Tangled (Handfasting) (12 page)

She
wanted him. She didna' want to, but she wanted him. Needed him. The proof was
in the way she matched his hunger, met the fever of his kisses. She did this
every time they came together, from inexperienced maiden, she flamed to
temptress. Without taking his lips from hers, he reached down and caught her
behind the knees, to lift her to his chest. She angled her body toward him, her
breast crushed to his.

As
he crossed to the bed, he released her lips, nudging the blanket from her
breast to greedily suckle her. She cried out, startled, stunned as he laid her
on the bed, careful not to put his full weight on her.  She pulled at him anyway,
as though she welcomed it, as if she could not get enough of him. Her back
arched, her breast raised for better access.

Oh,
Lord, her impulses played havoc with his intentions. If she was hungry for his
suckle, he would give it to her. In age old rhythm her hips moved against him,
he added his own measure, lifted enough to look at her eyes glazed with
passion, her body a ripe offering. He groaned.

"Why,
Talorc?" she breathed, more than spoke. "Why do ya' make me feel like
this?"

"Because
you're mine, and your body knows it, even if you don't."

"No,
I'm not yours. Not yet, anyhow."  Her eyes cleared. Desperate to distract,
he urged his hardness against that soft apex he craved and watched as her head
bowed back. A soft moan left her lips. "Oh Talorc, you make me . . ."

"I
make you mine."

He
should have kept his mouth shut. Even before the words were uttered she was
fighting the haze of sensuality.

"Not
now,” she argued, “I’m not ready to be yours."

"You
can't fight it Maggie," she tried anyway, tried to push him off of her but
he held her still, just long enough to say, "It's good for the clans. It's
what your body wants, I want. Accept it Maggie. We are meant to be."

"No,"
she rolled away, off the bed, to tug at the blanket, pinned beneath him.

He
let it go, watched as she wrapped it securely about herself. Her breasts now
flattened and hidden. He tried not to moan as he got off the bed.

Timing
was everything.

"Maggie,
you are fighting a losing battle. You want me as desperately. . "

She
didn't let him finish, didn't let him calm the way before she turned on him,
shoved at his chest.

"All
fine and dandy for you!"  She ranted, her passion turned to anger. "You’re
preparing for a war. What happens when you don't come home from the fight? 
What happens when the likes of Seonaid make promises of sweetness to you, when
you have a wife as tart as sour apples?  Will you be true to me, then?  In your
heart?"

"Don't
bring Seonaid into this. She's naught to do with us!" He would have to
tell her about Seonaid, claims that her child was his, but not now, not yet. Maggie
was too upset to give him the chance.

"Seonaid,
battles, whatever. You have all manner of mistresses!  What happens if one of
those becomes spiteful?  What happens if the battle turns against you?  Sends
you to the otherworld?"

She
stopped, glared at him, as though her fears were already truth. "You'll be
fine and dandy in your celestial home, but what of me?  Left all alone with no
chance to meet another that compares with you. Left to raise a small tyke who
will grow up to be just like his father?  Another warrior to desert me." 
She took a breath, her hands at her blanket. "And don't go telling me that
he won't grow up to be just like you, because he will, just as my brothers grew
up to be like my da. Just like you grew up to be like the great warriors whose
seed you carry. He'll grow up to go out and fight and leave his mother broken
with pain."

When
she shoved past him he was too stunned to stop her. She stormed through the
room, tossed down the blanket and whipped a kirtle over her head, settled it to
all the curves he craved to caress. He watched as she wrapped a plaid about
herself, a MacBede plaid no thanks to her brothers. That was all he needed now.
A fine reminder that she was not his. Not yet.

She
tossed one last glare his way before she stormed out the door. Where ever she
thought to go, he hadna' clue but he'd leave her to it.

Aye,
she'd lost one brother. One brother out of seven. Her da was still alive just
as the father of their children would stay alive. Talorc would see to it.

But
she needed to do her fuming. He understood that too. She needed to run around
and around in her mind until she was worn weary of the thoughts. Then she would
settle in with him, accept the inevitable.

He
hoped it would happen quickly. He didn't know if he could stand the wait. He
looked at the puddle of blankets on the floor. They'd come so close to being
man and wife.

If
only he'd kept his mouth closed.

* * * * * * * * * *

Mother,
Maggie wrote, then stopped.  She had to be very careful with the way she
phrased her life at Glen Toric. If she told her mother that she was well, that
Talorc treated her with respect and honor, she would be there for the rest of
her life.

If
she told her mother that the people of Glen Toric looked up to her, saw her as
a great and wise women, her mother would never believe it.

But
she would want to.

Mother
. . . Maggie began again, the point of the quill on the parchment. She pressed,
as though that would bring words to her mind. No cohesive thought came. She
lifted the pen tip. A large drop of black ink marked her lack of inspiration.

Maggie
dabbed the pen against the blotter, as she thought. She hated to waste a whole
piece of parchment for one slight mistake. Unable to look at it, she turned
aside, her eyes narrowed with thought. Nothing. All she could think about was
the black mark and the pitcher of water beside the basin at the end of the
table that was straight in her line of sight.

She
shot a glance at the small dab of ink on her paper. It was still wet.

With
an air of innocence, though who she tried to fool she couldna' tell, for no one
else was in the room, she crossed to the pitcher of water, stuck her finger in
and came out with a wetted tip. Carefully, she held her finger upright, with
the drop of water on it, as she walked back to the parchment.

Paper
held at an angle, one flick and her stain became a spilled tear.

