Bold (The Handfasting) - By Becca St. John Page 0,32

did it not?

Shouts and calls rose, a raucous banner flying in their wake. They rode hard across the flats, just as her clansmen had done countless times. Men on foot jogged behind, the rear guard to the troupe of them. At the base of the closest hill, they slowed their mounts, traversed the steep rugged hillside, around to the back, until they reached the top, out of sight below a ragged crest.

Her clan, the entire lot of MacBedes, would be gathered below, as Maggie herself had on so many leave takings before. This was the first time, in the whole of her life, she would not be with them, to shout out blessings and well wishes for safe journey. To wave a final farewell.

Her heart thundered in her chest. She swallowed hard, kept her eyes away from that crest. She would not break. Nor could she face the final goodbye. They had sent her off, against her own will. She would not wave a last time. She would be back.

“Lass?” Talorc rode up beside her.

Anger steadied her. She held it close, acknowledged it by refusing to look at him. The shouts of his men, up on the ridge, could be heard.

“Maggie,” Talorc reached over, took her chin, forced her to face him. She jerked away. “You have to show yourself, they’re waiting to send you off.”

She looked down at the ground, the earth that had cradled her feet from her first footstep to this day. Drew in the scent of heather, of blue skies and loch. This was her home. This was where she belonged, a MacBede, with the MacBedes. She blinked against the blur of tears, narrowed her eyes, willed resentment to overplay sorrow.

Damn him for being right. Damn him for pushing her beyond her strength.

She looked right at him then, straight into his eyes and felt a power there. It surged between them. He took her fisted hand, lifted it to his lips. With one gentle kiss warmth spread through her body, melted the rigid barricade to fear. Thawed icy defense.

He believed stories, thought her powerful. Fool that he was.

So be it.

She would not show him her weakness.

With a jerk, Maggie reined Tairis sharply to the left, kicked and he bolted. Too fast. This was a docile animal, or so Talorc had claimed. Maggie never expected it to stretch its legs at such speed. Stunned, she gave him his head.

Wind stung her eyes. She swiped the tears away. The ground was a blur, the crest, she knew to be no more than a meager outcropping, came closer and closer. Tailis did not slow, showed no sign of halting.

Maggie pulled, hard, her eyes shut tight against disaster. As sure as he bolted, Tailis stopped, pitched Maggie forward. Her cheek to his cheek, half over his haunches she wrapped her arms tight about Tailis’ neck, and clung. Eyes wide with fear. There was no mistaking the yawning distance below.

This creature, promised as gentle and sure, reared, stepped, as though a dancer, right on to the edge of the precipice. Rocks scattered and tumbled, sound testament to a sheer drop. He turned, in a circle, an acrobat of a horse, a show man, leaving Maggie with nothing below her but air.

It was Talorc who gave her this bloody beast to ride. Had he known the animal would do this?

They will try, child, they will try. Maighread's words came back to her. Talk of crows, of death, and then those fateful words. What was the Bold trying to do, kill her?

She'd not give him the satisfaction.

"Get down, you bloody beast!" Legs wrapped tightly along its belly, Maggie commanded the animal back to secure footing. It faced away from the ledge, toward the valley beyond, full of restless energy. It took little to encourage him to head off again, past the MacKay men, past the Bold. Down the hillside she galloped, around a small copse of trees. To a valley below, where a stream cut through the land.

And privacy.

Maggie reined in her ride and realized, for the very first time since she'd sat to sup the night before, she was alone, out of site of everyone.

She slid from the horse’s back, dropped to her knees, huddled on the ground. All her barbed emotions unraveled, the anger, the fury, the rigid fear. It was his fault, his kiss of her hand that had disarmed her brittleness, bared raw pain. Sobs, silent for no sound was strong enough to carry the weight of them, rose