Bold (The Handfasting) - By Becca St. John Page 0,7
teaching me."
Stunned Maggie stammered for words to fling, only to find she had lost him to something over his shoulder.
She peeked around the side of him.
Her brothers stood in the doorway, arms akimbo. Grand, great men. A wall of them. Her protectors. Pride swelled at the sight of them. She had met him in the battle of senses and now her brothers would kill him for taking her to that battleground.
The Bold turned, to face them, his arm still wrapped around Maggie, forcing her around as well. "She's mine." Was all he said. No request, no rights to others, just pure possession.
"Aye," Douglas nodded, "I'd say she better be."
Rage soared. "You say nothing, Douglas!" she fought for breath, “He took advantage, as you've warned a man might. He pushed beyond manners!"
Her brothers did not rise to her anger but smiled. James answered for them. "We think you've met your match, Maggie MacBede. Time a man took charge of you."
The Bold squeezed her closer, she shoved away, furious with him, with her kin, with herself. "I am no one’s! Do you hear?" she stalked past her brothers but not without ordering, "You are to protect my honor." She reminded them. "So you best take care of him. He's nothing but a boastful braggart of a scoundrel!"
They all laughed. Laughed! She refused to listen. Refused to think of what her body had tried to tell her. She was a woman of intelligence. She would not let her flesh dictate what she would do, who she would do it with. All it took was keeping that man away from her.
CHAPTER 3 – BAWDY WOMEN
Aulay Gunn looked to where the man pointed.
“See that?” Old Ros wailed. “See those holes?” His hands trembled with distress. “They’ve been punched in there.” Tears threatened. “How am I to go out and get fish? How are we to feed ourselves?”
This was not the first fisherman to have lost boats to sabotage.
“Aye, you’ll not be using that boat this day. You tend to it, see if it can’t be made sea worthy again. I’ll get young Taran to help you.”
“And you’ll go after the MacKays, now?” Ros’s voice firmed, fueled by retribution.
“Oh aye,” Aulay promised. “Don’t you worry. We’ll get the lousy MacKay’s if they’re the ones who are doing this.”
“Of course they’re the ones who are doing this, mon. Who else would do such a thing?”
“I don’t know, Ros, I just don’t know.” Aulay shook his head, fretting over just that. The MacKays may be mortal enemies stealing livestock and raiding goods but that was no different than the Gunns were want to do.
Malicious destruction for its own sake was not something The MacKay would condone. The man had his sense of honor. This was not honorable.
Much as Aulay hated to admit it, he and the MacKay were not that different. On separate sides of the fence, but with the same responsibilities. The MacKay had no reason to start a war with the Gunns. Everyone in their part of the world knew the man had just filled his stores. Why do something that would drain those resources? It made no sense.
“If it’s the MacKays, we will get them for this. But I want to find out just who the vermin is before we strike.”
“Bloody MacKays, that’s who it is, mon, who else would go against us like this?”
And that, Aulay knew, was the crux of his problem.
* * * * * * * * * *
Maggie slipped through the keep headed for the kitchens, relaxed, as she always did, amid scents that embraced, succulent and heady as only a kitchen can be. This was her home, her place, amid the bustle of clan's women, within this room rich with roasting meats, spicy steam and yeast. As a child she had helped tend whole haunches skewered on spits set before the huge fire with ovens placed in the wall around that fire. It was here the clanswomen baked cakes and bread while the warmth aided the brewing of strong, dark beer in heavy casks set deep in the shadows.
Simon, her young cousin, stole a bannock cake straight off the rack where it cooled. Maggie chuckled, but did not try to stop Simon,
“Did you see The MacKay?” Sibeal, wife of Maggie's oldest brother asked any who would listen.
Simon headed to the spit handle he had abandoned. Maggie shooed him away and grabbed the handle herself, near enough to hear the chatter, far enough removed that, she hoped, no one would