Tangled (Handfasting) (7 page)

"I've
never slept alone, MacKay."

"You'll
not be alone, Maggie. I will be right there for you."

"I've
never slept alone in a bed. And I've never shared a bed with someone who was
not my kin."

"I
am your kin now, Maggie. Don't mistake that."

"Blood
kin."

Silence,
so peaceful moments before, stirred into something quite different.

"Maggie,"
Talorc broke the stand-off, "if you want someone in the bed with you, I'll
join you."

"Never." 
She thought of the other woman, Seonaid and wondered if she had shared this bed
with him.

"I'll
not pursue you more than you want." His white teeth gleamed with his
smile.

That
she could challenge. "I don't see you pursuing at all."

He
cupped her head, pulled her to his kiss before she could react, all hard and
tense hunger. He rolled onto her with his body, thrust against her with his
loins. She felt the long, thick length of him and knew that she had won. He was
pursuing, he was challenging her.

She
had to check him, or he would think to dominate her with her one weakness. She
had to check herself as well, or she would be buried so deep in her want for
him she would never leave.

"I'm
not wanting."  She told him and realized it was her third lie of the
evening.

"Then
I'll not pursue."

This
was what she hated about him. The push-pull, to want him and not want. The pit
of her fluttered, a hundred frenzied butterflies. Her mind screamed to push him
off, tell him to go to the floor.

"You'll
have to sleep in a different layer of covers." She was naked. She'd not
risk her skin to touch his, certain it would ignite a horrible sensation she
could never control. "And stay on your side."

"Aye,
Maggie," he didn't pull his plaid free until he was under a blanket. "I'll
do that." Settled, he reached out again, pulled her close. "You'll be
safe, right here, with me."

“You’re
not on your side.”  She grumbled even as she wriggled against him.

“Aye,
I am. On my side of the center. And you are on your side of the center.”  He
tightened his hold.

Tell
him to let go her mind argued, but Maggie stayed mum, until Talorc asked,  
"Remember your dream, Maggie. When you woke from your wound."

Impossible
to forget. "You mean when Ian came for me."

"Ian
didn't come for you, Maggie," Talorc leaned up, and over her. With a
reverence that stunned her, Talorc rested his hand over her belly, "He
brought you a bairn, my child, Maggie.  Yours and mine."

"He
didn't say it was yours."

Talorc
laughed. "He brought the lad to you here at Glen Toric, to my home, my bed.
He'd not do that with another man’s child."

His
words tugged at her. She did not want the sense of it any more than she wanted
to hunger for his nearness.

Talorc
lifted a strand of her hair, traced her cheek with it. She brushed him off.

"Maggie?"

She
would fight the warmth of him. The security. He was a warrior. A spear-heading,
dive into the fray, warrior. He had already played against the odds of survival.
He was not a man that a woman could count on to grow old beside her. He was not
a man to be content unless he had his way.

He
was not the man she wanted to dream of.

"I'm
tired, MacKay." She willed thoughts that would turn her against him. "What
with all the sleep I've had, I'm still tired." She rolled away, settled
deep in the covers.

"Fine,"
he whispered, "Just remember I'm here for you."

He
was there for too many. That was the problem. Chin over her shoulder she asked,
"Were you there for her too?  Did you make such promises to Seonaid?"

His
eyes lost the heavy lidded look. "She's nothing to you, Maggie. We grew up
together. Her father was my da's right hand. I promised to watch over her. There
is nothing more to it than that."

"She's
fairly cozy with you."

"Maggie,
I'll not treat you false." 

She
heard the way he held on to his patience. "You've already done that."

"Maggie,"
his exasperation escaped, "why would you think I could want a woman like
that when I have you?"  Possessively he cupped her breast, she moaned. "You,
who are so responsive?"  He worked his hand under her blanket, trailing it
across her belly and lower. She wanted to stop him but he had started to kiss
her again, his words no more than a wisp of air against her cheek, in her ear. The
whoosh of it spiraled straight down her inners, parallel to the path of his
hand. "You are so brave." Horrified, she felt his fingers thread
through the small cluster of curls at the juncture of her thighs. "You
don't run from your desire," his fingers were turning to magic. Maggie
twisted in his hold, buried her face in his shoulder, "You meet my
challenge, come to me like the warrior lass you are."  He was stroking
that part of her that ached with desire, between the folds of her womanhood. One
finger drew a tiny swirling design on the tenderest of places. Her hips lifted
off the bed, she whimpered, felt weak and foolish.

She
would meet him. She would take his challenge. Quickly, before she could stop
herself, she reached below his cover and found that solid hard ridge that
commanded her desire. With determination, she wrapped her hand around him,
stunned by the size and texture of him. Hard as a sword’s handle but soft as a
babe's flesh it drew her with wonderment. She slid her fingers from base to
tip, felt its involuntary jerk, felt the drop of moisture that topped it.

"Oh,
Maggie." He covered her hand with his, forced her hold to tighten. "How
I wish you weren't still mending."  He groaned, his forehead to hers, his
other hand still working glory between her thighs.

She
licked her lips wanting something, anything to free her hunger. "I want
more. You never seem to give me enough."

"Maggie,"
Talorc lifted her chin, forced her to meet his eyes. "When I give you
enough, it will be with the length and breadth of me."

Oh,
good Lord.  "You would never fit." She shook her head. "Never,
ever, in my lifetime."

He
had the cheek to laugh. It was time to back off before he tried to do what he
spoke of. For if he tried, she was not certain she would stop him.

