Bold (The Handfasting)(9)

“Do you know, this is MacBede land?” She kept to her most ladylike voice. “And that I am a MacBede?”

“Aye, we are knowing that.” They grinned stupid grins.

“Well then, I don’t know how it is at the MacKay keep, but here a woman is safe to walk on her own.”

“You’ll be safe on MacKay land.” One of them offered.

She stumbled on that, bewildered. There was naught she could say, but still she hesitated. Even when she turned to walk off again she did so with a great deal of wariness. They were fools if they thought she would ever be in MacKay territory. She'd never left MacBede land and had no intention of doing so.

She should set them straight. Walking backwards, she told them. “If I ever visit the MacKay’s, which I doubt would be soon, I’ll be remembering that. But for now, kindly leave me be.”

She stood still, waited.

They stood still, focused on her.

“I’m only going up to the keep,” she informed them as if they were simple in the head.

They nodded.

She turned, took a step and looked back. They hadn’t followed her, but their grins were as wide as a doorway. She hoped their faces ached from them.

She walked a few paces before she checked on them again.

“You’ll do us proud, Maggie MacBede,” they told her.

Harumph. She strode up to the keep, without another turn.

She was not a pleasant person, right now. In truth she was feeling a mite shrewish, and it was all the MacKay's fault.



· * * * * * * * * * * *



The swarm of people within the great hall helped break the chill of the changing season. The MacBedes and their guests milled about the central fire pit as smoke rose, curled about their heads before drifting higher and out the window slits.

The main doors flew open. Fire flared as smoke swirled wildly into a dancing specter. Maggie stood upon the portal, fists planted on her hips, head high. Her glorious mane billowed about her.

Anticipation speared Talorc. She was proud and magnificent and soon she would be his.

“Shut that door, Maggie,” her father called across the cavernous room, “and come speak to The MacKay.”

Talorc watched her advance. Two of his men, William and Bruce filled the entrance, shut the door and followed in Maggie's wake.

Aye, she was magnificent, and raring for a fight. Talorc waited, knowing he was in her sights, knowing that she’d stop no more than a foot's distance. Far enough that she’d not get a crick looking up at him, close enough for confrontation.

There’d not been a day in Talorc’s memory when a woman, other than his ma or even his grandma, had railed at him. Aye, for that, he could not remember a time when a woman was a challenge.

He wanted to laugh, felt it rise inside of him. Not in jest, never in jest. His Maggie was no laughing matter. This was pure exhilaration. He had to fight it for she wouldn't understand the smile on his face, and she was riled enough already.

He pictured her taunting him, goading him with her luscious body, using a mattress for the battlefield. His body tensed, nostrils flared. Now was not the time for this.

For distraction he focused on William and Bruce. They followed her path, close enough to grab her if need be, far enough to give Maggie her own head.

“Where’s Diedre?” He called to them. He brought Diedre as a companion for Maggie when they left for Glen Toric.

“Visiting with the women in the village.” Not the answer he wanted.

Talorc’s scowl matched Maggie's when he looked down to where she now stood. As predicted, no less than one foot away.

Unfortunately, as his scowl fled a smile spread. She’d not care for that.

“You’re looking fine, lass,” he told her, sure that the compliment would ease the tension.

“Am I now?” She trilled, all wide eyed and false friendliness.

“It’s as I said,” Talorc offered cautiously, more comfortable with her straight forward anger than this show of girlish cunning.

“Ah, so fine, perhaps, that you’re thinking someone might want to snatch me up and run away with me?”

They couldn't have told her. Talorc glared at his men but knew they’d said nothing. They would never betray their plan. Still, her scenario was uncannily accurate.

“Or maybe,” she told him sweetly, conversationally, “you think there is evil lurking in the streets.”

She was determined to play the young innocent, the coquet. Talorc decided it did not suit her.

“I’m thinkin’” she continued with mock solemnity, “that you don’t consider the MacBedes able to care for their own.”

“William?” Talorc ordered.

“It’s not what you’re thinking, Laird.” William offered.

“No, ‘tis no wrong doing of ours.” Bruce added, bringing Maggie’s fury around on himself.

“No wrong doing on your part?” The two warriors were on the far side of the fire pit. Talorc, being so much closer drew Maggie’s ire. She spun back and shoved at his chest, as if she could push him away.

“Hoi, Maggie.” He grabbed her hand. “Tell me what’s troubling you.”

But she didn’t. She didn’t say a word, nor did she move. The touch, her hand to his chest, his hand to hers, froze any action. Her eyes widened as she stared, stunned.

This time, there was no hope but to smile. For she stood before him, her chest rising and falling, so you’d think the air had grown too thin and she needed more, yet couldn’t get enough. To be true, the slight contact sizzled.

He shook his head, knowing all this was new to her. Unsettling.

He raised his free hand to quiet the murmured bluster that surrounded them. God help him, he’d rather have been holding her with both hands.

“Maggie,” his voice a hoarse whisper, not by design but it suited the moment, made it more intimate.

She tried to pull her hand free, to tug it loose, causing him to press it more fiercely against his chest. The room settled, or so it seemed. Perhaps he just didn’t hear it any more, as his focus, every bit of him, was centered on Maggie. When he lowered his free hand to reach for hers, the movement was instinctive. Never did his eyes leave hers. He understood the wariness, the caution in her eyes.

Did she see the promises, the questions in his? Perhaps, for she lowered her gaze which drew his glance to her lips. Full and red as a summer's berry, dipped and curved as neatly as his bow. The luscious fruit parted as the tip of her tongue snuck out to slowly wet what he so hungered to taste. Talorc swore time slowed, each movement measured by an eternity of sensation. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, felt the whole of his body tense with tortuously exquisite reactions.

“They . . .” Her words a whispered breath. “They followed me, wouldn’t let me be.”

He leaned closer, not understanding her complaint. “You mean William and Bruce?”

“Aye,” she broke the moment with a swift look over her shoulder. The sight of his men brought a return of her fury. When she tugged at her hands, he let them slip from his grasp, not surprised when she tucked them behind her.

He didn’t consider her step away from him to be cowardly. They needed distance if any rational discussion was to take place. Straightening, clasping his own hands behind him, Talorc waited for her to continue.

“You know, Laird MacKay,” He watched as she took a deep breath and smoothed her plaid down her sides, “I was born here.” When he nodded, she acknowledged it with one of her own as she turned to pace. “And I was raised right here in this keep.” She pointed to the rush covered floor that she crossed, back and forth, before him. “To be sure, by marriage and blood I’m kin to everyone within the walls of this place.” She halted, her brow knotted thoughtfully before she looked up at him. “Do you get my ken?”

Again, Talorc nodded for her to continue, for he didn’t have the slightest idea where she was going with all this.

“Well, now, I’m not saying things are different for the MacKays . . .”

Talorc stopped her, wanting to make sure she understood they were not so different. “The MacBedes are descendants of the MacKays and well you know that. We are kin, Maggie, distant mayhap, but . . .”

“Och,” she stilled him, “What I’m saying is that on MacBede land, within the walls of this keep, I am safe from harm. No one would hurt me. Now, mayhap, a MacKay woman is not so safe . . .”

“You go too far, woman!” Talorc roared, the MacBede men joining in against their own.

Maggie ignored them all as she leaned in to face Talorc head on with the fury of her own anger. “Then tell me,” she snapped, “why these brutes find the need to follow me? Here in my own home. On the land where I’ve run free as the wind. In the keep that comforts my heart? Why would they be thinking I need protection? They insult us, Laird MacKay.”