A Faerie Fated Forever (23 page)

A foot on Badgerton’s upper back held him face down in the dirt while Nial placed the tip of his blade to his throat. “My fiancée does not want your death so she is more merciful than I. However, I am newly betrothed so I am in a mood to accommodate her wishes.”

He allowed the tip of his blade to slightly penetrate the neck that was at his mercy as he relentlessly insisted upon total surrender. “Answer this question correctly and you may walk away from this battle. Do you acknowledge that Heather is mine? Do you surrender any hope of gaining her?”

Badgerton’s grimace was testimony to the fact that the surrender did not come easy. He was silent a moment too long, and Nial raised his sword and brought the point down rapidly. Only at the last moment, did he veer away to plant the blade in the dirt so close to Geoff’s neck that when he breathed his Adam’s apple collided with the steel.

The crowd held their breaths as Geoff refused to speak and Nial put all his body weight on the foot in Badgerton’s back, as he kept his gaze locked with the other man’s. He slowly withdrew the sword and raised it again, and his gaze narrowed and hardened, until his eyes were slits announcing that his patience was at an end, and Geoff’s death was at hand.

Geoff weighed the other man and closed his eyes for a moment before he said, “Heather is yours.”

“And?” Nial insisted, not relenting an inch.

“I give up…”

“AND?” Nial demanded it all.

“I surrender any hope of winning her.” Geoff’s gaze was steady, but the quiver in his voice marked his sorrow well enough.

Nial held his eyes a moment longer. "I will insist upon a proper apology to Laird MacIver as well. Do I have your word upon it?"

Totally disheartened now, Badgerton grunted his agreement.

Nial held him there a moment longer before he lifted his foot from the man’s back and turned away. He took a single step before Heather literally threw herself into his arms. She took his mouth voraciously, but only briefly. She then backed up to run her hands over every exposed inch of his body, refusing to take his word that he had not been injured. No matter how he told himself that her touch was medicinal rather than sensual, his will was no match for the power of those claws of passion. A moment later, he captured the right hand that was at his belly and brought it to his mouth.

His mouth quirked in humor as he said, “Enough, love. I’ve just put down one sword and already you have another anxious to duel.”

Heather burst out laughing as she said, “You, sir, are incorrigible.”

“Now I take exception to that, my lady. Insatiable I plead guilty to, but incorrigible, I leave to our bairns.”

With that, both grew thoughtful and Nial tenderly took her mouth in a kiss that cherished as he splayed his hands across her trim belly. Heather’s breathing changed as Nial’s touch guarded their offspring and feathered to just below her breasts. Having no care for the crowd that pressed close to them, Nial's gaze followed his hands. “I would nurse there as well, sweetheart.”

Several of the ladies in the crowd became bold. Nial was so attuned to Heather that it was some moments before he realized that there was a female hand on his arse. When he did, he grimaced and tried to straighten away from it. His motion drew Heather’s notice and her temper flared.

Heedless of listening ears, Heather slipped out of Nial’s arms to walk behind him. She didn’t waste time with words, and promptly seized the other woman’s hand. She twisted it behind the redhead, as she said, “Keep your hands off my fiancée. That goes for each one of you.”

The other woman looked at Heather as though she were a naive twit as she said, “Don’t tell me you think he will be faithful? When any woman he wants is his for the asking you think to tie him to you alone? A bottom like that one is a national treasure and I look forward to the day when I get to see if the package he carries up front is as impressive as we have all heard it is.”

“The package up front is even better. But I can promise you, the second he delivers his package to anyone else, I’ll have that front gear stuffed and decorating my mantle – right alongside the slut’s he was delivering to.”

“Ouch,” Boz whispered as he grimaced in sympathy. “I trust fidelity is your intent?”

“If it wasn’t before, it surely would be now. I’m pretty well attached to my package.”

A loud hiss drew their attention and both looked over to see Heather and the redhead rolling around in the dirt. Each lady had a handful of the other’s hair. As their skirts twisted up, and their bodices slipped down, Nial wanted to intervene but wasn’t sure where to grab. He glanced over at Boz and saw his eyes lit with dark fire. Then he noticed the same rapt attention in several other male expressions.

About that time, Nial remembered the precious cargo Heather carried and he waded into the fray without further delay. He lifted her and carried her away from the redhead who had somehow thought of Nial as the spoils of war. She tried to follow the pair, only to be halted by Boz.

Nial paused to shout back to Carrick, asking, “Can you give Boz a ride home, sir?”

Boz interrupted. “My carriage can handle three very nicely.”

Nial’s raised brows made Boz feel like he was an infant again. “Three can be one too many.”

“Bloody hell. Can’t you wait until you get back to my house at least?”

“Even I have trouble believing this cuz, but no. I can’t.” Nial’s self-deprecating grin acknowledged the irony of the shoe being so firmly on the other foot.

Heather didn’t get the joke, but Boz surely did. He paused in his chortles of glee to yell, “God save me from ever falling in love,” as he heard his cousin instruct the driver to keep driving until he received different instructions. Boz shook his head in greater glee as he saw that his kinsman’s hands were on the buttons of his pants before he jumped into the carriage.

Several young women consoled Geoff and Boz thought he might head over to Madame Odette’s. He was behind Bonnie and Carrick getting into the carriage, which the couple apparently didn’t realize. Laird MacIver paused a moment to fondle his wife’s tush as he helped her in. He paused for a long moment actually. The pause ended only with a discreet cough from Boz.

Carrick colored slightly and then winked as he said, “Something about being around those two just puts a man in the mood.”

The carriage carrying the couple had been rambling around London for over two hours. The coachman even stopped for a pint with friends at a pub, telling them that the gentry he was driving would not mind a bit. Which was more than true, as they didn’t even notice.

