Bold (The Handfasting)

by Becca St. John

  “Stop following me.”

  “We have to see to your safety.” They told her respectfully, though they did drop back. Unfortunately, it was not far enough to silence there banter.

  “Aye, she has spirit.”

  “Feisty.”

  “She’ll not tame easily.”

  "I'll not tame at all." She snapped, her eyes on her destination. Someone would answer for this.

  As heads turned to watch the progress of the threesome, Maggie realized that she would have to be the one to take matters in hand. So she would. Determined, she spun around to confront them.

  “Do you know, this is MacBede land?” She kept to her most ladylike voice. “And that I am a MacBede?”

  “Aye, we are knowing that.” They grinned stupid grins.

  “Well then, I don’t know how it is at the MacKay keep, but here a woman is safe to walk on her own.”

  “You’ll be safe on MacKay land.” One of them offered.

  She stumbled on that, bewildered. There was naught she could say, but still she hesitated. Even when she turned to walk off again she did so with a great deal of wariness. They were fools if they thought she would ever be in MacKay territory. She'd never left MacBede land and had no intention of doing so.

  She should set them straight. Walking backwards, she told them. “If I ever visit the MacKay’s, which I doubt would be soon, I’ll be remembering that. But for now, kindly leave me be.”

  She stood still, waited.

  They stood still, focused on her.

  “I’m only going up to the keep,” she informed them as if they were simple in the head.

  They nodded.

  She turned, took a step and looked back. They hadn’t followed her, but their grins were as wide as a doorway. She hoped their faces ached from them.

  She walked a few paces before she checked on them again.

  “You’ll do us proud, Maggie MacBede,” they told her.

  Harumph. She strode up to the keep, without another turn.

  She was not a pleasant person, right now. In truth she was feeling a mite shrewish, and it was all the MacKay's fault.

  · * * * * * * * * * * *

  The swarm of people within the great hall helped break the chill of the changing season. The MacBedes and their guests milled about the central fire pit as smoke rose, curled about their heads before drifting higher and out the window slits.

  The main doors flew open. Fire flared as smoke swirled wildly into a dancing specter. Maggie stood upon the portal, fists planted on her hips, head high. Her glorious mane billowed about her.

  Anticipation speared Talorc. She was proud and magnificent and soon she would be his.

  “Shut that door, Maggie,” her father called across the cavernous room, “and come speak to The MacKay.”

  Talorc watched her advance. Two of his men, William and Bruce filled the entrance, shut the door and followed in Maggie's wake.

  Aye, she was magnificent, and raring for a fight. Talorc waited, knowing he was in her sights, knowing that she’d stop no more than a foot's distance. Far enough that she’d not get a crick looking up at him, close enough for confrontation.

  There’d not been a day in Talorc’s memory when a woman, other than his ma or even his grandma, had railed at him. Aye, for that, he could not remember a time when a woman was a challenge.

  He wanted to laugh, felt it rise inside of him. Not in jest, never in jest. His Maggie was no laughing matter. This was pure exhilaration. He had to fight it for she wouldn't understand the smile on his face, and she was riled enough already.

  He pictured her taunting him, goading him with her luscious body, using a mattress for the battlefield. His body tensed, nostrils flared. Now was not the time for this.

  For distraction he focused on William and Bruce. They followed her path, close enough to grab her if need be, far enough to give Maggie her own head.

  “Where’s Diedre?” He called to them. He brought Diedre as a companion for Maggie when they left for Glen Toric.

  “Visiting with the women in the village.” Not the answer he wanted.

  Talorc’s scowl matched Maggie's when he looked down to where she now stood. As predicted, no less than one foot away.

  Unfortunately, as his scowl fled a smile spread. She’d not care for that.

  “You’re looking fine, lass,” he told her, sure that the compliment would ease the tension.

  “Am I now?” She trilled, all wide eyed and false friendliness.

  “It’s as I said,” Talorc offered cautiously, more comfortable with her straight forward anger than this show of girlish cunning.

