Yet he went along with the idiotic endeavor for the simple reason that his lady would be there. His cousin’s network of spies said that Lady Heather would be at the park this afternoon with an escort. It was the end of that phrase that had Nial gritting his jaw as he said a fervent prayer that his hot temper would stay within his control.
He asked his cousin about it again, and as it was the fifth time he asked the same question, it made Sedgewick grit his teeth.
“Who the hell will she be with? Think man, you must have a clue. Why are you so convinced 'twill not be Badgerton?” He couldn’t stop the query, even though he had asked the same question before and knew it would exasperate the other man.
Boz had already told his cousin four times that the entirety of his information was that Heather had accepted an invitation to go to the park that day, and his informant thought that the invitation had come from “someone new.” Actually, his informant, a maid in his household related to a maid in the Standings household, also stated that the ranks of Heather’s ardent admirers grew by the day. Given the tenuous grasp Nial had on his control when he was only aware of Geoff’s attentions, he shuddered to think what the man would do when he learned the extent of his competition.
Instead of answering the query again, this time he said, “I told you last night and say again that your display at Almack’s proves you require a trip to Madame Odettes. You need to work out some of that lust with an available female before you end up taking the girl right on the dance floor. My lofty ducal status,” he wiggled his eyebrows nobly, “lets my family get away with a great deal, but there are limits to what the ton will tolerate even from me.”
They neared the park as Boz tossed that one out, and Nial craned his neck to look at every passerby. “I don’t want any other lass. I will not be unfaithful to Heather again.” Nial’s firm pronouncement had not once wavered since his arrival in town. “Besides, if I wanted a lass last night I could have taken the bloody wench ensconced in my bed when I returned to your place.”
“Your squire had to toss another one from your bed in my house?” Boz asked with amusement tinged with a bit of concern. Apparently, some of his staff continued to supplement their income by bribery even after being threatened with dismissal without a reference. This he would have to investigate.
“Indeed. Based upon the pole in my trousers this one must have thought she had some chance of success. Created quite a ruckus she did. Your mother led her away and comforted her.” The half-hearted comments showed that the rather typical incident warranted little interest.
“I see her,” Nial gestured towards where Heather sat on a bench beside a tall brown-haired bloke.
“Where?”
“There,” Maclee pointed, “beside the bastard sliding far too close. Damn. If he moves his paw another inch towards her leg he’ll have to catch it with his other one.” His hand moved to the hilt of his sword, showing that the threat was not an idle one.
Sedgewick never suspected the threat to be idle. A fierce breed, the Scots rarely made threats they didn't mean. “That’s Roderick Nimsley, heir to the Earl of Blassingame. Get down, you ass, and we’ll walk over to chat with the ladies under yon tree. And for God’s sake stop acting like a hound pointing out its prey.”
The other man gave a long-suffering sigh and followed his cousin towards three females under the branches of a shade tree. They were arranged for effect, and no doubt, he was about to endure a lengthy few minutes hearing them twitter about nonsense.
As the laird and the duke who topped every matron’s most wanted son-in-law list approached, the group bubbled with excitement. A mass of hair smoothing, skirt straightening and neckline lowering broke out as though the command had been given. Boz introduced the ladies and Nial promptly forgot every name as he glanced over to find Heather staring pointedly at the group. Her eyes narrowed, making him want to do a handstand.
His distraction gave the black-haired lass next to him an opportunity to place her hand under the back of his waistcoat. He didn’t even notice until he felt a female hand squeezing his buttocks, and heard a husky whisper aimed at the general direction of his ear offering to “meet him later.” He stepped back two steps to put himself and his bodily appendages out of reach. Unfortunately, the group followed, and he had to swallow another long-suffering sigh as he tried to look fascinated by the blonde’s comments about how “she was convinced there would be a shower any minute now.” Since it was bloody England in spring, it hardly took an immense intellect to ferret out the possibility of an afternoon shower.
******
Heather tried her hardest to pay attention to Rod and to ignore the too-obvious attempts of the nearby women to gain Nial’s attention. She did not succeed well and wondered for the fifty-seventh time since last night, why she could not ignore the horny beast and get on with her life. Rod noticed that her attention was not on him, and he took her hand and brought it to his lips, murmuring, “Your beauty puts the flowers to shame.” She jerked her glance back to her escort as she felt his tongue on her fingers. Nial’s tongue gave her melting shivers, but this man’s simply made her want to wipe her hand on her skirt.
