Maggie Mine

by Starla Kaye

  Sassy lass! His hand itched to reach out and swat her bottom when she turned and walked by him. Instead he glanced down at Mary and ground his teeth at the look of satisfaction on her face. She’d won this round of their battle, because of him. He cursed under his breath for having been pulled into their game and strode out of the keep.

  He was tired of their warfare, but at least they kept it mainly to themselves. Yet he knew the servants were aware of the challenge going on and appeared to find it amusing. He didn’t. And he wanted to steer as clear of it as possible. Although it was beginning to look like he’d soon be turning Maggie over his knee. Perhaps Mary as well. If only he would hear some responses to the messages he’d sent out concerning finding husbands for them. He should have sent Mary away before now, but she truly had nowhere to go. Fortunately, Edward had sent word he did not demand Nicholas accept Mary as a betrothed. Unfortunately, he insisted Nicholas find her a suitable husband as well as Maggie. He’d gone from a hardened warrior with a respectably stern reputation to a matchmaker.

  * * *

  Maggie had been fuming mad ever since being sent to her chamber. She’d spent the first hour pacing the space, calling Nicholas every vile name she could think of, and calling that dark-haired conniving Mary Stanhope worse. Then she plopped down on her bed and plotted out how she would run away the first chance she got. It didn’t matter that traveling alone back to Urquhart would be dangerous, far beyond dangerous, in truth. It would be worth the risk to get away from here and a future she dreaded: a future with some Englishman. She was tired of worrying over what possible husband would ride up any day now. Nicholas had become so frustrated with the situation—and with her—that he’d probably agree to any disgusting man who came to Middleham. Hopefully, he’d find as equally disgusting a husband for Mary.

  Angered even more by those troubled musings, she went to one of the trunks in her room and pulled out the tapestry she’d started her first week here. She would force her thoughts to something else. But after a good look at the piece of fabric, she sighed in disgust. Saint Ninian, ‘twas the worst piece of needlework she’d ever done! There were knots and miss-stitches everywhere. Even a spot or two of her blood from poking her fingers when she hadn’t been paying attention to her task.

  With a huff of frustration, she tossed it aside, vowing to hide it before Nicholas ever laid eyes on it. He’d be stunned at her incompetence with a needle. And yet she truly wasn’t. Just with this particular piece.

  She glanced around the bedchamber, hating it more by the second. So she walked to one of the narrow windows to look out upon the bailey. ‘Twas a blessedly beautiful day, too nice for being stuck inside.

  She turned away, feeling depressed, and then she caught sight of her bow and quiver of arrows in the far corner. Excitement raced through her. The emotion was quickly followed by a tingling of apprehension and a tightening of her buttocks. The last time she’d shot an arrow it had been into Nicholas’ leg. She still felt guilty for what she’d done, for how she could have endangered her people. But that was in the past, and he’d dealt with the dangerous incident by thrashing her with her father’s tawse. Not a memory she wanted to dwell on.

  In spite of that unpleasant time, she loved to shoot her bow and arrows. She couldn’t swing one of the big swords, not that she wanted to either. But she’d been trained as a marksman with her bow and she could hunt as well as any man in Urquhart. She missed some of the freedoms she’d had at her home. Here she only did what the lady of the castle was expected to handle. She really should let Mary do more of the duties and then she’d have time for other pursuits. Like what? She had no idea, but she was weary of only dealing with the household.

  She marched over to the bow and picked it up. It felt good in her hands. As much as she would like more freedom for practicing her archery, she did not want Mary taking permanent charge of the duties here. Temporary charge, that is, since neither of them would be here much longer if Nicholas had his way.

  Nicholas and his men were training in the bailey below her window. They’d be busy for hours yet. She had all of this frustration built up inside her. Shooting a few arrows would be a release. If she went to the observation platform on the far side of the upper level, she could do this without anyone knowing. There was a spot down in that part of the bailey where few ever went, where she could easily go out and get her arrows back tomorrow.

