Bold (The Handfasting) (3 page)

By
morning, through gentle persuasion or abduction, she would be his.  

Talorc
headed toward the door Maggie had taken.  It was time to start his assault.   

In
the quiet sanctuary of the keep, Maggie sank against the hard stone wall and
let the tremors have their way.  She could barely stand, even braced as she
was.  Conflicts whipped through her; what she imagined of the Bold versus the
reality of him: big and handsome, not battle beaten and ugly.  Laugh lines in
place of frowns or scowling furrows.  

A
draw that sucked her in without revulsion.

But
she could still hate; hate the hands that held her, the ripple of confusion
provoked. 

She
touched her
cheek, the
lingering caress of a sworn enemy
. 

He
was not the kind of man she sought, too big, overpowering.  No malleability in
him, none at all.  He had drawn her twin to his death.

She
had challenged him.

"Oh
God," she moaned.  You never challenge a man like the MacKay, who lived
for the fight, thrived on it.

Why
did he have to come here, himself, after years of sending messengers?  Why did
he choose now to appear, and churn-up her life, overwhelm her with the chaos of
sensation?

The
sound of the keep door opening, nudged her away from the wall, to shift around
the corner, into the tower square.

"Maggie
MacBede?"  The call tickled through her like water in a gurgling brook. 
Her traitoress body recognized the deep rumble of the MacKay's shout, tempted a
response.  

She
closed her eyes, willed herself not to react.

"Where
are you lass?" his boom reverberated through the hall.  

The
shift of feet, the crunch of soles on the rough stone floor moved toward her. 
Resigned, she opened her eyes to find him in the doorway of the tower, watching
her.

"What
do you want?" She snapped wishing he would step away.

He
moved closer.

"Maggie,
I promised Ian I would come to you."

"Promised
Ian?" her heart racketed against her breast.  Of all she expected from
this man, this was not it. 

Nor
did she expect the tenderness in his eyes, the softening of his voice as he
explained, "it was in my arms that your brother died.  I promised him that
I would come to you.  It's taken me too long, but I am here now."

Tears
welled.  The Bold cupped her face with one large palm, his thumb soothing the
side of her cheek.

"He
knew you would take it badly.  He told me to tell you he was proud, and he
would not desert you."

"Well
he did desert me."  She bit her lip against a tremble.

"No,
he's here," one finger tapped at her temple, "In your memories.  And
he's here." He laid his hand between her breasts, over her heart, "in
your love.  Like salt to water, he is everywhere."

Silent,
they stood there, his eyes meeting hers, one hand holding her shoulder, the
other over her heart.  She was certain he felt the beat of it, pounding,
flooding her world by his mere presence.  An innocent touch offered yet it turned
her thoughts from Ian, stole her mind, gave her body rule. 

Questions
never questioned, temptations when she had never been tempted.  Again, the
image of a mare came to mind.  How she would nip and bite, buck at a stallion
yet allow him to mount her.  She wanted to let this man, this huge stranger,
overpower her senses. 

Attraction
beyond reason.

"I
promised your brother," he stood even closer.  Her breath caught in her
throat, “to give you this," he leaned in, kissed her, a butterfly’s touch
to her cheek and she whimpered.  Not because it was from Ian.  Ian had never
sent lightning bolts through her with a mere kiss.  No one had.

She
fought to tame her reaction, but the bewildering whirl of confusion proved too
wild to cage. 

The
Bold whispered, "and I want to give you this," his lips touched hers,
a light airy, brush along her mouth.   She pushed him away.

“Just
a kiss, Maggie girl.” 

Innocent,
perhaps, but she was not stupid.  His idea of a kiss would never be a mere
‘just.’ 

“When
do you leave?” 

“In
the morning.”  A simple answer, but his eyes shifted away.  So there was more
to his leaving than that.

She
pressed for clarification.  “You will be gone then?”  If he was to go, could
she allow herself this liberty?  One kiss, knowing she would never have to face
him again?  May never face this enticement again?

“In
the morning I will be gone.”  Still, his eyes did not meet hers but followed
the arc of his finger as it traced the side her cheek.  The light touch
ricocheted through her body. 

She
shivered and nodded despite a twinge of uncertainty.  Surely there was no room
for falsehood in such a straight reply. 

“Just
a kiss.”  She pushed.

“Aye,
just a kiss.”  He murmured as he lowered his head.

She
had been right.  There was no ‘just’ about it, no feathery caress of lips but a
journey begun with the press of lips, the taste of her mouth. He tickled the
seal of her lips before moving on along her jaw to nibble his way to her ear. 

A
kiss turned to whispered words, sweet and soothing of a language she did not
know. It rippled, danced clear to her toes. Dormant senses blossomed.

The
carnal trail shifted down her neck

 Maggie
clutched his shoulders.  He pulled her close, surrounded her, captured her. 

A
mere kiss.

To
him perhaps.

Reason
reared, for one valiant fight.  She fought herself, fought him, pushed against that
broad chest.  Only half a battle as half still clung to the kiss. He lifted his
head, eased his hold.

Her
father and brothers had warned about men, her mother issued cautions against
unwedded desire.  Everyone spoke of young Alicia, who disappeared one day, drawn
by desire to an evil stranger she spoke of but no one ever saw.

The
Bold would leave in the morning.

She
would not be so foolish as to leave with him.

What
harm to steal this moment, this one time, to allow desire free reign in a
stairwell where it could not go further, with a man she would never have to see
again?

"Meet
me in this." The whisper brushed her lips.

Always
impetuous, she charged heedless in to frays more dangerous than this. 