Unconsciously, she did just that a minute later but did not know that the sensual smile playing about the corners of Nial’s mouth was due to that reaction. She assumed he saw something in the offerings before him that aroused a male response, and she suddenly could not take this a moment longer. She jumped up to head for her horse without a fare thee well to Rod. As Maclee saw her leave, he also walked away from the gaggle without a word.
Heather half-turned to look back and saw the black-haired lass catch Nial's hand and tug it towards her breast. It so unnerved Heather that she snapped the reins of her horse. Unused to such rough treatment, the steed bolted and headed straight for the road, where two of the young bloods of the ton staged an impromptu race to show off their new rigs.
Nial saw her frenzied tug on the reins, saw her lose control of her mount. The young idiots would trample Heather. He mounted his fleet stallion at a run. Boz raced after him, as did Nimsley, belatedly. The sound of another horse heralded Badgerton joining the rescue effort. They arrived at the edge of the road, and the three other men reined their animals to stop. To continue would be suicidal. Heather’s horse reared in the center of the road and the oncoming carriages hurtled too fast to stop. Nial didn't stop. He didn’t even pause to consider the consequences. He angled his mount and jerked off his saddle, giving a Gaelic command that the trained steed would respond to with a burst of speed.
Heather tugged at the reins, struggling to control her mount. The carriages driven by the foolish young fops headed straight at her at top speed. She saw her would-be saviors stop. As death approached her life didn't flash before her, as warrior's tales said it would. She felt only a gaping loss that she would die without ever culminating her passion for Nial. The pain and sorry she felt at that was unfathomable.
A movement angled towards her from the right. Nial rode bareback, crouched in a warrior’s posture. He leaned down to grasp her to his horse, but his arrival in the road panicked her horse further. It threw her and bounded to safety. The carriages nearly upon them, Nial dismounted and his horse jumped for the side of the road. He scooped Heather into his arms. As he lifted her over his head, he said softly, “My world would have no meaning without you in it, Heather.” Then he yelled to his cousin, “Catch” and tossed her.
Boz caught her, only barely managing to remain on his feet. With breaths held, the crowd watched wide-eyed as the instant Heather left the Scot's arms, the conveyances were upon Nial.
Boz and Heather identified the figure of light as a faerie knight. The faerie’s aid allowed the carriages to merely graze Nial as they thundered past on a road barely wide enough for the two conveyances. Sedgewick still held the girl but she ignored Geoff and Rod’s frantic inquiries, twisted to free herself, and launched towards Nial who lay in the road motionless.
******
Nial took deep breaths, astonished to be alive. He felt fire shooting down his system and knew Heather was there before he opened his eyes. Not only had he somehow survived his suicidal rescue, but his fate leaned over him, running her hands down the length of his body to test his limbs. "You might have hidden injuries within, " Heather mumbled as she placed a hand on his belly. "I've seen men die without a scratch on them."
He felt blood trickling from his arm, his back and the underside of one leg. He had several cuts, but could have given sworn testimony that otherwise he was perfectly fine. He knew that because Heather’s tender touch awoke the one-eyed demon in his trousers.
“Nial, are you all right? Speak to me!” She demanded as she leaned to him, cupping his cheeks. He rubbed against her hands, as he gazed at her distraught face. Her locks had escaped their confinement atop her head, her dress was stained and torn, and her breath came in pants as her breasts strained against her bodice.
Nial was a terrible patient, especially because women attempted to coddle him and force him to rest whenever he so much as sneezed. He was, of course, aware that their motives in getting him to bed were not concern for his health. He tended to react by screaming at the would-be nurse, “I’m a warrior not a simpering fop. I’ll be fine if you will leave me alone.”
Heather’s coddling, for that was what she was doing, nourished his soul. The warrior who once continued a battle against a rival clan with two lead balls and a sword wound, murmured, “I feel a bit weak but I have every confidence that your care will put me on the mend.”
Badgerton joined the others to flank the pair and made the mistake of reaching down to try to tug Heather away. “You bloody bastard. How dare you imply that Lady Heather would lower herself to play physician for you.”
