Authors: Becca St. John
Maggie
stopped, looked down at the man she would Handfast in the morning. “Tomorrow,”
she promised with a grim determination, so at odds with the enthusiasm he
obviously felt.
Tomorrow
she would be promised to a man bold in his battles, both on the battlefield and
off. Life would never be easy. If she thought getting her own way was difficult
with her brothers and a bear of a father, winning concessions with this man
would be all the harder. Hadn’t tonight proved that?
* * * * * * * * * *
Maggie
scrambled to hide as the earth quaked and shook about her.
“Maggie
. . . Maggie, wake darling, ‘tis time.”
Groggy
with sleep, she stirred, opened her eyes. A circle of candles surrounded her
bed, lighting the dark of the night. Kinswomen, her mother included. Why?
“Oh
Maggie,” Muireall swooned upon the bed. “Are you not thrilled? Are you not the
luckiest lass in the whole of the Highlands?”
Still
muddled, Maggie rubbed her eyes.
“Oh,
aye,” Leitis smiled, “if Nigel had courted me like that, I don’t know what
would have happened.”
“I
do!” Sibeal brought on a chorus of laughter that the older women tried to hush
in deference to Maggie’s innocence. Quick as the flicker of a candle, Maggie
understood why her kinswomen were here, why they spoke the way they did.
Come
daylight, she would be riding away from this place, her home. “What’s the time?
Is it anywhere near to morning?”
“You’ve
an hour at most.” Fiona sat beside her daughter, shooing the other women off.
They
had all worked late into the night, deciding what Maggie could take with her,
what would need sending, what would be saved for her children. They had teased
and sighed and oohed over Maggie’s fate. Only Maggie didn’t take to the fussing.
She remained practical; it was the only way to get through what she needed to
get through.
It
was bad enough that she would have to marry a warrior who came with the near
promise of widowhood. God forbid she be left as hungry for male company as
Muireall. And with a warrior, a great huge beast of a man, well . . . she would
have to be just as strong in spirit. If not, he’d trounce her in every manner
of will-- just as he’d done last night when she was fighting for life as she
knew it.
The
worst of it was that he didn’t know her, and when he did come to see who she
really was, when all the grand stories proved to be no more than a blown up
grain of truth, would he want her? Or, would he turn to all those other women
who swooned at the mere thought of him?
Could
she ever hope to hold a man such as Talorc the Bold?
As
if to spite Maggie’s thoughts, her mother took her hand, “He’s a splendid man.”
Then she brushed the hair from Maggie’s forehead. Maggie pulled back. How many
times in the past had her mother done just such a thing to ease an illness, a
pain, or to soothe the frustrations of the young? But those gestures would be
too far away to be of any comfort when Maggie faced the confusion and fear of a
new home.
“She’ll
be the envy of every woman,” Caitlin cawed, unaware of the sudden wariness
between mother and daughter.
“Oh,
aye,” Siobhan responded, “he makes me quiver.”
“How
I wish I could be you on the bedding night.” Someone else said and they all
sighed and nodded.
The
words poured around Maggie, too many to take in, too forceful to ignore. Confused,
shaken, she lifted her head to knowing smiles. They jostled each other with
elbows, raised eyebrows, their comments, now whispered, growing more suggestive
by the moment, and suddenly Maggie found a new emotion, a new fear, to
completely overwhelm all the others she’d ever felt since meeting this man.
If
they were all so eager, why hadn’t they asked to be sacrificed? Why hadn’t they
saved her, possibly the only woman who didn’t want to be in this place?
Fiona
must have sensed what was happening, for she wrapped a protective arm around
her daughter's shoulders, quieting the others.
“Don’t
go frightening her, now.” Fiona warned, but the protective care had come too
late. Maggie yanked free of her mother's hold.
“You
knew what he was up to, didna’ you?” She snapped, and saw her mother's guilty
start. So that was the way of it. “Last night, before we even sat to dine, you
knew. You led me into that, without a word of care.”
Throwing
off the covers, she scrambled out the far side of the bed and yelled. “How
could ya’ do that? How could you let him put me in that corner, where there was
no turning back, no matter how I felt?”
“Oh,
Maggie, I didna’ think . . .”
