Tangled (Handfasting) (13 page)

"And,"
she rushed on, over to Douglas, afraid that tears would start to run down her
face. "Mary made these for the both of you." She handed out the
packets, which the men clutched tight, before stuffing them inside the cross of
their plaid.

"Mary?"
Douglas called out.

"Here,"
she waved from the top of the stairs.

"You’re
a fine woman. We'll be proud to carry your reminder of the MacKays!  Keep our
sister dear."

That
was it. Those were their last words. They each in turn, eased their horses over
to Maggie, bent for a brief, close hug. They kissed the top of her head,
ruffled her hair with raised brows toward the MacKay as if to say, it was about
time their sister wore a kerchief.

Off
they shot then, through the bailey and into the MacKay wilderness.

They
were gone so quick, that it was beyond reality for Maggie. She stared at the
path they took, wondering what kind of fool she had been to take so long to
offer her parting. She should have rushed out, first thing, begged them to take
her with them.

She
put her fingers to her mouth, sniffled, but refused to cry.

Eight
days, fortnight at most, and they would be back.

Talorc
put his arm around her, squeezed but she pulled away.

"I
should have left with them, you know."

She
took a step toward the keep, but he stopped her, his hand to her chin, forcing
her around to face him. "No I don't know."

"They
are my family."

"And
so are we."

She
shook her head. "No, Bold, you are my friend. They are my family." 

"Maggie,"
but he didn't continue. Instead he took her arm. His hold was firm, determined.
She had no choice but to follow his lead, beyond the others, across the
courtyard, to the nearest barn. "Give us space, Domnall."  He said to
the lad cleaning the stalls. Domnall asked no questions just put down his pitch
fork and scurried out.

Maggie
still at his side, Talorc stood silent as the barn door closed behind the young
man, Talorc pulled Maggie around and straight into his arms.

The
rich sweet scent of hay and oiled leather softened the heavy smell of sweat and
horse droppings. Maggie jerked free of Talorc not realizing how much she needed
the support.  Unsteady she leaned against the wall, refusing to look at him. 
Instead she studied beams of light that filtered between sod roof and stone
wall, watched the dance of chaff  floating in that sparse light and fought
against tears.

"You're
expected to miss them, you know. No one would think unkindly of that."

She
shoved off the stone wall, her arms crossed against a belly so full of emotion she
was afraid of exploding.

"They're
fine men, Maggie. The MacBedes are a fine line. I'll be proud to mix our
bloods."

She
snorted.

"And
what was that for?" He reached, but she pulled away.

"Is
this because of what came between us?  Are you afraid of my touch?"

She
refused to answer, she couldn't. It would only open the door to a flood of rash
words flung to hurt. The tumble would reveal Maggie's own weakness, perhaps
even confess a missive just sent.

"Maggie,"
one word, heavy with weariness. "Do you really think the tailor would have
suited you?  Or any of the others?  Do you really think, if the Good Lord had
wanted you to go that route, you wouldn't already be there?  Did it ever occur
to you, that He was saving you for me?"

"No." 
She whispered, horrified his thoughts could so easily mirror hers from
yesterday morning. Then there had been snow on the ground. By mid-day it was
gone and the air mild. Proof she should, could leave.

She
turned to face the stone wall, pushed her head against it as if to grind away
the confusion that had set so deep inside.

"You've
seen how little prepared we are for guests. You've seen that my people are
good, hard workers, but none of them know how to run a keep as grand as this.
But you’re doing it, lass.  The changes you’ve made is a wee bit of time,”  She
heard him shift, move closer.  “I try to do my best, but I need help. You've
been trained to be a laird's wife. Do you not feel right with it? To have a
purpose? To be in control of your own home.”

Ach,
he was right and she hated that. For the truth of his words would keep her from
her home, her people, her family.

“Would
your tailor have given you as much?"

Even
when he'd been out, finding old Micheil, she'd felt at home, at peace within
Glen Toric. She had more reason, more direction, in this past week then she had
ever experienced. She was no longer a joke, but a woman who had a place.

But
at what was the cost?

"Maggie,
we can make this work."  Talorc put his hands on her shoulders.

She
dared not move, not one fraction. She yearned too wildly for his touch, was
afraid of her own reaction to it. "Your hands are no comfort."  It
was the truth. It was no comfort knowing she had to wait, to hold off from
allowing what she desired.

He
nudged her to turn, but she resisted. "Let me hold you, lass. No more,
just hold you close so you don't feel so alone."

"No." 
He could keep a hug simple, but Maggie doubted her strength on that score. "No,"
she shoved from the wall, moved away, toward the door. "I would take it
kindly if you would just leave me be, Bold."  She refused to turn and look
at him. "You've brought enough down on me. Don't make me face more than is
already on my platter." 

She
slipped through the opening, closed it behind her and leaned against it much as
she’d leaned against the wall, in need of something to keep her upright when
what she truly wanted was to curl into a ball and mourn her brothers departure.

She
couldn’t do that here.  Silent, eyes closed she willed herself to move, widen
the distance between them, remove herself from the awful need to have him
closer.  He had nestled into her heart, provoked desire. She refused to
succumb, had to keep away, get away.

Eight
days, fortnight at most, and her brothers would be back. She would leave.

If
she could.

She
would.

Maggie
opened her eyes to a courtyard full of MacKays. Hushed, serious, they stared. Her
new found conviction wobbled as she searched faces, from one to another. A
slight brush of a breeze pulled a lock of hair, tugged at an apron string, the
only movement among them all.

