so she could run all the way out to the side courtyard. Her heart pounded. Not from exertion, but with fear, that he would have disappeared.
She never should have shouted out such rubbish, for all his people to hear. She should have run down the stairs straight away and confronted him close up. She may have overplayed her hand, lost him completely.
That would not happen without a fight.
Jamie and Crisdean tried to stop her but she sidestepped them, managed to barrel through the doorway to stand, heaving for breath.
He was there. Standing right where she told him to stand. When he raised his hand and crooked his finger, she went to him. She owed him that much. She could have sunk into the ground for being so brazen in front of . . . her head shifted to see the huge crowd of people watching.
Did they always have to have an audience?
She looked back at Talorc.
"I'm not going." It was all there was to say.
"Fine."
That was not the response she had expected. "I thought you were sending me away."
She watched as he took air into his lungs. Did it take so much patience to deal with her?
"Maggie, you can come or go. It doesna’ matter. Sim is taking a missive to the Campbells where they say the priest has settled for the winter. It says I forced you to wed me, against your will. Your father wrote that he forced you as well."
"That's a lie." She watched him shake his head.
"The church won't recognize a marriage of arms."
"Aye, you made up my mind for me. You took me to handfast against my better judgment. You took me away from my family, my home. You promised me a husband who took risks with his life every time he left me." She began to pace. "You expected me to be strong enough to face all of that, when you are too weak to face the loss of one babe."
He grabbed for her shoulders, stopped at the sight of the bandage that covered a wound still fresh. "I almost lost you, three times."
"And I almost lose you every time you leave this keep."
"It's not the same."
"It is. Don't you see, you know how to defend with the sword, you know how to match wits with another warrior, but you're a fool to think you could fight a woman's game.
"Why do you think a laird needs a wife if not to fight the battles from his blind side?"
She stepped back, her eyes narrowed, her jaw clenched. She wasn't done yet. She knew the rest would come, she could feel it spoiling within her. And then it did, the words flew from her lips as she shoved so hard at his chest, he had to take a step back or fall on his bottom.
"If you’re the man your clan thinks you are, if you're the Bold, then prove it. Have the courage to take me as your wife. Have the courage to risk the planting of a babe. Prove it to me by the morn, or I swear I will leave knowing you’re nothing but a . . . a . . . trembling. . ."
"Don't say it Maggie." He warned.
"Are you going to prove me wrong?" She sassed.
His jaw twitched. "Do not say that word again."
"Stop me."
"Maggie," his threat rumbled through her, goaded her.
"Coward." She brazened, then spun on her toes, hefted her skirts and took off, three steps.
Suddenly she was airborne, flipped and hanging over his shoulder.
Her head popped up, to see a crowd of faces, as stunned as she felt. And then they started to grin. It was contagious. Old Gerta winked at her. Maggie had to duck her head, from embarrassment.
She meant to confront him, push him to take her back, but in doing so she'd made a public spectacle out of their bedding.
He didn't go to the keep, but headed straight to the stables, where they'd first come together, as man and wife.
"Out," she heard him roar at the men tending the livestock.
There were no empty stalls, but there was a soft mound of hay, where it was stored. He set her down, on her back as the last man left the barn with a slam of the latch.
"Coward?" He stood above her, hands on his hips.
She swallowed, half exulted, half afraid. She wasn't at all certain he was above throttling her. And deserve it she did. She had pushed harder than she meant to, but couldn't back down now. "You could prove me wrong."
"You want to be married to a coward?"
Even her voice shook with nerves. "I want to be married to the Bold."
"We never exchanged the gifts."
Excitement surged. "We could now."
"Aye." He nodded slowly, reached up, removed the pin that held his plaid at his shoulder. The fabric fell to the floor, to lie like a train behind him.
"Here." He handed the broach to Maggie. "If you look, you will see wheat in the design."
She took it in her hand as tears came to her eyes. He cradled her face in his hands, his thumbs brushing at the moisture as he spoke.
"May this wheat be a symbol that I vow to provide for my home."
It was her turn. She too, took the broach she had hastely clipped to a plaid she wrapped around her. There’d been no time to dress before confronting the Bold. It was the MacBede plaid. Her mother had removed MacKay plaids, despite Maggie’s argument. Now it held good purpose. She unwrapped it, leaving herself in naught but a kirtle.
It took her a moment, for her hands trembled, but she managed to fold it while Talorc waited. When she handed it to him, a symbol of weaving and sewing, she said, "As I will provide for our home."
He removed his dagger, placed it in her hands, held silent as the intensity of the moment gathered around them. He looked to the beams of the old barn, as if garnering the courage to go forward. With tender tears his gaze finally met hers.
"I vow to protect our home." His hands cupped hers, "And I do Maggie. With all my strength, and with your insight and . . . " she stopped him, by resting her head against his mouth, against his words.
If they had been prepared, if they had known this moment was coming, she would have had a Bible ready, to give to him with her own pledge of protection. But there was no Bible, only their hearts.
She trusted that God would be with her as she whispered. "You vow the protection that comes from the blade. I vow the protection that comes from the hilt of the dagger." She traced the line of it as she spoke, "A cross for the strength of faith. But together," understanding where she was going, he placed his hands on hers, again, so they could hold the hilt as one. "Together we will face the crosses that life bears. We will be united in each other, in our home, in our love."
"Together," Talorc promised, "We will fight our battles as one, and never let them tear us apart."
Symbol or no, the dagger was thrown aside as he pulled Maggie into his arms. "I don't deserve you."
