The Handfasting (7 page)

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.

Recently
returned from battle, in high demand or not, the Bold could try to speak with
her. Unless the taint of Hamish’s rejection had 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?”  Too flustered to be coy, she challenged him. “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 as to
touch her.

 “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.

 “Why
are you here,” she blurted, “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, though. 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. 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.”

A
young lad moved between them, a tray of roasted meat held out in offering,
reminding them both they were here for a feast.

“Maggie,”
Talorc explained, as he served both of them from the tray, “When someone is
sent with a call to arms, I’m already deep in the fray. There’s no time for me
to leave a fight. Others, who are swift of foot, but not so handy with the
sword, are sent to call for help. We all have our roles to play, don’t you
see.”

 “Aye.”
The word did not come easily, she didn’t want to understand, but honesty
demanded she do so. Not that he had cleared himself of wrong doing, or that she
would let him get off so easily.

“Earlier
I told you that Ian’s last words were of you, that his death would not sit well
with you.” He touched her cheek. This time she allowed it, welcomed the warmth,
needing the heat to balance the cold of her loss. How quickly that cold could
come upon her, when she least expected it.

“I
want you to know your brother lost his life in an honorable battle, Maggie. He
fought bravely, he saved others. The need to fight that fight will be proven
when you still have food for your belly on winter’s edge of spring."

“And
that’s why you came. You believe you can convince me Ian needed to be there,
with you, when the Gunns don't come on to our land."

He
tsked, like a teacher to a student. "Don't fool yourself, Maggie, you know
they've been in your fields, taken what's yours."

She
looked away, bit at her lower lip, hesitant for the first time. There was truth
in his words. She was not so angry she would deny that. But her Ian's death was
still a raw wound.

“Aye,
but we never lost as we’ve been losing these few years past.”

Rather
than insult, her words gave him pause. He nodded, admitting. “We were losing
like the saints were against us. Aye, that is true. One ride out, the food
didn’t go with us. Another, what we ate was tainted. Small raiders, neither
Gunn nor clan, attacked when we least expected.”

“You’re
to expect everything.”

“Aye.”
He reached for her then, as though it were true, that he had an uncontrollable
need to touch her. Fingers spread, he cupped her cheek, stroked it with his
thumb. She didn’t stop him.

“Maggie,”
Talorc took her hands in his, “Do you know how you avenged Ian? Do you know the
role you played in turning the tide, bringing abundance?”

She
pulled away, insulted. “Don’t use your words with me. That’s all they are, just
words. I have done nothing. Nothing,” she snapped.

 “Aye,
you have and the MacKays want to thank you. Come to Glen Toric with me.”

She
sat up, turning fully to confront him. "You ignore me all evening, then
suddenly, quick as you please, you’re asking me to leave this place? This is my
home, these are my people. I’ve no reason to leave.”  

“Ah,
but you do, Maggie girl, you do,” he murmured, as he bent to the platter of
meat, cut-off a morsel, speared it. “You gave us an idea that we’re growing with.
You are changing the need to battle for all we have.”

Before
the tip of his knife could get the meat to her lips, Maggie took it with her
fingers. Moist and succulent, the stewed juices ran down her hand. She tried to
catch the rivulet with her tongue.

"Oh,
no, Maggie. Let me.” He caught her hand, pulled it to his lips, and took the
liberty of capturing the droplet with his mouth, licked the rivulet with a slow
tongue.

For
a breath, a long breath held, Maggie didn’t move. The hall could have been
empty, the noise pure music, before she caught herself and tugged her hand free.
Talorc was not ready to let it go.

“Stop.”
She hissed.

He
looked into her eyes and with one bite, took the meat from her hand. “You taste
better than the meat.”

“Oh,
Lord.” She pulled free, stumbled, toppled her bench in a rush to be away from
him. He reached to help her but she ignored his hand, scrambled to rise on her
own.

Nigel
laughed. "You drunk already? It's still early, lass.”