At
the top of the stairs, alone, impressive, stood Seonaid.

Seonaid,
gone with Talorc's departure, despite his order against escape. Back upon
Talorc's return. Seonaid, who everyone whispered about, but none would talk of
openly. At least, not to Maggie.

Seonaid,
who spent last evening close to Maggie's own brothers, therefore close to
Talorc.

Ach,
but she goaded a woman.

Maggie
swung the door open again, and stepped inside the shade of the barn. The Bold
stood in the aisle that ran the length of the stalls, his back to her, head
bowed. She must have made a noise for he looked over his shoulder, frowned and
pivoted half-way.

"She's
out there, Bold."  Maggie snapped. "Seonaid, gone for the length of
your departure, returns with you. She is there every time I look to your
side."

"Your
brothers were with me, Maggie. I'd be a fool to have another, with your
brothers right there?"

"What
is she?  Witch or confident, to know your comings and goings better than anyone
else?"

Talorc's
frown deepened but Maggie gave him no time to think.

"Did
you send word to her, of your return?"

Agitated,
he ran his hands through his hair. "Maggie, she's nothing to me but an old
friend. Or she was. She's not such a friend now that we're grown. More a
nuisance, sticky as tar that won't be shed."

"She'd
like to see us fail."

"Will
you give her that?"

The
letter was sent. Maggie would be back with the MacBedes for the winter. Would
the Bold come for her?

"You
push too fast, Bold. You don't give a lass time to think."

"You
only get yourself in trouble when you think."

Tangled
outrage tumbled into gibberish against his slur. He laughed, cheeky fool, aware
he stirred her ire. A deep breath steadied her thoughts.

"What
are you playing at man?" She slammed the great door behind her and stepped
fully into the barn. "You know I'm on a fence here, half in your hold,
half-way back to my ma and da. Yet you make fun of me. As if that will . . .
"she backed up as he moved closer. "Oh, no. Don't you dare come near
me."

"Why
Maggie?"

"Because
I don't want you to touch me."

"Afraid?"
he challenged. "Afraid that you'll want me to touch you all the more? 
Afraid that you'll find there's no better man?  Afraid it will topple you over
into my hold?"

True,
she was afraid, but neither was she fool enough to admit it. She quit her
retreat, stood firm surprised to see him halt, mid-step.

"Will
you meet my challenge, Maggie MacBede? Will you stand the test of my
touch?"

He
reached out, close enough that she could take his hand, to be tugged into his
hold. Temptation urged, but she still had questions to be answered.

"Do
you love me?"

He
pulled his hand back. "What do you mean, do I love you?"

"Just
what I said, it's that simple."

"I've
traveled over half of Scotland to find you, promised my life to you and you ask
if I love you."

"You're
doing that for your clan, for the safety of the Highlands."

"Och,
lassie," disgusted he turned away, his fingers running through his hair. When
he finally turned back, there was a wary defeat in his eyes. "I want you
lass, with every ounce of my body, of my soul. You're full of trouble but I
still want you. Is that not enough?"

Was
it?  "I don't know, Bold. I’ve no ken of what I feel for you either. Don't
you see?  There's a fire raging between us, but I've seen a fair number of
lasses and laddies get together because they couldn't keep their hands anywhere
else, and now, well, there's not much there between them but a babe and the
heat of anger."

"There's
more between us, I know there is."

She
took a deep breath. "You may be right, I won't be denying that. I just
don't want to jump straight in, without any thought."

"By
all that's Holy, lass, that's the way you do everything else."

She
spun in a circle, his words a physical thing sending her reeling. She didn't
know whether to counter him or stalk away. But she was not one to run from
conflict.

"Naught's
fair with that!” She marched straight-up to him and shoved. "You aren't
such a temporary thing, now, are you?"

He
grabbed her hands before she could pull them away, lowered his voice, as he
lowered his mouth. "No, lass, there's nothing temporary about me at all,
that's what I've been trying to tell you."

He
kissed her again, the cheeky man. Every time he did that, she forgot all else,
and let him wrap his arms around her, and pull her into him, and kiss her until
. . . she . . . . just  . . . couldna' . . . think . . .of anything but the
touch of his tongue to hers. His lips nibbling her lips. His breath, a
feather’s touch along her neck, in her ear, sending shivers coursing through
her, signaling her lowers to heat and pool.

She
wondered hazily if the two of them were possible, with this to bind them. Would
it be so bad? 

"No
lass, not bad. Good, so good."

Had
she spoken aloud?  Oh, grief. It was his kisses, if she had just one more, then
she would ask him to stop, but first, she’d let him kiss her neck . . .

"More
than your neck, lass, please, just a wee bit more?"

She
felt him ease her plaid away, free the tie at the neck of her dress. He had to
stop because she couldn't stand properly on legs gone wobbly.

Without
a word, he hefted her up, touched her lips, a tickle of attention, her eyes,
the side of her neck. Then, there they were, pillowed in sweet hay, the
glorious weight of him pressing her into it. She didn't know how he got them
there, but she was glad of it, glad she could arch her breasts, tease him with
their presence.  A sense of glory blossomed.

She
was a woman. The birth of that, deep within her, was heady and powerful.  She
caught Talorc's attention by touching her own breasts.

“Let
me.”  He ordered as he held her bosom, lowered his mouth to suckle her through
the cloth of her dress.

"Oh,
Bold."

"Say
my name, lass, say my name, I want to hear it from your own lips."