  “Ah, so fine, perhaps, that you’re thinking someone might want to snatch me up and run away with me?”

  They couldn't have told her. Talorc glared at his men but knew they’d said nothing. They would never betray their plan. Still, her scenario was uncannily accurate.

  “Or maybe,” she told him sweetly, conversationally, “you think there is evil lurking in the streets.”

  She was determined to play the young innocent, the coquet. Talorc decided it did not suit her.

  “I’m thinkin’” she continued with mock solemnity, “that you don’t consider the MacBedes able to care for their own.”

  “William?” Talorc ordered.

  “It’s not what you’re thinking, Laird.” William offered.

  “No, ‘tis no wrong doing of ours.” Bruce added, bringing Maggie’s fury around on himself.

  “No wrong doing on your part?” The two warriors were on the far side of the fire pit. Talorc, being so much closer drew Maggie’s ire. She spun back and shoved at his chest, as if she could push him away.

  “Hoi, Maggie.” He grabbed her hand. “Tell me what’s troubling you.”

  But she didn’t. She didn’t say a word, nor did she move. The touch, her hand to his chest, his hand to hers, froze any action. Her eyes widened as she stared, stunned.

  This time, there was no hope but to smile. For she stood before him, her chest rising and falling, so you’d think the air had grown too thin and she needed more, yet couldn’t get enough. To be true, the slight contact sizzled.

  He shook his head, knowing all this was new to her. Unsettling.

  He raised his free hand to quiet the murmured bluster that surrounded them. God help him, he’d rather have been holding her with both hands.

  “Maggie,” his voice a hoarse whisper, not by design but it suited the moment, made it more intimate.

  She tried to pull her hand free, to tug it loose, causing him to press it more fiercely against his chest. The room settled, or so it seemed. Perhaps he just didn’t hear it any more, as his focus, every bit of him, was centered on Maggie. When he lowered his free hand to reach for hers, the movement was instinctive. Never did his eyes leave hers. He understood the wariness, the caution in her eyes.

  Did she see the promises, the questions in his? Perhaps, for she lowered her gaze which drew his glance to her lips. Full and red as a summer's berry, dipped and curved as neatly as his bow. The luscious fruit parted as the tip of her tongue snuck out to slowly wet what he so hungered to taste. Talorc swore time slowed, each movement measured by an eternity of sensation. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, felt the whole of his body tense with tortuously exquisite reactions.

  “They . . .” Her words a whispered breath. “They followed me, wouldn’t let me be.”

  He leaned closer, not understanding her complaint. “You mean William and Bruce?”

  “Aye,” she broke the moment with a swift look over her shoulder. The sight of his men brought a return of her fury. When she tugged at her hands, he let them slip from his grasp, not surprised when she tucked them behind her.

  He didn’t consider her step away from him to be cowardly. They needed distance if any rational discussion was to take place. Straightening, clasping his own hands behind him, Talorc waited for her to continue.

  “You know, Laird MacKay,” He watched as she took a
deep breath and smoothed her plaid down her sides, “I was born here.” When he nodded, she acknowledged it with one of her own as she turned to pace. “And I was raised right here in this keep.” She pointed to the rush covered floor that she crossed, back and forth, before him. “To be sure, by marriage and blood I’m kin to everyone within the walls of this place.” She halted, her brow knotted thoughtfully before she looked up at him. “Do you get my ken?”

  Again, Talorc nodded for her to continue, for he didn’t have the slightest idea where she was going with all this.

  “Well, now, I’m not saying things are different for the MacKays . . .”

  Talorc stopped her, wanting to make sure she understood they were not so different. “The MacBedes are descendants of the MacKays and well you know that. We are kin, Maggie, distant mayhap, but . . .”

  “Och,” she stilled him, “What I’m saying is that on MacBede land, within the walls of this keep, I am safe from harm. No one would hurt me. Now, mayhap, a MacKay woman is not so safe . . .”

  “You go too far, woman!” Talorc roared, the MacBede men joining in against their own.

