The Handfasting (6 page)

She
should set them straight. Walking backwards, she told them. “If I ever visit
the MacKays, 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  doorways. 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 had been 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 coquette. 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?” Maggie snapped, finger aimed at Bruce, but 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.”

Talorc
said nothing, just looked to his men who no longer smiled.

“We
didna’ intrude until she screamed.” Bruce vowed.

“Screamed?”
Talorc, Feargus, all of Maggie’s brothers rounded on her, their hands on the
hilts of their swords. For the second time that evening, third time that day,
Maggie backed away. She did not like the feel of retreat.

“Why
did you scream?” Talorc asked, his voice far too calm, far too quiet.

“It’s
not what you’re thinking.” She backed up further.

“Maggie,”
her father barked, “where were you when you screamed?”

Ah,
anger, that she could face. She turned to her da. “It was naught but a yelp of
surprise.”

“Laird
MacKay,” William started, “I think it was . . .” But Maggie spun on him before
he could go further.

“’Tis
not your story to tell,” she bit out, “and it’s no one else’s business but my
own. There was no harm meant or done, so go away and stop following me.” Maggie
ordered.

She
gave them her back, stormed to the kitchens rather than wait for an outcome. She
could not miss the sound of Talorc’s voice as he asked where she had been. They
would answer him, there was no doubt to that, and then everyone would know of
her humiliation. Her life would be a misery.

“Maggie,”
Fiona caught up with her, turned her daughter around for a good look. “Ah, Maggie,
mine, you’ve grown into a fine lass, love.” And gave her a hug, tight as could
be.

“Don’t
say that so loud, ma. The others will think you’ve gone daft.”

“Nay,
but I’m going to ask you to be a bit kinder to our guests.” She shoved Maggie
back, fussed with her hair, “You’re a Highlander lass and a MacBede. You’d not
shame us now, would you?”

“Is
that what you think? That I’d shame you?"

“You
don’t treat him as you treat our other guests, Maggie, and you know it’s true.”

She
wanted to remind her mother that their other guests did not call her brothers
to battle, but she knew her mother would object. “Our other guests don’t treat
me the way he does.”

“He’s
not unkind.”

“Nay.”

“He’s
not rude?”

Maggie
might have argued that, as well, but to no better results. “Nay”

“Then
how does he treat you different that you act so queer around him?”

Maggie
shrugged, digging at the floor with the toe of her slipper. “I don’t know what
it is Ma, he just . . .” She looked away, avoided her mother’s eyes. “He just
frightens me so.”

Fiona
frowned, “He leaves in the morn. Can you hold your temper that long?”

“In
the morn?”

“Aye.”

Maggie
studied the man who had caused her to misbehave. “For tonight?”

“Aye.”

“That
I can do, Ma, for tonight. But it would be best if we keep apart.“Maggie.”
Fiona touched her daughter’s face. “You say he frightens you. I’ve never known
you to be frightened. Ever. And it can’t be the size of him, for you know
enough of grand men.”

“He’s
a great beast of a man, Ma.”

“He’s
not so much grander than your da or Jamie.”

“But
he’s so…” Maggie fought to explain what she’d yet to understand. “He makes me
feel peculiar, Ma. He makes my insides tumble about something fierce. I think
he’s got the power of spirits so they jump and dance inside of me when he's close.
I dinna’ like it. I want him to leave us.”

Mother
looked to daughter, as though for the first time in a long while, and was
startled by what she saw. With a shake of her head came laughter, light and
loving as a joyful embrace. At the same time, tears filled her eyes. It made no
sense to Maggie. No sense at all.

“Ah,
daughter mine,” once more, she gave a quick, hearty hug. “A day will come when
you’ll be wishing for just that sort of feeling.”

“Never.”

“Oh,
aye,” her mother laughed again, as she pushed Maggie toward the kitchens to
oversee the last of the preparations. “And I’ve a mind to sit him right beside
you, so you can find out what it is I’m speaking of.”

“You
wouldn’t, Ma!  You wouldn’t do that to me, would you now?”

“Oh,
aye, I would.” Fiona chuckled. “Just as soon as I speak to your da.” She shoved
Maggie off as she turned back to the great room.