by Starla Kaye
Maggie Mine
By
Starla Kaye
©2012 by Blushing Books® and Starla Kaye
Copyright © 2012 by Blushing Books® and Starla Kaye
All rights reserved. No part of the book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.
Published by Blushing Books®,
a subsidiary of
ABCD Graphics and Design
977 Seminole Trail #233
Charlottesville, VA 22901
The trademark Blushing Books® is registered in the US Patent and Trademark Office.
Kaye, Starla
Maggie Mine
eBook ISBN: 978-1-60968-595-9
Cover Design by ABCD Graphics
Blushing Publications thanks you whole-heartedly for your purchase with us!
There are plenty more stories such as the one you’ve purchased from Blushing Books! Visit our online store to view our might selection!
http://www.blushingbooks.com
This book is intended for adults only. Spanking and other sexual activities represented in this book are fantasies only, intended for adults. Nothing in this book should be interpreted as advocating any non-consensual spanking activity or the spanking of minors.
Chapter One
Urquhart Castle, Loch Ness, Spring 1272
“’Tis over fer now, m’lady,” Douglas, her father’s bailiff said with concern. “We’ve held them off fer another spell.”
Maggie breathed a shaky sigh of relief, felt her stomach finally unknotting. She watched the small army of English soldiers marching and riding away. Even from this distance, she heard the rustling of their armor and the clomping hooves of the many war horses. She, the dozen warriors her father had left behind to guard the castle, and the Durward family’s loyal villagers had fought long and hard for nearly two weeks. There had been many casualties, many deaths. She detested the English, who were again invading Scotland in search of prizes to win for King Edward I. It infuriated her even more because the king had asked that her father and her two older brothers join his forces in this ninth crusade. He’d dared to ask for their help and then allowed his English soldiers to attack their castle.
“Aye, we’ve held them off fer now.” She finally set the heavy crossbow down beside her on the battlement. The muscles of her arms throbbed, but the pain was worth it. She’d sent at least a half dozen of the enemy to their deaths. Her brothers would be proud, mayhap even her father. She’d always had a hard time pleasing him.
“Ye need to have Anice tend to your cheek. ‘Tisn’t bleeding much, but could use some cleaning,” Douglas stated, his brow furrowed. “Ye shouldna been up here.”
She reached up to wipe at the small cut she’d gotten when she’d had a slight mishap pulling an arrow from the quiver on her back. In a hurry, as was her nature, she’d been a tad careless. But the injury was not important in the scheme of it all. And she was weary of her father’s men trying to pamper her. She barely put up with such nonsense from her father, for which they often butted heads and for which she often experienced the flat of his hand on her bottom. Her brothers didn’t even try to overprotect her unless she was in real danger of getting hurt.
She picked up her crossbow and tossed Douglas a withering look. “My duty is to our people, including ye. With my father and brothers gone, I am charged with the defense and honor of Urquhart. I canna help defend by hiding out in the keep.”
“But—”
Maggie leveled him with a fierce glower she’d learned from watching her father. “Nay ‘but’ to it, mon. Should we be attacked again, I will be up here again.”
His clenched jaw and pinched lips told her he wasn’t happy, but he sighed in resignation and gave a curt nod. All knew of her stubbornness, which was a strong trait of the Durwards. She never backed down when she believed she was right. Not even at the threat of a sound thrashing from her da. Right now, as she thought about the soldiers they had lost and the villagers as well, she desperately wished her father were here. She would still have fought with the men. If that were the situation now, she would no doubt be following her father to her bedchamber to receive a taste of the tawse for disobeying his order and worrying him. ‘Twould be worth sleeping the night on her belly, though, just to have had him here. She missed him mightily, her brothers as well.
Interrupting her thoughts, Douglas said, “I’ve heard that many are returning now from the Crusade. The English king has already gone back to England.”
A chill inched up her spine; a sick feeling filled her stomach, as it had done ever since she, too, had heard the rumors. Something was wrong. In her heart, she knew it. She shoved the near-crippling fear aside and raised her chin. “Father, Fergus and Brodie will be back soon. We must believe in that. We must.”
“Lord Rob MacKenzie, too, lass.”
Maggie blinked at him, having tried not to think about her betrothed returning. She’d always found Rob a weak man in comparison to her brothers. He would be a husband that she could easily run over, get her way in all things without much effort. He had a quick smile and a rich, belly laugh. But he wouldn’t be good for her and she knew it. Most importantly, he didn’t make her heart flutter with excitement the way she’d always hoped her husband would. A foolish dream, she knew. And she had no say in the matter. They had been betrothed since not long after her birth. With her mother dying in childbirth, her father had been determined to do as right by her as he could. He was the clan chieftain, a powerful leader in the Highlands. So that meant it was his responsibility to see her married into a strong family. The MacKenzies were that, but Rob was weak amongst them.
“Aye, MacKenzie, too,” she acknowledged, then, for now, put thoughts of him aside. There were other matters to deal with.
She walked away on legs weak from the long hours in her battle position up here. She dreaded going down to the bailey and learning who else they had lost in this last encounter. She was strong, but there were limits. She really didn’t know how much more fighting she could take. How many more deaths she could suffer.
