Bold (The Handfasting) Read online

  Her family saw Ian's death as an honorable outcome to inevitable battles. Maggie was not so generous. The Bold may have them all in his palm, but he’d not get the best of her. Och, no. He’d never get the best of her.

  The chaff of fear blew away, her anger honed on the memory of her twin's body draped over a horse. Maggie moved away from her mother and approached The MacKay. She could see she startled him by doing so, that it pleased him. Too full of himself, he was, to think he could scare her off so easily that any return took admirable strength. She was not so puny.

  "Bold," she addressed him without title, "Whatever business you have here, I hope it ends quickly, and you can be on your way." That raised an eyebrow. Maggie's smile was not pleasant. "And while you are here, I hope you'll be taking time to visit our Ian's grave, as you were so kind as to send him there."

  She spun on a chorus of indrawn breaths; stalked away, grandly, on the wave of shocked murmurs and apologies. She did not get far before the Bold's voice rolled over her.

  "Aye, Maggie MacBede, I will visit the grave of a brave warrior just as I will see my task accomplished by morn." Her face half turned, she offered a nod of acknowledgement, anxious to be away.

  "Maggie." He stopped her. "Is it true, did you really take a Sassenach out with one rock, when you were no more than a wee babe?"

  How dare he?

  "Did you run the walls during battle and give sustenance to your clansmen?"

  He couldna' know what he was saying, couldna' know what his words were about. "Don't you dare make fun of me, MacKay." She challenged, for she knew the depth of embarrassment, humiliation, his words provoked.

  Brows puckered in surprise, he moved closer. "I'm not funning with you, Maggie MacBede." He touched her check, feathered a line to her chin. "I'm wondering if the tales are true."

  She wished him to stop touching her, distracting her, but his finger lingered, an absent gesture, that meant nothing. He continued to query her, his voice soft. "I'm wondering if it's true? Before a MacBede warrior sets off on his maiden battle, to face death for the first time, do you in fact give a piece of plaid with soil and heather to remind him of what he fights for?"

  Nothing he had said, nothing he had done could have hurt her more than that question. She shoved his hand away. His touch may slay her senses, but she would not be felled by his words. She had stood the test of those packets and she would stand them still.

  "Once you give to one, you give to all." She held on to her pride, because that much was true.

  A fool, she had been, to hand them out, to think it a grand thing to do. The reality held meager thanks. Parcels meant to be a prize, proved no more than a worthless bundle that embarrassed giver and receiver both. She didn't know how to stop it, though she knew it would be up to her to do so.

  * * * * * * * * * *

  Talorc watched the straight line of her spine as the lass escaped, and chuckled. He would catch-up to her soon enough but first he would ease the chaos left behind her. The MacBedes were caught between loyalty to one of their own and the realities of life. War came to them, they had to meet it or be run over. Men died, honorable lives lost to keep their clans safe.

  He had not killed Ian, but the Gunns had. Though she wouldn't know of it, it was thanks to her that the guilty had paid for their sins.

  Her brother, Ceadric, jostled his arm, "I told you she was spirited."

  Talorc nodded, "You did that. But you didna' say she blames me for your brother's death."

  "Aye, she does that," James answered him, "and she can be a stubborn one, but she's not stupid. She'll be civil, soon enough, or she'll have us to contend with." He gestured to all of the MacBede men.

  Talorc didn't doubt that she was as stubborn as she was feisty. His task would be more difficult for it, but a lass easily come by was no great winning. Maggie's appeal was all the more powerful for her reluctance.

  The truth of it was, fight it or no, she would soon come to learn that he was the right man for her. He knew it as a certainty when he saw her run through the courtyard, straight for him, her lush body shifting with every stride. Before that moment she had been a heady dream, built on stories others told. Innocent stories about a beautiful lass with courage and honor. No one could know how those stories had turned into erotic dreams, filling him with a passion for a faceless goddess.

  He had expected to be disappointed when they met in the flesh; had not expected the site of her to fill his blood enough to explode. Ample bodied Maggie MacBede, bursting with life, saturated every thought, every feeling.

  She failed to sense his presence. The lass had been totally unaware that he stood a mere breath away. With nary a glance, she jumped, not into his arms, but straight into her brother's.

  One shake of his head cleared the haze of fantasy. He had anticipated this meeting for weeks. She stepped blindly into it. If she had known of it, there's no doubt, she would have been as prepared for battle as he had prepared for a union.

  Time. He could give her that, once he had her at Glen Toric. He would engulf her with his presence, with the fire that burned between them. Until then, there was no time. They had to leave on the morrow.

  Together.

  He lifted his head, searched out the surrounding people, to catch William's eye. The slight nod told him what he needed to know. If he could not use his Scottish tongue to good advantage, and woo her with words by the end of the night, his plan would be enforced. In the meantime, his men would keep a close watch on his lass.

