Bold (The Handfasting) - By Becca St. John Page 0,4

scare her off so easily that any return took admirable strength. She was not so puny.

"Bold," she addressed him without title, "Whatever business you have here, I hope it ends quickly, and you can be on your way." That raised an eyebrow. Maggie's smile was not pleasant. "And while you are here, I hope you'll be taking time to visit our Ian's grave, as you were so kind as to send him there."

She spun on a chorus of indrawn breaths; stalked away, grandly, on the wave of shocked murmurs and apologies. She did not get far before the Bold's voice rolled over her.

"Aye, Maggie MacBede, I will visit the grave of a brave warrior just as I will see my task accomplished by morn." Her face half turned, she offered a nod of acknowledgement, anxious to be away.

"Maggie." He stopped her. "Is it true, did you really take a Sassenach out with one rock, when you were no more than a wee babe?"

How dare he?

"Did you run the walls during battle and give sustenance to your clansmen?"

He couldna' know what he was saying, couldna' know what his words were about. "Don't you dare make fun of me, MacKay." She challenged, for she knew the depth of embarrassment, humiliation, his words provoked.

Brows puckered in surprise, he moved closer. "I'm not funning with you, Maggie MacBede." He touched her check, feathered a line to her chin. "I'm wondering if the tales are true."

She wished him to stop touching her, distracting her, but his finger lingered, an absent gesture, that meant nothing. He continued to query her, his voice soft. "I'm wondering if it's true? Before a MacBede warrior sets off on his maiden battle, to face death for the first time, do you in fact give a piece of plaid with soil and heather to remind him of what he fights for?"

Nothing he had said, nothing he had done could have hurt her more than that question. She shoved his hand away. His touch may slay her senses, but she would not be felled by his words. She had stood the test of those packets and she would stand them still.

"Once you give to one, you give to all." She held on to her pride, because that much was true.

A fool, she had been, to hand them out, to think it a grand thing to do. The reality held meager thanks. Parcels meant to be a prize, proved no more than a worthless bundle that embarrassed giver and receiver both. She didn't know how to stop it, though she knew it would be up to her to do so.

* * * * * * * * * *

Talorc watched the straight line of her spine as the lass escaped, and chuckled. He would catch-up to her soon enough but first he would ease the chaos left behind her. The MacBedes were caught between loyalty to one of their own and the realities of life. War came to them, they had to meet it or be run over. Men died, honorable lives lost to keep their clans safe.

He had not killed Ian, but the Gunns had. Though she wouldn't know of it, it was thanks to her that the guilty had paid for their sins.

Her brother, Ceadric, jostled his arm, "I told you she was spirited."

Talorc nodded, "You did that. But you didna' say she blames me for your brother's death."

"Aye, she does that," James answered him, "and she can be a stubborn one, but she's not stupid. She'll be civil, soon enough, or she'll have us to contend with." He gestured to all of the MacBede men.

Talorc didn't doubt that she was as stubborn as she was feisty. His task would be more difficult for it, but a lass easily come by was no great winning. Maggie's appeal was all the more powerful for her reluctance.

The truth of it was, fight it or no, she would soon come to learn that he was the right man for her. He knew it as a certainty when he saw her run through the courtyard, straight for him, her lush body shifting with every stride. Before that moment she had been a heady dream, built on stories others told. Innocent stories about a beautiful lass with courage and honor. No one could know how those stories had turned into erotic dreams, filling him with a passion for a faceless goddess.

He had expected to be disappointed when they met in the flesh; had not expected the