* * *
Near the Village of Drumnadrochit
His men were weary as they made camp for the night. In truth, all were far beyond exhausted. Nicholas Neville, too, felt drained to his very bones from the long trek back from fighting against the Baibars. This last crusade had been an immense failure. He should never have agreed to go fight with Edward, but you didn’t refuse your king. As a reward for his loyalty and for saving Edward’s life in one battle, Nicholas had been given an English prize: the lordship of Middleham Castle. That was a handsome prize indeed. Yet he already had land and the minor castle of Spennithorne, which had been good enough for him. This prize was certainly not worth the loyal men he’d lost.
Behind him, he heard the sounds of men settling down: grumblings, shifting around as they sought some kind of comfort on the hard ground. He should be seeking his own bed for the night as well. Tomorrow would be another trying day, one that he did not look forward to. He would much rather be leading his men straight back to their new home at Middleham. Edward had told him there were matters to straighten out, reins of command that needed tightening. Challenges were nothing new to him; neither was being a strong leader. He had confidence it wouldn’t take him long to fix whatever problems were there. Yes, he was ready to face such a challenge…not make this unpleasant stop on their way.
He pushed the troubling task aside. The moon was full and bright tonight as he stood overlooking Loch Ness. This part of Scotland was indeed beautiful with its tree-covered mountains, rolling hills below them, and the numerous lochs. Yet he
missed England. He longed to get home and was more than ready to get out of chain mail for a while. Until they rode safely into Middleham, he and his men would remain ready for battle. But he had given into shedding at least some of the heavy wear. He’d exchanged his chausses for breeches.
His gaze shifted to the impressive, sprawling Castle Urquhart in the distance on the headland overlooking Loch Ness. His first problem on the way home lie there: Lady Maggie Durward. What he had to tell her would break her tender woman’s heart. He didn’t look forward to suffering her tears and her carrying on, even though she deserved to be upset. Simpering, whimpering, childlike young women were ones he avoided. He’d been a soldier, a knight with a fierce reputation for many years. As such, he was a hard man, an impatient one at times. He had no use for women who clung to a man. He preferred women who were as lusty as he was in bedsport. Lady Durward was but nine and ten. No, he did not look forward to meeting her tomorrow.
He squinted into the distance for a moment. Something appeared wrong about Urquhart, but maybe it was just a play of the moonlight…or his weariness. He yawned and turned to seek his own bed for the night. It did no good to think about the problem of Maggie Durward. He had no choice in this matter. Even worse, he had to take her with him to Middleham. After learning all that she’d lost in the Crusade: her father, both brothers, and her betrothed…. Well, she’d no doubt be truly despondent and gladly go with him to a new home. At least she wouldn’t be coming with him as his intended, but only as a ward of sorts until he found her a new betrothed.
Betrothed. The word lay heavy on him. He had one of his own waiting his return to Spennithorne. He had never met Lady Elizabeth Stanhope, although they had been betrothed since youths. They were to have married nearly a year ago, but he’d been ordered off to the Crusade before she had arrived at his castle. At nine and twenty, it was time he wed and started a family. He needed an heir, especially now that he had lands as valuable as Middleham. Still, he didn’t look forward to marrying a stranger. Marrying for love wasn’t a consideration in these times, nor did he believe in love. Lust, yes. Love, no. Unfortunately he was marrying out of duty. She, too, was marrying out of duty and to gain higher status when she partied at Edward’s court, which he’d heard she favored. He had become a prize for a power-seeking woman in these last years, even more so now. It was another thought that rubbed him wrong.
* * *
Maggie awoke to frantic shouts of alarm. Heart pounding, she looked toward her closed door, abruptly thrown open by Anice, the woman who had been first her nursemaid and now her maid. Looking disheveled, Anice burst into the room.
“The English are comin’ back! Ye must hide!” The rounded woman all but flew across the room to tug Maggie from beneath the furs. “Hurry, lass!”
A heavy feeling of dread in her stomach, Maggie quickly slid from the bed in her chemise. The stone floor was cold beneath her bare feet. Daylight squeezed into the large chamber through the two narrow windows. Daylight! She usually rose with the first rays of sun, but she’d been so exhausted after all that had happened lately.
Anice frantically pulled on her arm, frowning with urgency. “’Tis time ye’re wastin’! Ye must hide now.”
“Nay!” Maggie pulled back and refused to be drug from the room. “I’ll no’ hide. I’ll fight with the men.”
The same look the older woman had given Maggie many a time before when her stubborn side had taken hold crossed Anice’s face. “’Tisna right, ye fighting like that. Yer father would no’—”
Tears welled in Maggie’s eyes at yet another battle she must face, but she blinked them away. She refused to show weakness. She couldna, she was The Durward’s daughter. She was in charge now. “Father is no’ here! Nor my brothers. ‘Tis my place to help defend Urquhart and our people.”
