The Handfasting (12 page)
Authors: Becca St. John
Days
filled with the land opening up to forever. They skirted the mountain, rode at
the base of foothills, across open stretches that dipped and fell. Rugged
terrain at a rugged pace, on horseback, when Maggie had never ridden as much as
a morning before.
Many
of their group walked. Talorc refused to let Maggie join them. She wouldn’t
forgive him for the pain of it, riding, when she was not accustomed to such
things.
Strong
boned and buxom, Diedre rode up and reached over, giving Maggie’s arm a comforting
pat. “Don’t fret now lass, the time will fly.”
Diedre,
a MacKay companion for Maggie. A woman who convinced the Bold that Maggie would
need one for the ride. Female companionship in the likes of the MacBede’s
Muireall, the widow. Proof the women at Glen Toric
would not be so different to back home.
Thoughtful of the Bold. Generous of Diedre, for they were in a troop of
men. She rather suspected that was Diedre’s reason for joining the adventure.
As
for Maggie? She was more than used to the company of men, especially warriors.
Probably more comfortable with them than women.
Still,
she appreciated the gesture, especially as the woman did not hover but left
Maggie to herself often enough.
Open
and friendly one minute, too close another, before Deidre would go off,
flirting with the men as widows were wont to do, sneaking off with one or
another. Plenty of men on this ride and only two women.
Muireall would have liked those odds herself.
“The
Bold may be a great man, but he’s also a man. Can’t be around one without some
ill feeling festering,” Diedre claimed, an old mother hen even though they were
of an age. “Best to get bad thoughts out of a body or they sour the soul.”
Off
with someone the night before, Maggie didn’t have to wonder about the smile the
woman wore.
“Sore?”
Diedre asked.
Maggie
mumbled, not as comfortable with complaining aloud as Diedre. “Aye. Don’t know
why he won’t let me walk.”
“He’s
the Laird. He’s used to telling others what to do.”
“And
they all listen.”
Diedre
nodded. “Of course. Like lambs and a shepherd.”
“Lambs
are slaughtered.” Maggie countered and they both laughed. Only it wasn’t funny.
She was being led as though she had no will of her own.
What
had happened to her dignity, to her self-respect? Who was he to tell her she
couldn’t walk, when riding for days was not natural. She may not be able to
walk, if she didn’t get down off this beast soon.
Still,
she kept the litany to herself, decided to deal with the issue her own way. She
halted her horse on the downward slope, lifted her leg gingerly over its neck,
and slowly eased off.
“Are
you needen’ to freshen up?” Diedre frowned. They had only just remounted from a
short break. “It would be better if we wait until we reach the bottom of the
hill. There’s a wee stream down there. See?” And she pointed.
Maggie
had seen it, a thin thread winding through the valley floor. “Aye.” It took a
few moments to straighten her legs against aches in places she didn’t know a
body could ache.
William
rode up. “Is there a problem?”
“No.”
Maggie handed him her reins before he could refuse them. “I’d rather walk, if
you don’t mind.”
“The
Bold says you’re to ride.”
“He
can do as he pleases. I will do as I please.”
She
didn’t want to argue, she didn’t want to be persuaded, or treated like a
recalcitrant child. She just wanted to walk, so she turned away and strode down
the hillside, taking a path with large boulders, difficult for a horse to
follow.
“Wait!”
Diedre called, but Maggie kept moving as sounds of the other woman closed in on
her.
“You
needn’t run from me.” Diedre huffed, out of breath. “If you ask me, he’s too
high handed by half with you.”
“He
is that.” Maggie snapped.
“The
man just up and took you from your home.”
“He
did that.” Maggie lifted her chin. “Just pulled me from my home, my people,
what I wanted and then makes me ride that bloody . . .”
Diedre
put a hand on her arm. “He has his reasons, I’m sure. And he’s a handsome man,
no?”
“I’m
not blind.”
“And
you feel something for him?”
Maggie
pulled away, looked at the mountains, honest enough to keep silent rather than
admit the truth. Aye, she felt something for him, but it was such a muddled
mess there was no explaining it.
