Bold (The Handfasting) - By Becca St. John Page 0,16

fainted.

Colin wet himself.

Nora squealed.

And Maggie glared, as she swatted at the arm holding the offending sword. “Put that stupid thing away, man!” She barked.

Nora, wrapped in no more than a blanket, scurried down the ladder to pull Hamish's head onto her lap.

Colin raised a trembling finger to point at the men. “Maggie,” he stammered, “they’re warriors, you shouldna’ be talking to them so.”

“Of course they’re warriors, Colin.” Maggie said with no bit of respect, “But that doesn’t give them permission to come barging in here when no one's done anything wrong.”

“You screamed,” One of the MacKay’s defended.

“Och.” She ignored him, turned to look down on Hamish whose head was nestled in the soft pillow of Nora. “So you’ll not sit with me at dinner?” It was more statement than question, quiet enough to admit to the shame of asking in front of these men.

Hamish was beyond speech.

“He’s mine,” Nora snipped. “And you’d best stay away from him, Maggie MacBede.”

“Oh, aye,” Maggie pulled her plaid in tight around her. “I’ll stay clear of him, and be happy of it.” With chin lifted, she wrapped her embarrassment as tightly as she wrapped her plaid, strode past the warriors, stepped over the threshold and out the door. The MacKay men fell in step.

“Stop following me.”

“We have to see to your safety.” They told her respectfully, though they did drop back. Unfortunately, it was not far enough to silence there banter.

“Aye, she has spirit.”

“Feisty.”

“She’ll not tame easily.”

"I'll not tame at all." She snapped, her eyes on her destination. Someone would answer for this.

As heads turned to watch the progress of the threesome, Maggie realized that she would have to be the one to take matters in hand. So she would. Determined, she spun around to confront them.

“Do you know, this is MacBede land?” She kept to her most ladylike voice. “And that I am a MacBede?”

“Aye, we are knowing that.” They grinned stupid grins.

“Well then, I don’t know how it is at the MacKay keep, but here a woman is safe to walk on her own.”

“You’ll be safe on MacKay land.” One of them offered.

She stumbled on that, bewildered. There was naught she could say, but still she hesitated. Even when she turned to walk off again she did so with a great deal of wariness. They were fools if they thought she would ever be in MacKay territory. She'd never left MacBede land and had no intention of doing so.

She should set them straight. Walking backwards, she told them. “If I ever visit the MacKay’s, which I doubt would be soon, I’ll be remembering that. But for now, kindly leave me be.”

She stood still, waited.

They stood still, focused on her.

“I’m only going up to the keep,” she informed them as if they were simple in the head.

They nodded.

She turned, took a step and looked back. They hadn’t followed her, but their grins were as wide as a doorway. She hoped their faces ached from them.

She walked a few paces before she checked on them again.

“You’ll do us proud, Maggie MacBede,” they told her.

Harumph. She strode up to the keep, without another turn.

She was not a pleasant person, right now. In truth she was feeling a mite shrewish, and it was all the MacKay's fault.

· * * * * * * * * * * *

The swarm of people within the great hall helped break the chill of the changing season. The MacBedes and their guests milled about the central fire pit as smoke rose, curled about their heads before drifting higher and out the window slits.

The main doors flew open. Fire flared as smoke swirled wildly into a dancing specter. Maggie stood upon the portal, fists planted on her hips, head high. Her glorious mane billowed about her.

Anticipation speared Talorc. She was proud and magnificent and soon she would be his.

“Shut that door, Maggie,” her father called across the cavernous room, “and come speak to The MacKay.”

Talorc watched her advance. Two of his men, William and Bruce filled the entrance, shut the door and followed in Maggie's wake.

Aye, she was magnificent, and raring for a fight. Talorc waited, knowing he was in her sights, knowing that she’d stop no more than a foot's distance. Far enough that she’d not get a crick looking up at him, close enough for confrontation.

There’d not been a day in Talorc’s memory when a woman, other than his ma or even his grandma, had railed at him. Aye, for that, he could not remember a time when a