She tilted her head so she could look up at him. He truly believed what he had just said, as if she were someone precious and special. But she had been raised with a team of brothers, who had wailed that they didn't deserve her either. Only they didn't mean it in a good way. She couldn't help but tease. "Oh, trust me. You deserve everything I have to give."
His eyes sparkled, "Do I?" and she knew he thought of something else entirely.
She stepped back, "Like the sharp edge of my tongue."
He advanced. "Twined with mine."
"I'll go toe to toe with you."
"It would be easier if you just wrapped your legs around my waist."
"We'll butt heads."
He laughed. "I've a head that would love to have you take it on."
"Talorc!" She shouted, hands on hips. "I mean it. I'm not nearly as good and precious as you make me sound."
"And delicious. Don't be forgetting that, now."
She looked to the barn door, aware that the clan was out there waiting for results.
Just as they had once before.
"Maggie, we're married, because you insist. Are you now going to pretend we aren't doing what's necessary to bear an heir?"
She was stuck on 'insist.' "Are you going to write the church and tell them you were forced?"
His smile was huge.
"Oh, no you won't." she stormed for the door. His hand slammed against it, trapping her with his body.
"I love it when you get riled."
She couldn't look at him. "Good thing."
"Come here lass."
She didn't have an option, not that she wanted one, for he had pulled her flush to him.
"Do you feel that lass?" Aye, she could feel the heat of him, as well as the hard hunger of him. He shifted his hips as if she could miss it otherwise. Maggie rolled her eyes.
He prodded. "Do you believe the church would let me claim that you forced me to feel like this?"
"I could have seduced you."
His chuckle rustled her hair. "Maggie, every time your name floats through my thoughts, I'm seduced."
She moaned against her own desire.
"Do you want me too, Maggie?" The arrogance was gone from his voice.
"Aye." She wanted him.
"Why?"
"Don't," she grabbed at his head, pulled him down to kiss her.
"I have to know, Maggie. I have to know why you want to be married, why you want to stay."
The arrogance had been traded for anguish. She pulled back, to search his eyes. "I could ask you the same."
He groaned. "Don't you know? Don't you know how I've felt from the moment you landed in my arms?"
"Your hands."
It was a sorry sort of chuckle. "My hands. From that moment I knew I had to have you for myself. Selfishly. No care for you. I had to have you.
"And then you came into my life, all soft yet strong. Vulnerable yet ready to jump into the fray. You caught my heart Maggie. I love you, desperately. I'm famished for you." He buried his face in her neck, kissing, suckling, shifting to her ear, the rise of her cheek, her eyes.
He cupped her face in his hands, and stopped kissing her, though she sensed it wasn't easy.
"Tell me. Can you handle the depth of my love for you? Does it make me weak in your eyes? Because if that's true, you might as well run now."
"No." she shook her head. "No. Love takes courage. A man has to be Bold to admit to it." She traced the line of his cheek, "And I love you Bold, with the same hunger, the same need, the same blush with the thought of your name.”
She stood on her toes, to whisper to his lips, "In this we are equal."
He lifted her into his arms. "Do you know what that means?"
"No," she shook her head.
"It means we're both too desperate to make it any further than this barn."
And they were.
THE END
Excerpt
THE PROTECTOR
DUE FOR RELEASE WINTER OF 2013
The Protector©2009Martha E Ferris
All rights reserved
This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual events or persons is coincidental.
In the Year of Our Lord 1226 . . .
Roland looked about his bed chamber. Ten years ago, when he'd left for crusades, this had been his father's room. That shouldn't have changed.
He crossed to the bench by the fire, stretched his legs so U
lric could remove his boots.
"There were representatives of the king here, to welcome you home." Still naïve enough to be impressed by royalty, even watered down versions of the King's aide, Ulric reflected on the night.
Roland didn't respond. Having spent the entire evening with emotions clamped tight, he was not about to say what he thought now.
As Ulric pulled Roland's tunic over his head, the young page murmured. "Your sister Margaret was here."
Cowed goose! The curse was silent, the only thing Ulric would have heard was a grunt of agreement.
Yes, Margaret was here, with her husband and family and their retinue of servants. And yes, the King's men were here, as well, ready with invitations from court for Sir Roland. Neighbors, friends, fellow knights all here for Roland's homecoming after ten years absence.
But his wife wasn't here, nor his father. Not even his best friend.
Two of those three were dead and one was responsible for those death.
"Leave!"
Ulric's head shot up.
"Just go," Roland muttered wearily, embarrassed by his outburst, as if he cared, truly believed, deep inside, that his wife would be the same sweet child he left behind.
"I can certainly undress myself. Go."
Ulric bowed and stepped back. "I'll be on the other side of the door, my lord. In the ante-chamber, if you need me."
Roland shooed him away with a flip of his hand. When the door closed, he stood and paced against a volcano of emotion roiling to erupt and condemned his foolishness. He learned, early on in his travels, never trust. Comrade in arms or the Pope’s man, goodness was a commodity, only as thick as the benefit it offered. Kindness was measured by a mercenary’s scale. The reminder calmed to a bitter smile.
Ulric, so impressed with all who arrived at Oakland, to witness his the homecoming he failed to notice that no one, other than town’s people, greeted him at the port, not ten miles from his sister, Margaret's home, though they all knew he was due to arrive. He had been welcomed to her home by servants. Banners and waves and the wild shouts of welcome, that Ulric enjoyed, were supplied by strangers, not his family or his peers.
Torn (The Handfasting) Page 10