When Anice appeared ready to protest, Maggie lost her patience. She shoved Anice toward the door she’d flung open. Her tone rang with every bit as much authority as she could muster. “Round up the other maids and the kitchen staff. Get them to the cellars beneath the kitchens. Stay with them.”
Anice stood her ground, looking grimly determined. “My place is with ye.”
“Do no’ fight me on this,” Maggie countered. “I need ye to do as I asked. I need ye to be safe.”
Still, Anice didn’t move, her expression filled with indecision. Finally she nodded and raced out of the chamber. “Ye be verra careful. Do no’ get yerself hurt.”
She loved Anice like a mother and it was difficult to send her away. But it was what she had to do, keep the beloved woman as safe as she could manage. She sprang into action, throwing off her chemise and donning one of Brodie’s long-sleeved white shirts that hung nearly to her knees. Then she quickly pulled on the chainmail chausses, tucking in the shirt, which made the borrowed chausses fit better. The hauberk she’d worn only yesterday followed. She’d hoped not to wear any of this again anytime soon.
Still hearing the shouts outside and feeling a sense of panic, of doom, she hurried to slip on low boots. She pressed a hand to her stomach to calm the wild fluttering. It didn’t help. Resigned, she grabbed her quiver with arrows and the heavy crossbow from atop the chest holding her clothes. For just a second she thought about changing into the more typical Highland dress of her chemise, skirt, and bodice to fight off the dreaded English as a true Scottish noble woman. But she tossed the thought aside. Some of her clan would be wearing their clan plaid, some clad in chainmail, most of her warriors would wear their leine croich, the saffron-colored tunics more common to wear in battle. But she was the chieftain’s daughter; she would not merely blend in with her men.
She set the quiver and bow down to cover her startling blonde hair—fortunately still up in braids wrapped about her head—with a chainmail coif. Then she gathered her weapons to go and face the English invaders once more. She swore them all to Hell.
She’d no sooner joined Douglas on the battlement than he narrowed his eyes in clear disapproval. “Ye dunna belong here, lass.”
“I belong nowhere else.” She shot a warning look at the other half dozen men spaced out along the parapet.
No one said a word, all knowing the verbal battle not worth it. Even Douglas blew out a deep breath, gave up, and faced the north again.
“I dunna believe these are the same men as before. And they dunna appear to be comin’ hard at us this time.” Douglas looked intently at the unwelcome small army.
Maggie followed his gaze and studied the couple dozen men riding toward the castle. They did look different and there were no men on foot as there had been before. Nor did these soldiers seem to be in a hurry to get here, although they rode steadily. Two men rode in front, both in chainmail hauberks and shirts, one in chainmail chausses as well. The dark-haired man, taller in the saddle than the other, wore breeches.
She raised her crossbow and drew out an arrow. “That they’re English is enough fer me.”
The group had nearly reached the drawbridge leading to the main gate now. Everything in her chilled, and then heated. She would not allow more of her people to die today. If she took out their leader maybe….
She prepared her bow and pointed it downward. Her hands were sweaty; her fingers trembling. But she refused to back down.
“They arena raising their weapons, lass,” Douglas protested and reached to stop her.
Just then one of the men below called out, “There’s an archer aiming at us, m’lady!”
The obvious leader heard his men pulling weapons out and turned toward them.
Maggie watched as two of them prepared arrows and panicked. No one around her had bows raised. No one but her had seen this group as ready to attack her home, her people. She had to act. She had to take out the leader.
“Nay, lass!” Douglas reached for her but it was too late.
Her arrow sailed down and hit the leader’s right thigh and he immediately roared in anger, in pain. The men around him raised their weapons, but he bellowed, “No! Do not return
fire!”
Douglas swore vividly, never taking his attention from the men furious and barely controlling their need to retaliate.
The warriors close by prepared to defend her action. Something was different this time. She felt sick. Had she endangered them all? Had these men really come for some other reason besides wanting to take her home? But they were English, not to be trusted. Still….
Douglas grabbed her and pulled her beside him. “Do no’ fire upon them,” he growled to the anxious warriors nearby.
Maggie tried to wriggle free but he held her fast to his side. “Let me go!” she bit out, struggling harder. Her coif slipped and fell at her feet. At the same time her long braids came unwrapped and dropped down her front and to her waist.
“It’s a woman, My Lord,” the man who had been riding with the leader said in amused amazement. Chuckling. His voice carried easily upward in the still morning air.
“The devil it was. No woman—” But the leader’s words faded as he lifted his head and faced her.
Even from this distance, Maggie felt the heat of his gaze. A shiver curled through her. Her reaction to him unnerved her.
“Why come ye here?” Douglas called down in his deep Scottish burr. He still refused to let her go, obviously afraid she would do something else to make the situation worse.
The wounded man clutched his thigh, no doubt in agony. His gaze still held hers. “To speak with Lady Maggie Durward.” He glanced at the soldier beside him in disapproval, and then back at her. “Tell me you’re not Lady Durward.” His statement had sounded like a plea.
Maggie tipped up her chin and managed to edge away from Douglas, although he grabbed her bow. “Then I’d be lyin’ to ye. ‘Tis Maggie, I am.”
