Bold (The Handfasting)(22)

But not tonight. Not until they reached Glen Toric. Not until they had a place to bed without fifty men surrounding them. And not until she had learned that the love of her body was the love of her heart.

He had an idea, was waiting for just the right moment, needed her trust to move into action. That was why he stood back as fifty men, blustered and blushed with the sound of her voice.

It could not have been easy for her brothers to keep suitors away. To do so proved a disservice. Maggie saw all men as extensions of her family, like brothers. So much so, he was amazed she had not tied him with that same rope. Then again, he knew how singular their attraction was.

Thomas leaned over her, his smile as wide as his face could stretch, and said something. She chuckled, a tease of sound that rode the breeze and trailed across Talorc’s shoulders like a lover’s caress.

She swatted at Thomas and shooed him away, then swung her head, so her hair waved back and forth before the heat. There was no provocative intent in what she did. She was too busy prattling on about nonsense, totally unaware that as her neck arced, so did her back and with her back bowed the roundness of her figure stood out in stark relief. A rich, lush, virginal offering.

Blood rushed through his body. She was a heady temptation, blocking out the rest of the world, in the midst of a warrior’s camp.

They were not alone. He must not forget, they were not alone.

His gaze snapped to his men. Wide-eyed and slack jawed they stared, as unable to move as he had been. He cursed.

“Maggie.” As expected, she shot straight with the sound of his voice, her eyes wary, for she was coming to be cautious of him and of what they shared. As abruptly as she sat up, his men moved away, released from the spell she cast.

That was as alone as they would be tonight.

When he neither moved nor spoke, Maggie shrugged her shoulders, reached back to braid thick strands of auburn tresses. "How much further to Glen Toric?" She asked.

He stayed where he was, didn't move closer, though he couldn't have said why. "Another day, a short one. We should be there before dark."

Four days they’d been riding when the entire journey only took two. He slowed the pace for Maggie.

“You’ve had bad dreams?”

Every bit of her went still. “Why would you say that?”

Unable to sleep, he had watched her of a night, close to the fire. Only Maggie had not slept, not properly, she tossed and turned and called out.

“Ian. You asked for Ian.”

“Did I?” She studied the ground beneath her feet.

“My guess is he responds, for you settle.”

A blush crept up as she shook her head. “I don’t remember.” She looked about, as though to bring the dreams back, then looked at him. “Did I really?”

“You settled.” And was pleased to see her smile.

“Come,” he was close now. “There are fish in the stream, just beyond the trees, over there,” he pointed. “waiting for a tickle.”

“Are there?” Her smile turned playful. “You want me to show you how it’s done?”

She was teasing him. This was good. It proved her barrier was not a solid one.

“We’ll see. Why not a wager lass? I win, I get a kiss. You win and,” he reached out, hoping she would take his hand. “What, Maggie girl, what do you get?”

“To walk!”

“You ask the world, Maggie and all I want is a simple kiss.” But he was happy now for she had taken his hand, was letting him lead her to the stream.

He saw Bruce aiming for them and shook his head. This was the closest he had been to Maggie in days, he did not want to upset that.

Bruce ignored his scowl, sidled up beside him. "Bold."

"I'm busy now, Bruce."

"Not too busy for this.”

He squeezed her hand, looked to her, not willing to let her go when she pulled free. A reluctant withdrawal.

“You go, Bold.” Her wistful smile worried him for it spoke of a chance lost forever when there should be so many more in their future.

Damn his responsibilities.

“It’s important, Laird, or I’d not break in.”

“Wait for me?” He asked Maggie but she didn’t answer-- just waved a small wave as she backed away. The distance loomed far wider than feet.

“Bold,” Bruce pressed. “You’ll be wantin’ to hear this now, not later.”

“What?” He snapped.

“There's sign of riders coming toward us. They veered east just short of Dunegan's Woods."

That caught his attention. “Riders? Have you told the watch?"

"Aye. But that's not the worst of it."

Talorc watched Maggie head toward the bush for a bit of privacy and frowned. Diedre should be back by now, should go with her into the woods.

Unease burgeoned as he looked back at Bruce. "What is the worst of it?"

"Someone's playing with the old ways. They've built an altar, for sacrifice."

"In Donegan's wood?"

"Aye."

"Are you certain that's what it's for?"

Bruce shifted on his feet. "The markings are there, and it's been used. It's covered with blood stains. From the looks of the bones by the fire, more than animals have been on that stone."

"How old are the tracks?" Some of the dis-ease settled as Maggie stepped back into the clearing.

"Within a day, but Bold," Bruce looked away, as if he couldn't face his leader, "it looks like they were preparing for another sacrifice. There's fresh wood laid out, and . . ."

"This is our land," Talorc bellowed. "This is happening inside our borders!"

"I know, and I've doubled the guard."

"Did you not destroy that altar?"

Bruce stared at the Bold. "No, the men wouldna’ touch it."

Talorc dampened his fury, it would only cloud his thoughts. The first thing was to protect Maggie, guard her at all times.

“Ian, what?” She yelled as she backed toward the outcropping and turned to him, her eyes wide with fear. “Ian’s there, can you see him? Blocking my way . . .” She didn’t get time to finish for Deidre staggered from the woods on the other side, her clothes stained with blood. She shook, raised her hand, a bloody hand, knife still clasped in it.

“We were attacked.” The boisterous woman whimpered. “Liam’s dead!” With her wail the woods purged a flood of wild men, painted, armed ready for battle.

Warrior’s battle calls filled the night. Undulating cries rose from the woods, the heavy pounding of shields. They were cornered on that outcropping, no were to go but back and then down, a fifty foot drop.

Maggie. They must protect Maggie. “Surround her!” Talorc ordered, as he raced forward, no question that the men would form a protective body guard around her.

But she was only safe if the battle was won.

It was turning dark, the worst time for attack, to distinguish friend from foe. His claymore in hand, Talorc charged for the trees, toward the heat of the fray.

Arrows rained down upon them. Men wearing naught but painted symbols poured from the wood, heaved rocks, waved claymores and dirks. MacKays outnumbered the band but the attackers had targes to shield them from blows and the advantage of surprise. The MacKays barely had time to gather their wits let alone weapons and shields.

He wielded his blade, slashed and stabbed, swung from side to side, front to back to confront foe after foe. A fierce battle, a focused fight, pushing them further back toward the edge of the rocks.

Spurred with worry, he lunged in attack, swerved to see the circle of his men with Maggie in the middle. They had her safe, despite the onslaught of arrows and rocks still coming from the cowards in the woods. Damned if she wasn’t struggling to break free.

Mikey broke from the circle, charged a giant of a man who drew too near. Talorc leaped toward the open hole, as his men tried to close it, but Maggie pushed past them. A stone flew through the air where her head had been. She reached down, oblivious to the near miss, and grabbed it. With the strength of fury she heaved it at the nearest target. He went down.

Diedre grabbed her arm, pulled her toward the edge of the outcropping, a sliver of space where no one fought. Maggie pulled hard, brought Diedre around, revealing a wild man behind her. Maggie grabbed the knife still clutched in Diedre’s hand, aimed it so the two of them stabbed. As he fell Deidre twisted free, revealing the swing of the man’s club, already high to bring down on Deidre’s head. It crashed down on Maggie’s instead as he fell on top of her.

Talorc charged toward them, too far to catch her, close enough to hear the crack as her head hit the rocky ground. Talorc tore the man off her as if he was no more than a blanket. Dead, he was dead. The Bold spun around, blood pumped with violence, looking to lash out, finding only stillness.