chapter 6 - THE PLEA
To be disregarded, fresh on the heels of Hamish’s defection, was no aide to Maggie’s temper. Yet there she sat, her brother Nigel on her left, reaching around her, grabbing the notice of the man to her right, as though Maggie were no more than the chair she sat in.
That man on her right, the man who claimed to be in her home because of her, the self same man who riled her senses, was no better. Recently returned from battle, in high demand or not, the Bold could have tried to speak with her. That is, if she was his reason for being here and the taint of Hamish’s rejection hadn’t put him off.
The problem was, as much as she wanted to have nothing to do with the Bold, she wanted to have everything to do with him. He had awakened something inside of her, something deep and dark and secret. Her senses buzzed with his nearness.
He even smelled good.
Damn the man anyway. Coming here, catching her, saying she was just rrrrright and making her ma believe he was there for Maggie, herself, when it most certainly was not true. Or, if it was, then he had changed his mind. Men were, after all, a fickle lot.
“You’re scowling again, Maggie MacBede.”
She dropped her knife, choked on a bite of meat. Talorc slapped her on the back.
“Am I?” She was too flustered to be coy. “And how would you be knowing when I do or do not scowl?”
Before Talorc could respond, Nigel reached past Maggie, to grab his arm.
“Hey man, look at that will ya’?” He gestured to a lower table where a MacBede and a MacKay clenched fists, elbows set squarely on the table.
Maggie shoved at her brother's beefy arm.
“What are ya’ doin’ Maggie?” Nigel scowled. “I’m wanting to show the Bold how Conegell is bettering Domnall at the arm!”
“And I’ll be getting the better of your arm if you don’t stop shoving it in my face.”
Talorc's bark of laughter reminded her that she was not acting the lady. It didn't help when Nigel snorted. “You know Laird MacKay, if you take her, she’ll be a thorn in your side.”
“He’ll not be taking me though, will he Nigel. You’ll be stuck with me to plague you forever more.” Nigel slunk back on his bench.
Talorc touched her chin, guided her around to face him. Heat rushed up, passed the place where his fingers lay, and scorched clear to the roots of her hair. She jerked away, angered that he could ignore her than take such a right.
“You’ve a becoming blush, lass.”
“I don’t blush.” She lied, wishing it were true. "It's the heat.”
“Ah.”
He leaned back in his chair. Unlike the small bench she sat on, his chair was a grand piece of furniture with sides that blocked all but his fingers steepled at his chin. He raised an eyebrow when she leaned around to confront him.
"It’s your fault you know? You make it hot in here. Like anger, you make the heat rise in me. Why do you do that?"
His half smile coursed through her as his knuckle traced her jaw. Again, she jerked away. "Don't."
"I can't help it. My skin wants to feel yours."
How could words touch her more surely than his fingers had moments ago? Whatever magic he used, she would fight it. "You're not helpless, you can stop yourself."
"No," he shook his head, "no, I don't think I can."
She snorted. Fought the flutter of flattery. Warriors were notorious with the ladies, not that she could blame them. Too many lasses were foolish enough to want one. She might not be immune to this man, but she refused to be thrilled by pretty words.
Using the only weapon she had on hand, she asked him what everyone wanted to know. “Why are you here, when you’ve never come before?" Riding the tide of surprise, so evident in the focus she had just gained, she continued. “You’ve sent others to ask the MacBedes to fight your fights, to risk their lives. So tell me Bold, what’s so important now?”
He didn’t respond straight away. For the first time that evening, he ignored the jests and calls that had been demanding his attention throughout the meal. Even her da tried to gain his attention, but Talorc didn’t acknowledge anyone but Maggie. It was a heady feeling.
“You’ve a good question, Maggie." He bent close. “But I want you to know that I’m not here for trouble, at least not to my mind.”
“I’d not be knowing how your mind works, Bold. But you’ve made people think you’re here for me while I know better.”
A young lad moved between them, a tray of roasted meat held out in offering, reminding them both they were here for a feast.
“Maggie,” Talorc explained as he served both of them from the tray, “When someone is sent with a call to arms, I’m already deep in the fray. There’s no time for me to leave a fight. Others, who are swift of foot, but not so handy with the sword, are sent to call for help. We all have our roles to play, don’t you see.”
“Aye.” The word did not come easily, she didn’t want to understand, but honesty demanded she do so. Not that he had cleared himself of wrong doing, or that she would let him get off so easily.
