Bold (The Handfasting)(4)

A mere kiss.

To him perhaps.

Reason reared, for one valiant fight. She fought herself, fought him, pushed against that broad chest. Only half a battle as half still clung to the kiss. He lifted his head, eased his hold.

Her father and brothers had warned about men, her mother issued cautions against unwedded desire. Everyone spoke of young Alicia, who disappeared one day, drawn by desire to an evil stranger she spoke of but no one ever saw.

The Bold would leave in the morning.

She would not be so foolish as to leave with him.

What harm to steal this moment, this one time, to allow desire free reign in a stairwell where it could not go further, with a man she would never have to see again?

"Meet me in this." The whisper brushed her lips.

Always impetuous, she charged heedless in to frays more dangerous than this.

"You will not best me at this, Bold." She pulled his head down to hers.

The Bold seized her opening, lifted her against him. She refused to hang, toes dangling above the floor. Hands gripping his hair, her mouth as hungry as his, she lifted her legs, wrapped them tight around his waist, reveled in his shocked stillness.

He pulled away long enough to chuckle, or was it a groan? She didn't know, didn't care, too focused on his mouth as it suckled a line from the tender skin behind her ear, down her neck. Thrilled, as he pressed her against the wall, against the core of her. Shocked tremors ricocheted through her.

It was not enough.

Wild, untamed, raised among a people who spoke of earthy pleasures, Instinct led her game. No demure lass but a woman with a new found appetite for the battle of desire, to be desired. To take.

He stilled, pushed her legs down, set her to the ground, eased away. She grabbed his arms, to pull his attention back.

"Shhh."

Laughter, orders, whispers sounded in the hall. The clan moved back to the duties of life. Everyone but Maggie. She drew in a deep breath, tried to settle aroused uncertainties.

He pulled her deeper into the shadows under the winding tower stairs and leaned his head against hers. "Maggie mine," a hoarse croak, “with the heat in you, it's a wonder you don't have a dozen children by now."

"You miserable swine.” She batted at his hold. Voices in the hall reminded, she lowered her voice, "You shouldn't be teaching me such things."

"Did I teach you Maggie? I wonder if you're not teaching me."

Stunned Maggie stammered for words to fling, only to find she had lost him to something over his shoulder.

She peeked around the side of him.

Her brothers stood in the doorway, arms akimbo. Grand, great men. A wall of them. Her protectors. Pride swelled at the sight of them. She had met him in the battle of senses and now her brothers would kill him for taking her to that battleground.

The Bold turned, to face them, his arm still wrapped around Maggie, forcing her around as well. "She's mine." Was all he said. No request, no rights to others, just pure possession.

"Aye," Douglas nodded, "I'd say she better be."

Rage soared. "You say nothing, Douglas!" she fought for breath, “He took advantage, as you've warned a man might. He pushed beyond manners!"

Her brothers did not rise to her anger but smiled. James answered for them. "We think you've met your match, Maggie MacBede. Time a man took charge of you."

The Bold squeezed her closer, she shoved away, furious with him, with her kin, with herself. "I am no one’s! Do you hear?" she stalked past her brothers but not without ordering, "You are to protect my honor." She reminded them. "So you best take care of him. He's nothing but a boastful braggart of a scoundrel!"

They all laughed. Laughed! She refused to listen. Refused to think of what her body had tried to tell her. She was a woman of intelligence. She would not let her flesh dictate what she would do, who she would do it with. All it took was keeping that man away from her.





CHAPTER 3 – BAWDY WOMEN



Aulay Gunn looked to where the man pointed.

“See that?” Old Ros wailed. “See those holes?” His hands trembled with distress. “They’ve been punched in there.” Tears threatened. “How am I to go out and get fish? How are we to feed ourselves?”

This was not the first fisherman to have lost boats to sabotage.

“Aye, you’ll not be using that boat this day. You tend to it, see if it can’t be made sea worthy again. I’ll get young Taran to help you.”