Hah! 
She blew, sanded then waved the paper until it was good and dry and wouldn't
run any more. She set to her task with fresh enthusiasm.

Mother,

May
this find you strong and well. My brothers will tell you that I am up and
about, no thanks to the rock to my head. It happened on the way to Glen Toric,
after I mortally wounded one of the attacking Gunns. It was my first time in
battle. While my soul does shudder from the memory, the Laird MacKay is quite
proud. I think he means for me to join him in all future battles. To his mind,
I am a strong and able soldier.

Strong
warrior lass or no, I was felled, down for three days and four nights. The clan
MacKay thought the Gunns had killed me. But my head can take a stronger
bruising then that.

The
worst of it was, young Ian came to me in my dreams but the MacKay would not let
me go to him, so I have no message for you from that quarter.

She
would not tell her ma about the wee boy. There was no guarantee that it was
Talorc's. She would not encourage her mother to have such thoughts.

Maggie
bent back to her writing.

My
head is mending, the headaches are less severe. The women help to ease my work,
so I don't suffer too terrible, especially a woman called Seonaid. They all say
she had no reason to believe the Bold would marry her. The two are quite close,
you see, but he is determined to sacrifice himself for his people just as he
did with his first marriage. It saddens my heart to know that I keep the two of
them apart. She is ever so full of emotion when she sees me.

There
is talk that he murdered his late wife.

But
I am fine. Give my love to our Laird, my father, and, to all the others. It was
good to see the brothers. As you have taught me, I do not let on that my heart
is broken with missing my own. Nor do I allow the brothers to witness the odd
way the MacKays treat me. (Do you think it is because of this Seonaid woman?) 
I will keep my silence so our men will not fret. They do not have the strength
in such things that we women have.

Please,
if there is ever any problem at home, write. I will come to you as swift as a
sparrow. If not, I fear Glen Toric is my judgment.

With
all my heart,

Your
Loving daughter

Maggie
MacBede

It
was a fair bending of the truth, but she was that desperate.

With
quick movements she sanded, blotted and folded the letter, top to bottom and
side to middle, then sealed it with the mark of her broach. The MacBede marking.

With
a deep breath, she stood, stuffed the letter in the cross of her plaid and
headed to the front of the keep where her brothers prepared to leave. With this
missive, she would wish them God Speed and hope they returned quickly, before
the snow.

She
got to the top of the stairs and stopped. If she was writing letters, it meant
her brothers were truly leaving. She would miss them, terribly. But they would
be back soon. Jamie had, after all, taken a fancy to Lizbeth.

They
would be back.

She
hated goodbyes. Hated leave takings with all that standing about, watching,
trying to find just the right parting words when none would do.

She
dawdled, as if that would keep them there longer or give her the strength she
needed not to cry with their departure. She went to the kitchen to ask Eilinor
for something special to send with them.

Then
she stopped in the great hall, to have a chat with Eba.

When
she finally reached the great doors, she saw Mary move toward Douglas with
yearning eyes. Too shy, she turned away, hurried up the steps, her head bowed. She
had a piece of MacKay Plaid made into a small packet. She nearly ran into
Maggie.

"Oh." 
She whispered.

Maggie
nodded toward her hand.

"For
your brothers. I thought they might want a parcel with MacKay soil and heather.
They can keep the two together, MacKay and MacBede, for added strength."

Gently,
Maggie took the packet, rubbed the weave of it. "They're very fine, so
soft. Did you weave it yourself?" Mary was one of the girls assigned to
the weaving room.

"Aye,
spun the wool as well."

"It
must be the wool from a kid. It's too soft for anything else."

 Mary
looked uncertain. "Is that not what you do?"

Maggie
laughed, "I'm no dab hand at spinning and weaving. Mine were just scraps
of cloth, not so fine as this. They will be honored, Mary. They will gladly
carry this with them."  She had to fight to get the words past her throat.
She would have to have a word with Douglas. Tell him to look at the obvious. He
could do worse than Mary, and probably no better.

When
she finally made it down the keep steps, the MacBede men were already mounted. Her
delay was meant to make them stay longer, perhaps another day. Instead, she
realized they would have left without any good bye at all.

"Where've
you been, Maggie girl?"  Jamie called out.

"Do
you care?  You are ready to ride out without so much as a farewell."

"Thought
it was you, not wanting to say your good-byes, you took so long."

She
tilted her head up, held her tears back. "That's what you know of things. I've
been so long because I went to get sweet cakes for the journey."

"Aye,
so did Lizbeth."  Jamie smiled down at the woman who stood by his horse. "You
women will get us fat."

"You're
certain you won't stay for the winter?" Talorc offered, as he'd done the
night before.

Maggie
frowned. If they stayed she could not return to The MacBede Keep before spring.
That would be too late.  They had to go, and quickly.

"My
mother will fret if they don't return soon."

"Getting
rid of us, sister?" Douglas shouted out.

"Aye,
I have my pride to carry. Don't want you to spoil that with foolish tales of
when I was young."

They
both barked with laughter. "They've heard the stories, Maggie. We didn't
cut our visit that short."

"Come,
little sister, give your old brother a fond farewell." Jamie called out.

They
were really, truly leaving and if her missive didn't send them straight back,
she may not see them again for . . . it could be years.

Push-pull.
She wanted them to leave. She did not want them to leave.

"Jamie,"
she came up close, clasped his hand. "I've a letter for ma, could you see
that she gets it."

"Aye,
lass. She'd be wanting one and all."