The Handfasting (17 page)

“Oh,
aye. But so are the MacBedes.” He covered her hand with his and gazed down at
her.

Was
that longing in his eyes? Maggie pulled free, unsettled by the hope in that
look, confused that she still had her breath, that her heart didn’t skitter
with pleasure. “Aye, we are a fine people, even if our clothes are not so . .
.”

He
put his fingers to her lips. “You are good people, Maggie MacBede, with many a
tale of strength and honor.”

It
was good to be with an old friend. She squeezed his arm. “Will you be singing
after the meal?

“That
I will.” As he tilted his head, she suddenly wondered how his skinny neck held
his head upright. He really was a scrawny thing.

“I’m not scrawny enough for your tastes? Is that it? You won’t be able
to rule me as you might a lesser man.”

She
stepped back, as Bold’s words rippled through her. Words spoken when she
challenged him for forcing the Handfasting on her. Worse, the thought of him
flowed, with the memory filling her with all the excitement she wanted to feel
for Birk.

She
looked away, not wanting comparisons, not wanting to feel the foolish reminder
of infatuation, horrified to think she may have married this man.

He
was a friend. That was all.

“I
will see you at dinner then,” she promised, and turned back to the flock of
women who shadowed her.

“I
will sing of you.” He crooned.

She
welcomed the women as they encircled her, moving her beyond the bard,
whispering over each other.

“Who
is he?” Nora asked.

Another
woman slapped Nora’s arm. “That’s the Bard, you fool.”

Maggie
smiled.

“Babbling
Birk the Bard,” the woman tittered. “One of your puny men, aye?” Her eyes lit
up, Maggie lost her smile.

These
women were not so different from the ones at home.

“Where
is Ealasaid?” She asked, rather than feed their curiosity.

“Fretting
over that girl.” Diedre complained.

“Ysenda?”
But she didn’t need to ask. Of course she would be tending to Ysenda. That’s
what Ealasaid did, she cared for others. Maggie frowned at Diedre’s lack of
compassion, but didn’t say anything.

They
had been friends of a sort. Diedre, the only woman to travel with Maggie to
Glen Toric. The first of the MacKay women Maggie met. She had been full of
stories of the people and place; full of advice on how to enjoy this year and a
day without being trapped for the rest of her life.

Maggie had not seen much of Diedre since they returned.
Even for the search for Ysenda. Diedre didn’t appear until they reached the
castle. Once she heard the news,
she’d
not stopped berating since. “Whatever got into the girl?” She snapped. “To
frighten her family, her people, like that.”

“Come
now, Diedre, you know what it’s like, living way out in the hinterlands, no
young men about.” Young Ete, justified.

“But
to go off with a stranger? With so many lasses going missing?” Nora MacKay
shook her head, confused by the idea.

“Too
easy to trust a charming man.” Una fretted, as she’d been doing ever since the
girl was found.

“Aye,
but now we know what’s about. Who the blackguard is.” Diedre stated.

“But
we don’t know,” young Ingrid whispered, lifting her head to look at Diedre.

Something
passed between the two. Maggie wasn’t sure what it was, but the shy girl with
her long blonde hair seemed to challenge the boisterous Diedre.

“Give
her time.” Diedre murmured.

Maggie
shook her head against her imaginings, tired from too much of a day. She
scanned the room for Talorc.

“Och,
look at you,” one woman moved forward and brushed hair away from Maggie’s
forehead. “Two black eyes and a lump the size of a goose egg. Who would have
thought you’d be out looking for Ysenda with the rest of us.”

Nora
swatted at the woman. “Don’t be telling her about the eyes.”

Una
laughed. “She should be right proud of those eyes.”

Maggie
reached up, to feel, but there was no color in the touch. “Two black eyes?”

“Aye,”
someone else cooed. “You’re a grand lass.”

She
was not so grand, certainly didn’t feel grand. If only they would sit at the
table, but where was Talorc. Voices floated past. She didn’t listen, just
scanned the hall until she saw him, across the room, with the lad from the
courtyard.

The
one who had spoken to him when Ysenda was found. Senoiad.

Only
now, despite the clouding pain, she saw that Seonaid was not a lad with a
lasses name. Seonaid was a willowy, windswept woman and so close to Bold, the
curve of her breast touched his arm.

Stunned,
Maggie wondered how she figured it out, for the woman’s kirtle was no kirtle at
all but a tunic that ended above the knee. She wore hose, like a man and a
sword hung from her hip, a dagger tucked into her belt and a knife was strapped
to her ankle.

There
was just enough curve of the breast and the angle of her cheek bone to make a
difference.

