The Handfasting by Becca St. John Read Free Book Online Page A

“Whatever is
that noise?” She asked Colin before shouting, “Hamish!  It’s Maggie MacBede.
I’m needing to speak with you.”
    Abruptly,
the creaking halted, replaced by smothered voices and the rustling of clothes.
    Frantic,
Colin tried to stop her, “Mimimistress Mamargaret, I think . . .”
    Someone
pounded at the door.
    “Ignore
that, Colin.” She told the lad, as Hamish’s long narrow foot and spindly ankle
came into view, followed by a hastily wrapped plaid.
    “Ah,
Hamish,” Maggie waited, impatient for his descent. The minute his foot touched
the ground she rushed up to him, gripped the front of his plaid where it
crossed his sunken chest. “I’m needing your help!  Och, and it’s dire you aid
me!”
    “Aye,
Maggie.”
    She
cocked her head at his tone, cringed as he patted her hands. She hated to be
treated like a child, with pat to her head or her hands.
    The
pounding started up again.
    “Go
away!” Maggie shouted before turning back to Hamish. “I need you to come sit
with me at dinner.” She told him.
    Bewildered,
Hamish looked from Maggie to the door. “Colin, who's out there?”
    “Nothing,
no one,” Maggie lied. “Just a couple of The MacKay's men. Don’t think of them.”
    “Warriors?”
He gulped.
    “Hamish,
forget them, just promise me you’ll come to the hall to eat. I’m needing you to
sit with me.”
    Even
in the dark of the tailor's shop, Maggie could see his face turn ashen. She
gritted her teeth, determined to convince him, but was stopped as a woman’s
head, hair all tousled and loose, popped through the opening at the top of the
ladder. “What are you about Hamish?” Nora Bayne demanded.
    “Nora?”
Maggie frowned. “What are you doing here? And what are you doing up there?”
    “Now,
Maggie,” Hamish pulled on her arm, “You’re not to be thinking . ..”
    “What
am I not to be thinking?” She tried to glare at him, to look angry, but her
heart sank too deep to fuel her anger, her outrage. Hamish was just another man
who didn’t want her. “What is Nora to you Hamish?”
    “Maggie,
now,” Hamish soothed, shooting wary looks at Nora, “you and I have been friends
for a long time.”
    “And
what’s wrong with friendship, Hamish?”
    “Well,
it’s just, you know, I’m not, I mean, well, the truth of it is, Maggie, I’m
planning to marry Nora.”
    Nora’s
cooed, “Oh, Hamish,” was swallowed by Maggie’s keening, “Nooooo!”
    In
all fairness, Hamish only reached out to comfort Maggie, and no more, when the
door flew open. He didn't have time to pull away or surely he would have before
that sword was stuck to his throat. Granted, it pricked only deep enough to
bring a spot of blood, but for Hamish, that was enough.
    He
fainted.
    Colin
wet himself.
    Nora
squealed.
    And
Maggie glared, as she swatted at the arm holding the offending sword. “Put that
stupid thing away, man!” She barked.
    Nora,
wrapped in no more than a blanket, scurried down the ladder to pull Hamish's
head onto her lap.
    Colin
raised a trembling finger to point at the men. “Mmmmaggie,” he stammered, “ththththey’re
warrrriors, you shouldldldna’ be talking to them so.”
    “Of
course they’re warriors, Colin.” Maggie said with no bit of respect, “But that
doesn’t give them permission to come barging in here when no one's done
anything wrong.”
    “You
screamed,” One of the MacKays defended.
    “Och.”
She ignored him, turned to look down on Hamish, whose head was nestled in the
soft pillow of Nora. “So you’ll not sit with me at dinner?” It was more
statement than question, quiet enough to admit to the shame of asking in front
of these men.
    Hamish
was beyond speech.
    “He’s
mine,” Nora snipped. “And you’d best stay away from him, Maggie MacBede.”
    “Oh,
aye,” Maggie pulled her plaid in tight around her. “I’ll stay clear of him, and
be happy of it.” With chin lifted, she wrapped her embarrassment as tightly as
she wrapped her plaid,