Tangled (Handfasting)

by St. John, Becca

  "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."

  "And," she rushed on, over to Douglas, afraid that tears would start to run down her face. "Mary made these for the both of you." She handed out the packets, which the men clutched tight, before stuffing them inside the cross of their plaid.

  "Mary?" Douglas called out.

  "Here," she waved from the top of the stairs.

  "You’re a fine woman. We'll be proud to carry your reminder of the MacKays! Keep our sister dear."

  That was it. Those were their last words. They each in turn, eased their horses over to Maggie, bent for a brief, close hug. They kissed the top of her head, ruffled her hair with raised brows toward the MacKay as if to say, it was about time their sister wore a kerchief.

  Off they shot then, through the bailey and into the MacKay wilderness.

  They were gone so quick, that it was beyond reality for Maggie. She stared at the path they took, wondering what kind of fool she had been to take so long to offer her parting. She should have rushed out, first thing, begged them to take her with them.

  She put her fingers to her mouth, sniffled, but refused to cry.

  Eight days, fortnight at most, and they would be back.

  Talorc put his arm around her, squeezed but she pulled away.

  "I should have left with them, you know."

  She took a step toward the keep, but he stopped her, his hand to her chin, forcing her around to face him. "No I don't know."

  "They are my family."

  "And so are we."

  She shook her head. "No, Bold, you are my friend. They are my family."

  "Maggie," but he didn't continue. Instead he took her arm. His hold was firm, determined. She had no choice but to follow his lead, beyond the others, across the courtyard, to the nearest barn. "Give us space, Domnall." He said to the lad cleaning the stalls. Domnall asked no questions just put down his pitch fork and scurried out.

  Maggie still at his side, Talorc stood silent as the barn door closed behind the young man, Talorc pulled Maggie around and straight into his arms.

  CHAPTER 10 – VOWS

  The rich sweet scent of hay and oiled leather softened the heavy smell of sweat and horse droppings. Maggie jerked free of Talorc not realizing how much she needed the support. Unsteady she leaned against the wall, refusing to look at him. Instead she studied beams of light that filtered between sod roof and stone wall, watched the dance of chaff floating in that sparse light and fought against tears.

  "You're expected to miss them, you know. No one would think unkindly of that."

  She shoved off the stone wall, her arms crossed against a belly so full of emotion she was afraid of exploding.

  "They're fine men, Maggie. The MacBedes are a fine line. I'll be proud to mix our bloods."

  She snorted.

  "And what was that for?" He reached, but she pulled away.

  "Is this because of what came between us? Are you afraid of my touch?"

  She refused to answer, she couldn't. It would only open the door to a flood of rash words flung to hurt. The tumble would reveal Maggie's own weakness, perhaps even confess a missive just sent.

  "Maggie," one word, heavy with weariness. "Do you really think the tailor would have suited you? Or any of the others? Do you really think, if the Good Lord had wanted you to go that route, you wouldn't already be there? Did it ever occur to you, that He was saving you for me?"

  "No." She whispered, horrified his thoughts could so easily mirror hers from yesterday morning. Then there had been snow on the ground. By mid-day it was gone and the air mild. Proof she should, could leave.

  She turned to face the stone wall, pushed her head against it as if to grind away the confusion that had set so deep inside.

  "You've seen how little prepared we are for guests. You've seen that my people are good, hard workers, but none of them know how to run a keep as grand as this. But you’re doing it, lass. The changes you’ve made is a wee bit of time,” She heard him shift, move closer. “I try to do my best, but I need help. You've been trained to be a laird's wife. Do you not feel right with it? To have a purpose? To be in control of your own home.”

  Ach, he was right and she hated that. For the truth of his words would keep her from her home, her people, her family.

  “Would your tailor have given you as much?"

  Even when he'd been out, finding old Micheil, she'd felt at home, at peace within Glen Toric. She had more reason, more direction, in this past week then she had ever experienced. She was no longer a joke, but a woman who had a place.

  But at what was the cost?

  "Maggie, we can make this work." Talorc put his hands on her shoulders.

  She dared not move, not one fraction. She yearned too wildly for his touch, was afraid of her own reaction to it. "Your hands are no comfort." It was the truth. It was no comfort knowing she had to wait, to hold off from allowing what she desired.

  He nudged her to turn, but she resisted. "Let me hold you, lass. No more, just hold you close so you don't feel so alone."

  "No." He could keep a hug simple, but Maggie doubted her strength on that score. "No," she shoved from the wall, moved away, toward the door. "I would take it kindly if you would just leave me be, Bold." She refused to turn and look at him. "You've brought enough down on me. Don't make me face more than is already on my platter."

  She slipped through the opening, closed it behind her and leaned against it much as she’d leaned against the wall, in need of something to keep her upright when what she truly wanted was to curl into a ball and mourn her brothers departure.