Though
easily of an age with Talorc, which gave her ten years on Maggie, there was no
covering upon the woman’s head, just a thick dark braid that had fallen over
one shoulder.

The
woman tilted her face to laugh at something Talorc said. His smile, wide with
pleasure, spoke of a familiarity rich in years.

Do ya’ think he lived there with no woman in his bed?

A
dart, thrown to make her mother worry and fret and stop the Handfasting. Nothing
real, back then.

Talorc
thought her to be a woman who inspired victory. But she was nothing other than
flesh and blood, often foolish, always stubborn. An imposter, in another
woman's place. A simple lass in an extravagant home.

He
wanted her for his clan, her clan, and the power of the two together. He wanted
her for breeding stock, to bear sturdy sons with the blood from two lines of
warriors.

He
wanted her because of overblown tales told around a campfire.

There
was no reality to his wanting. He didn't know who she, Maggie, was. But he had
known who this woman was, the actuality of her. She was not an illusion. She
was not a false image. She was just a woman Talorc knew well.

An
imagined fear turned to piercing hurt that cramped the heart. A reality. The
second one to hit that day.

Maggie
glanced back at the woman, the second person that night to reveal a hint of
sorrow as Bold now talked to Bruce. As if she felt Maggie’s gaze, this woman,
Seonaid, met it. Her eyes violet as the small flower, dark and intense.

"Don't
you fret about Seonaid.” Una startled Maggie by wrapping an arm around her
shoulders. "The Bold never thought to marry the lass.”

Lizbeth
gave Una a sharp elbow to the side, adding, "It's you he watches, as
though you might disappear in a waft of smoke."

She
looked back to find him watching her. But he hadn’t been earlier. She doubted
he even remembered she was there.

Deidre
moved over to Maggie, as did half a dozen others.

"It
doesn’t matter anyway.” Deidre stroked her hand. “When the Handfast is over,
you will be leaving him behind.”

You’ll be leaving. . . . He never thought to marry Seonaid,
words echoed with a thousand different
conclusions.

Odd
perhaps, in a lad’s clothes, but the woman was beautiful and graceful, with
dark black hair, and mysterious eyes.

Maggie
looked down at her own self. Too much of her own self, all hip and bosom.

"Did
she have reason to think he would? Marry her, that is.”

"You
needn't worry." Eilinor patted Maggie's shoulder.

"I
wasn't." Which was true, she hadn't until now. She needed to know. "Did
she have reason to think he would? Marry, her that is."

They
all looked to each other.

Ingrid
broke the silence with a haughty flip of her own braid. “Seonaid is nothing
more than a woman who thinks she’s a man.”

Again
silence, then Una piped in. “Let’s play the wedding game!” She encouraged the
others. “We’ll not let the Bold anywhere near you for the whole of the
evening!”

A
game meant for a bride, which Maggie was not, but she managed to smile, allowed
the women their fun despite an aching head and an unruly heart.

As
they played interference, came between her and the Bold, Maggie listed all the
reasons she was happy to play. She wanted to go home. She wanted a husband more
like Birk than Bold. She did not want to love the Bold.

She
would not love the Bold.

She
refused to love the Bold.

And
all the while her mind fought to control her wishes, she found her heart could
not play the game.

CHAPTER 4 – CHANGES

A
groaning wind rattled the shutters. The banked fire hissed and spit its meager
glow. Shadows thick as tar danced, eerie movements illuminating demons upon the
walls.

Maggie
jumped with every rattle, shivered with each hiss of fire and cursed the man
who brought her here to sleep alone, in a huge, ominous room away from her own
clan.

The
MacBedes knew of Maggie’s night fears. They would not have left her alone, even
if there were room for that. A single lass never slept in a room on her own.
There were advantages to living in a small keep.

But
she was not in a small keep. She was in a strange and cavernous room, with any
number of hidden tunnels in and out of it.

Eyes
wide, she fought to breathe . . . to steady herself . . .

A
great snuffle, a snort, ricocheted down her spine, to freeze with a scratch of
claws on stone floor. Never, even in her most frightening experiences, had the
night been this bad.

"God
preserve me." She whimpered.

Terror
kicked up the patter of her heart, pulsed hammer blows to her head. To scream
would shatter her bones.

This
was the Bold's fault. He forced her to be alone . . . in this strange place . .
. with strange noises . . . unexplored shadows . . . and sounds of great, huge,
ravenous rats.

Rigid,
Maggie strained against the gloom, to see what hid in a place too full of
hiding places. Another snort and scrape of talons shot down her spine and a
cold wet nose pressed against her face. Terror erupted in a shriek, racketing
pain throughout her head.