  Maggie ignored them all as she leaned in to face Talorc head on with the fury of her own anger. “Then tell me,” she snapped, “why these brutes find the need to follow me? Here in my own home. On the land where I’ve run free as the wind. In the keep that comforts my heart? Why would they be thinking I need protection? They insult us, Laird MacKay.”

  Talorc said nothing just looked to his men who no longer smiled.

  “We didna’ intrude until she screamed.” Bruce vowed.

  “Screamed?” Talorc, Feargus, all of Maggie’s brothers rounded on her, their hands on the hilts of their swords. For the second time that evening, third time that day, Maggie backed away. She did not like the feel of retreat.

  “Why did you scream?” Talorc asked, his voice far too calm, far too quiet.

  “It’s not what you’re thinking.” She backed up further.

  “Maggie,” her father barked, “where were you when you screamed?”

  Ah, anger, that she could face. She turned to her da. “It was naught but a yelp of surprise.”

  “Laird MacKay,” William started, “I think it was . . .” But Maggie spun on him before he could go further.

  “’Tis not your story to tell,” she bit out, “and it’s no one else’s business but my own. There was no harm meant or done, so go away and stop following me.” Maggie ordered.

  She gave them her back, stormed to the kitchens rather than wait for an outcome. She could not miss the sound of Talorc’s voice as he asked where she had been. They would answer him, there was no doubt to that, and then everyone would know of her humiliation. Her life would be a misery.

  “Maggie,” Fiona caught up with her, turned her daughter around for a good look. “Ah Maggie, mine, you’ve grown into a fine lass, love.” And gave her a hug, tight as could be.

  “Don’t say that so loud, ma. The others will think you’ve gone daft.”

  “Nay, but I’m going to ask you to be a bit kinder to our guests.” She shoved Maggie back, fussed with her hair, “You’re a Highlander lass and a MacBede. You’d not shame us now would you?”

  “Is that what you think? That I’d shame you?"

  “You don’t treat him as you treat our other guests, Maggie, and you know it’s true.”

  She wanted to remind her mother that their other guests did not call her brothers to battle, but she knew her mother would object. “Our other guests don’t treat me the way he does.”

  “He’s not unkind.”

  “Nay.”

  “He’s not rude?”

  Maggie might have argued that, as well, but to no better results. “Nay”

  “Then how does he treat you different that you act so queer around him?”

  Maggie shrugged, digging at the floor with the toe of her slipper. “I don’t know what it is ma, he just . . .” She looked away, avoided her mother’s eyes. “He just frightens me so.”

  Fiona frowned, “He leaves in the morn. Can you hold your temper that long?”

  “In the morn?”

  "Aye."

  Maggie studied the man who had caused her to misbehave. “For tonight?”

  “Aye.”

  “That I can do, ma, for tonight. But it would be best if we keep apart.”

  "Maggie." Fiona touched her daughters face. “You say he frightens you. I’ve never known you to be frightened. Ever. And it can’t be the size of him, for you know enough of grand men.”

  “He’s a great beast of a man, Ma.”

  “He’s not so much grander than your da or Jamie.”

  “But he’s so,” Maggie fought to explain what she’d yet to understand. “He makes me feel peculiar, Ma. He makes my insides tumble about something fierce. I think he’s got the power of spirits so they jump and dance inside of me when he's close. I dinna’ like it. I want him to leave us.”

  Mother looked to daughter, as though for the first time in a long while and was startled by what she saw. With a shake of her head came laughter, light and loving as a joyful embrace. At the same time, tears filled her eyes. It made no sense to Maggie. No sense at all.

  “Ah, daughter mine,” once more, she gave a quick, hearty hug. “A day will come when you’ll be wishing for just that sort of feeling.”

  “Never.”

  “Oh, aye,” her mother laughed again, as she pushed Maggie toward the kitchens to oversee the last of the preparations. “And I’ve a mind to sit him right beside you, so you can find out what it is I’m speaking of.”

  “You wouldn’t, Ma! You wouldn’t do that to me, would you now?”

  “Oh, aye, I would.” Fiona chuckled. “Just as soon as I speak to your da.” She shoved Maggie off as she turned back to the great room.