"I
will fit, Maggie, trust me. But you will not be the same from that
moment."

"Then
that moment best not happen."

He
surprised her with a gentle kiss on her mouth, a slight lick of her lips. "That
moment will happen. I promise that. But you must know, when it does, you will
be mine. No skirting past that. I will be your husband in body and word."

"Never."

"Aye
bodies chained, will make you my wife."

"You
don't claim Seonaid as wife."

He
sighed, rolled to his back. "Maggie, Seonaid has never tasted of me nor
touched me as you have tonight."  He sounded as if he meant that.

Maggie
rolled her eyes rather than let him know the exhilaration of his words.

"And
you, Maggie?"  Talorc leaned up, pushed her over onto her back, "While
we are talking of pasts, what of the Bard, that was here tonight. Who is he to
you?"

Please bed swallow me up
. Maggie
did not want to answer.

"Well?" 
He was not going to give up.

"Why
do you want to be knowing?"

"He
sang to you, did he do that before?"

"He's
a bard, Bold, he sings for everyone. Back home they call him Babbling Birk the
Bard because he sings and talks so much."

"He
courted you."

No,
she thought, I courted him. "We were friends."

"Close
enough that your brothers ran him off." 

She
tilted her head, to see if he spoke the truth. She had never thought of that. If
her brothers had run him off, then Birk hadn't run from her. She smiled. There’s
a grand difference between running away from protective kin and running away
from a woman.

"My
brothers ran him off?"

She
pictured Birk, as he had been this evening. Sweet, hopeful, eager to please. Like
an expectant child, next to Talorc.

Talorc
could never be seen as a child.

"He's
more mouse than man."

She
laughed at his predictable response. He sounded just like her brothers. "Birk
has a good heart and can sing better than any other."

"He
could never love you better than me."

"You
don’t love me Bold."  He didn't know her to love her. And once he did know
her, there would be no chance of love.

“That’s
not the kind of love I’m talking of.”

She
snorted.

He
kissed her, a slow insistent taste.

"Don't
MacKay." She fought the molten heat that trickled through her with his
words, the touch of his lips. He will love my body, but he will never love me.  She
held the thought like a chant.

"Just
one more," he whispered, his mouth pressing against hers, his lips urging
hers to open.

"Sleep
well, lass." His voice wrapped around her as surely as arms.

It
was neither Seonaid nor Birk she pictured as she drifted to sleep, but Talorc. 
The one man she did not want to dream of.

Sun
filtered through the shutters in a time of year when the sun was a late riser. Maggie
overslept. So had the Bold, sprawled out on the bed as though sleeping with her
were a normal thing. He needed to catch up on his rest after nights of watching
over her. She, on the other hand, had slept enough since reaching Glen Toric. It
was time she started to do something.

Anything.

Only
it was cold, she was naked. The cold she could face, had been doing so her
whole life. It was the man in her bed that had her hesitating and an imp of
desire that wondered what would happen if he caught her slipping free of the
bed in no more than she was born with.

She
closed her eyes to the temptation and listened to his steady snores. It would
be better if they were louder, deeper more arrogant. The noises he was making
could be mere play. He was on his stomach, his head turned away.

There
would be no better chance. Maggie slipped off the bed, onto all fours. Should he
wake, he would have to roll over and move to the edge of the bed and peer down
to see her. She would hear that, and have enough time to scuttle behind the bed
drapes.

Secure
in that plan, she crawled to the trunk at the foot of the bed, full of clothes
left by some of the clans’ women for Maggie.  Her chemise hung behind a screen
in the corner but she dared not go that far, and risk being seen.  Instead she
grabbed the first kirtle she found, pulled it over her head only to find it too
small when her arms got stuck. The reverse process proved harder than getting
it on.

The
bed sheets rustled.  She stilled then frantically tried to pull the garment
off.  A great rending rip later she was free enough to use the garment as a
screen. Naked, except for the fabric held at her chest, she peaked over the
side of the feather mattress.

The
Bold snored gently as he resettled into a new position. She risked leveling up
high enough to have a good look at the pile of clothes, found a garment in heather
green and, with less effort, pulled it on, adding a yellow side-less surcote to
cover. She eyed the MacKay plaid.  It would add warmth if she went outside.

She
peeked at the Bold, once more, grabbed the plaid and headed to the hallway as it
occurred to her that her head did not ache. For the first time since she had
arrived at Glen Toric, she felt like her old self. Cheerful with health, she
followed the hallway to the corner that turned to a stairway down to the great room.

It
was empty. Which was odd. At home there were always people about. Glen Toric
was much larger, with far more people, yet no one was in the great hall.

A
door swung open at the far end, leading toward, what Maggie suspected, the
kitchens.  Little Eba, Diedre’s daughter, peaked around the edge then ran out
to the center of the room where she skidded to a halt staring up at Maggie. With
a giggle she turned, racing into the gallery that led to another set of stairs
ending at the entrance of the castle.

Even
Maggie, unfamiliar with the castle, knew this was not a good place for a child.
Not that the wee one could get out.  The door was massive, no doubt heavy.  But
it was no place for a young lass to run amok. The stairs outside, like the ones
Maggie had just descended, were designed for defense; narrow and twisted with
no railing on the outside edge, just a very steep drop.

Maggie
hiked her skirts and set out after the child, picking up speed when the groan
of the heavy door hinges reached her.  The little sprite had managed to get
outside.