Nial was cherishing Heather. It was the only description she could think of that came close to the tender quality of his lovemaking. He swore her breasts were slightly larger and was convinced that his cousin was right that she carried their bairn. Of course it was far too soon to know, but the thought was intoxicating. Not that she needed anything more heady than the love that shone from the eyes of the man who worshipped her and who was even now bathing her in a midnight blue sea of passion.

He looked like a lad seeking his third sweet as he sheepishly asked, “Love, I know you’re exhausted, but I need you again, and I fear that my chances to satisfy the craving you rouse will be few and far between for the next couple of weeks. Could we, I mean, can I. Bugger it. I need to love you again, Heather. If that’s okay with you?”

Her answer was to widen her legs, but it was all he needed. He said, “Thank God,” as he thrust inside.

She whispered back, “Thank God for faeries.”

******

It was a rousing evening for all, which turned out to be a very good thing because Nial’s fearful anticipation that he was about to be deprived came true. The next few days were hectic with packing the Crandle household and the Harrison household for the trip to Skye and the wedding that could not come soon enough for Nial. There was no more time for dabbling with romance.

While there was no time or privacy to make love to Heather, Nial refused to miss seeing her for a single day. His visits tended to be broken up by someone interrupting to ask her a question or to jerk her away from him for a fitting for her wedding gown or her trousseau. It was the evening before their departure for home that Heather tested Nial for the last time.

John and Violet hosted a “small” ball to formally announce Heather and Nial’s engagement, which Maclee found foolish. His cousin already announced the betrothal and he even fought a duel – such as it was – to protect his entitlement to Heather. Yet somehow, to the Crandals it was not official until it was the occasion for a ball. The night of the party he arrived late, having been delayed by business. He was barely in time for the formal announcement.

When he got there Boz and Peter huddled together, and both gave him pitying looks. Violet hurried over with Bonnie. They wore harried expressions and seemed to be trying to block his view of the room, which he found more than odd.

“Listen here, Nial,” Bonnie said, “You have thoroughly compromised my daughter. She may carry your child at this moment. By goodness, you have to marry her now. Do you understand, young man? You refuse at this late date and you will be fighting a real duel with her father.”

Now Nial was really confused. He had pretty much made it clear to all of England that he would marry Heather if he had to force her. His intent had never once altered. What was going on here? “Lady MacIver, Heather is mine. I have claimed her and to our people that means something. Yet I am more than anxious to get her to Kilcuillin before a priest to make my claim legal under the laws of every country in existence. I can insure you that I intend to… no, I will marry Heather.”

Peter clapped a hand to his back in sympathy at his firm avowal, Boz quirked an eyebrow at him, and Geoff, who for some unexplainable reason was here, burst out laughing as he staggered a step and said, loudly, “Maclee, God is an Englishman.”

“Myself, I’ve always been convinced he was a Highlander. Why would you insult the almighty by claiming otherwise?”

“Bec…because,” he hiccuped, “I nearly married that dowd. But God inter…. ahh inter… helped and it was your quill that got stuck in that ink. And now, stuck you are.”

“I’m trying to remember that you are drunk, Badgerton. On this evening, your inebriation is all that is saving you from feeling my fist. My quill is none of your business and I can assure you that Heather’s ink is not something you should ever consider.”

Geoff burst out laughing again, raised both hands and said, “Trust me, Laird Maclee, she is all yours.”

Nial finally managed to shove his way past Bonnie and Violet, and stopped after taking about three steps into the ballroom. Standing a few feet away was the Heather who was not the toast of the
ton
. This was the lady who ran away broken-hearted on a lovely Skye evening after he betrayed her trust and her love. She wore a gray granny dress that hung on her frame like a sack, and one of her famous bonnets sat atop her head.

Jeers surrounded them. He heard a shrill female voice shout that Heather was “pathetic” and another hooted that she'd always known the girl was a "hideous hag" and didn't know why the men hadn't seen it sooner. As for those men, including many who had seriously sought her hand, their comments weren't nearly so kind. These were insults she had taken her entire life until she came to believe they were all true. He stood quietly, observing her as he realized that this was his final test. She knew he would marry the London debutante. But would he wed the lass she still saw every time she looked in the mirror?

As he stood there, gazing at her, what he saw was inner beauty. When they were old and doddering, this beauty would still grace her countenance. The caring of her soul and the fire of her spirit would always shine from those glorious golden eyes.

Carrick was on stage with Peter, calling the crowd’s attention. He didn’t dare give the Maclee a chance to intervene. “My wife and I are pleased this evening to announce the betrothal of our daughter, Heather Ceana, to Laird Nial Maclee.”

The band struck up a waltz, and Nial grabbed Heather, disdaining the traditional posture under the rapt gazes of those who waited for an open breach. He drew her close, and her eyes darted to his face. His soul was speared by the tears he saw that she was trying to fight – evidence that she had already decided that Nial would not love this lady. He drew her closer still, and the entire crowd fell so silent that they seemed bewitched or entranced.

Not enough space separated them for a piece of parchment to pass through, but she was still too far away for him. He drew her flush against him and bent her backward over his arm as his lips lowered toward hers. Her eyes were wide with surprise as he took her mouth passionately, possessively, his craving open for all to see. He felt her lips tremble as he nipped at her lower lip until she opened to allow his tongue inside to duel with hers.

It was long moments before he straightened, and when he did, he allowed her only time to take a single breath. Then his mouth took hers again. “Silly girl,” he said against her lips, “You should have known better than to give me ideas by wearing this outfit.”

“Ideas?”

“Now I might demand you dress like this every day so that no other man has an idea of the bounty that only my eyes would feast upon in the privacy of our bedchamber.”

When his head lifted, she wore a stunned expression. “You love me. You really love me.”