“You
should think! I’m your only daughter and now I’ve no home here. Why do I wait
to be bathed and dressed? Why don’t I just go down there and take his hands and
make my promises and leave? For you’ve sent me away from the only home I’ve
ever wanted to know. To a place where who knows what waits?”
Although
she paused, to gather breath, to settle the rising hysteria, the others were
too stunned to break her momentum.
“Do
ya’ think he lived there with no woman in his bed?” She asked. “Do you think
I’ll have my own around me when they carry his body back, all bloodied and
broken after a battle? Do you think I’ll be pleased with a man not of my own
choosin’?”
“Aye!”
Angrily, Fiona broke through the shock of her daughter’s attack with a succinct
nod, “I do!” She shouted back, rounding on Maggie. “For the first time I’m
grateful for your brothers’ interference. For 'tis true, no man dared court
their sister. But your brothers would not dare to interfere with the Bold. Nor
would I have allowed it, as I did in the past.”
She
took her daughter by the shoulders. “He’s perfect for you, Maggie, even if
you’re too fool to know it.”
They
stood, both rigid, linked by Fiona’s hands on Maggie’s shoulders, when suddenly
Maggie flung herself into her mother’s arms. “Oh mama, I’m so frightened!” And
finally the tears came, as mother and daughter clung to each other, each full
of their own sorrows for the parting.
Fiona
would lose her daughter, to fret and worry, with no way of knowing how her own
little lass fared. And Maggie, to face marriage to a stranger, to confront the
unknown, without her mother’s wisdom and care.
“Oh,
lass, you’ll be fine, you will.” Fiona cradled her daughter’s head upon her
shoulder. “I’d not let this happen if I thought it would be any different. And
you remember now, if you just can’t see it in you, to give yourself to him,
then come home. For this will be your home, forever, for always.Even if you are
married with a dozen children, you are always wanted here.”
Maggie
pulled away, swiped at the tears, unaware of the quiet bustle about her, as the
others prepared a bath, warmed towels, sorted out the best of her plaids with
discreet peeks at the two women.
“Mama?”
Maggie asked, now needing to know the whole of it. “What is it you mean by
giving myself? Talorc said the same thing, that if I give myself then we are
truly wed, but if we Handfast . . . mama? Why do you look that way? What am I
saying that you . . .”
“No,”
Fiona rushed, “no don’t be thinking anything, I was just surprised. A mother
doesn’t imagine it’s possible to raise a daughter, with so many older brothers,
in a place as busy as our home . . . well . . . where people are so careless
with what they say,” Fiona put her arm around Maggie, guided her away from the
others, toward a window still inky black with night, “It’s just that a mother
does not expect her daughter to be quite so innocent of thought.”
"You
didna’ look so much surprised as . . .”
“But
I was surprised.” Fiona broke in.
“You’re
also thinking to use your words to your advantage, or is it to his advantage?” Maggie
startled herself by realizing. “I’m thinking you’ve his interest in mind over
my own.”
“Never.”
Fiona snapped, “Never.” She repeated more calmly. “Though ‘tis true, I often
wonder if you know what’s best for you.”
“That
doesn’t answer my question.” Maggie badgered.
“About
giving yourself?”
“Aye,
you ken that’s what I’m wanting to know.”
“Well,”
Fiona lifted her chin, “you’ve heard the women talk about the wedding night?”
“Aye,
I know all about that. That’s when he takes me to wife.”
“You
know what takes place?”
Maggie
snorted in disgust, “You are right on that mother. This place is not quiet
about such things, nor do the animals care to go into hiding when it comes to
mating. But what does that have to do with giving myself? A husband has rights
and he takes them. An animal has instincts and they follow them. So . . . what
of me?”
“You,”
Fiona said with conviction, “have a heart to give or to withhold. You do
according to your heart, you give to your husband, absolutely, or you withhold.
Let your heart decide, not your husband. He cannot take what you do not give.”
“Is
that it?” Maggie sagged upon the window ledge, and welcomed the freshness of
the fall breeze as it brushed over her and rustled her hair. There was clarity
in its coolness. “A matter of my heart?”
“If
you let your heart rule what you do or do not do.” Fiona hedged.
“Then
if I do not give my heart, I do not give myself?”
As
Fiona took a deep breath, Sibeal marched up to them.