A
monster of a beast scrabbled to get on the bed, two massive paws already there,
as another mangy head rose from the foot of it. Sound choked in her throat. She
would have sobbed, but could do no more than flap her jaw.

The
beast grumbled, "Wha. . . Hu . . . Wa
”  

She
heard nothing other than the prayers she mumbled under her breath, her eyes
squeezed tight against the frightful image. Desperately, she pulled the covers
up over her head.

A
heavy weight landed beside her.

"You
bloody, bloody, cruel man to leave me here," she cried to herself. "Talorc,
where are you when I need you?"

Something
tugged at the covers. With fists and teeth she held tight, her body shuddering
in fear.

"Maggie,
Maggie," the struggle stopped, "I'm here, Maggie," Talorc's
voice penetrated her shelter, settled on her, as the comfort of his hands
cupped her shoulders through the thickness of covers. "I'm right here,
Maggie mine. You've nothing to fear. I'd not leave you alone when you've been
so ill."

She
lowered the barrier to her nose. One eye opened, then another.

"You
great brute.” Through the blanket, she punched his shoulder. "You left me
alone in this miserable place, and I don't take kindly to it."

"Never,
Maggie, I was here."

"Not
quick enough."

"Right
there," he turned her to face him, pointed to the foot of the bed, where
the devil’s head had popped up.

"With
a beast?"

"Aye,"
he reached over to pat the head of an enormous dog. Maggie put her
interpretation of the animal down to shock. Talorc continued, as if there were
not a problem in the whole of the world. "Brutus was here, as well, to
watch over you and make sure no one could harm you."

She
eyed the animal, and wondered who would protect her from it. He looked big, and
mean enough to eat her. And it wasn't a dog she wanted, but Ian or at the least,
another person, someone to explain away the ominous shadows.

A
shift of focus and she froze, to stare at the fabric in Talorc's lap. A
scrunched up ball of plaid. This, his only concession to modesty, barely
covered his privates, trailed over his thigh, a train in his wake.

She
couldn't help but stare. This was the body that taunted and teased, that made
her feel in ways she had never felt. She touched his thigh with a light finger,
found it muscled, hairy.

Her
gaze rose, but only as far as his chest. That's where it took a turn, along the
path just perused.

Fascination
washed away embarrassment and fear. She forgot her anger. She, who had grown-up
surrounded by men, could not take her eyes away from the arrow of hair that
mirrored the arrow of his body. So broad and muscled at the top, to taper down
. . . lower down, into the soft folds of fabric that exposed so much, yet hid .
. . all by itself, the cloth shifted as though a live thing were hidden underneath
it. Her eyes snapped up. His glistened with laughter.

"You
want to peek?"

She
clutched covers against her own nakedness, and managed a disdainful snort. "You've
nothing I've never seen before.” She lied. She was quite certain he had
something she had never, ever seen.

"I
bet you've never seen it in this state."

She
could barely breathe. "As if I would want to.” She lied again, thinking of
how she had felt it through layers of clothes. The curiosity to see, to touch
was strong.

To
hide her blush, Maggie harrumphed, and flopped over, mumbled about men with
little boy humors, and gave him her back.

The
bed shifted, cloth rustled. She would not, absolutely not, look. Not even one
quick glimpse over her shoulder. She fought the urge by staring straight ahead.
The shutter still banged, buffeted by the storm raging outside. The shadows
continued to dance. None of it alarmed her. Not anymore. Not with Talorc there,
to make it feel cozy and safe.

"You're
all right, Maggie. Nothing will harm you at Glen Toric.” He lay beside her She
wondered if he could read minds to answer her thoughts.

He
pulled her into his arms, held her as her brothers would. Neither spoke, as he
stroked her hair. She squirmed.

He
did not feel like her brother. His caress did not lull her toward sleep, but
made her want to stretch, like a cat, so his hands would move from stroking her
hair to stroking . . . She squelched another squirm. He kissed the top of her
head.

How
many days had it been since he had kissed her properly? Since he challenged her
body? Too many. He treated her like a child. She did not feel like a child.

And
she did not know how to start the battle of the senses. He had not yet taught
her that much.

"Are
you falling to sleep?"

She
shook her head, and asked, "Are you waiting for me to? So you can sleep?”   

He
pulled back, brushed her hair from her face, his eyes heavy lidded. "Would
you blame me if I did?”

She
nestled back into his hold, rather than have him see how she felt.

Every
night before this one, whenever she woke, Talorc had been there, in the chair
beside her bed, ready to speak to her, to ease her fear, to place a cool cloth
upon her head. Always, he was in the room, to watch over her, make her feel
safe. She was better now and it was true, he needed sleep.

If
she had a bedmate, he could go to another chamber, and get the rest he needed. At
the same time, she would not have to face the fear of a strange place all by
herself.