"You
will not best me at this, Bold." She pulled his head down to hers.

The
Bold seized her opening, lifted her against him.  She refused to hang, toes
dangling above the floor.  Hands gripping his hair, her mouth as hungry as his,
she lifted her legs, wrapped them tight around his waist, reveled in his
shocked stillness.  

He
pulled away long enough to chuckle, or was it a groan?  She didn't know, didn't
care, too focused on his mouth as it suckled a line from the tender skin behind
her ear, down her neck.  Thrilled, as he pressed her against the wall, against
the core of her.  Shocked tremors ricocheted through her.

It
was not enough.

Wild,
untamed, raised among a people who spoke of earthy pleasures, Instinct led her
game.  No demure lass but a woman with a new found appetite for the battle of
desire, to be desired.  To take. 

He
stilled, pushed her legs down, set her to the ground, eased away.  She grabbed
his arms, to pull his attention back.

"Shhh."

Laughter,
orders, whispers sounded in the hall.  The clan moved back to the duties of
life.  Everyone but Maggie.  She drew in a deep breath, tried to settle aroused
uncertainties.

He
pulled her deeper into the shadows under the winding tower stairs and leaned
his head against hers.  "Maggie mine," a hoarse croak, “with the heat
in you, it's a wonder you don't have a dozen children by now."

"You
miserable swine.”  She batted at his hold.  Voices in the hall reminded, she
lowered her voice, "You shouldn't be teaching me such things."

"Did
I teach you Maggie?  I wonder if you're not teaching me."

Stunned
Maggie stammered for words to fling, only to find she had lost him to something
over his shoulder. 

She
peeked around the side of him.

Her
brothers stood in the doorway, arms akimbo.  Grand, great men.  A wall of
them.  Her protectors.  Pride swelled at the sight of them.  She had met him in
the battle of senses and now her brothers would kill him for taking her to that
battleground.

The
Bold turned, to face them, his arm still wrapped around Maggie, forcing her
around as well.   "She's mine."  Was all he said.  No request, no
rights to others, just pure possession.

"Aye,"
Douglas nodded, "I'd say she better be."

Rage
soared.  "You say nothing, Douglas!" she fought for breath, “He took
advantage, as you've warned a man might.  He pushed beyond manners!"

Her
brothers did not rise to her anger but smiled.  James answered for them. 
"We think you've met your match, Maggie MacBede.  Time a man took charge
of you."

The
Bold squeezed her closer, she shoved away, furious with him, with her kin, with
herself.   "I am no one’s!  Do you hear?" she stalked past her
brothers but not without ordering, "You are to protect my honor." She
reminded them.  "So you best take care of him.  He's nothing but a
boastful braggart of a scoundrel!"

They
all laughed.  Laughed!  She refused to listen.  Refused to think of what her
body had tried to tell her.  She was a woman of intelligence.  She would not
let her flesh dictate what she would do, who she would do it with.  All it took
was keeping that man away from her.  

Aulay
Gunn looked to where the man pointed.

“See
that?”  Old Ros wailed.  “See those holes?”  His hands trembled with distress.
“They’ve been punched in there.”  Tears threatened.  “How am I to go out and
get fish?  How are we to feed ourselves?”

This
was not the first fisherman to have lost boats to sabotage.

“Aye,
you’ll not be using that boat this day.  You tend to it, see if it can’t be
made sea worthy again.  I’ll get young Taran to help you.”

“And
you’ll go after the MacKays, now?”  Ros’s voice firmed, fueled by retribution.

“Oh
aye,” Aulay promised.  “Don’t you worry.  We’ll get the lousy MacKay’s if
they’re the ones who are doing this.”

“Of
course they’re the ones who are doing this, mon.  Who else would do such a
thing?”

“I
don’t know, Ros, I just don’t know.” Aulay shook his head, fretting over just
that.  The MacKays may be mortal enemies stealing livestock and raiding goods
but that was no different than the Gunns were want to do.

Malicious
destruction for its own sake was not something The MacKay would condone.  The
man had his sense of honor.  This was not honorable. 

Much
as Aulay hated to admit it, he and the MacKay were not that different.  On
separate sides of the fence, but with the same responsibilities. The MacKay had
no reason to start a war with the Gunns.  Everyone in their part of the world
knew the man had just filled his stores.  Why do something that would drain
those resources?  It made no sense.

“If
it’s the MacKays, we will get them for this.  But I want to find out just who the
vermin is before we strike.”

“Bloody
MacKays, that’s who it is, mon, who else would go against us like this?”

And
that, Aulay knew, was the crux of his problem.

* * * * * * * * * *

Maggie
slipped through the keep headed for the kitchens, relaxed, as she always did,
amid scents that embraced, succulent and heady as only a kitchen can be.  This
was her home, her place, amid the bustle of clan's women, within this room rich
with roasting meats, spicy steam and yeast.  As a child she had helped tend
whole haunches skewered on spits set before the huge fire with ovens placed in
the wall around that fire.  It was here the clanswomen baked cakes and bread
while the warmth aided the brewing of strong, dark beer in heavy casks set deep
in the shadows.
   

Simon,
her young cousin, stole a bannock cake straight off the rack where it cooled.
Maggie chuckled, but did not try to stop Simon,

“Did
you see The MacKay?”  Sibeal, wife of Maggie's oldest brother asked any who
would listen.

Simon
headed to the spit handle he had abandoned.  Maggie shooed him away and grabbed
the handle herself, near enough to hear the chatter, far enough removed that,
she hoped, no one would notice her.  It was no more than gossip, the women were
about, but Maggie found she was drawn to their foolish natter.