“Maggie,
there’s no more time, lass. Get over there and into that tub, or you’ll be
wearing a drying cloth to your Handfasting.”
She
straightened, looked to her mother, “If it’s as you say, then you can prepare
to have me back here in a year and a day from this moment. For I’ll not give my
heart.”
Rather
than join the throng of women caring for her daughter, Fiona stood quietly and
watched, as Maggie crossed to the bath. The lass had regained her spirits,
‘twas in her step, in the way she let the others tease her.
Quietly,
Fiona touched three fingers to her forehead, her heart, to either shoulder. When
the others cast glances her way, they thought she made the sign of the cross in
preparation of prayers for her daughter. They could not be knowing that Fiona
was praying for forgiveness for the half-truth she’d been telling.
For
a half-truth, meant a half- lie.
A
Handfasting was no more than a betrothal. Oh, aye, the couple would live
together, may even share a bed but, despite bawdy innuendos to the contrary,
should they mate, should the relationship become more than a promise, married
they would be. Priest or no priest.
The
whole of the Highlands knew this. That Maggie didn’t came as a surprise. God’s
will, Fiona prayed, for she had used Maggie’s naiveté mercilessly. Aye, it was
for Maggie’s own good but still, it had not been with clear honesty. It was
just that the girl didn’t understand what was in her best interest. And if
Fiona judged things right, what was between Maggie and the Laird MacKay . . .
well . . . it was nothing, if not physical.
Heart
or no, they would be wed before the night was out, or Fiona didn’t know her
daughter.
She
was a stranger to herself.
From
her seat on the broad back of a placid gelding called Tairis, Maggie reached
for those who stretched to touch her, waved to those who stood high on their
toes, necks craned for a view of her, as though they hadn't just talked
yesterday.
Somewhere
between the dark of night and the sun’s glow, she had become someone else,
someone extraordinary, someone she didn’t recognize. She had been perfectly
happy with the old Maggie MacBede, thank you very much.
How
many times had she resented her brothers’ stoic farewells? Their restless need
to be gone when everyone wanted a fair share of good-byes. Now, she was the one
in the saddle, desperate to be away from the fawning praise, off to do what
must be done.
If
she didn't leave at once, she may not leave at all.
Old
Maighread reached for her. Maggie bent low, risked the woman’s sensitive
fingers. The woman had a fey touch, her fingers seeing what her eyes could not.
Old
Maighread nodded. “Don’t fear child. The one who sings of crows will receive
its message.”
“Crows?”
Crows meant death.
"Maghread!”
Fiona snapped.
"No,
mother,” Maggie shivered with the old woman’s warning, took her gnarled hand in
her own. "Who?"
“They
will try, child," Maighread's cackle rose above the gathering, "they
will try. But keep an ear to Ian. He will keep you safe. And your man there,
don't let him have fear. You are stronger than anyone thinks, including
yourself.”
“Grandmother,"
Fiona pulled Maighread away, "don’t fret the lass.”
Was
she strong? Maggie wondered. She didn't feel strong right now. She felt
hapless, helpless, caught on everyone's whim but her own. Tears threatened. Frantically,
Maggie sought out the man to blame for her sorrow.
The
man who had vowed his life to hers forever.
She
had only given him a year and a day.
He
was near enough to grab her reins, as though he half expected her to bolt. Silent
though it was, he acknowledged her frantic appeal. With a nod and a wry smile,
he raised his fist, let loose a warrior's bellow. As one, with no more warning,
The MacKay Clansmen stormed through the bailey, out the gate, with Maggie and
Talorc in the center of their charge.
Maggie
fought to keep her seat, clung to her mount, her head low upon its neck. In any
other time, circumstance, she would have thrilled to the challenge, but not
today.
Today
an old woman had warned of crows. Too true. Life, as Maggie knew it, was dead. Maggie
who used to be, was no more. That her body would follow suit made perfect
sense, for everything happened in threes, did it not?
Shouts
and calls rose, a raucous banner flying in their wake. They rode hard across
the flats, just as her clansmen had done countless times. Men on foot jogged
behind, the rear guard to the troupe of them. At the base of the closest hill,
they slowed their mounts, traversed the steep rugged hillside, around to the
back, until they reached the top, out of sight below a ragged crest.