“You’re
set on leaving him, are you?”
Was
that an insult to his people? She didn’t mean it as such. “I didn’t want to
leave my own.”
“No.”
Diedre sat on a boulder. Maggie turned to see her motioning someone away. Another
glance confirmed it was the Bold.
Diedre
continued. “You didna’ want to leave your home, but you can go back. Just keep
that in mind. You can have yourself a fine adventure and then go back. We’re
not so bad, you see. You’ll like the folks of Glen Toric.”
“My
brothers say the keep is built on caves.”
Diedre
smiled and nodded. “Aye, scary if you ask me. But they’re down there,
underneath us, dark and full of the echoes of whatever creatures are hiding in
there.”
Maggie
shivered, pulled her plaid closer around her. “I’ve never been in a cave, but I
don’t much care for the dark.”
“Hmn,”
the other woman considered that. “The men are waiting for us.”
“Then
let’s move on down, so they can move as well.”
“I
think the Bold is going to join us.”
Maggie
looked, and sure enough, the man was finding his way between the rocks. Agile
for such a big man. She would give him that much. He was just too good at
everything. He was a fool if he thought they were a match. Foolish and
impetuous was what she was, a far cry from good at everything.
Her
biggest fear was that she would be foolish and impetuous with him.
“He’s
a fine warrior, Maggie. I know you’re afraid he will be killed, but he’s lived
to now.”
“Aye,
until now.”
“My
husband, bless his soul, was a warrior.”
Talorc
gained on them. Hoping for a few more moments on foot, Maggie grabbed Diedre’s
arm and aimed them both further down the hillside.
They
were of an age, yet Diedre had already been married, birthed a child and been
abandoned as a widow. That was the problem with warriors, they did things like
that. Maggie kept silent. The woman didn’t need reminding of what was.
“You
may have the right of things. I don’t think I would marry another warrior. It’s
too much of a worry. Waiting for days, weeks when they go out for the fight. It
eats at a body.”
“Aye.”
Maggie nodded, glad she had Diedre, that the Bold had thought to bring her.
Diedre
stopped, pulled Maggie around so they spoke face to face, eye to eye. “Just
don’t let him near. Stick with the women folk and don’t let him near. Then you
can have a high time with us, and return home to anyone you want.”
Wise
words, only she didn’t know if she wanted to hear them. Contrary, that’s what
she was. One minute enjoying the man’s company, the next, angry that he took
all her choices away from her.
“You
would help me?”
“Aye.”
Diedre nodded, but didn’t have a chance to say more, for the Bold had reached
them.
Maggie
fought to hold to Diedre’s idea through days of travel; despite the aches of
the forced ride, she was drawn to the Bold. Though she kept her tongue sharp,
whenever he was near, she hungered for those moments. Feared he would
acknowledge her hardness and leave her be.
“Are
you enjoying Diedre’s company, lass?’ A shiver of awareness shot through her,
as the Bold pulled alongside of her.
“Aye,
I believe we will get on.”
“Good.”
He nodded.
Her
people were not ones for aimless chat. She had been relieved to see that
neither were Talorc or his men.
After
a time, he took her arm, signaled to stop and be quiet.
They
had just breached a small rise that looked over a narrow valley. Below, a herd of
deer grazed along a stream that cut through one side of the flat land.
“See
them.” The warmth of his hand intoxicated. She pulled free only to have him
lean in, one hand braced behind her on the horse’s rump, the other pointing. Diverted
by the strength of his hand, the sinewy strength in his arm, she failed to see
what he was showing her.
“See
him?” He jolted her to look where he pointed. “That’s Bruce, moving in.”
She
sucked in her breath, surprised. Below them, blending in with the heather and
the rock, a hunter crouched, edging ever closer to the herd, so much a part of
the land that it was hard to place him.
She
held her breath, as though even that small sound could be heard, and watched,
waited, wondering how the Bold could tell, from this distance, who was who.