  An hour later, the muscles in her arms burned from pulling on the bow’s hemp string. Her fingers were nearly raw from holding arrows against the bow’s grip. She’d managed to shoot all of her arrows and most of a quiver she’d found in a bedchamber she’d passed on the way here. She needed to get back to her bedchamber before Nicholas came looking for her, as she suspected he might before he sat down to the nooning meal.

  But she was reluctant to go back and face more hours in that chamber. One more arrow. She cocked her bow a final time and took aim at the base of the inner wall she’d used as a target.

  Suddenly she heard a squawk and a fluttering sound just before a large bird flew into her path. And then the sound of footsteps coming up behind her further distracted her.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” Nicholas questioned in anger and moved onto the observation platform near her.

  Startled, her heart racing, Maggie lost control of her hold on the arrow. It zipped through the air. To her horror, the large bird screeched in pain.

  She glanced down at the same time she saw it fall to the ground. She recognized the wounded bird shot in the wing at the same time Nicholas did. She’d managed to injure Middleham’s hunting hawk. It flopped miserably around on the hard dirt, although it didn’t appear that the arrow had done any real damage. The arrow was stuck midst the spread-out wing.

  Nicholas growled in outrage and grabbed her bow, holding it well out of her reach.

  Maggie knew she was in serious trouble, but her concern was for the hawk. She would have shoved by him to run down to try and help it, but the burly blacksmith came running from around the corner and managed to get control of the hawk.

  “Will he be all right?” Nicholas yelled down, surprising the man, who quickly looked upward.

  “Aye. I’ll get the hawker to tend to him, My Lord,” the man called back. He spotted Maggie, the quiver on her back, and frowned in disapproval before carrying the distressed bird away.

  Nicholas wasn’t sure he could even speak to Maggie right now because he was so furious. She had not only disobeyed his order to stay in her bedchamber but also she’d dared to use her bow and arrows again. He could have sworn he’d ordered them put in with his weapons. For sure he’d lectured her about not using them. His leg still pained him. And now she’d shot the castle’s hunting hawk!

  “I’m verra sorry,” she said quietly, reaching to reclaim her bow.

  The hardness in his expression forced her to change her mind. He held the bow so hard it was a wonder the wood didn’t break. “You disobeyed me, Lady Urquhart.” He would not call her Maggie in this moment. He had to separate in his mind the young woman who he was becoming all too fond of with the woman who had chosen to go against his order.

  “Aye.” She sounded annoyed.

  What a trial she was! “It won’t take long for all in the castle to know what you’ve done.” She worried her lower lip and he felt a stirring in his loins. Her mouth appealed to him, a lot.

  Irritated with where his thoughts had wandered, he pinned her with a determined look. “I suspect most have heard about you being confined to your bedchamber for the day. Now they will know that you purposely disobeyed me.”

  She shifted from foot to foot, studied her slippers. “Probably,” she whispered, and raised her gaze. “I suppose ye will—”

  He gave a curt nod, cutting her off. “Aye, I must discipline you. I have no choice or I will lose the respect of my people.”

  Her eyes flashed with defiance, but she blew out a breath. “I dunna suppose ye would just confine me to my chamber for an
other day or so.”

  “What do you really think?” He held her gaze in challenge.

  Her shoulders straightened. “That I should wait for ye in my bedchamber.”

  “Aye.” He glanced down into the bailey before he looked back at her. He needed to calm down. “I will check on the hawk before I come up to deal with you.”

  She didn’t say a word, simply strode by him with her head high into the keep. He found himself admiring her spirit. She did not shirk her duties, other than instructing Mary. She treated all within the keep with kindness and even the gruffest of his men had grown fond of her. She did not back down from a quarrel with him and he’d discovered he enjoyed their sometimes heated discussions. Maggie had a fine mind. Yet she pushed him to the limits of his patience at times, like now. While a part of him wanted to pull the sassy minx to him and taste her sweet lips, another part of him was determined to deal grimly with the necessary discipline. All would expect it, just as he’d told her.