Her
clan, the entire lot of MacBedes, would be gathered below, as Maggie herself
had been on so many leave takings before. This was the first time, in the whole
of her life, she would not be with them, to shout out blessings and well wishes
for safe journey. To wave a final farewell.
Her
heart thundered in her chest. She swallowed hard, kept her eyes away from that
crest. She would not break. Nor could she face the final goodbye. They had sent
her off, against her own will. She would not wave a last time. She would be
back.
“Lass?”
Talorc rode up beside her.
Anger
steadied her. She held it close, acknowledged it by refusing to look at him. The
shouts of his men, up on the ridge, could be heard.
“Maggie,”
Talorc reached over, took her chin, forced her to face him. She jerked away. “You
have to show yourself, they’re waiting to send you off.”
She
looked down at the ground, the earth that had cradled her feet from her first
footstep to this day. Drew in the scent of heather, of blue skies and loch. This
was her home. This was where she belonged, a MacBede, with the MacBedes. She
blinked against tears, narrowed her eyes, willed resentment to overplay sorrow.
Damn
him for being right. Damn him for pushing her beyond her strength.
She
looked right at him then, straight into his eyes and felt a power there. It
surged between them. He took her fisted hand, lifted it to his lips. With one
gentle kiss warmth spread through her body, melted the rigid barricade to fear.
Thawed icy defense.
He
believed stories, thought her powerful. Fool that he was.
So
be it.
She
would not show him her weakness.
With
a jerk, Maggie reined Tairis sharply to the left, kicked and he bolted. Too
fast. This was a docile animal, or so Talorc had claimed. Maggie never expected
it to stretch its legs at such speed. Stunned, she gave him his head.
Wind
stung her eyes. She swiped the tears away. The ground a blur, the crest, she
knew to be no more than a meager outcropping, came closer and closer. Tailis
did not slow, showed no sign of halting.
Maggie
pulled, hard, her eyes shut tight against disaster. As sure as he bolted,
Tailis stopped, pitched Maggie forward. Her cheek to his cheek, half over his
haunches, she wrapped her arms tight about Tailis’ neck, and clung. Eyes wide
with fear. There was no mistaking the yawning distance below.
This
creature, promised as gentle and sure, reared, stepped, as though a dancer,
right on to the edge of the precipice. Rocks scattered and tumbled, sound
testament to a sheer drop. He turned, in a circle, an acrobat of a horse, a
showman, leaving Maggie with nothing below her but air.
It
was Talorc who gave her this bloody beast to ride. Had he known the animal
would do this?
They will try, child, they will try.
Maighread's words came back to her. Talk of crows, of death, and then
those fateful words. What was the Bold trying to do, kill her?
She'd
not give him the satisfaction.
"Get
down, you bloody beast!” Legs wrapped tightly along its belly, Maggie commanded
the animal back to secure footing. It faced away from the ledge, toward the
valley beyond, full of restless energy. It took little to encourage him to head
off again, past the MacKay men, past the Bold. Down the hillside she galloped,
around a small copse of trees. To a valley below, where a stream cut through
the land.
And
privacy.
Maggie
reined in her ride and realized, for the very first time since she'd sat to sup
the night before, she was alone, out of sight of everyone.
She
slid from the horse’s back, dropped to her knees, huddled on the ground. All
her barbed emotions unraveled, the anger, the fury, the rigid fear. It was his
fault, his kiss of her hand that had disarmed her brittleness, bared raw pain. Sobs,
silent, for no sound was strong enough to carry the weight of them, rose from
the depths of her, poured out, wave upon wave. Her body stretched toward the
sky, a plea, to carry away the keen that came from the darkest corner of her soul.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Trained
warrior, a seasoned fighter who could act without thought, Talorc froze, unable
to move. His heart plummeted to the bowels of hell.
He’d
thought she was going to ride straight off the rise. He was certain of it, was
too far away to stop it. His men thought it a trick, did not interfere. They
had applauded and cheered. And then her mount rose on its haunches danced a
dance, made a show.
Had
she heard the thundering cries from her clansmen? Had she done it on purpose,
as his men thought? If she had, he’d kill her with his own bare hands, after
he’d clung to her.
She
was more than he could handle.
“You’ve
got yourself one hell of a lassie, boy!” Thomas shouted.
