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 as to
touch her.
“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.
“Why
are you here,” she blurted, “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, though. 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. 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 Gunns 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,
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 as to
touch her.
“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.
“Why
are you here,” she blurted, “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, though. 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. 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 Gunns 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,
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