Tangled (Handfasting) (6 page)

Though
easily of an age with Talorc, which gave her ten years on Maggie, there was no
covering upon the woman’s head, just a thick dark braid that had fallen over
one shoulder.

The
woman tilted her face to laugh at something Talorc said. His smile, wide with
pleasure, spoke of a familiarity rich in years.

Do ya’ think he lived there with no woman in his bed?

A
dart, thrown to make her mother worry and fret and stop the handfasting. Nothing
real, back then.

I
am an imposter, in another woman's place. A simple lass in an extravagant home.

Talorc
thought her to be a woman who inspired victory. But she was nothing other than
flesh and blood, often foolish, always stubborn.

He
wanted her for his clan, her clan, and the power of the two together. He wanted
her for breeding stock, to bear sturdy sons with the blood from two lines of
warriors.

He
wanted her because of overblown tales told around a campfire.

There
was no reality to his wanting. He didn't know who she, Maggie, was. But he had
known who this woman was, the actuality of her. She was not an illusion. She
was not a false image. She was just a woman Talorc knew well.

An
imagined fear turned to piercing hurt that cramped the heart. A reality.  The
second one to hit that day.

Maggie
glanced back at the woman, the second person that night to reveal a hint of
sorrow as Bold now talked to Bruce.  As if she felt Maggie’s gaze this woman,
Seonaid, met it. Her eyes violet as the small flower, dark and intense.

"Don't
you fret about Seonaid."  Una startled Maggie by wrapping an arm around her
shoulders. "The Bold never thought to marry the lass." 

Lizbeth
gave Una a sharp elbow to the side, adding, "It's you he watches, as
though you might disappear in a waft of smoke."

She
looked back, to find him watching her.  But he hadn’t been earlier.  She
doubted he even remembered she was there.

Deidre
hurried over to Maggie, as did half a dozen others.

"It
doesn’t matter anyway."  Deidre stroked her hand. “When the handfast is
over, you will be leaving him behind.”

You’ll be leaving… He never thought to marry Seonaid,
words echoed with a thousand different conclusions.
 

Odd
perhaps, in a lad’s clothes, but the woman was beautiful and graceful, with
dark black hair, and mysterious eyes.

Maggie
looked down at her own self. Too much of her own self, all hip and bosom.

"Did
she have reason to think he would?  Marry her that is." 

"You
needn't worry." Eilinor patted Maggie's shoulder.

"I
wasn't." Which was true, she hadn't until now. She needed to know. "Did
she have reason to think he would?  Marry her that is."

They
all looked to each other.

Ingrid
broke the silence with a haughty flip of her own braid.  “Seonaid is nothing
more than a woman who thinks she’s a man.”

Again
silence, then Una piped in.  “Let’s play the wedding game!”  She encouraged the
others. “We’ll not let the Bold anywhere near you for the whole of the
evening!”

          A
game meant for a bride, which Maggie was not, but she managed to smile, allowed
the women their fun despite an aching head and an unruly heart.   

As
they played interference, came between her and the Bold, Maggie listed all the
reasons she was happy to play.  She wanted to go home. She wanted a husband
more like Birk than Bold.  She did not want to love the Bold.

She
would not love the Bold.

She
refused to love the Bold.

And
all the while her mind fought to control her very wishes she found her heart
could not play the game.

A
groaning wind rattled the shutters. The banked fire hissed and spit its meager
glow.  Shadows thick as tar danced, eerie movements illuminating demons upon
the walls.  

Maggie
jumped with every rattle, shivered with each hiss of fire and cursed the man
who brought her here to sleep alone, in a huge, ominous room away from her own
clan.

The
MacBede’s knew of Maggie’s night fears.  They would not have left her alone,
even if there was room for that.  A single lass was never left to sleep in a
room on her own.  There were advantages to living in a small keep.

But
she was not in a small keep.  She was in a strange and cavernous room with any
number of hidden tunnels in and out of it.

Eyes
wide she fought to breathe . . . to steady herself . . .

A
great snuffle, a snort, ricocheted down her spine, to freeze with a scratch of
claws on stone floor. Never, even in her most frightening experiences, had the
night been this bad.

"God
preserve me." She whimpered.

Terror
kicked up the patter of her heart, pulsed hammer blows to her head. To scream
would shatter her bones.

This
was the Bold's fault. He forced her to be alone . . . in this strange place . .
. with strange noises . . . unexplored shadows . . . and sounds of great, huge,
ravenous rats.

Rigid,
Maggie strained against the gloom, to see what hid in a place too full of
hiding places. Another snort and scrape of talons shot down her spine and a
cold wet nose pressed against her face.  Terror erupted in a shriek, racketing
pain throughout her head.

A
monster of a beast scrabbled to get on the bed, two massive paws already there,
as another mangy head rose from the foot of it. Sound choked in her throat. She
would have sobbed but could do no more than flap her jaw.

The
beast grumbled, "Wha. . . Hu . . . Wa"
  

She
heard nothing other than the prayers she mumbled under her breath, her eyes
squeezed tight against the frightful image. Desperately she pulled the covers
up over her head.

A
heavy weight landed beside her.

"You
bloody, bloody, cruel man to leave me here," she cried to herself. "Talorc,
where are you when I need you?"

Something
tugged at the covers. With fists and teeth she held tight, her body shuddering
in fear.

"Maggie,
Maggie," the struggle stopped, "I'm here Maggie," Talorc's voice
penetrated her shelter, settled on her, as the comfort of his hands cupped her
shoulders through the thickness of covers. "I'm right here, Maggie mine. You've
nothing to fear. I'd not leave you alone when you've been so ill."