"It's
time I share this bed."

She
pulled back, looked at his hand, poised for another caress, his expressive
features expressionless. She frowned.

"It's
just that," the words jumbled in her head. "Perhaps things are
different here, but at home maidens share their beds. It leaves more room for
others. Glen Toric can't be so different. Surely, I've put someone out of their
place."

He
held the curve of her shoulder. His hand warm, solid. She did not want him to
go just yet. She did not want him to let go.

"You're
fine in this bed."

She
grabbed at that. "I would be glad to share."

Talorc
chuckled. "Would you now?"

"Aye."

"It's
my bed you're sleeping in."

She
blinked. Of course it was. She knew that. His papers, his books, his clothes
were in here. “It’s not you I’m thinking of sharing with.”

He
laughed. "Do you want to let me in?"

Aye,
she did, but dared not tell him. Refused to let him see how desperately she
wanted his mouth on her mouth, on her body. To feel the way his teeth would
tease her nipple and his tongue would soothe the nip all while his hands molded
her breasts. She would not demand that he push himself against her secret
places, rub and buck and draw her into mindless hunger. She would not beg.

"Where's
Ealasaid? I shouldna' be here alone with you."

"You're
my Handfasted, you're expected to be alone with me."

Maggie's
snort was not much different than Brutus's. "I'd not have need of comfort
if not for that. But I am doing better now. I can be moved to another
bed."

"There's
no need for that.” He sighed. "But you needn't worry about me climbing
under the covers with you. I'm more than comfortable on the floor. It's
smoother than the rocky ground outside. And goodness knows I've spent enough
nights on that."

"I've
never slept alone, MacKay."

"You'll
not be alone, Maggie. I will be right there for you."

"I've
never slept alone in a bed. And I've never shared a bed with someone who was
not my kin."

"I
am your kin now, Maggie. Don't mistake that."

"Blood
kin."

Silence,
so peaceful moments before, stirred into something quite different.

"Maggie,"
Talorc broke the stand-off, "if you want someone in the bed with you, I'll
join you."

"Never.”
She thought of the other woman, Seonaid and wondered if she had shared this bed
with him.

"I'll
not pursue you more than you want." His white teeth gleamed with his
smile.

That
she could challenge. "I don't see you pursuing at all."

He
cupped her head, pulled her to his kiss before she could react, all hard and
tense hunger. He rolled onto her with his body, thrust against her with his
loins. She felt the long, thick length of him and knew that she had won. He was
pursuing, he was challenging her.

She
had to check him, or he would think to dominate her with her one weakness. She
had to check herself as well, or she would be buried so deep in her want for
him she would never leave.

"I'm
not wanting.” She told him, and realized it was her third lie of the evening.

"Then
I'll not pursue."

This
was what she hated about him. The push-pull, to want him and not want him. The
pit of her fluttered, a hundred frenzied butterflies. Her mind screamed to push
him off, tell him to go to the floor.

"You'll
have to sleep in a different layer of covers." She was naked. She'd not
risk her skin to touch his, certain it would ignite a horrible sensation she
could never control. "And stay on your side."

"Aye,
Maggie," he didn't pull his plaid free until he was under a blanket. "I'll
do that." Settled, he reached out again, pulled her close. "You'll be
safe, right here, with me."

“You’re
not on your side.” She grumbled, even as she wriggled against him.

“Aye,
I am. On my side of the center. And you are on your side of the center.” He
tightened his hold.

Tell him to let go,
her
mind argued, but Maggie stayed mum, until Talorc asked,   "Remember your
dream, Maggie? When you woke from your wound?"

Impossible
to forget. "You mean when Ian came for me."

"Ian
didn't come for you, Maggie," Talorc leaned up, and over her. With a
reverence that stunned her, Talorc rested his hand over her belly, "He
brought you a bairn, my child, Maggie. Yours and mine."

"He
didn't say it was yours."

Talorc
laughed. "He brought the lad to you here at Glen Toric, to my home, my bed.
He'd not do that with another man’s child."

His
words tugged at her. She did not want the sense of it any more than she wanted
to hunger for his nearness.

Talorc
lifted a strand of her hair, traced her cheek with it. She brushed him off.

"Maggie?"

She
would fight the warmth of him. The security. He was a warrior. A spear-heading,
dive into the fray, warrior. He had already played against the odds of survival.
He was not a man that a woman could count on to grow old beside her. He was not
a man to be content unless he had his way.

He
was not the man she wanted to dream of.

"I'm
tired, MacKay." She willed thoughts that would turn her against him. "What
with all the sleep I've had, I'm still tired." She rolled away, settled
deep in the covers.