“He’s
down wind, so the deer can’t smell him.” His explanation brushed her ear.
She
focused, hard, on the man, Bruce, down on his belly creeping closer still. One
of the creatures lifted its head, ears twitching, nose to the wind. The hunter
stilled.
“He’s
close enough now.”
Aye,
Bruce was close to the deer, but so was the Bold to her. The heat of his body,
the brush of his breath drew her away from the action below. She looked at him,
her Handfasted.
He
didn’t acknowledge her gaze, kept his on the action below, so she took her time,
considered just what it was that pulled at her senses. Why was he so different
from the other men she knew?
The
compulsion to trace the scar that ran along his cheek, to touch the crinkles
that radiated from his eyes, had her hand poised between the two of them, as
though some magic controlled her better judgment. The dark tan of his skin,
common enough among any who spent their days out of doors, fascinated.
“You’re
going to miss it if you keep looking at me.” He said, without once shifting his
gaze away from Bruce.
Maggie
snapped back just in time to see Bruce’s fluid adjustment from crouching to
standing, aiming and shooting. He downed the animal in one shot, as all the
other game fled.
“No
need for more. That will keep us for the journey.” Talorc told her and heeled
his mount forward.
She
urged her ride to catch up, confused by her compulsion yet not ready to fight
it. “How did you know who that was down there?”
“I
can recognize my men, how each moves.” He looked to her. “As I do with you.”
She
snorted, “A stiff and bowlegged lass. Enchanting.”
“Oh
girl, what I see you can be verrrry proud of.” He teased.
With
her best glare she changed the subject. “You knew the deer were there, but
didn’t go to hunt.”
“Couldn’t
have shown you if I had been down there.”
His
thoughtfulness defeated her. “You knew I would want to see it.”
“Aye.”
“I’ve
never hunted.”
“And
you’ve always wanted to, no doubt. I’ll be teaching you then.” Finally he
stopped, turned, and looked at her. She refused to look away, put her chin up
defiant against her own reluctance.
“I
would like that.”
He
was studying her as closely as she had studied him. She fought the urge to
squirm.
“No
doubt, you’ll be good at it.” He stated.
He
couldn’t know that, but in her defense she admitted, “I can tickle fish better
than my brothers.”
His
chuckle echoed through her, rattling the foundation of her resistance. Over and
over she tried to remember Diedre’s words.
Just don’t let him near. Stick with the women folk and don’t let him
near. Then you can have a high time with us, and return home to anyone you want
By
the next day, her resistance was firmly back in place.
Talorc
looked to the sky. Clear and bright and cold enough to freeze the ground. A
relief after the wet, muddy journey of neither snow nor rain, but a muddled mix
of both that slapped their faces and melted on the ground.
Soon,
the sun would set. By mid-day tomorrow they would reach Glen Toric. He planned
it that way, so the sun would be high in the sky, shining down on his home in
its most magnificent glory just as they rode up to it.
Despite
the chill, they took time this afternoon to bathe in the loch below, wash away
the long muddy ride before trekking up to this camp, an outcropping of stone
off the edge of the woods.
From
the higher vantage point, aided by a bright moon, the tall square keep of Glen
Toric could be seen, the substantial wings flaring out and back from its sides.
The long narrow climb up to it proof of the safety it offered. Not fancy but
strong, and sturdy, and easily defended. Large enough to hold all she needed.
Much like him.
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, spirits high 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 this very afternoon, with him not ten feet away, back turned. No easy
thing to do. Sounds enticed, the rustle of clothes as she undressed, the catch
of her breath from the frigid water. 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. He turned, to find her backing away
from the trees, shaking her head, tears on her cheeks.
“Ian?”
She stumbled toward the outcropping, then she turned to him, eyes wide, full of
tears. “Ian’s there, can you see him? Blocking my way . . .”
There
was no time to finish, for Deidre staggered from the woods, 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.
Warriors’
battle calls filled the night. Undulating cries rose from the woods, the heavy
pounding of shields. They were cornered on that outcropping, nowhere 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
woods, 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.
