The Handfasting by Becca St. John Read Free Book Online

insult on such a
slight.
     “What
would The MacKay think if he knew the truth of it?” She asked, as though her
brother could answer.
    The
wind kicked up. Maggie's sigh rode on it.
    “If
you were here, Ian, you’d protect me, you’d sit by my side and keep the MacKay
at a distance. Och, and the way he makes a body feel!”  Maggie fought for words
to explain and fisted her belly, as though to press away the flutters within. “Ian,
be grateful that you’ll never have to feel the way he made me feel. You can't
lose it.”
    A
swift look over her shoulder, toward the keep, was reminder enough that she
needed to head back.
    “Do
you think I could be missing the meal?” She sighed against the hope, her eyes
focused on the gray slabs of stone that made up her home.
    A
movement, near the last tree of the orchard, caught her eye. Two soldiers stood
there, watching her with steady interest. In the meager light she could not
tell for certain, but she thought they were MacKays.
    Ian’s
resting place pulled her once more. “What am I to do?” She rose and dusted the
dirt from her plaid. “Who can I get to sit with me if not you?”  She studied
his grave. “It’s not like I have any great suitors to . . ." she paused,
her head high, as if to catch a sound. "Ian, I have it. Hamish. Hamish
will sit with me, and then The MacKay will know that my affections are taken
and . . .”
    She
glanced over her shoulder to see the two men still watching her.
    “They’ll
be leaving soon.” She comforted her brother, for he’d fret for her otherwise.
“And Hamish will be there for me, even if for naught but friendship. We have
been friends for such a long time.”
    Her
head snapped back to Ian's grave. For the first time since she'd lost him,
there was an inkling of thought traitorous enough not to be her own.
     “Don’t
you dare, brother!” She wagged her finger at the heather upon the grave as it
swayed with a fresh breeze. She could almost see her brother brushing his hand
over it, as he argued with her. “Don’t you dare start putting opinions in my
head now. If I want to take Hamish to dinner with me, then I will.” The niggle
continued to tug at her decision. "You'd have me sit with him? With The MacKay?
You're no better than the others.” She snipped, as she spun away from her
brother's memory.
    “I’ll
not listen,” she hissed into the wind.
    Defiant,
she stomped away, head high as she passed the two warriors. MacKays, of course
they were. The MacBedes would have left her to her mourning without notice.
    Her
step quickened, as she heard them turn to follow. Nosey brutes. This was her
home, with people milling about everywhere you turned. She’d not come to harm.
    “You’ve
no need to follow me,” she shouted over her shoulder.
    “We’ll
see you safely home.”
    “This
is home.” She informed them, and picked up her pace.
    They
lengthened their stride to match her near run.
    She
had to lose them, for it would do no good to have them see her beg Hamish to
sup with her tonight.
    “Go
away.”
    “We’re
to see to your welfare, Mistress Margaret.”
    She
pivoted, faced them.
    “And
what makes you so happy?” She bit out.
    “You’re
a bonny lass.”
    Humph.
She started off again, through the inner yard, into the outer yard, down the
path until she came to the tailor's two story workshop and home.
    She
banged on the door.
    “One
of her puny choices?” One warrior asked the other.
    She’d
not turn around.
    The
door opened a crack to show Colin, the tailor’s apprentice. He tried to shut
the door on her.
    “I’m
needing to see Hamish,” she blurted and shoved until the poor lad could do no
more than let her in. She slammed the door on the two MacKay clansmen. A loud
rhythmic creaking filled the room. Maggie looked to the ceiling.
    “Hhhhhe’s
nnot hhhhere.” Colin stuttered, trying to get beyond Maggie to open the door
again.
    Maggie
ignored him and moved to the ladder that led to the second story.