Bold (The Handfasting) (16 page)

He
nodded to Liam, the last of the guards he met on his round of the watch, and headed
back toward the camp.  Positioned in the woods, his best men would watch for
trouble while the others slept free from attack. This close to home there was
little fear of that. 

Diedre
passed him as he wove through the woods.  She had a parcel.  Food for Liam, her
latest love. Fair enough, the man had to eat.  He also had to keep his wits
about him.

“You’re
not to distract him.”  Talorc warned.

“Perhaps
you’re the one who needs distracting.”  She offered.  “You’ve got to be
frustrated as a mad bull with her within reach but out of touch.”

Oh, aye, he was frustrated as hell.  Had expected
to be wed three nights ago, the night of the Handfasting, but a warrior's camp
was no place to woo a wife.  And he needed time.  Time to decide if he should
warn her of what their coupling would mean.  That she would be his wife at the
end of it.  It was a fine line of trust he walked. 

But
Deiedre knew he’d not take the bait.  Never had with her, never would. In the
past, discretion stopped him. Diedre didna’ understand the concept, proved as
much tonight when she offered her game with Maggie right there in the camp.
Empty gesture or no it showed a poor sense of decency. 

“You
get my ken?  Give him the food but get back to the others.”

“Aye,
I get your ken.” 

He
nodded, left her, trusting she would follow his orders.

He
stopped just outside the light from the fire, the first one lit on this
journey.  He risked it as they were tight within MacKay land.

As
he looked over the men, as was his way, he assessed the mood, warm from the
fire, high spirits as they were so close to home.  He made certain he accounted
for everyone, everything before he let his sights rest on Maggie.

 She
stood speaking with some of the men, oblivious to her own power as a woman. 
Every man seen as a brother or cousin of sorts, she was comfortable with them,
all of them, except him. 

He
made her nervous, he knew that, understood what it meant.  She didn’t.  Soon,
he would teach her.

So
he gave her ground, distance, thought that would ease the way for him, but he
thought wrong.  Rather than earn her trust, she grew more wary by the day.  He
wasn’t quite sure how to breach that divide.  

Aye,
Diedre was right, he was frustrated as a mad bull.  He’d nearly broken when she
bathed in this very afternoon, with him not ten feet away, back turned.  No
easy thing to do.  Sounds, the rustle of clothes as she undressed, the catch of
her breath from the frigid water enticed.  All it took was one splash and his
mind reeled with images; rivulets caressing where his hands had, and hadn't
been.  Droplets taking a lazy journey between high firm breasts with nipples
puckered from the cold.  He knew the curve of that breast, the weight of it.

But
the water would go further than he had advanced.  It would trail down across
her body to pool in her navel, just waiting for him to dip his head, lave and
sip.  Sparkling beads would be caught in curls at the apex of her thighs.  His
fingers would weave past them to dip into the heat of Maggie's own moistness. 

Soon,
they would dance that dance.  When he had her to himself.  Alone, so his hand
could roam as free as the water.  His lips would travel the same path and his heat
would find the source of hers.

But
not tonight.  Not until they reached Glen Toric.  Not until they had a place to
bed without fifty men surrounding them.  And not until she had learned that the
love of her body was the love of her heart.

He
had an idea, was waiting for just the right moment, needed her trust to move
into action.  That was why he stood back as fifty men, blustered and blushed
with the sound of her voice.  

It
could not have been easy for her brothers to keep suitors away.  To do so proved
a disservice.  Maggie saw all men as extensions of her family, like brothers. 
So much so, he was amazed she had not tied him with that same rope.  Then
again, he knew how singular their attraction was.

Thomas
leaned over her, his smile as wide as his face could stretch, and said
something.  She chuckled, a tease of sound that rode the breeze and trailed
across Talorc’s shoulders like a lover’s caress.

She
swatted at Thomas and shooed him away, then swung her head, so her hair waved
back and forth before the heat.  There was no provocative intent in what she
did.  She was too busy prattling on about nonsense, totally unaware that as her
neck arced, so did her back and with her back bowed the roundness of her figure
stood out in stark relief.  A rich, lush, virginal offering. 

Blood
rushed through his body.  She was a heady temptation, blocking out the rest of
the world, in the midst of a warrior’s camp.

They
were not alone.  He must not forget, they were not alone.

His
gaze snapped to his men.  Wide-eyed and slack jawed they stared, as unable to
move as he had been.  He cursed.

“Maggie.” 
As expected, she shot straight with the sound of his voice, her eyes wary, for
she was coming to be cautious of him and of what they shared.  As abruptly as
she sat up, his men moved away, released from the spell she cast.

That
was as alone as they would be tonight.

When
he neither moved nor spoke, Maggie shrugged her shoulders, reached back to
braid thick strands of auburn tresses.  "How much further to Glen Toric?" 
She asked.

He
stayed where he was, didn't move closer, though he couldn't have said why. 
"Another day, a short one.  We should be there before dark."

Four days they’d been
riding when the entire journey only took two.  He slowed the pace for Maggie.

“You’ve
had bad dreams?” 

Every
bit of her went still.  “Why would you say that?”

Unable
to sleep, he had watched her of a night, close to the fire.  Only Maggie had
not slept, not properly, she tossed and turned and called out.

“Ian. 
You asked for Ian.”

“Did
I?”  She studied the ground beneath her feet.

“My
guess is he responds, for you settle.”

A
blush crept up as she shook her head.  “I don’t remember.”  She looked about,
as though to bring the dreams back, then looked at him.  “Did I really?”

“You
settled.”  And was pleased to see her smile.

“Come,”
he was close now.  “There are fish in the stream, just beyond the trees, over
there,” he pointed. “waiting for a tickle.”

