Bold (The Handfasting)(17)

She slid from the horse’s back, dropped to her knees, huddled on the ground. All her barbed emotions unraveled, the anger, the fury, the rigid fear. It was his fault, his kiss of her hand that had disarmed her brittleness, bared raw pain. Sobs, silent for no sound was strong enough to carry the weight of them, rose from the depths of her, poured out, wave upon wave. Her body stretched toward the sky, a plea, to carry away the keen that came from the darkest corner of her soul.



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Trained warrior, a seasoned fighter who could act without thought, Talorc froze, unable to move. His heart plummeted to the bowels of hell.

He’d thought she was going to ride straight off the rise. He was certain of it, was too far away to stop it. His men thought it a trick, did not interfere. They had applauded and cheered. And then her mount rose on its haunches danced a dance, made a show.

Had she heard the thundering cries from her clansmen? Had she done it on purpose, as his men thought? If she had, he’d kill her with his own bare hands, after he’d clung to her.

She was more than he could handle.

“You’ve got yourself one hell of a lassie, boy!” Thomas shouted.

Talorc was too shaken to respond. She’d already charged off madly beyond sight, east when they were headed north. He was capable of no more than pointing toward the proper route. His men followed with alacrity, he set off to find his mate.

She hadn't gone far, straight down into the valley below, no further. The sight of her, a crumpled heap upon the ground, racked with dry sobs, tore a brutal hole in his anger. He dismounted, crossed to her and lifted her into his arms. She fought him, fought to be free.

Ignoring her meager blows, he sat upon a large boulder, Maggie cradled in his lap.

“Don’t you dare think to comfort me.” She punched his chest. “This is your doing." She pounded him again. "What do you care that I have no one? What do you care?”

With a fell grip. he captured her hands, “I care.”

“Hah!”

She strained against his hold, his handfasted, his partner, his helpmate. Did she not feel the invisible bond wrapped around them?

“Look!" He pressed their clasped hands against his chest, "You have me lass! You have me, here, for you." Frustrated anger rode high in his blood.

"You?" She shouted back, "I have you? What good is that? You who create changes so drastic, my own clan don't know me anymore."

“You are changed.”

“Never!”

“No?” His smile mocked. “You don’t think so?” She stilled, guarded. So she should be. He had waited a lifetime for this woman, hungered for her before he even knew of her existence. Now that he had found her, his loins ached, urged for release, anything, even the simple taste of her lips.

Ravenous, he would wait no more, could not bear to. She was his, to love, honor and take. Past time she knew of it.

“You,” he stopped, to settle the race of blood that challenged his lungs. “You,” he started again, “changed the moment we touched.”

He tugged at her hair, pulled her head back, looked into her eyes. Wary, aye, for she saw the truth in his words.

“From the moment you landed in my hands, you knew, you sensed, you felt what you’ve never had before.”

Unwittingly she licked her lips, wetting his desire. Still, he didn’t kiss her, though he imagined doing so.

Not just yet. She had relaxed. He would use that, eased his hold, lifted a finger to trace her mouth, felt her soft huff of breath. Again, she moistened her lips, only this time she found the tip of his finger. He eased it inside.

“Taste me.” He ordered. She hesitated then nipped, nearly undoing him. “Do you know what you’re about?” He wondered out loud.

“No,” she whimpered, and buried her head in his shoulder. “I don’t. You are right, I am not who I was. I am a stranger with strange thoughts, wants . . .”

“You've nothing to fear with me.”

"It's not the fear that frets me."

Gentling himself, Talorc stroked her back, fought his need to have her closer. "We're handfasted, no need to feel shame."

Face still pressed to his collar, she shook her head.

He cupped her chin, tilted her face to his, to see the thoughts written there. “Maggie, what do you know of what's between us?” Before the words could be asked, Maggie jerked from his hold, indignant, proud. She looked straight at him and he had his answer.

She would not shy from what she felt, but she'd never felt it before. “Ah, lass,” his words a smile, “You have old knowledge, but it’s all too new to you. Confuses a body. We need to catch-up your learning to your knowing.”

“Old knowledge?” She frowned, the haze lifting from her eyes before Talorc wanted it to.

“Maggie,” he distracted her with a caress to her ear. She sucked in a breath as the soft roundness of her breast lifted.

“Don’t.” She ordered, but there was no weight to her words.

“Because you don’t like it, or because you want more?” She turned away, and he knew it was better that than to lie. “You love my touch Maggie. That’s what has changed you.”

“But I hate you.”

“No you don’t Maggie. You wouldn’t crave this if you truly hated me.”

Finally, their lips met, though it was not much of a kiss, more a gentle brushing of lips. A tease, soft enough to ease her fears. She allowed it, allowed the gentle pressure that grew from that first touch, accepted the gentle brush of his tongue along the seam of her mouth.

As if she knew what he wanted, her lips parted, provoking him to take more. He eased his tongue between her lips, which, in turn, created more hunger. She returned his desire, participated in the tasting. It was the hunger of a powerful man, met by his equal. No matter the turmoil it caused, she was honest in her response. The thrill coursed through his veins. He devoured her, she demanded of him and fire raged.

He wanted her here, now, in this field, below where his men on foot marched, near enough to the keep that any could come upon them. Rather than tame, the thought incited. To show-off her abundant softness, the wild passion focused on him, had him rolling her to the ground, pinning her beneath him, her hands held tight above their heads.

"You are mine!" he pressed against her, widened his leg to urge hers apart until she cradled him.

"Oh aye," she allowed, "For a year and a day." She pulled his head to hers.

He allowed it, long enough to know she was saturated with wanting. He risked lifting up to look down on her, at the lush rise of her breast, at lips swollen from his kisses, cheeks flushed from desire. "You don't shy from this, yet still expect to leave me?"

"Imprisoned by handfast, I will reap whatever rewards I can." Hands bound by his, she arched her back.

He didn't understand her willingness. The hunger, aye, for it was that strong between them. But that she would risk, even incite, mating, he could not comprehend. Not when she wanted her freedom so fiercely. But the Bold was not named so for missed opportunities.

One hand still holding hers, he used the other to tease with a gentle stroking, along the side of her body, barely brushing the side swell of her breast.

"You are so bloody luscious," he gave in, filled his hand with her, molded, squeezed as he lowered his head to suckle. He couldn't resist any more, freed her hands to fill both his with her softness. "You make me hurt, ache with wanting you. Since the first moment I saw you, my blood has risen so high I fear I’ll burst. Ease me, Maggie girl, ease my pain."

She made it more insistent, urging the heat in him to rise even higher. She pulled his head to hers, kissing him with a full mouth. Her hips rose to his, circled impatiently as he thrust against her.

Too much cloth between them, Talorc thought of his knife, to slice it away, to give him access to her breasts as he wadded her skirt in his hand, lifting it higher, higher. He wanted to see her legs, her hips, raised himself to do so but stopped.

"I'll not have you caught like this," he thought out loud. "We've barely made our pledge, left your home and already I'm ravishing you. Your clansmen will certainly see the change in you then."

Her eyes met his, so fierce, so wanton he was surprised by her words. “This is not how they see me as different, Laird MacKay.”

She was battling him with words when he was still battling his body. Trying to calm it.

She continued. “What they think is that I am more than I am.”

“Aren’t you proving that as we speak?” He asked, fighting for breath, fighting to tame the wildness in his veins. It didn’t help that she arched her back, squiggled her hips trying to pull from beneath him. He wasn’t ready to let her go. "They know you, Maggie. They’ve always known you, they just didn’t recognize you as I do."