Bold (The Handfasting) - By Becca St. John Page 0,15
to take Hamish to dinner with me, then I will." The niggle continued to tug at her decision. "You'd have me sit with him? With The MacKay? You're no better than the others.” She snipped, as she spun away from her brother's memory.
“I’ll not listen,” she hissed into the wind.
Defiant, she stomped away, head high as she passed the two warriors. MacKays, of course they were. The MacBedes would have left her to her mourning without notice.
Her step quickened as she heard them turn to follow. Nosey brutes. This was her home, with people milling about everywhere you turned. She’d not come to harm.
“You’ve no need to follow me,” she shouted over her shoulder.
“We’ll see you safely home.”
“This is home.” She informed them, and picked up her pace.
They lengthened their stride to match her near run.
She had to lose them, for it would do no good to have them see her beg Hamish to sup with her tonight. “Go away.”
“We’re to see to your welfare, Mistress Margaret.”
She pivoted, faced them.
“And what makes you so happy?” She bit out.
“You’re a bonny lass.”
Humph. She started off again, through the inner yard, into the outer yard, down the path until she came to the tailor's two story workshop and home.
She banged on the door.
“One of her puny choices?” One warrior asked the other.
She’d not turn around.
The door opened a crack to show Colin, the tailor’s apprentice. He tried to shut the door on her.
“I’m needing to see Hamish,” she blurted and shoved until the poor lad could do no more than let her in. She slammed the door on the two MacKay clansmen. A loud rhythmic creaking filled the room. Maggie looked to the ceiling.
“Hhhhhe’s nnot hhhhere.” Colin stuttered, tried to get beyond Maggie to open the door again.
Maggie ignored him and moved to the ladder that led to the second story. “Whatever is that noise?” She asked Colin before shouting, “Hamish! It’s Maggie MacBede. I’m needing to speak with you.”
Abruptly, the creaking halted, replaced by smothered voices and the rustling of clothes.
Frantic, Colin tried to stop her, “Mimimistress Mamargaret, I think . . .”
Someone pounded at the door.
“Ignore that Colin.” She told the lad as Hamish’s long narrow foot and spindly ankle came into view, followed by a hastily wrapped plaid.
“Ah, Hamish,” Maggie waited, impatient for his descent. The minute his foot touched the ground she rushed up to him, gripped the front of his plaid where it crossed his sunken chest. “I’m needing your help! Och, and it’s dire you aid me!”
“Aye, Maggie.”
She cocked her head at his tone, cringed as he patted her hands. She hated to be treated like a child with pat to her head or her hands.
The pounding started up again.
“Go away!” Maggie shouted before turning back to Hamish. “I need you to come sit with me at dinner.” She told him.
Bewildered, Hamish looked from Maggie to the door. “Colin, who's out there?”
“Nothing, no one,” Maggie lied. “Just a couple of The MacKay's men. Don’t think of them.”
“Warriors?” He gulped.
“Hamish, forget them, just promise me you’ll come to the hall to eat. I’m needing you to sit with me.”
Even in the dark of the tailor's shop, Maggie could see his face turn ashen. She gritted her teeth, determined to convince him but was stopped as a woman’s head, hair all tousled and loose, popped through the opening at the top of the ladder. “What are you about Hamish?” Nora Bayne demanded.
“Nora?” Maggie frowned. “What are you doing here? And what are you doing up there?”
“Now, Maggie,” Hamish pulled on her arm, “You’re not to be thinking . ..”
“What am I not to be thinking?” She tried to glare at him, to look angry, but her heart sank too deep to fuel her anger, her outrage. Hamish was just another man who didn’t want her. “What is Nora to you Hamish?”
“Maggie, now,” Hamish soothed, shooting wary looks at Nora, “you and I have been friends for a long time.”
“And what’s wrong with friendship, Hamish?”
“Well, it’s just, you know, I’m not, I mean, well, the truth of it is, Maggie, I’m planning to marry Nora.”
Nora’s cooed, “Oh, Hamish,” was swallowed by Maggie’s keening, “Nooooo!”
In all fairness, Hamish only reached out to comfort Maggie, and no more, when the door flew open. He didn't have time to pull away or surely he would have before that sword was stuck to his throat. Granted, it pricked only deep enough to bring a spot of blood, but for Hamish, that was enough.
He