Talorc
was too shaken to respond. She’d already charged off madly beyond sight, east
when they were headed north. He was capable of no more than pointing toward the
proper route. His men followed with alacrity, he set off to find his mate.
She
hadn't gone far, straight down into the valley below, no further. The sight of
her, a crumpled heap upon the ground, racked with dry sobs, tore a brutal hole
in his anger. He dismounted, crossed to her and lifted her into his arms. She
fought him, fought to be free.
Ignoring
her meager blows, he sat upon a large boulder, Maggie cradled in his lap.
“Don’t
you dare think to comfort me.” She punched his chest. “This is your doing.” She
pounded him again. "What do you care that I have no one? What do you
care?”
With
a fell grip, he captured her hands, “I care.”
“Hah!”
She
strained against his hold, his handfasted, his partner, his helpmate. Did she
not feel the invisible bond wrapped around them?
“Look!”
He pressed their clasped hands against his chest, "You have me lass! You
have me, here, for you." Frustrated anger rode high in his blood.
"You?”
She shouted back, "I have you? What good is that? You who create changes
so drastic, my own clan don't know me anymore."
“You
are changed.”
“Never!”
“No?”
His smile mocked. “You don’t think so?” She stilled, guarded. So she should be.
He had waited a lifetime for this woman, hungered for her before he even knew
of her existence. Now that he had found her, his loins ached, urged for
release, anything, even the simple taste of her lips.
Ravenous,
he would wait no more, could not bear to. She was his, to love, honor and take.
Past time she knew of it.
“You,”
he stopped, to settle the race of blood that challenged his lungs. “You,” he
started again, “changed the moment we touched.”
He
tugged at her hair, pulled her head back, looked into her eyes. Wary, aye, for
she saw the truth in his words.
“From
the moment you landed in my hands, you knew, you sensed, you felt what you’ve
never had before.”
Unwittingly,
she licked her lips, whetting his desire. Still, he didn’t kiss her, though he imagined
doing so.
Not
just yet. She had relaxed. He would use that, eased his hold, lifted a finger
to trace her mouth, felt her soft huff of breath. Again, she moistened her
lips, only this time she found the tip of his finger. He eased it inside.
“Taste
me.” He ordered. She hesitated then nipped, nearly undoing him. “Do you know
what you’re about?” He wondered out loud.
“No,”
she whimpered, and buried her head in his shoulder. “I don’t. You are right, I
am not who I was. I am a stranger with strange thoughts, wants . . .”
“You've
nothing to fear with me.”
"It's
not the fear that frets me."
Gentling
himself, Talorc stroked her back, fought his need to have her closer. "We're
handfasted, no need to feel shame."
Face
still pressed to his collar, she shook her head.
He
cupped her chin, tilted her face to his, to see the thoughts written there. “Maggie,
what do you know of what's between us?” Before the words could be asked, Maggie
jerked from his hold, indignant, proud. She looked straight at him and he had
his answer.
She
would not shy from what she felt, but she'd never felt it before. “Ah, lass,”
his words a smile, “You have old knowledge, but it’s all too new to you. Confuses
a body. We need to catch-up your learning to your knowing.”
“Old
knowledge?” She frowned, the haze lifting from her eyes before Talorc wanted it
to.
“Maggie,”
he distracted her with a caress to her ear. She sucked in a breath, as the soft
roundness of her breast lifted.
“Don’t.”
She ordered, but there was no weight to her words.
“Because
you don’t like it or because you want more?” She turned away, and he knew it
was better that than to lie. “You love my touch, Maggie. That’s what has
changed you.”
“But
I hate you.”
“No
you don’t, Maggie. You wouldn’t crave this if you truly hated me.”
Finally,
their lips met, though it was not much of a kiss, more a gentle brushing of
lips. A tease, soft enough to ease her fears. She allowed it, allowed the
gentle pressure that grew from that first touch, accepted the gentle brush of
his tongue along the seam of her mouth.
As
if she knew what he wanted, her lips parted, provoking him to take more. He
eased his tongue between her lips, which, in turn, created more hunger. She
returned his desire, participated in the tasting. It was the hunger of a powerful
man, met by his equal. No matter the turmoil it caused, she was honest in her
response. The thrill coursed through his veins. He devoured her, she demanded
of him and fire raged.