  She couldn’t do that here. Silent, eyes closed she willed herself to move, widen the distance between them, remove herself from the awful need to have him closer. He had nestled into her heart, provoked desire. She refused to succumb, had to keep away, get away.

  Eight days, fortnight at most, and her brothers would be back. She would leave.

  If she could.

  She would.

  Maggie opened her eyes to a courtyard full of MacKays. Hushed, serious, they stared. Her new found conviction wobbled as she searched faces, from one to another. A slight brush of a breeze pulled a lock of hair, tugged at an apron string, the only movement among them all.

  At the top of the stairs, alone, impressive, stood Seonaid.

  Seonaid, gone with Talorc's departure, despite his order against escape. Back upon Talorc's return. Seonaid, who everyone whispered about, but none would talk of openly. At least, not to Magg
ie.

  Seonaid, who spent last evening close to Maggie's own brothers, therefore close to Talorc.

  Ach, but she goaded a woman.

  Maggie swung the door open again, and stepped inside the shade of the barn. The Bold stood in the aisle that ran the length of the stalls, his back to her, head bowed. She must have made a noise for he looked over his shoulder, frowned and pivoted half-way.

  "She's out there, Bold." Maggie snapped. "Seonaid, gone for the length of your departure, returns with you. She is there every time I look to your side."

  "Your brothers were with me, Maggie. I'd be a fool to have another, with your brothers right there?"

  "What is she? Witch or confident, to know your comings and goings better than anyone else?"

  Talorc's frown deepened but Maggie gave him no time to think.

  "Did you send word to her, of your return?"

  Agitated, he ran his hands through his hair. "Maggie, she's nothing to me but an old friend. Or she was. She's not such a friend now that we're grown. More a nuisance, sticky as tar that won't be shed."

  "She'd like to see us fail."

  "Will you give her that?"

  The letter was sent. Maggie would be back with the MacBedes for the winter. Would the Bold come for her?

  "You push too fast, Bold. You don't give a lass time to think."

  "You only get yourself in trouble when you think."

  Tangled outrage tumbled into gibberish against his slur. He laughed, cheeky fool, aware he stirred her ire. A deep breath steadied her thoughts.

  "What are you playing at man?" She slammed the great door behind her and stepped fully into the barn. "You know I'm on a fence here, half in your hold, half-way back to my ma and da. Yet you make fun of me. As if that will . . . "she backed up as he moved closer. "Oh, no. Don't you dare come near me."

  "Why Maggie?"

  "Because I don't want you to touch me."

  "Afraid?" he challenged. "Afraid that you'll want me to touch you all the more? Afraid that you'll find there's no better man? Afraid it will topple you over into my hold?"

  True, she was afraid, but neither was she fool enough to admit it. She quit her retreat, stood firm surprised to see him halt, mid-step.

  "Will you meet my challenge, Maggie MacBede? Will you stand the test of my touch?"

  He reached out, close enough that she could take his hand, to be tugged into his hold. Temptation urged, but she still had questions to be answered.

  "Do you love me?"

  He pulled his hand back. "What do you mean, do I love you?"

  "Just what I said, it's that simple."

  "I've traveled over half of Scotland to find you, promised my life to you and you ask if I love you."

  "You're doing that for your clan, for the safety of the Highlands."

  "Och, lassie," disgusted he turned away, his fingers running through his hair. When he finally turned back, there was a wary defeat in his eyes. "I want you lass, with every ounce of my body, of my soul. You're full of trouble but I still want you. Is that not enough?"

  Was it? "I don't know, Bold. I’ve no ken of what I feel for you either. Don't you see? There's a fire raging between us, but I've seen a fair number of lasses and laddies get together because they couldn't keep their hands anywhere else, and now, well, there's not much there between them but a babe and the heat of anger."

  "There's more between us, I know there is."

  She took a deep breath. "You may be right, I won't be denying that. I just don't want to jump straight in, without any thought."

  "By all that's Holy, lass, that's the way you do everything else."

  She spun in a circle, his words a physical thing sending her reeling. She didn't know whether to counter him or stalk away. But she was not one to run from conflict.

  "Naught's fair with that!” She marched straight-up to him and shoved. "You aren't such a temporary thing, now, are you?"

  He grabbed her hands before she could pull them away, lowered his voice, as he lowered his mouth. "No, lass, there's nothing temporary about me at all, that's what I've been trying to tell you."

  He kissed her again, the cheeky man. Every time he did that, she forgot all else, and let him wrap his arms around her, and pull her into him, and kiss her until . . . she . . . . just . . . couldna' . . . think . . .of anything but the touch of his tongue to hers. His lips nibbling her lips. His breath, a feather’s touch along her neck, in her ear, sending shivers coursing through her, signaling her lowers to heat and pool.

  She wondered hazily if the two of them were possible, with this to bind them. Would it be so bad?

  "No lass, not bad. Good, so good."

