Bold (The Handfasting)(18)

She snorted. “Know me or no, you dinna' get my kin last night.”

“You said you would handfast, you gave your word.”

She lashed out. “Oh, aye, I had no choice. You wouldn’t listen, would you? You had to keep going.” She shoved him aside, freed herself of his hold. “Like a boulder down a mountain, you are. But I told you, over and over. Know me or no, I don’t want you.”

“You don’t know what you want.”

"Ach!" Maggie rose, twitched her plaid straight with trembling hand. “I do know what I want!” She railed. “That's how little you know me because I have always known what I wanted. I want my home, I want my family, I want a simple life without all the complications of a man like you.

"I don’t want to fight to be heard, fight to be listened to, fight to be believed or to have my way.”

“You want to be in control.” Talorc nodded, he understood the desire, not that he was going to let her have her own way.

He stood, towered over her.

“Aye, I want control of my life, no one else’s, just mine.” She dragged her hair from her face. “Is that so much to ask for?”

Talorc shook his head, caught a stray lock of her hair with his finger and tried to push it behind her ear. She slapped his hand away.

Her sigh was weary and old as the mountains. “Lord knows, you're a fine enough looking man, and you have an uncanny way with a woman's body," she granted, "There are plenty of women who would want you. Why does it have to be me? Why, when you are nothing like what I want?"

Frustrated, and knowing there was no hope for it, Talorc snorted, “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.”

“Hah.” She snuffed, rose to his bait. “Of course you would think that just because a man is of lesser build he would be a lesser man.”

“He’d not be able to protect you as I would.”

“I have brothers enough for that. And I know how they are, how they try to bombard my wishes for their own. I've known you less than a day and already you ignore my wants, my cares.”

Talorc smiled, “Every man will try to have his way, in his own kind. Don’t underestimate a male’s hunger for control, just because he’s closer in height to you.”

She looked as sorrowful as a wee lamb tangled in the bracken. He had torn her from her home, her family, but he had a home and family to offer her. With time, she would understand that. “It is a brave thing you do lass, leaving everything that's familiar to you. I mean to make it up to you, to prove that it will be worth the pain you are feeling now.”

She turned to him, trails of tears long since dried, lined the length of her face. "The only comfort I have to that pain is knowing I will be home this time next year. My ma promised me, if I don’t give you my heart, then we would not be wed. And that, you can be sure, will be easy.”

Startled, he moved, to better see her. She was a lusty lass for one who wanted to walk away from a handfast. This explained that. “Is this what she told you?”

“Aye,” her eyes narrowed, “is that not the truth of it?”

"Oh, aye," he mumbled, certain her heart would rule her body. She just didn't know that. But he was coming to understand her openness to his touches. She didn't fear their passion because she didn't consider it a threat to her singleness.

Now that he had her attention, Talorc wasn’t certain he wanted it. She didn’t know that should she share her body with him, should they mate, they’d be wed. The chance of a child was enough to bind the least likely of couples.

The attraction was strong. The past moments were proof of that. It wouldn't be long before he slid between her thighs, no cloth to bar him, and slid into the core of her, toppling their handfasting into marriage.

They belonged together. Their passion was his strongest weapon against her denial of their bond. Her mother would know that. She had played his hand for him.

Intriguing.

“Do you not think you could give me your heart?”

Maggie was still fighting to right her plaid, the MacBede cloth. Not so different from his own. Not really, but the colors were off, dyed by plants grown in a different soil and the MacBedes had a thin orange line that couldn't be found on the MacKay cloth. Talorc frowned, he’d not noticed, others would. It would make her a stranger, a visitor, to them until the day she wore his colors. He wanted that change soon.

“My heart was ripped apart with my brother's death. You know well enough that a scar can cause lasting damage.”

“I’ve patience enough.”

She snorted. “Patience? Is that why you said your vows as you did? Is that why you bound yourself to me, this day? ‘I take thee, Maggie . . .’” she mimicked. “Not ‘I will take thee,' at a future date. No, you say, 'I take thee.’ You commit yourself to now. Why would you do that MacKay, why would you pledge yourself for life when you knew I would not match those words? Why would you put that upon me, if you have the patience you speak of?”

“I trust in what the future will bring.”

“You think you know me better than I know myself?”

“Aye, I do.” He stalled her sputtering denial with a gentle finger to her lips. “I’ve seen more of the world than you, Maggie. I know what is out there, I’ve been married before. Between us, there is more than the best of marriages have. You just need to learn of it.”

She stood, courageous and straight. It reminded him of their vows, their handfasting. She had been brave then, yet so vulnerable at the same time. She had kept her head high, her sight on whatever wall was before her. She didn't look to the people, would not look at him. If she had, would the joy in all the smiles have softened her heart?

He had watched her then, from where he spoke with her father. Dowry, land and furnishings, handed over with a pledge, simple transactions.

She had not come so willingly.

The ladies had to surround her, one lamb to be shepherded to his side. He had lifted her hand, placed it upon his arm. She barely allowed it to rest there, barely touched him. By the time he had led Maggie to the top of the entrance stairs, every available MacBede had been below, in the courtyard, to witness the joining.

She had not wanted to be there, continued to refuse to look at him, or the people below. He was the one to take her right hand in his right hand, her left in his, their hands bound in an unbreakable pattern of forever. His had been sure and warm, hers trembling and cold.

When he married Anabel, she had trembled as well, though there’d been a shy smile upon her lips. Not so with Maggie. Stoic, brave Maggie. He’d have to bring that smile to her lips and when he did, he doubted it would be shy.

“I suppose ‘tis time we were off.” Maggie sighed, bringing him back to the present.

“You spoke your vows loud and true, Maggie, I’m thanking you for that.”

“I said I’d handfast with you. I’d not go back on my word.”

“The whole of the courtyard heard you.”

“’Tis what they were there for.”

“They’re dreaming of happy endings.”

“They’re allowed their dreams. It’s reality that I must face.”

“I’ll give you a dream, if you’ll let me.” He’d caught her wary attention again.

“And what do you mean by that.”

“We can have a happy ending.”

Her hair shifted, a silken mass upon her shoulders, as she shook her head. “Nay, life is not a happy thing. Don’t be making promises you can’t keep.”

“Trust me, Maggie. Trust me to do what's right for you.”

She looked at him then, keenly.

“I would like to Talorc, I would like to, but you’ve not given me much ground for trusting you, if you ken my meaning.”

“Aye,” he nodded, frowning. It was true, he had cornered her into handfasting. He had skirted truths and played games to get her where he wanted her, but in the end, it would all work out. He said as much.

“We’ll see,” she acknowledged with a touch too much defeat for his Maggie.

That weary wariness troubled Talorc, but there was no time to fret. The men had ridden on. It was time Maggie and Talorc join them. As safe as his lands could be, bordering the MacBedes, there was no telling what the Gunns were willing to risk for retribution. She was his to protect now. He’d not come this far to lose her to his enemy.





CHAPTER 10 - THE WICKED



Chants rumbled on the breeze. Shadows, from the flicker of torch flames, writhed against monstrous standing stones, much as he expected the women would writhe this night.

His blood throbbed in anticipation. The steady stomp of his men’s feet, the thumping of their wooden staffs, ensured they felt the same.