  CHAPTER 6 - THE PLEA

  To be disregarded, fresh on the heels of Hamish’s defection, was no aide to Maggie’s temper. Yet there she sat, her brother Nigel on her left, reaching around her, grabbing the notice of the man to her right, as though Maggie were no more than the chair she sat in.

  That man on her right, the man who claimed to be in her home because of her, the self same man who riled her senses, was no better. Recently returned from battle, in high demand or not, the Bold could have tried to speak with her. That is, if she was his reason for being here and the taint of Hamish’s rejection hadn’t put him off.

  The problem was, as much as she wanted to have nothing to do with the Bold, she wanted to have everything to do with him. He had awakened something inside of her, something deep and dark and secret. Her senses buzzed with his nearness.

  He even smelled good.

  Damn the man anyway. Coming here, catching her, saying she was just rrrrright and making her ma believe he was there for Maggie, herself, when it most certainly was not true. Or, if it was, then he had changed his mind. Men were, after all, a fickle lot.

  “You’re scowling again, Maggie MacBede.”

  She dropped her knife, choked on a bite of meat. Talorc slapped her on the back.

  “Am I?” She was too flustered to be coy. “And how would you be knowing when I do or do not scowl?”

  Before Talorc could respond, Nigel reached past Maggie, to grab his arm.

  “Hey man, look at that will ya’?” He gestured to a lower table where a MacBede and a MacKay clenched fists, elbows set squarely on the table.

  Maggie shoved at her brother's beefy arm.

  “What are ya’ doin’ Maggie?” Nigel scowled. “I’m wanting to show the Bold how Conegell is bettering Domnall at the arm!”

  “And I’ll be getting the better of your arm if you don’t stop shoving it in my face.”

  Talorc's bark of laughter reminded her that she was not acting the lady. It didn't help when Nigel snorted. “You know Laird MacKay, if you take her, she’ll be a thorn in your side.”

  “He’ll not be taking me though, will he Nigel. You’ll be stuck with me to plague you
forever more.” Nigel slunk back on his bench.

  Talorc touched her chin, guided her around to face him. Heat rushed up, passed the place where his fingers lay, and scorched clear to the roots of her hair. She jerked away, angered that he could ignore her than take such a right.

  “You’ve a becoming blush, lass.”

  “I don’t blush.” She lied, wishing it were true. "It's the heat.”

  “Ah.”

  He leaned back in his chair. Unlike the small bench she sat on, his chair was a grand piece of furniture with sides that blocked all but his fingers steepled at his chin. He raised an eyebrow when she leaned around to confront him.

  "It’s your fault you know? You make it hot in here. Like anger, you make the heat rise in me. Why do you do that?"

  His half smile coursed through her as his knuckle traced her jaw. Again, she jerked away. "Don't."

  "I can't help it. My skin wants to feel yours."

  How could words touch her more surely than his fingers had moments ago? Whatever magic he used, she would fight it. "You're not helpless, you can stop yourself."

  "No," he shook his head, "no, I don't think I can."

  She snorted. Fought the flutter of flattery. Warriors were notorious with the ladies, not that she could blame them. Too many lasses were foolish enough to want one. She might not be immune to this man, but she refused to be thrilled by pretty words.

  Using the only weapon she had on hand, she asked him what everyone wanted to know. “Why are you here, when you’ve never come before?" Riding the tide of surprise, so evident in the focus she had just gained, she continued. “You’ve sent others to ask the MacBedes to fight your fights, to risk their lives. So tell me Bold, what’s so important now?”

  He didn’t respond straight away. For the first time that evening, he ignored the jests and calls that had been demanding his attention throughout the meal. Even her da tried to gain his attention, but Talorc didn’t acknowledge anyone but Maggie. It was a heady feeling.

  “You’ve a good question, Maggie." He bent close. “But I want you to know that I’m not here for trouble, at least not to my mind.”

  “I’d not be knowing how your mind works, Bold. But you’ve made people think you’re here for me while I know better.”