chapter 2 - THE CHALLENGE
In the quiet sanctuary of the keep, Maggie sank against the hard stone wall and let the tremors have their way. She could barely stand, even braced as she was. Conflicts whipped through her; what she imagined of the Bold versus the reality of him: big and handsome, not battle beaten and ugly. Laugh lines in place of frowns or scowling furrows.
A draw that sucked her in without revulsion.
But she could still hate; hate the hands that held her, the ripple of confusion provoked.
She touched her cheek, the lingering caress of a sworn enemy.
He was not the kind of man she sought, too big, overpowering. No malleability in him, none at all. He had drawn her twin to his death.
She had challenged him.
"Oh God," she moaned. You never challenge a man like the MacKay, who lived for the fight, thrived on it.
Why did he have to come here, himself, after years of sending messengers? Why did he choose now to appear, and churn-up her life, overwhelm her with the chaos of sensation?
The sound of the keep door opening, nudged her away from the wall, to shift around the corner, into the tower square.
"Maggie MacBede?" The call tickled through her like water in a gurgling brook. Her traitoress body recognized the deep rumble of the MacKay's shout, tempted a response.
She closed her eyes, willed herself not to react.
"Where are you lass?" his boom reverberated through the hall.
The shift of feet, the crunch of soles on the rough stone floor moved toward her. Resigned, she opened her eyes to find him in the doorway of the tower, watching her.
"What do you want?" She snapped wishing he would step away.
He moved closer.
"Maggie, I promised Ian I would come to you."
"Promised Ian?" her heart racketed against her breast. Of all she expected from this man, this was not it.
Nor did she expect the tenderness in his eyes, the softening of his voice as he explained, "it was in my arms that your brother died. I promised him that I would come to you. It's taken me too long, but I am here now."
Tears welled. The Bold cupped her face with one large palm, his thumb soothing the side of her cheek.
"He knew you would take it badly. He told me to tell you he was proud, and he would not desert you."
"Well he did desert me." She bit her lip against a tremble.
"No, he's here," one finger tapped at her temple, "In your memories. And he's here." He laid his hand between her breasts, over her heart, "in your love. Like salt to water, he is everywhere."
Silent, they stood there, his eyes meeting hers, one hand holding her shoulder, the other over her heart. She was certain he felt the beat of it, pounding, flooding her world by his mere presence. An innocent touch offered yet it turned her thoughts from Ian, stole her mind, gave her body rule.
Questions never questioned, temptations when she had never been tempted. Again, the image of a mare came to mind. How she would nip and bite, buck at a stallion yet allow him to mount her. She wanted to let this man, this huge stranger, overpower her senses.
Attraction beyond reason.
"I promised your brother," he stood even closer. Her breath caught in her throat, “to give you this," he leaned in, kissed her, a butterfly’s touch to her cheek and she whimpered. Not because it was from Ian. Ian had never sent lightning bolts through her with a mere kiss. No one had.
She fought to tame her reaction, but the bewildering whirl of confusion proved too wild to cage.
The Bold whispered, "and I want to give you this," his lips touched hers, a light airy, brush along her mouth. She pushed him away.
“Just a kiss, Maggie girl.”
Innocent, perhaps, but she was not stupid. His idea of a kiss would never be a mere ‘just.’
“When do you leave?”
“In the morning.” A simple answer, but his eyes shifted away. So there was more to his leaving than that.
She pressed for clarification. “You will be gone then?” If he was to go, could she allow herself this liberty? One kiss, knowing she would never have to face him again? May never face this enticement again?
“In the morning I will be gone.” Still, his eyes did not meet hers but followed the arc of his finger as it traced the side her cheek. The light touch ricocheted through her body.
She shivered and nodded despite a twinge of uncertainty. Surely there was no room for falsehood in such a straight reply.
“Just a kiss.” She pushed.
“Aye, just a kiss.” He murmured as he lowered his head.
She had been right. There was no ‘just’ about it, no feathery caress of lips but a journey begun with the press of lips, the taste of her mouth. He tickled the seal of her lips before moving on along her jaw to nibble his way to her ear.
A kiss turned to whispered words, sweet and soothing of a language she did not know. It rippled, danced clear to her toes. Dormant senses blossomed.
The carnal trail shifted down her neck
Maggie clutched his shoulders. He pulled her close, surrounded her, captured her.
A mere kiss.
To him perhaps.
Reason reared, for one valiant fight. She fought herself, fought him, pushed against that broad chest. Only half a battle as half still clung to the kiss. He lifted his head, eased his hold.
Her father and brothers had warned about men, her mother issued cautions against unwedded desire. Everyone spoke of young Alicia, who disappeared one day, drawn by desire to an evil stranger she spoke of but no one ever saw.
The Bold would leave in the morning.
She would not be so foolish as to leave with him.
What harm to steal this moment, this one time, to allow desire free reign in a stairwell where it could not go further, with a man she would never have to see again?
"Meet me in this." The whisper brushed her lips.
Always impetuous, she charged heedless in to frays more dangerous than this.
"You will not best me at this, Bold." She pulled his head down to hers.
The Bold seized her opening, lifted her against him. She refused to hang, toes dangling above the floor. Hands gripping his hair, her mouth as hungry as his, she lifted her legs, wrapped them tight around his waist, reveled in his shocked stillness.
He pulled away long enough to chuckle, or was it a groan? She didn't know, didn't care, too focused on his mouth as it suckled a line from the tender skin behind her ear, down her neck. Thrilled, as he pressed her against the wall, against the core of her. Shocked tremors ricocheted through her.
It was not enough.
Wild, untamed, raised among a people who spoke of earthy pleasures, Instinct led her game. No demure lass but a woman with a new found appetite for the battle of desire, to be desired. To take.
He stilled, pushed her legs down, set her to the ground, eased away. She grabbed his arms, to pull his attention back.
"Shhh."
Laughter, orders, whispers sounded in the hall. The clan moved back to the duties of life. Everyone but Maggie. She drew in a deep breath, tried to settle aroused uncertainties.
He pulled her deeper into the shadows under the winding tower stairs and leaned his head against hers. "Maggie mine," a hoarse croak, “with the heat in you, it's a wonder you don't have a dozen children by now."
"You miserable swine.” She batted at his hold. Voices in the hall reminded, she lowered her voice, "You shouldn't be teaching me such things."
"Did I teach you Maggie? I wonder if you're not 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.