“And you’ll go after the MacKays, now?” Ros’s voice firmed, fueled by retribution.

“Oh aye,” Aulay promised. “Don’t you worry. We’ll get the lousy MacKay’s if they’re the ones who are doing this.”

“Of course they’re the ones who are doing this, mon. Who else would do such a thing?”

“I don’t know, Ros, I just don’t know.” Aulay shook his head, fretting over just that. The MacKays may be mortal enemies stealing livestock and raiding goods but that was no different than the Gunns were want to do.

Malicious destruction for its own sake was not something The MacKay would condone. The man had his sense of honor. This was not honorable.

Much as Aulay hated to admit it, he and the MacKay were not that different. On separate sides of the fence, but with the same responsibilities. The MacKay had no reason to start a war with the Gunns. Everyone in their part of the world knew the man had just filled his stores. Why do something that would drain those resources? It made no sense.

“If it’s the MacKays, we will get them for this. But I want to find out just who the vermin is before we strike.”

“Bloody MacKays, that’s who it is, mon, who else would go against us like this?”

And that, Aulay knew, was the crux of his problem.



* * * * * * * * * *



Maggie slipped through the keep headed for the kitchens, relaxed, as she always did, amid scents that embraced, succulent and heady as only a kitchen can be. This was her home, her place, amid the bustle of clan's women, within this room rich with roasting meats, spicy steam and yeast. As a child she had helped tend whole haunches skewered on spits set before the huge fire with ovens placed in the wall around that fire. It was here the clanswomen baked cakes and bread while the warmth aided the brewing of strong, dark beer in heavy casks set deep in the shadows.

Simon, her young cousin, stole a bannock cake straight off the rack where it cooled. Maggie chuckled, but did not try to stop Simon,

“Did you see The MacKay?” Sibeal, wife of Maggie's oldest brother asked any who would listen.

Simon headed to the spit handle he had abandoned. Maggie shooed him away and grabbed the handle herself, near enough to hear the chatter, far enough removed that, she hoped, no one would notice her. It was no more than gossip, the women were about, but Maggie found she was drawn to their foolish natter.

“Oh, aye,” her cousin Muireall sighed. “What a man that one is.” Maggie snorted. Everyone knew Muireall thought the same of all men.

“He’s even larger than The MacBede.” Another cousin brayed. Too true, Maggie glowered.

“Did you see his eyes?” Muireall trilled, “I’ve never seen anything so blue in my life. They’re as clear as the summer sky.” Summer sky? Nay, not so simple. They were more like a gem and its playful light, fire and ice all in one place. Just as likely to burn as to make you shiver.

And shiver she did, remembering his eyes when he looked at her. Thoughts of him were like a fierce undertow. A body could drown in it while scrambling for a shore that was safe and secure. Maggie released the spits handle, startled by her own thoughts. She had to get out of the room, away from the talk, talk, talk.

“Are you fancying him then, Muireall?” Alec's wife, Caitlin, lured Maggie back with her question. “For you must know when a man is that large, he’s that large allllll over.” Maggie blushed. She doubt if all she felt was bunched cloth, which meant Caitlin's words were truth.

“You’re not telling me anything I don’t know.” Muireall bragged, “My own Malcolm, God rest his soul, was no little tyke.”

“No,” the others laughed together, “no he was no small man, and a shame it was he had to go so soon. He’s missed.”

“The missing wouldn’t be so bad,” Muireall confided with a laugh, “if it could be shared with someone like the MacKay, now. And as he’s been widowed these three years, well . . .”

“Och, Muireall,” Nigel’s wife, Leitis, humphed, “he’s not looking for a widow such as yourself.”

“And why not?”

Maggie snorted. There was no need to turn around to see the glances passed from one woman to another. They’d all be looking about, wondering who would do the telling. It was Leitis who finally admitted, “He’s not going to look for a lady willing to share the warmth in any bed. A man such as the MacKay will show more discretion.”