head.
“Where’s
Diedre?” He called to them. He brought Diedre as a companion for Maggie when they
left for Glen Toric.
“Visiting
with the women in the village.” Not the answer he wanted.
Talorc’s
scowl matched Maggie's when he looked down to where she now stood. As
predicted, no less than one foot away.
Unfortunately,
as his scowl fled a smile spread. She’d not care for that.
“You’re
looking fine, lass,” he told her, sure that the compliment would ease the
tension.
“Am
I now?” She trilled, all wide- eyed and false friendliness.
“It’s
as I said,” Talorc offered cautiously, more comfortable with her straight
forward anger than this show of girlish cunning.
“Ah,
so fine, perhaps, that you’re thinking someone might want to snatch me up and
run away with me?”
They
couldn't have told her. Talorc glared at his men, but knew they’d said nothing.
They would never betray their plan. Still, her scenario was uncannily accurate.
“Or
maybe,” she told him sweetly, conversationally, “you think there is evil
lurking in the streets.”
She
was determined to play the young innocent, the coquette. Talorc decided it did not
suit her.
“I’m
thinkin’” she continued, with mock solemnity, “that you don’t consider the
MacBedes able to care for their own.”
“William?”
Talorc ordered.
“It’s
not what you’re thinking, Laird.” William offered.
“No,
‘tis no wrong doing of ours.” Bruce added, bringing Maggie’s fury around on
himself.
“No
wrong doing on your part?” Maggie snapped, finger aimed at Bruce, but the two
warriors were on the far side of the fire pit. Talorc, being so much closer,
drew Maggie’s ire. She spun back and shoved at his chest, as if she could push
him away.
“Hoi,
Maggie.” He grabbed her hand. “Tell me what’s troubling you.”
But
she didn’t. She didn’t say a word, nor did she move. The touch, her hand to his
chest, his hand to hers, froze any action. Her eyes widened as she stared,
stunned.
This
time, there was no hope but to smile. For she stood before him, her chest
rising and falling, so you’d think the air had grown too thin and she needed
more, yet couldn’t get enough. To be true, the slight contact sizzled.
He
shook his head, knowing all this was new to her. Unsettling.
He
raised his free hand to quiet the murmured bluster that surrounded them. God
help him, he’d rather have been holding her with both hands.
“Maggie,”
his voice a hoarse whisper, not by design, but it suited the moment, made it
more intimate.
She
tried to pull her hand free, to tug it loose, causing him to press it more
fiercely against his chest. The room settled, or so it seemed. Perhaps he just
didn’t hear it any more, as his focus, every bit of him, was centered on Maggie.
When he lowered his free hand to reach for hers, the movement was instinctive. Never
did his eyes leave hers. He understood the wariness, the caution in her eyes.
Did
she see the promises, the questions in his? Perhaps, for she lowered her gaze,
which drew his glance to her lips. Full and red as a summer's berry, dipped and
curved as neatly as his bow. The luscious fruit parted, as the tip of her
tongue snuck out to slowly wet what he so hungered to taste. Talorc swore time slowed,
each movement measured by an eternity of sensation. He couldn’t breathe,
couldn’t think, felt the whole of his body tense with tortuously exquisite
reactions.
“They
. . .” Her words a whispered breath. “They followed me, wouldn’t let me be.”
He
leaned closer, not understanding her complaint. “You mean William and Bruce?”
“Aye,”
she broke the moment with a swift look over her shoulder. The sight of his men
brought a return of her fury. When she tugged at her hands, he let them slip
from his grasp, not surprised when she tucked them behind her.
He
didn’t consider her step away from him to be cowardly. They needed distance, if
any rational discussion was to take
“Where’s
Diedre?” He called to them. He brought Diedre as a companion for Maggie when they
left for Glen Toric.
“Visiting
with the women in the village.” Not the answer he wanted.
Talorc’s
scowl matched Maggie's when he looked down to where she now stood. As
predicted, no less than one foot away.
Unfortunately,
as his scowl fled a smile spread. She’d not care for that.
“You’re
looking fine, lass,” he told her, sure that the compliment would ease the
tension.
“Am
I now?” She trilled, all wide- eyed and false friendliness.
“It’s
as I said,” Talorc offered cautiously, more comfortable with her straight
forward anger than this show of girlish cunning.
“Ah,
so fine, perhaps, that you’re thinking someone might want to snatch me up and
run away with me?”
They
couldn't have told her. Talorc glared at his men, but knew they’d said nothing.
They would never betray their plan. Still, her scenario was uncannily accurate.
“Or
maybe,” she told him sweetly, conversationally, “you think there is evil
lurking in the streets.”
She
was determined to play the young innocent, the coquette. Talorc decided it did not
suit her.
“I’m
thinkin’” she continued, with mock solemnity, “that you don’t consider the
MacBedes able to care for their own.”
“William?”
Talorc ordered.
“It’s
not what you’re thinking, Laird.” William offered.
“No,
‘tis no wrong doing of ours.” Bruce added, bringing Maggie’s fury around on
himself.
“No
wrong doing on your part?” Maggie snapped, finger aimed at Bruce, but the two
warriors were on the far side of the fire pit. Talorc, being so much closer,
drew Maggie’s ire. She spun back and shoved at his chest, as if she could push
him away.
“Hoi,
Maggie.” He grabbed her hand. “Tell me what’s troubling you.”
But
she didn’t. She didn’t say a word, nor did she move. The touch, her hand to his
chest, his hand to hers, froze any action. Her eyes widened as she stared,
stunned.
This
time, there was no hope but to smile. For she stood before him, her chest
rising and falling, so you’d think the air had grown too thin and she needed
more, yet couldn’t get enough. To be true, the slight contact sizzled.
He
shook his head, knowing all this was new to her. Unsettling.
He
raised his free hand to quiet the murmured bluster that surrounded them. God
help him, he’d rather have been holding her with both hands.
“Maggie,”
his voice a hoarse whisper, not by design, but it suited the moment, made it
more intimate.
She
tried to pull her hand free, to tug it loose, causing him to press it more
fiercely against his chest. The room settled, or so it seemed. Perhaps he just
didn’t hear it any more, as his focus, every bit of him, was centered on Maggie.
When he lowered his free hand to reach for hers, the movement was instinctive. Never
did his eyes leave hers. He understood the wariness, the caution in her eyes.
Did
she see the promises, the questions in his? Perhaps, for she lowered her gaze,
which drew his glance to her lips. Full and red as a summer's berry, dipped and
curved as neatly as his bow. The luscious fruit parted, as the tip of her
tongue snuck out to slowly wet what he so hungered to taste. Talorc swore time slowed,
each movement measured by an eternity of sensation. He couldn’t breathe,
couldn’t think, felt the whole of his body tense with tortuously exquisite
reactions.
“They
. . .” Her words a whispered breath. “They followed me, wouldn’t let me be.”
He
leaned closer, not understanding her complaint. “You mean William and Bruce?”
“Aye,”
she broke the moment with a swift look over her shoulder. The sight of his men
brought a return of her fury. When she tugged at her hands, he let them slip
from his grasp, not surprised when she tucked them behind her.
He
didn’t consider her step away from him to be cowardly. They needed distance, if
any rational discussion was to take
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