She
lowered the barrier to her nose. One eye opened, then another.

"You
great brute."  Through the blanket, she punched his shoulder. "You
left me alone in this miserable place, and I don't take kindly to it."

"Never,
Maggie, I was here."

"Not
quick enough."

"Right
there," he turned her to face him, pointed to the foot of the bed, where
the devil’s head had popped up.

"With
a beast?"

"Aye,"
he reached over to pat the head of an enormous dog. Maggie put her
interpretation of the animal down to shock. Talorc continued as if there were
not a problem in the whole of the world. "Brutus was here as well to watch
over you and make sure no one could harm you."

She
eyed the animal, and wondered who would protect her from it. He looked big and
mean enough to eat her. And it wasn't a dog she wanted, but Ian or at the least
another person, someone to explain away the ominous shadows.

A
shift of focus and she froze, to stare at the fabric in Talorc's lap. A
scrunched up ball of plaid. This, his only concession to modesty, barely
covered his privates, trailed over his thigh, a train in his wake.

She
couldn't help but stare. This was the body that taunted and teased, that made
her feel ways she had never felt. She touched his thigh with a light finger,
found it muscled, hairy.

Her
gaze rose but only as far as his chest. That's where it took a turn, along the
path just perused.

Fascination
washed away embarrassment and fear. She forgot her anger. She, who had grown-up
surrounded by men, could not take her eyes away from the arrow of hair that
mirrored the arrow of his body. So broad and muscled at the top, to taper down
. . . lower down, into the soft folds of fabric that exposed so much, yet hid .
. . all by itself, the cloth shifted as though a live thing were hidden
underneath it. Her eyes snapped up. His glistened with laughter.

"You
want to peek?"

She
clutched covers against her own nakedness, and managed a disdainful snort. "You've
nothing I've never seen before."  She lied. She was quite certain he had
something she had never, ever seen.

"I
bet you've never seen it in this state."

She
could barely breathe. "As if I would want to."  She lied again,
thinking of how she had felt it through layers of clothes. The curiosity to
see, to touch was strong.

To
hide her blush, Maggie harrumphed, and flopped over, mumbled about men with
little boy humors, and gave him her back.

The
bed shifted, cloth rustled. She would not, absolutely not, look. Not even one
quick glimpse over her shoulder. She fought the urge by staring straight ahead.
The shutter still banged, buffeted by the storm raging outside. The shadows
continued to dance. None of it alarmed her. Not anymore. Not with Talorc there,
to make it feel cozy and safe.

"You're
all right, Maggie. Nothing will harm you at Glen Toric."  He lay beside her
so they faced each other. She wondered if he could read minds to answer her
thoughts.

He
pulled her into his arms, held her as her brothers would. Neither spoke, as he
stroked her hair. She squirmed.

He
did not feel like her brother. His caress did not lull her toward sleep, but
made her want to stretch, like a cat so his hands would move from stroking her
hair to stroking . . . She squelched another squirm. He kissed the top of her
head.

How
many days had it been since he had kissed her properly?  Since he challenged
her body? Too many. He treated her like a child. She did not feel like a child.

And
she did not know how to start the battle of the senses. He had not yet taught
her that much.

"Are
you falling to sleep?"

She
shook her head, and asked, "Are you waiting for me to?  So you can
sleep?"   

He
pulled back, brushed her hair from her face, his eyes heavy lidded. "Would
you blame me if I did?" 

She
nestled back into his hold, rather than have him see how she felt.

Every
night before this one, whenever she woke, Talorc had been there, in the chair
beside her bed, ready to speak to her, to ease her fear, to place a cool cloth
upon her head. Always, he was in the room, to watch over her, make her feel
safe. She was better now and it was true, he needed sleep.

If
she had a bedmate he could go to another chamber, and get the rest he needed. At
the same time, she would not have to face the fear of a strange place all by
herself.

"It's
time I share this bed."

She
pulled back, looked at his hand, poised for another caress, his expressive
features expressionless. She frowned.

"It's
just that," the words jumbled in her head. "Perhaps things are
different here, but at home maidens share their beds. It leaves more room for
others. Glen Toric can't be so different. Surely, I've put someone out of their
place."

He
held the curve of her shoulder. His hand warm, solid. She did not want him to
go just yet. She did not want him to let go.

"You're
fine in this bed."

She
grabbed at that. "I would be glad to share."

Talorc
chuckled. "Would you now?"

"Aye."

"It's
my bed you're sleeping in."

She
blinked. Of course it was. She knew that.  His papers, his books, his clothes
were in here. “It’s not you I’m thinking of sharing with.”

He
laughed. "Do you want to let me in?"

Aye,
she did, but dared not tell him. Refused to let him see how desperately she
wanted his mouth on her mouth, on her body. To feel the way his teeth would
tease her nipple and his tongue would soothe the nip all while his hands molded
her breasts. She would not demand that he push himself against her secret
places, rub and buck and draw her into mindless hunger. She would not beg.

"Where's
Ealasaid? I shouldna' be here alone with you."

"You're
my handfasted, you're expected to be alone with me."

Maggie's
snort was not much different than Brutus's. "I'd not have need of comfort
if not for that. But I am doing better now. I can be moved to another
bed."

"There's
no need for that."  He sighed. "But you needn't worry about me
climbing under the covers with you. I'm more than comfortable on the floor. It's
smoother than the rocky ground outside. And goodness knows I've spent enough
nights on that."