  * * *

  Maggie was growing impatient waiting for Nicholas. She’d paced the small area of her chamber for far too long for her peace of mind. If she was to suffer punishment, then she wished it done with. She frowned toward the door again and finally heard his heavy footsteps on the stone floor outside her room.

  His large body stopped in the doorway and they shared a strained look. Then he pushed the wooden door shut. When he faced her again, she noticed the well-worn wooden paddle he carried in one hand. So he had gotten it from Anice after all. She wished that she’d found it and burned it. Now it would be used to burn her poor bottom.

  “Let’s get this over with, Lady Urquhart.” He motioned her to the bed. “You will remember this paddling well, for I intend to make my displeasure with your disobedience very clear.”

  “I stayed away from the others, spoke to no one,” she offered as a weak defense of why she’d left her room.

  “Was that what you were told? To stay away from others and speak to no one?” He rubbed the paddle against the side of his breeches.

  She followed the movement of the paddle. Her gaze shifted away from it only to spot a bulge in the front of his breeches. She’d spotted it before, at times when she’d caught him looking at her with darkened eyes and nostrils flaring. He wanted her as a man desires a woman. The idea made her heart pound and her woman’s place feel warm, moist.

  “Answer me,” he ordered brusquely.

  “Nay, that ‘twas no’ what I was told,” she snapped, irritated to be forced to stop thinking about his desire for her.

  He cocked an eyebrow at her, obviously unhappy with her attitude. “The bed. Lean over it.”

  She didn’t want to do this; she wanted to have time alone to think about what she’d discovered. He desired her. How did she really feel about that?

  “Now!”

  Maggie huffed, truly disgusted. Then she strode toward the bed, bent over to place the palms of her hands on the straw mattress. Her bottom was thrust high, but she hadn’t pulled up her skirt. If he wished to punish her uncovered bottom, then it was up to him to raise her skirt. Oddly, she trembled at the idea of him doing that, at him looking at her—even her bare bottom—at him touching her.

  He stepped beside her and she drew in his scent: of leather, fresh air, and pure man. A spot low in her body quivered. She didn’t understand what was happening to her lately, but when she was close to him, her body came alive in ways that were new to her.

  “I’d hoped to not have to discipline you for a while.”

  “Then dunna. Nobody needs to know you didna.” She glanced back at him. “I will stay here as ye already ordered.”

  His eyes mirrored frustration. “And as you chose to disobey.” He reached down to raise her skirt over her back, but he didn’t lift the chemise. He stood there looking down at her, breathing raggedly. The bulge in his breeches seemed larger.

  “Nicholas,” she whispered, a strange ache growing inside her. “I…I need….” She had no idea what she needed, but knew that it involved something to do with him.

  Her statement snapped him out of his daze. His jaw tightened and he shifted into position, raising the too-familiar paddle. “’Tis time to set your bottom on fire.”

  “Ye are no’ going to bare my bottom?” Why had she asked that? She didn’t want it.

  He drew in a breath and shook his head. “Nay, not this time. But this thin cloth will not keep you from feeling the sting.”

  Probably not. Resigned, she turned her head away just as he brought the paddle swiftly down.

  The first crash of the hard wood against her bottom took her breath away. She sucked in air, froze for a second, and the urgent burning spread from where the paddle had landed all across her buttocks. The paddle could be wicked.

  “I am the lord here. When I give a command, I expect it to be obeyed.” The paddle came down fast and furious twice.

  She yelped, leaned down hard onto her hands. “’Twas the first time I—”

  Another swat ended her protest, had her arching downward.

  “You do as I ask when it pleases you. I have been more than tolerant lately.”

  Pulling in a steadying breath, she raised her head and asked, “When have I no’ obeyed ye since coming here?” She thought she’d done all he’d asked of her, except for this confined to her bedchamber situation.

