Bold (The Handfasting)(10)
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.”