“Earlier I told you that Ian’s last words were of you, that his death would not sit well with you.” He touched her cheek. This time she allowed it, welcomed the warmth, needing the heat to balance the cold of her loss. How quickly that cold could come upon her, when she least expected it.
“I want you to know your brother lost his life in an honorable battle, Maggie. He fought bravely, he saved others. The need to fight that fight will be proven when you still have food for your belly on winter’s edge of spring."
"And that’s why you came. You believe you can convince me Ian needed to be there, with you, when the Gunn's don't come on to our land."
He tsked, like a teacher to a student. "Don't fool yourself, Maggie, you know they've been in your fields, taken what's yours."
She looked away, bit at her lower lip, hesitant for the first time. There was truth in his words. She was not so angry she would deny that. But her Ian's death was still a raw wound.
“Aye, but we never lost as we’ve been losing these few years past.”
Rather than insult, her words gave him pause. He nodded, admitting. “We were losing like the saints were against us. Aye, that is true. One ride out, the food didn’t go with us. Another, what we ate was tainted. Small raiders, neither Gunn nor clan, attacked when we least expected.”
“You’re to expect everything.”
“Aye.” He reached for her then, as though it were true, that he had an uncontrollable need to touch her. Fingers spread, he cupped her cheek, stroked it with his thumb. She didn’t stop him.
“Maggie,” Talorc took her hands in his, “Do you know how you avenged Ian? Do you know the role you played in turning the tide, bringing abundance?”
She pulled away, insulted. “Don’t use your words with me. That’s all they are, just words. I have done nothing. Nothing,” she snapped.
“Aye, you have and the MacKays want to thank you. Come to Glen Toric with me.”
She sat up, turning fully to confront him. "You ignore me all evening, then suddenly, quick as you please, you’re asking me to leave this place? This is my home, these are my people. I’ve no reason to leave.”
“Ah, but you do, Maggie girl, you do,” he murmured as he bent to the platter of meat, cut-off a morsel, speared it. “You gave us an idea that we’re growing with. You are changing the need to battle for all we have.”
Before the tip of his knife could get the meat to her lips, Maggie took it with her fingers. Moist and succulent, the stewed juices ran down her hand. She tried to catch the rivulet with her tongue.
"Oh, no, Maggie. Let me." He caught her hand, pulled it to his lips and took the liberty of capturing the droplet with his mouth, licked the rivulet with a slow tongue.
For a breath, a long breath that she held, Maggie didn’t move. The hall could have been empty, the noise pure music, before she caught herself and tugged her hand free. Talorc was not ready to let it go.
“Stop.” She hissed.
He looked into her eyes and with one bite, took the meat from her hand. “You taste better than the meat.”
“Oh Lord.” She pulled free, stumbled, toppled her bench in a rush to be away from him. He reached to help her but she ignored his hand, scrambled to rise on her own.
Nigel laughed. "You drunk already? It's still early lass."
“Laugh all you wish, brother, for I’ll return the favor soon.”
Quick as that, his amusement ended. “Have a care, Laird MacKay, for when she sets out for revenge, she could teach the lot of us a thing or two.”
Maggie brushed at her skirts. “He’ll not have need to worry, brother, for why would I be wanting revenge on the likes of the Laird?”
“Why indeed?” Talorc asked, as he reminded her, “I’ll be leavin’ on the morrow.”
“Aye,” she acknowledged, trying to catch Nigel’s eye as she reseated herself. Nigel refused to look her way.
"I want you to leave with me."
She laughed. “Leave with you?” Patted his arm. The man had barely talked to her all evening. “I’ll think of it,” she lied, “and when next we see each other, I’ll consider your request.”
“Not later, Maggie,” he caught her hand upon his arm, held it tightly in place, “tonight, this night. When I tell my story, if you truthfully find you cannot go with me, then I will accept your decision.”
“Tonight? You want to tell me a story tonight and then expect me to leave in the morn?”
“Aye. Tonight.”
She laughed. “Does my father know of this?”
“Aye, as does your mother.” He moved so they could both look to her parents, who watched with uncommon wariness.
Their wariness made no more sense than anything had this day. Her parents knew that nothing could induce Maggie to leave her home, not tonight, not ever. And, as far as she was concerned, not with a warrior; especially not with a warrior. Her parents knew that.