“Are
there?”  Her smile turned playful.  “You want me to show you how it’s done?”

She
was teasing him.  This was good.  It proved her barrier was not a solid one.

“We’ll
see.  Why not a wager lass?  I win, I get a kiss.  You win and,” he reached
out, hoping she would take his hand.  “What, Maggie girl, what do you get?”

“To
walk!”

“You
ask the world, Maggie and all I want is a simple kiss.”  But he was happy now
for she had taken his hand, was letting him lead her to the stream.

He
saw Bruce aiming for them and shook his head.  This was the closest he had been
to Maggie in days, he did not want to upset that.

Bruce
ignored his scowl, sidled up beside him. "Bold."

"I'm
busy now, Bruce."

"Not
too busy for this.”

He
squeezed her hand, looked to her, not willing to let her go when she pulled
free.  A reluctant withdrawal.

“You
go, Bold.”  Her wistful smile worried him for it spoke of a chance lost forever
when there should be so many more in their future.

Damn
his responsibilities. 

“It’s
important, Laird, or I’d not break in.”

“Wait
for me?”  He asked Maggie but she didn’t answer-- just waved a small wave as
she backed away.  The distance loomed far wider than feet.

“Bold,”
Bruce pressed. “You’ll be wantin’ to hear this now, not later.”

“What?” 
He snapped.

“There's
sign of riders coming toward us.  They veered east just short of Dunegan's
Woods."

That
caught his attention.  “Riders?  Have you told the watch?"

"Aye. 
But that's not the worst of it."

Talorc
watched Maggie head toward the bush for a bit of privacy and frowned.  Diedre should
be back by now, should go with her into the woods. 

Unease
burgeoned as he looked back at Bruce.  "What is the worst of it?"

"Someone's
playing with the old ways.  They've built an altar, for sacrifice."

"In
Donegan's wood?"

"Aye."

"Are
you certain that's what it's for?"

Bruce
shifted on his feet.  "The markings are there, and it's been used.  It's
covered with blood stains.  From the looks of the bones by the fire, more than
animals have been on that stone."

"How
old are the tracks?"  Some of the dis-ease settled as Maggie stepped back
into the clearing.

"Within
a day, but Bold," Bruce looked away, as if he couldn't face his leader,
"it looks like they were preparing for another sacrifice.  There's fresh
wood laid out, and . . ."

"This
is our land," Talorc bellowed.  "This is happening inside our
borders!"

"I
know, and I've doubled the guard."

"Did
you not destroy that altar?"

Bruce
stared at the Bold.  "No, the men wouldna’ touch it."

Talorc
dampened his fury, it would only cloud his thoughts.  The first thing was to
protect Maggie, guard her at all times.

“Ian,
what?”  She yelled as she backed toward the outcropping and turned to him, her
eyes wide with fear.  “Ian’s there, can you see him?  Blocking my way . . .”
She didn’t get time to finish for Deidre staggered from the woods on the other
side, her clothes stained with blood.  She shook, raised her hand, a bloody
hand, knife still clasped in it.

“We
were attacked.” The boisterous woman whimpered.  “Liam’s dead!”  With her wail
the woods purged a flood of wild men, painted, armed ready for battle.

Warrior’s
battle calls filled the night.  Undulating cries rose from the woods, the heavy
pounding of shields.  They were cornered on that outcropping, no were to go but
back and then down, a fifty foot drop.

Maggie. 
They must protect Maggie.  “Surround her!”  Talorc ordered, as he raced
forward, no question that the men would form a protective body guard around her. 

But
she was only safe if the battle was won.

It
was turning dark, the worst time for attack, to distinguish friend from foe. 
His claymore in hand, Talorc charged for the trees, toward the heat of the
fray. 

Arrows
rained down upon them. Men wearing naught but painted symbols poured from the
wood, heaved rocks, waved claymores and dirks.  MacKays outnumbered the band
but the attackers had targes to shield them from blows and the advantage of
surprise.  The MacKays barely had time to gather their wits let alone weapons
and shields. 

He
wielded his blade, slashed and stabbed, swung from side to side, front to back
to confront foe after foe. A fierce battle, a focused fight, pushing them
further back toward the edge of the rocks.

Spurred
with worry, he lunged in attack, swerved to see the circle of his men with
Maggie in the middle.  They had her safe, despite the onslaught of arrows and
rocks still coming from the cowards in the woods.  Damned if she wasn’t
struggling to break free. 

Mikey
broke from the circle, charged a giant of a man who drew too near.  Talorc
leaped toward the open hole, as his men tried to close it, but Maggie pushed
past them.   A stone flew through the air where her head had been.  She reached
down, oblivious to the near miss, and grabbed it.  With the strength of fury
she heaved it at the nearest target.  He went down.

Diedre
grabbed her arm, pulled her toward the edge of the outcropping, a sliver of
space where no one fought.  Maggie pulled hard, brought Diedre around,
revealing a wild man behind her.  Maggie grabbed the knife still clutched in
Diedre’s hand, aimed it so the two of them stabbed.  As he fell Deidre twisted
free, revealing the swing of the man’s club, already high to bring down on
Deidre’s head. It crashed down on Maggie’s instead as he fell on top of her.

Talorc
charged toward them, too far to catch her, close enough to hear the crack as
her head hit the rocky ground. Talorc tore the man off her as if he was no more
than a blanket.  Dead, he was dead.  The Bold spun around, blood pumped with
violence, looking to lash out, finding only stillness.

One
moment there were too many attackers.

Then,
suddenly, there were none.  The noise, the commotion ended as quickly as it
started.  The battle an illusion except the sight and smell of wounds, of
death, of Maggie, a crumpled heap upon the ground, blood pouring down her face,
the dead man’s club beside her head.