The Handfasting (18 page)

"Fine,"
he whispered, "Just remember, I'm here for you."

He
was there for too many. That was the problem. Chin over her shoulder she asked,
"Were you there for her, too? Did you make such promises to Seonaid?"

His
eyes lost the heavy lidded look. "She's nothing to you, Maggie. We grew up
together. Her father was my da's right hand. I promised to watch over her. There
is nothing more to it than that."

"She's
fairly cozy with you."

"Maggie,
I'll not treat you false.”

She
heard the way he held on to his patience. "You've already done that."

"Maggie,"
his exasperation escaped, "why would you think I could want a woman like
that when I have you?” Possessively, he cupped her breast, she moaned. "You,
who are so responsive?” He worked his hand under her blanket, trailing it
across her belly and lower. She wanted to stop him, but he had started to kiss
her again, his words no more than a wisp of air against her cheek, in her ear. The
whoosh of it spiraled straight down her inners, parallel to the path of his
hand. "You are so brave." Horrified, she felt his fingers thread
through the small cluster of curls at the juncture of her thighs. "You
don't run from your desire," his fingers were turning to magic. Maggie
twisted in his hold, buried her face in his shoulder, "You meet my
challenge, come to me like the warrior lass you are.” He was stroking that part
of her that ached with desire, between the folds of her womanhood. One finger
drew a tiny swirling design on the tenderest of places. Her hips lifted off the
bed, she whimpered, felt weak and foolish.

She
would meet him. She would take his challenge. Quickly, before she could stop
herself, she reached below his cover and found that solid hard ridge that
commanded her desire. With determination, she wrapped her hand around him,
stunned by the size and texture of him. Hard as a sword’s handle but soft as a
babe's flesh, it drew her with wonderment. She slid her fingers from base to
tip, felt its involuntary jerk, felt the drop of moisture that topped it.

"Oh,
Maggie." He covered her hand with his, forced her hold to tighten. "How
I wish you weren't still mending.” He groaned, his forehead to hers, his other
hand still working glory between her thighs.

She
licked her lips, wanting something, anything, to free her hunger. "I want
more. You never seem to give me enough."

"Maggie,"
Talorc lifted her chin, forced her to meet his eyes. "When I give you
enough, it will be with the length and breadth of me."

Oh,
good Lord. "You would never fit." She shook her head. "Never,
ever, in my lifetime."

He
had the cheek to laugh. It was time to back off before he tried to do what he
spoke of. For if he tried, she was not certain she would stop him.

"I
will fit, Maggie, trust me. But you will not be the same from that
moment."

"Then
that moment best not happen."

He
surprised her with a gentle kiss on her mouth, a slight lick of her lips. "That
moment will happen. I promise that. But you must know, when it does, you will
be mine. No skirting past that. I will be your husband in body and word."

"Never."

"Aye,
bodies chained will make you my wife."

"You
don't claim Seonaid as wife."

He
sighed, rolled to his back. "Maggie, Seonaid has never tasted of me nor
touched me as you have tonight.” He sounded as if he meant that.

Maggie
rolled her eyes rather than let him know the exhilaration of his words.

"And
you, Maggie?” Talorc leaned up, pushed her over onto her back, "While we
are talking of pasts, what of the Bard, that was here tonight. Who is he to
you?"

Please bed, swallow me up
.
Maggie did not want to answer.

"Well?”
He was not going to give up.

"Why
do you want to be knowing?"

"He
sang to you, did he do that before?"

"He's
a bard, Bold, he sings for everyone. Back home they call him Babbling Birk the
Bard because he sings and talks so much."

"He
courted you."

No,
she thought, I courted him. "We were friends."

"Close
enough that your brothers ran him off.”

She
tilted her head, to see if he spoke the truth. She had never thought of that. If
her brothers had run him off, then Birk hadn't run from her. She smiled. There’s
a grand difference between running away from protective kin and running away
from a woman.

"My
brothers ran him off?"

She
pictured Birk, as he had been this evening. Sweet, hopeful, eager to please. Like
an expectant child, next to Talorc.

Talorc
could never be seen as a child.

"He's
more mouse than man."

She
laughed at his predictable response. He sounded just like her brothers. "Birk
has a good heart and can sing better than any other."

"He
could never love you better than me."

"You
don’t love me, Bold.” He didn't know her to love her. And once he did know her,
there would be no chance of love.

