Bold (The Handfasting)(21)

Wise words, only she didn’t know if she wanted to hear them. Contrary, that’s what she was. One minute enjoying the man’s company, the next, angry that he took all her choices away from her.

“You would help me?”

“Aye.” Diedre nodded, but didn’t have a chance to say more, for the Bold had reached them.



Maggie fought to hold to Diedre’s idea through days of travel, despite the aches of the forced ride she was drawn to the Bold. Though she kept her tongue sharp, whenever he was near, she hungered for those moments. Feared he would acknowledge her hardness and leave her be.

“Are you enjoying Diedre’s company, lass?’ A shiver of awareness shot through her as the Bold pulled alongside of her.

“Aye, I believe we will get on.”

“Good.” He nodded.

Her people were not ones for aimless chat. She had been relieved to see that neither were Talorc or his men.

After a time he took her arm, signaled to stop and be quiet.

They had just breached a small rise that looked over a narrow valley. Below, a herd of deer grazed along a stream that cut through one side of the flat land.

“See them.” The warmth of his hand intoxicated. She pulled free only to have him lean in, one hand braced behind her on the horse’s rump, the other pointing. Diverted by the strength of his hand, the sinewy strength in his arm, she failed to see what he was showing her.

“See him?” He jolted her to look where he pointed. “That’s Bruce, moving in.”

She sucked in her breath, surprised. Below them, blending in with the heather and the rock, a hunter crouched, edging ever closer to the herd, so much a part of the land that it was hard to place him.

She held her breath, as though even that small sound could be heard, and watched, waited, wondering how the Bold could tell, from this distance, who was who.

“He’s down wind, so the deer can’t smell him.” His explanation brushed her ear.

She focused, hard, on the man, Bruce, down on his belly creeping closer still. One of the creatures lifted its head, ears twitching, nose to the wind. The hunter stilled.

“He’s close enough now.”

Aye, Bruce was close to the deer but so was the Bold to her. The heat of his body, the brush of his breath drew her away from the action below. She looked at him, her handfasted.

He didn’t acknowledge her gaze, kept his on the action below so she took her time, considered just what it was that pulled at her senses. Why was he so different from the other men she knew?

The compulsion to trace the scar that ran along his cheek, to touch the crinkles that radiated from his eyes had her hand poised between the two of them, as though some magic controlled her better judgment. The dark tan of his skin, common enough among any who spent their days out of doors, fascinated.

“You’re going to miss it if you keep looking at me.” He said without once shifting his gaze away from Bruce.

Maggie snapped back just in time to see Bruce’s fluid adjustment from crouching to standing, aiming and shooting. He downed the animal in one shot as all the other game fled.

“No need for more. That will keep us for the journey.” Talorc told her and heeled his mount forward.

She urged her ride to catch up, confused by her compulsion yet not ready to fight it. “How did you know who that was down there?”

“I can recognize my men, how each moves.” He looked to her. “As I do with you.”

She snorted, “A stiff and bowlegged lass. Enchanting.”

“Oh girl, what I see you can be verrrry proud of.” He teased.

With her best glare she changed the subject. “You knew the deer were there but didn’t go to hunt.”

“Couldn’t have shown you if I was down there.”

His thoughtfulness defeated her. “You knew I would want to see it.”

“Aye.”

“I’ve never hunted.”

“And you’ve always wanted to, no doubt. I’ll be teaching you then.” Finally he stopped, turned and looked at her. She refused to look away, put her chin up defiant against her own reluctance.

“I would like that.”

He was studying her as closely as she had studied him. She fought the urge to squirm.

“No doubt, you’ll be good at it.” He stated.

He couldn’t know that but in her defense she admitted, “I can tickle fish better than my brothers.”

His chuckle echoed through her, rattling the foundation of her resistance. Over and over she tried to remember Diedre’s words.

Just don’t let him near. Stick with the women folk and don’t let him near. Then you can have a high time with us, and return home to anyone you want

By the next day her resistance was firmly back in place.





CHAPTER 12 - LOVE LOST



Talorc looked to the sky. Clear and bright and cold enough to freeze the ground. A relief after the wet, muddy journey of neither snow nor rain but a muddled mix of both that slapped their faces and melted on the ground.

Soon, the sun would set. By mid-day tomorrow they would reach Glen Toric. He planned it that way, so the sun would be high in the sky, shining down on his home in its most magnificent glory just as they rode up to it.

Despite the chill they took time this afternoon to bathe in the loch below, wash away the long muddy ride before trekking up to this camp, an outcropping of stone off the edge of the woods.

From the higher vantage point, aided by a bright moon, the tall square keep of Glen Toric could be seen, the substantial wings flaring out and back from its sides. The long narrow climb up to it proof of the safety it offered. Not fancy but strong, and sturdy and easily defended. Large enough to hold all she needed. Much like him.

He nodded to Liam, the last of the guards he met on his round of the watch, and headed back toward the camp. Positioned in the woods, his best men would watch for trouble while the others slept free from attack. This close to home there was little fear of that.

Diedre passed him as he wove through the woods. She had a parcel. Food for Liam, her latest love. Fair enough, the man had to eat. He also had to keep his wits about him.

“You’re not to distract him.” Talorc warned.

“Perhaps you’re the one who needs distracting.” She offered. “You’ve got to be frustrated as a mad bull with her within reach but out of touch.”

Oh, aye, he was frustrated as hell. Had expected to be wed three nights ago, the night of the Handfasting, but a warrior's camp was no place to woo a wife. And he needed time. Time to decide if he should warn her of what their coupling would mean. That she would be his wife at the end of it. It was a fine line of trust he walked.

But Deiedre knew he’d not take the bait. Never had with her, never would. In the past, discretion stopped him. Diedre didna’ understand the concept, proved as much tonight when she offered her game with Maggie right there in the camp. Empty gesture or no it showed a poor sense of decency.

“You get my ken? Give him the food but get back to the others.”

“Aye, I get your ken.”

He nodded, left her, trusting she would follow his orders.

He stopped just outside the light from the fire, the first one lit on this journey. He risked it as they were tight within MacKay land.

As he looked over the men, as was his way, he assessed the mood, warm from the fire, high spirits as they were so close to home. He made certain he accounted for everyone, everything before he let his sights rest on Maggie.

She stood speaking with some of the men, oblivious to her own power as a woman. Every man seen as a brother or cousin of sorts, she was comfortable with them, all of them, except him.

He made her nervous, he knew that, understood what it meant. She didn’t. Soon, he would teach her.

So he gave her ground, distance, thought that would ease the way for him, but he thought wrong. Rather than earn her trust, she grew more wary by the day. He wasn’t quite sure how to breach that divide.

Aye, Diedre was right, he was frustrated as a mad bull. He’d nearly broken when she bathed in this very afternoon, with him not ten feet away, back turned. No easy thing to do. Sounds, the rustle of clothes as she undressed, the catch of her breath from the frigid water enticed. All it took was one splash and his mind reeled with images; rivulets caressing where his hands had, and hadn't been. Droplets taking a lazy journey between high firm breasts with nipples puckered from the cold. He knew the curve of that breast, the weight of it.

But the water would go further than he had advanced. It would trail down across her body to pool in her navel, just waiting for him to dip his head, lave and sip. Sparkling beads would be caught in curls at the apex of her thighs. His fingers would weave past them to dip into the heat of Maggie's own moistness.

Soon, they would dance that dance. When he had her to himself. Alone, so his hand could roam as free as the water. His lips would travel the same path and his heat would find the source of hers.