  He rested the paddle against her throbbing bottom. “You have not trained Lady Stanhope, as you were told to do.”

  “She lies to ye. Canna ye see that?” She craned her head around to glower at him. “She makes a fool of ye.”

  His brow furrowed and he looked thoughtful, angry still, but curious. “I will have a talk with her later.”

  “What she needs is a sound walloping. Use this paddle.” His eyes smoldered and she thought she’d pushed him too far.

  “Lower your head, Lady Urquhart.” He lifted the paddle once more. “At the moment you are the one to receive a sound walloping.”

  She dropped her head and clamped her teeth together. “Be done with it then.”

  He put a hand on her lower back to hold her in place, a sign it was about to get much worse. She braced for it. As she’d done many times in the past, she tried to think of other things besides the slam of the biting paddle against her bottom.

  He paddled her methodically and firmly on one cheek and then the other. She curled her fingers into the fur covering her bed. She needed to check on the gardens tomorrow. Another biting set of smacks fell. The gardens! Check on the gardens! She tried to hold fast to that thought.

  The paddle cracked down six more times. The sound of wood pounding flesh echoed around her. Tears misted her eyes and her hips began jerking with each contact. Talk to Abigail about….

  The thought faded away as she couldn’t focus on anything now besides the horrible ache she felt. It wasn’t that he’d swatted her that many times, but each time was meaningful.

  He smoothed a hand over her flaming bottom. His touch was gentle in contrast to what he’d been doing. Even with the pain she felt something else, something that tingled to the heart of her.

  His voice was husky as he asked, “Have you learned your lesson, Maggie?”

  “Aye,” she said on a shiver. “I will obey ye.”

  “Good.” He moved back. “You will stay here the rest of the day, except for sup. You will take your place as usual.”

  Maggie reached around to touch her burning bottom and eased off the bed, her skirt falling into place. She winced and then sniffed back tears that she’d held at bay. She hadn’t been paddled as badly as she’d feared, for that she was thankful. Still, she hurt and looked forward to stretching out on the bed.

  Nicholas studied her for a second, his expression troubled. There was a strain in his voice as he said, “You are my ward for now. Here to do as I tell you until I find a man willing to take you as wife.”

  “Aye. Yer ward. For now.” Maggie looked at him as he hesitated by the closed door. He spoke of getting rid
of her, but his gaze held longing, she was almost certain of that. But he was a stubborn man, determined to do his duty. His duty was to marry her off to someone else. He would do it.

  He opened the door only to face her again. His expression was even more troubled now. “I nearly forgot the news I learned just before I went up to find you on the observation platform. The Earl of Dunston will be here in a week to see you.”

  Her heart stilled. So it was finally time to face her future. Somehow she found the courage to nod acknowledgment. “Ye must be most pleased.”

  A frown creased his brow and he pulled the door closed while saying, “You will stay here but come down for sup.”

  Chapter Four

  Maggie watched the domineering man, who had become more of a thorn in her side than the man she would miss once married off, rise from his chair and scowl down at her. They hadn’t broken their fast together in nearly a week. In truth he’d barely spoken to her since that awful incident when she’d accidentally shot his hawk with an arrow, since he’d paddled her. She’d avoided him. He’d avoided her, except when he had some order about this or that to give her in connection with the running of the keep. She knew far better how to act the castellan than he did and had grown weary of his orders. And she’d grown beyond weary of trying to teach Lady Stanhope anything about the duties of being the lady of a castle. The woman paid her no heed at all, avoided actually helping…unless, of course, Nicholas was within her sight. Then she was all charm and sweetness, as now.

  “I’ll be certain to arrange for a wonderful feast tonight, Lord Middleham.” Mary sent him a beatific smile, then spared a tolerant glance at Maggie, before focusing on him again. “Everything will be properly arranged and ready by the time the Earl of Dunston and his men arrive this afternoon. Dear Maggie will have her time full with her personal preparations to meet him.”