“That’s
not the kind of love I’m talking of.”

She
snorted.

He
kissed her, a slow insistent taste.

"Don't,
MacKay." She fought the molten heat that trickled through her with his
words, the touch of his lips. He will love my body, but he will never love me. She
held the thought like a chant.

"Just
one more," he whispered, his mouth pressing against hers, his lips urging
hers to open.

"Sleep
well, lass." His voice wrapped around her as surely as arms.

It
was neither Seonaid nor Birk she pictured as she drifted to sleep, but Talorc.
The one man she did not want to dream of.

CHAPTER 5 – MEANS OF ESCAPE

Sun
filtered through the shutters in a time of year when the sun was a late riser. Maggie
overslept. So had the Bold, sprawled out on the bed as though sleeping with her
were a normal thing. He needed to catch up on his rest after nights of watching
over her. She, on the other hand, had slept enough since reaching Glen Toric. It
was time she started to do something.

Anything.

Only
it was cold, she was naked. The cold she could face, had been doing so her
whole life. It was the man in her bed that had her hesitating, and an imp of
desire that wondered what would happen if he caught her slipping free of the
bed in no more than she was born with.

She
closed her eyes to the temptation and listened to his steady snores. It would
be better if they were louder, deeper, more arrogant. The noises he was making
could be mere play. He was on his stomach, his head turned away.

There
would be no better chance. Maggie slipped off the bed, onto all fours. Should
he wake, he would have to roll over and move to the edge of the bed and peer
down to see her. She would hear that, and have enough time to scuttle behind
the bed drapes.

Secure
in that plan, she crawled to the trunk at the foot of the bed, full of clothes
left for her by some of the clans’ women. Her chemise hung behind a screen in
the corner, but she dared not go that far and risk being seen. Instead, she
grabbed the first kirtle she found, pulled it over her head, only to find it
too small when her arms got stuck. The reverse process proved harder than
getting it on.

The
bed sheets rustled. She stilled, then frantically tried to pull the garment
off. A great rending rip later she was free enough to use the garment as a
screen. Naked, except for the fabric held at her chest, she peaked over the
side of the feather mattress.

The
Bold snored gently as he resettled into a new position. She risked leveling up
high enough to have a good look at the pile of clothes, found a garment in heather
green and, with less effort, pulled it on, adding a yellow side-less surcoat to
cover. She eyed the MacKay plaid. It would add warmth if she went outside.

She
peeked at the Bold once more, grabbed the plaid and headed to the hallway. Once
out of the room she stopped, her hand to her head, stunned, for it no longer
ached. For the first time since arriving at Glen Toric, she felt like her old
self. Cheerful with health, she followed the hallway to the corner that turned
to a stairway down to the great room.

It
was empty. Which was odd. At home there were always people about. Glen Toric
was much larger, with far more people, yet no one was in the great hall.

A
door swung open at the far end, leading toward what Maggie suspected were the
kitchens. Little Eba, Diedre’s daughter, peaked around the edge, then ran out
to the center of the room where she skidded to a halt staring up at Maggie.
With a giggle she turned, racing into the gallery that led to another set of
stairs ending at the entrance of the castle.

Even
Maggie, unfamiliar with the castle, knew this was not a good place for a child.
Not that the wee one could get out. The door was massive, no doubt heavy. But
it was no place for a young lass to run amok. The stairs outside, like the ones
Maggie had just descended, were designed for defense; narrow and twisted, with
no railing on the outside edge, just a very steep drop.

Maggie
hiked her skirts and set out after the child, picking up speed when the groan
of the heavy door hinges reached her. The little sprite had managed to get
outside.

Images
of a broken child flew through her mind, as she raced to stave off the danger.
The great door was swinging closed when she reached it. Weighted to be kept
closed, it took the strength of worry to push it open and slip through to the
top step. Exhausted, she took deep breaths and watched little Eba run safely
back around the castle toward the kitchens. Standing at the top, seeing the
long drop,  she wondered who Eba had followed out. The mite was lucky to be
alive. Even standing there, close to the wall, took Maggie’s breath.

She
chuckled at her foolishness, lifted her skirts so she wouldn’t trip on them and
turned. Halfway into the pivot something hit her shoulder hard, sending her
off-balance against the steep open steps. It happened so quickly she spun with
the momentum, reeled, landing without grace, on all fours, as though climbing
the stairs, far too close to the edge. The corner of a plaid caught her eye,
nearly caught in the closing door.