Talorc blocked them from Maggie’s sight. “But they don’t know the story, have yet to hear it. When they do, when you do, they’ve agreed to go along with your wishes.”
“Even if I chose to go away with you?”
“Aye.”
Maggie relaxed. “You can save your breath. This is my home, my friends and family. If I left, I’d be leaving young Ian behind. I can’t be doing . . .” He stopped her with a finger to her lips.
"Bold!" a man yelled from the far end of a table. "Tell us of the final victory! We want to hear the tale of the fight!"
A chorus of agreement rang out. Maggie tried to get away, to leave him to his tales of battle but he wouldn't let her go. “This is the story I'm going to tell, Maggie," he said for her alone. "Hear my story, then tell me what you will or won't do.”
“I’ll not go.”
“Hear me out first.”
She’d wanted to respond but there was no chance. The meal had wound down, musicians were playing. Soon the bard would entertain with his own tales of war and love and the strength of the clans.
Talorc freed her hand as he stood. She thought he meant to excuse the two of them, so he could address her in private, away from the prying ears of the family, the clan and his warriors.
Like a wave, solemn silence moved over the room. If Talorc had sought attention his timing was immaculate. He acted as if that was just what he wanted.
This would be no private telling.
The realization hit with the impact of a horse. Alarmed, Maggie tugged at his arm. Immediately he lent down, focused on her.
“You know, I’ve no ken for large men?” She whispered, “I’ve vowed never to promise myself to a warrior.”
“A solemn oath?” An oath was a sacred thing to a highlander.
She swallowed. “Everyone's heard me say so.”
He repeated his question. "Did you pledge this as an oath?"
She shook her head. "Why should I? My mind is made up."
“If you didn't pledge yourself, there’s nothing to fret over, lass. It's no more than dreaming of the future. Not for us to foretell.” He turned back to the tables lined with watchful clansmen, both MacKay and MacBede.
“Oh Lord!” Maggie sent the plea heaven word. “Oh, lord, please help me here.” But she knew it was her own fault for wanting him to flirt with her. As usual, she had brought this on herself, over estimated her ability to deal with a situation.
All eyes were focused on the Bold. He tugged on Maggie until she stood beside him, within the curve of his arm. Her legs trembled until she thought they couldn't possibly hold her upright. Talorc gave her waist a squeeze, as if that would reassure her. He was a fool if he believed that.
As though they were alone, as though the whole world were not watching he bent over her and whispered. “Will you listen to my plea now?”
*****************************
“Please, I beg of you.”
“You beg?”
“Anything, anything you want.” Roddie MacBede whimpered from beneath the foot of the man in green. Six other harsh, ragged men aimed spears to take him down should he try to rise.
“Anything?’
“Aye,” he sniffled, hiccupped a sob of fear.
“You’ve been cast from your clan.”
“No, no,” he stuttered as the man in green pressed his dirk further into his chest, between two ribs, above the heart.
“Why not.”
“No one knows.” Roddie promised. “I’ve not any chances left with the clan.”
The pressure of the dirk eased.
“No one knows what you do,” the man looked over at a bundle of fabric, the limp form, and smiled. “Not do, did, to that child? Other children.”
“I’ve never killed one,” Roddie cried. “I shouldna’ of done it, I know, I shouldna’ of done it, didn’t mean too, just wanted a little fun. She’s my sisters child, she was going to tell.” Once again, the dirk pressed hard.
“Why not?” The whimsical question startled Roddie, The lilt of it skewed from reality just as his joy, in the process of destroying the small body was an emotion out of step. Wrong. He knew it was wrong.
“Why not.” Whimsy turned hard, cold. “Why shouldn’t you have done what you did? You enjoyed it. Admit it.”
Roddie nodded, sure, now, the blade would pierce his black heart.
“Can you find more children? Can you bring them to us?”
For the first time Roddie looked up into the eyes of the man standing over him. Eyes darker more dangerous than Roddie had ever striven to be. Evil eyes.
Roddi shivered, reluctant to nod his assent though he did in the end. “Aye.” Bile reached his throat for half of him still held better intentions. “Aye, I can coax more to my side.” Fantasies, that’s all they ever were. Urges not to be fed. Only, he had fed them, and this one, when he silenced his victim he was caught for the deed.
The blade left his breast entirely, a hand offered. “Rise, join us. Let us make merry.”