“Laugh
all you wish, brother, for I’ll return the favor soon.”

Quick
as that, his amusement ended. “Have a care, Laird MacKay, for when she sets out
for revenge, she could teach the lot of us a thing or two.”

Maggie brushed at her skirts.
“He’ll
not have need to worry, brother, for why would I be wanting revenge on the
likes of the Laird?”

“Why
indeed?” Talorc asked, as he reminded her, “I’ll be leavin’ on the morrow.”

“Aye,”
she acknowledged, trying to catch Nigel’s eye as she reseated herself. Nigel
refused to look her way.

“I
want you to leave with me.”

She
laughed. “Leave with you?” Patted his arm. The man had barely talked to her all
evening. “I’ll think of it,” she lied, “and when next we see each other, I’ll
consider your request.”

“Not
later, Maggie,” he caught her hand upon his arm, held it tightly in place,
“tonight, this night. When I tell my story, if you truthfully find you cannot
go with me, then I will accept your decision.”

“Tonight?
You want to tell me a story tonight and then expect me to leave in the morn?”

“Aye.
Tonight.”

She
laughed. “Does my father know of this?”

“Aye,
as does your mother.” He moved so they could both look to her parents, who
watched with uncommon wariness.

Their
wariness made no more sense than anything had this day. Her parents knew that
nothing could induce Maggie to leave her home, not tonight, not ever. And, as
far as she was concerned, not with a warrior; especially not with a warrior. Her
parents knew that.

Talorc
blocked them from Maggie’s sight. “But they don’t know the story, have yet to
hear it. When they do, when you do, they’ve agreed to go along with your
wishes.”

“Even
if I choose to go away with you?”

“Aye.”

Maggie
relaxed. “You can save your breath. This is my home, my friends and family. If
I left, I’d be leaving young Ian behind. I can’t be doing . . .” He stopped her
with a finger to her lips.

"Bold!"
a man yelled from the far end of a table. "Tell us of the final victory! 
We want to hear the tale of the fight!"

A
chorus of agreement rang out. Maggie tried to get away, to leave him to his tales
of battle, but he wouldn't let her go. “This is the story I'm going to tell,
Maggie," he said for her alone. "Hear my story, then tell me what you
will or won't do.”

“I’ll
not go.”

“Hear
me out first.”

She
wanted to respond, but there was no chance. The meal had wound down, musicians
were playing. Soon the bard would entertain with his own tales of war and love
and the strength of the clans.

Talorc
freed her hand as he stood. She thought he meant to excuse the two of them, so
he could address her in private, away from the prying ears of the family, the
clan and his warriors.

Like
a wave, solemn silence moved over the room. If Talorc had sought attention, his
timing was immaculate. He acted as if that was just what he wanted.

This
would be no private telling.

The
realization hit with the impact of a horse. Alarmed, Maggie tugged at his arm. Immediately,
he lent down, focused on her.

“You
know, I’ve no ken for large men?” She whispered, “I’ve vowed never to promise
myself to a warrior.”

“A
solemn oath?” An oath was a sacred thing to a highlander.

She
swallowed. “Everyone's heard me say so.”

He
repeated his question. "Did you pledge this as an oath?"

She
shook her head. "Why should I? My mind is made up."

“If
you didn't pledge yourself, there’s nothing to fret over, lass. It's no more
than dreaming of the future. Not for us to foretell.” He turned back to the
tables lined with watchful clansmen, both MacKay and MacBede.

 “Oh
Lord!” Maggie sent the plea heavenward. “Oh, Lord, please help me here.” But she
knew it was her own fault for wanting him to flirt with her. As usual, she had
brought this on herself, overestimated her ability to deal with a situation.

All
eyes were focused on the Bold. He tugged on Maggie until she stood beside him,
within the curve of his arm. Her legs trembled until she thought they couldn't
possibly hold her upright. Talorc gave her waist a squeeze, as if that would
reassure her. He was a fool if he believed that.