Had
the door taken so long to shut or did someone hold it open?

Bruce
shouted from below.

 “Are
you all right, Lass?” He raced up to help. “You needs be careful on these.”

With
the hesitation, the push to follow halted, she sat, not at all certain her legs
would hold her. “Yes, rattled but fine.” She hesitated. “Did you see?”

Bruce
reached her side. “See what?”

“Did
you see anyone behind me?”

He
frowned. “No, lass. Saw you down, not the tumble. You aren’t thinking someone
at Glen Toric would topple you on these stairs?”

“No,”
She rose, using the wall for support, refusing to start her first day throwing
accusations around. “Of course not. I was looking for Eba. She ran out here.”

“Eba?
Diedre’s child?”

“I
followed her, that’s what brought me to these wicked stairs.” She chuckled on a
sob, determined not to show just how upset she was. “Nearly swallowed my heart
when I heard the door open.”

“You’re
telling me she ran for the door?”

Of
course it sounded ridiculous, but it was the truth. Maggie knew it was the
truth. She forgot all about the fear she’d just faced and took the stairs to
the castle entrance.

Bruce
reached it first, risking the long drop to step past her, to open it for her.
She stepped inside. He followed, and the massive door swung closed.

Maggie
watched, aware that the movement meant something, but still too unsettled to
realize just what.

 It
was a solid thing, sturdy oak, thick as the length of her fingers. Far too heavy
for a child the size of Eba.

Bruce
scowled. “You are saying Eba ran to this door, opened it without a struggle,
and ran down the steps.” He stood in front of the closed door. “When you
followed you were pushed?” He didn’t look at her, kept studying the door. There
was doubt in that.

“Of
course not.” It didn’t make sense. “I think she followed someone out.”

He
stepped back. “Open it.”

She
reached for the massive iron ring and, with both hands, barely managed to turn
it. The turning pushed the lever up out of its slot. With an umph, she pushed
the door outward. Unwieldy for an adult, but possible. Not so for a wee lass.

“Could
it have been left ajar?”

Bruce
shook his head, guided her away. Immediately, the door swung shut on its own.
“It’s designed to fall closed. That’s a defense, as well as protection.”

“The
child could have been crushed.”

“Did
you see anyone else?”

“No.”
She hadn’t been looking, too focused on saving the child. Maggie didn’t blame
Bruce for doubting her.

“Please,
don’t say anything to the Bold.”

“He’s
the laird, you’re his lady. He needs to be told.”

“I
could be wrong, confused. The stumble frightened me.” She explained, not
believing a word of it. She could take care of her own safety. There was no
need to make a fuss.

“You
believe you were pushed.”

“No.”
She lied, for she was pushed, she was certain of it. Whoever pushed her had
opened the door for Eba. They couldn’t have known Maggie would follow. It
couldn’t have been planned.

She
had to find Eba to learn who had let her out that door.

“No.”
She told Bruce. “It was just the surprise of it. No one wants to think they’re
clumsy.” She lied again.

“Are
you sure, lass? Because if you are not, this is no light thing you speak of.”

“I’m
certain as I can be.” And she was, certain she had been pushed.

“Then
I will give you a chance to tell the Laird yourself. If you don’t tell him in
good time, then I will. That’s my duty.”

“Fair’s
fair.” Maggie nodded. She just had to find Eba and the whole matter would be
settled.

**********************

With
the quiet at this time of day, he had no trouble moving through the castle
ground. Head bent, the kerchief hiding the sides of his face, he shortened his
stride rather than get entangled by the volume of fabric. How did women manage?
Not that he cared. After today, he wouldn’t risk getting caught on the castle
grounds. He just wanted to get close enough to see this Maggie MacBede for
himself.

He
smiled when he pictured her stumbling on the stairs. It hadn’t been planned,
just being in the right place at the right time and a little shove.

He
found the tower of baskets right where the lass said they would be. Good. It was
tall enough to hide his face when he moved past the guard to the store rooms. He
thought about killing the guard, but that would alert them to his presence, to
the chance that he could breach their defenses. He didn’t want them to be that
wary.

For
now, he knew how to get through the caves to the castle. He knew the weaknesses
in their defenses. Soon he would come in, with all his men, and take over.

But
not now, not yet. He wanted to see the Bold crushed, first. Then Glen Toric
would be his.