  Had she spoken aloud? Oh, grief. It was his kisses, if she had just one more, then she would ask him to stop, but first, she’d let him kiss her neck . . .

  "More than your neck, lass, please, just a wee bit more?"

  She felt him ease her plaid away, free the tie at the neck of her dress. He had to stop because she couldn't stand properly on legs gone wobbly.

  Without a word, he hefted her up, touched her lips, a tickle of attention, her eyes, the side of her neck. Then, there they were, pillowed in sweet hay, the glorious weight of him pressing her into it. She didn't know how he got them there, but she was glad of it, glad she could arch her breasts, tease him with their presence. A sense of glory blossomed.

  She was a woman. The birth of that, deep within her, was heady and powerful. She caught Talorc's attention by touching her own breasts.

  “Let me.” He ordered as he held her bosom, lowered his mouth to suckle her through the cloth of her dress.

  "Oh, Bold."

  "Say my name, lass, say my name, I want to hear it from your own lips."

  "Talorc." She gave to him. "Hold me, hold me tight, and close."

  He did so, pressed their bodies together.

  It wasn't enough.

  "I want more, I don't . . . yes, please . . . Och, the way you touch me . . . you stroke like a cat . . . " Eyes closed she stretched, just like that feline despite the agitation, the hunger . . . .

  He slid his hands from hip to the pit of her arm, before allowing them to capture her breasts,

  . . . . . . . . . . . .and more

  Through fabric he had one nipple caught between his teeth, the other he teased with his fingers.

  . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . and more.

  "What else?" his words whispered across her skin. Lips brushed, body pressed and his hands, the rough stroke of them, insistent, patient, rough calluses against soft flesh reminding again of a cat, the texture of its tongue.

  Still, it wasn't enough. Why would any two people allow such feelings to build when peace demanded they be quenched?

  He lifted his hips away. She grabbed, urged him back to thrust against her. He answered her urgency but only for a moment before he rose to his knees to straddle her.

  Words fought to rise against desire. "If this was all we had, would it be enough?"

  "We have this, Maggie," He had his hands full of her breasts, kneading, squeezing. Just the sight of him poised above her, his eyes hard, intent, made the heat rise within her. She boiled with want as he watched his thumbs slowly draw the loosened neck of her gown down, lower and lower, until the peaks of her nipples, tender from his teasing, stood firm,

  "Oh my Maggie, we have this and so much more."

  It was maddening, so much, so very much and yet, not enough.

  "What we have is as rich and full as your body." Slow as a thirsty man who sees water and fears it might not be real, Talorc lowered his mouth to those succulent peaks. "Aye," he groaned as he eased his weight onto her, greedy in his hunger. He lavished her nipples, her breast with hands and mouth as his hips rotated against her in sweet torment.

  Impatiently he pushed her bodice low, laved her body with one long stroke from navel to neck, then suckled his way back.

  Maggie arched, met the grinding rhythm of his hardness, starving for more because no matt
er how much he touched, he suckled, no matter how close they were, it still wasn't enough.

  Not nearly enough.

  He moved aside, and she tried to follow, but he stopped her. With one hand he held her hip in place, nudged her skirts with his knee. His mouth at her breast, trailed away, up to her neck, her ear, her mouth. All the while, ever so slowly, his fingers slid across her belly, down her thigh, back up to . . .

  "Och, no," she moaned, knowing she would die with want.

  "Och, yes," he chuckled, deep and breathless. "I have to have you Maggie. I'll die of the pain if you don't let me have you."

  She felt him slide his hand between her legs, tried to pull away but he was too persistent and she could not think. He played magic against her damp flesh. She squirmed, rose for more.

  When would the torment ease? She whimpered, pulled back sharply, twisted her body away from the sensation.

  "Stop!"

  He did, immediately, his breath heavy with the exertion of it. "Please Maggie, don't make me stop. Not now. Please, it's so right, so very, very right."

  Her grip on his arm was bruising, she couldn't help herself. "It's too much, Bold, I can't take more of this."

  He lowered his forehead to hers. "You've only had a taste, Maggie."

  She tried to roll away to curl into a ball, and moaned when he curled around her, pushed his hardness against the crevice of bottom, his body her prison.

  "No." she cried and tried to explain. "It's like a feast, only the more you eat the hungrier you get. I can't stand anymore."

  "I can make it better, lass." He stroked her hair away from her face, gently ran a hand over her breasts, barely brushing the tip of them, and smiled as her back arched into his touch.

  It wasn't fair.

  "Maggie, I promise, in the last round, you will feel complete." He was panting, trying to slow it, as he urged her face around. "We will feel complete. Whole. At peace with our bodies at long last." He kissed her, slow, languorous, his tongue in her mouth. "We can stop the painful throbbing here," He cupped her damp lips, her mound and squeezed. He'd awakened dormant desires that raged to be fed; all of it new, tantalizing and insistent.