  By morning, through gentle persuasion or abduction, she would be his.

  Talorc headed toward the door Maggie had taken. It was time to start his assault.

  CHAPTER 2 - THE CHALLENGE

  In the quiet sanctuary of the keep, Maggie sank against the hard stone wall and let the tremors have their way. She could barely stand, even braced as she was. Conflicts whipped through her; what she imagined of the Bold versus the reality of him: big and handsome, not battle beaten and ugly. Laugh lines in place of frowns or scowling furrows.

  A draw that sucked her in without revulsion.

  But she could still hate; hate the hands that held her, the ripple of confusion provoked.

  She touched her cheek, the lingering caress of a sworn enemy.

  He was not the kind of man she sought, too big, overpowering. No malleability in him, none at all. He had drawn her twin to his death.

  She had challenged him.

  "Oh God," she moaned. You never challenge a man like the MacKay, who lived for the fight, thrived on it.

  Why did he have to come here, himself, after years of sending messengers? Why did he choose now to appear, and churn-up her life, overwhelm her with the chaos of sensation?

  The sound of the keep door opening, nudged her away from the wall, to shift around the corner, into the tower square.

  "Maggie MacBede?" The call tickled through her like water in a gurgling brook. Her traitoress body recognized the deep rumble of the MacKay's shout, tempted a response.

  She closed her eyes, willed herself not to react.

  "Where are you lass?" his boom reverberated through the hall.

  The shift of feet, the crunch of soles on the rough stone floor moved toward her. Resigned, she opened her eyes to find him in the doorway of the tower, watching her.

  "What do you want?" She snapped wishing he would step away.

  He moved closer.

  "Maggie, I promised Ian I would come to you."

  "Promised Ian?" her heart racketed against her breast. Of all she expected from this man, this was not it.

  Nor did she expect the tenderness in his eyes, the softening of his voice as he explained, "it was in my arms that your brother died. I promised him that I would come to you. It's taken me too long, but I am here now."

  Tears welled. The Bold cupped her face with one large palm, his thumb soothing the side of her cheek.

  "He knew you would take it badly. He told me to tell you he was proud, and he would not deser
t you."

  "Well he did desert me." She bit her lip against a tremble.

  "No, he's here," one finger tapped at her temple, "In your memories. And he's here." He laid his hand between her breasts, over her heart, "in your love. Like salt to water, he is everywhere."

  Silent, they stood there, his eyes meeting hers, one hand holding her shoulder, the other over her heart. She was certain he felt the beat of it, pounding, flooding her world by his mere presence. An innocent touch offered yet it turned her thoughts from Ian, stole her mind, gave her body rule.

  Questions never questioned, temptations when she had never been tempted. Again, the image of a mare came to mind. How she would nip and bite, buck at a stallion yet allow him to mount her. She wanted to let this man, this huge stranger, overpower her senses.

  Attraction beyond reason.

  "I promised your brother," he stood even closer. Her breath caught in her throat, “to give you this," he leaned in, kissed her, a butterfly’s touch to her cheek and she whimpered. Not because it was from Ian. Ian had never sent lightning bolts through her with a mere kiss. No one had.

  She fought to tame her reaction, but the bewildering whirl of confusion proved too wild to cage.

  The Bold whispered, "and I want to give you this," his lips touched hers, a light airy, brush along her mouth. She pushed him away.

  “Just a kiss, Maggie girl.”

  Innocent, perhaps, but she was not stupid. His idea of a kiss would never be a mere ‘just.’

  “When do you leave?”

  “In the morning.” A simple answer, but his eyes shifted away. So there was more to his leaving than that.

  She pressed for clarification. “You will be gone then?” If he was to go, could she allow herself this liberty? One kiss, knowing she would never have to face him again? May never face this enticement again?

  “In the morning I will be gone.” Still, his eyes did not meet hers but followed the arc of his finger as it traced the side her cheek. The light touch ricocheted through her body.

  She shivered and nodded despite a twinge of uncertainty. Surely there was no room for falsehood in such a straight reply.

  “Just a kiss.” She pushed.

  “Aye, just a kiss.” He murmured as he lowered his head.

  She had been right. There was no ‘just’ about it, no feathery caress of lips but a journey begun with the press of lips, the taste of her mouth. He tickled the seal of her lips before moving on along her jaw to nibble his way to her ear.

  A kiss turned to whispered words, sweet and soothing of a language she did not know. It rippled, danced clear to her toes. Dormant senses blossomed.

  The carnal trail shifted down her neck

  Maggie clutched his shoulders. He pulled her close, surrounded her, captured her.

  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.