Bold (The Handfasting)(3)

She wished him to stop touching her, distracting her, but his finger lingered, an absent gesture, that meant nothing. He continued to query her, his voice soft. "I'm wondering if it's true? Before a MacBede warrior sets off on his maiden battle, to face death for the first time, do you in fact give a piece of plaid with soil and heather to remind him of what he fights for?"

Nothing he had said, nothing he had done could have hurt her more than that question. She shoved his hand away. His touch may slay her senses, but she would not be felled by his words. She had stood the test of those packets and she would stand them still.

"Once you give to one, you give to all." She held on to her pride, because that much was true.

A fool, she had been, to hand them out, to think it a grand thing to do. The reality held meager thanks. Parcels meant to be a prize, proved no more than a worthless bundle that embarrassed giver and receiver both. She didn't know how to stop it, though she knew it would be up to her to do so.



* * * * * * * * * *



Talorc watched the straight line of her spine as the lass escaped, and chuckled. He would catch-up to her soon enough but first he would ease the chaos left behind her. The MacBedes were caught between loyalty to one of their own and the realities of life. War came to them, they had to meet it or be run over. Men died, honorable lives lost to keep their clans safe.

He had not killed Ian, but the Gunns had. Though she wouldn't know of it, it was thanks to her that the guilty had paid for their sins.

Her brother, Ceadric, jostled his arm, "I told you she was spirited."

Talorc nodded, "You did that. But you didna' say she blames me for your brother's death."

"Aye, she does that," James answered him, "and she can be a stubborn one, but she's not stupid. She'll be civil, soon enough, or she'll have us to contend with." He gestured to all of the MacBede men.

Talorc didn't doubt that she was as stubborn as she was feisty. His task would be more difficult for it, but a lass easily come by was no great winning. Maggie's appeal was all the more powerful for her reluctance.

The truth of it was, fight it or no, she would soon come to learn that he was the right man for her. He knew it as a certainty when he saw her run through the courtyard, straight for him, her lush body shifting with every stride. Before that moment she had been a heady dream, built on stories others told. Innocent stories about a beautiful lass with courage and honor. No one could know how those stories had turned into erotic dreams, filling him with a passion for a faceless goddess.

He had expected to be disappointed when they met in the flesh; had not expected the site of her to fill his blood enough to explode. Ample bodied Maggie MacBede, bursting with life, saturated every thought, every feeling.

She failed to sense his presence. The lass had been totally unaware that he stood a mere breath away. With nary a glance, she jumped, not into his arms, but straight into her brother's.

One shake of his head cleared the haze of fantasy. He had anticipated this meeting for weeks. She stepped blindly into it. If she had known of it, there's no doubt, she would have been as prepared for battle as he had prepared for a union.

Time. He could give her that, once he had her at Glen Toric. He would engulf her with his presence, with the fire that burned between them. Until then, there was no time. They had to leave on the morrow.

Together.

He lifted his head, searched out the surrounding people, to catch William's eye. The slight nod told him what he needed to know. If he could not use his Scottish tongue to good advantage, and woo her with words by the end of the night, his plan would be enforced. In the meantime, his men would keep a close watch on his lass.

By morning, through gentle persuasion or abduction, she would be his.

Talorc headed toward the door Maggie had taken. It was time to start his assault.





CHAPTER 2 - THE CHALLENGE



In the quiet sanctuary of the keep, Maggie sank against the hard stone wall and let the tremors have their way. She could barely stand, even braced as she was. Conflicts whipped through her; what she imagined of the Bold versus the reality of him: big and handsome, not battle beaten and ugly. Laugh lines in place of frowns or scowling furrows.

A draw that sucked her in without revulsion.

But she could still hate; hate the hands that held her, the ripple of confusion provoked.

She touched her cheek, the lingering caress of a sworn enemy.

He was not the kind of man she sought, too big, overpowering. No malleability in him, none at all. He had drawn her twin to his death.

She had challenged him.

"Oh God," she moaned. You never challenge a man like the MacKay, who lived for the fight, thrived on it.

Why did he have to come here, himself, after years of sending messengers? Why did he choose now to appear, and churn-up her life, overwhelm her with the chaos of sensation?

The sound of the keep door opening, nudged her away from the wall, to shift around the corner, into the tower square.

"Maggie MacBede?" The call tickled through her like water in a gurgling brook. Her traitoress body recognized the deep rumble of the MacKay's shout, tempted a response.

She closed her eyes, willed herself not to react.

"Where are you lass?" his boom reverberated through the hall.

The shift of feet, the crunch of soles on the rough stone floor moved toward her. Resigned, she opened her eyes to find him in the doorway of the tower, watching her.

"What do you want?" She snapped wishing he would step away.

He moved closer.

"Maggie, I promised Ian I would come to you."

"Promised Ian?" her heart racketed against her breast. Of all she expected from this man, this was not it.

Nor did she expect the tenderness in his eyes, the softening of his voice as he explained, "it was in my arms that your brother died. I promised him that I would come to you. It's taken me too long, but I am here now."

Tears welled. The Bold cupped her face with one large palm, his thumb soothing the side of her cheek.

"He knew you would take it badly. He told me to tell you he was proud, and he would not desert you."

"Well he did desert me." She bit her lip against a tremble.

"No, he's here," one finger tapped at her temple, "In your memories. And he's here." He laid his hand between her breasts, over her heart, "in your love. Like salt to water, he is everywhere."

Silent, they stood there, his eyes meeting hers, one hand holding her shoulder, the other over her heart. She was certain he felt the beat of it, pounding, flooding her world by his mere presence. An innocent touch offered yet it turned her thoughts from Ian, stole her mind, gave her body rule.

Questions never questioned, temptations when she had never been tempted. Again, the image of a mare came to mind. How she would nip and bite, buck at a stallion yet allow him to mount her. She wanted to let this man, this huge stranger, overpower her senses.

Attraction beyond reason.

"I promised your brother," he stood even closer. Her breath caught in her throat, “to give you this," he leaned in, kissed her, a butterfly’s touch to her cheek and she whimpered. Not because it was from Ian. Ian had never sent lightning bolts through her with a mere kiss. No one had.

She fought to tame her reaction, but the bewildering whirl of confusion proved too wild to cage.

The Bold whispered, "and I want to give you this," his lips touched hers, a light airy, brush along her mouth. She pushed him away.

“Just a kiss, Maggie girl.”

Innocent, perhaps, but she was not stupid. His idea of a kiss would never be a mere ‘just.’

“When do you leave?”

“In the morning.” A simple answer, but his eyes shifted away. So there was more to his leaving than that.

She pressed for clarification. “You will be gone then?” If he was to go, could she allow herself this liberty? One kiss, knowing she would never have to face him again? May never face this enticement again?

“In the morning I will be gone.” Still, his eyes did not meet hers but followed the arc of his finger as it traced the side her cheek. The light touch ricocheted through her body.

She shivered and nodded despite a twinge of uncertainty. Surely there was no room for falsehood in such a straight reply.

“Just a kiss.” She pushed.

“Aye, just a kiss.” He murmured as he lowered his head.

She had been right. There was no ‘just’ about it, no feathery caress of lips but a journey begun with the press of lips, the taste of her mouth. He tickled the seal of her lips before moving on along her jaw to nibble his way to her ear.

A kiss turned to whispered words, sweet and soothing of a language she did not know. It rippled, danced clear to her toes. Dormant senses blossomed.

The carnal trail shifted down her neck

Maggie clutched his shoulders. He pulled her close, surrounded her, captured her.