Instead of surrendering to his impulse to leap to his all too healthy feet and beat the immortal crap out of the Sassannach arse, the laird closed his eyes, and emitted a loud groan.
Heather tried to turn to him at that sound, but Geoff still yanked at her arm. She snatched it away. “You oafish idiot. Unhand me. Of course I’ll tend Nial myself. After all, left to your heroic efforts I’d be lying dead in the road at this moment. The Shining Folk have no interest in saving me.”
Nial managed to bravely struggle to his feet – with her help, of course. “The faeries? I didn't see them. Heather, are you sure that the faeries saved me?”
She wrapped her arm about his waist to guide him to the carriage Boz had appropriated from one of the young fools. Nial wrapped his arm around her waist, allegedly for support, and awaited her reply.
“Aye ‘twas the faeries. Rather, a single faerie knight well girded for battle.”
Most of the onlookers laughed uproariously. Rod said, “The lass I can excuse for we all know women are fanciful creatures. But can you imagine a grown man who actually believes in faeries?”
Sedgewick turned to his cousin. “It is likely, that until you wed and sire an heir the Shining Folk will guard you carefully. They would doubtless sorely miss all the mischief they make with your family if none of your direct line survived.”
The other two men then bit their tongues to avoid offending the powerful duke who apparently believed in faerie tales himself.
Boz got in the carriage first and willingly joined his friend’s little drama by placing a needless hand to his arm to assist his ascent, whispering, “Perhaps you should give up this hunt for your fate and tread the boards. There must be a hidden talent for acting in your family.”
The Scot winked and gave a low moan, the credibility of which arose from the fact that Heather placed attentive hands on his bum to be sure he entered the carriage safely. Boz reached to help Heather, but she jumped into the carriage and seated herself beside the laird. She disregarded the blood from the scratch on his arm to gather his head to her bosom.
Nial’s torn shirt revealed a bloody gash on his chest. She turned her attention there, tearing a portion of her skirt and wetting it with her saliva before patting his chest. The gash was near his nipple, and he flushed when his observant cousin “tsked” as it pebbled.
Disturbed by the conquering onslaught of desire and his consequently growing arousal, especially with his friend serving as eyewitness, Nial fixed genuinely tormented eyes on Heather. “I am a little tired. Perhaps you can await our arrival at Sedgewick house before continuing your examination.”
“Of course,” Heather murmured, moving her hand away from his chest and letting it fall to his lap. Nial’s sex awoke when she leaned over him on the road. It showed greater interest when she placed his head between her breasts. When Heather caressed his nipple with the wet cloth, his tarse grew rigidly erect. When her hand brushed his lap, and the now-throbbing member that hadn’t been interested in being attended since she walked away, he groaned and thrust against the touch he had dreamed of for too long to have a prayer of resisting.
He looked at his friend in a silent, yet heartfelt plea for help.
Under the circumstances, Boz complied wholeheartedly. “Wait a few minutes to examine Nial because we're nearly there. You can be much more thorough at my house.” Heather nodded but didn't look like she'd wait long so both men gave sighs of relief when the carriage halted at the ducal residence.
The Scot said a silent prayer of thanksgiving when the arrival of Heather’s maid with her herbal supplies turned her attention elsewhere, allowing Sedgewick to hustle him upstairs to his room. Hearing Heather on the steps and having a desperate desire to be elsewhere than closeted in a bedroom with those two, Boz said, “Be careful, buddy. You’re her hero right now and you don’t want to lose that advantage. Don’t push too fast.”
“I’ll try but it’s hard.”
Boz wasn’t about to let a shot like that pass. “Hell, that was pretty clear in the carriage.”
“Bugger off,” Nial said without heat, looking up as Heather entered the room. The duke paused for a moment in the doorway before he winked and thoughtfully committed a grave breach of etiquette by closing the door entirely.
The lass carried water, a small basket of herbs, and a stack of cloth for bandages. She set it all on the bedside table, and perched beside him. “Can you sit up?”
He complied and she began to unbutton his shirt. She sat in front of him and rose on her heels to pull the shirt from his arms. A long lock of burnished bronze brushed his bare chest while her fragrance surrounded him. He breathed deeply, wanting to bathe in her scent of orchids and musk. He really couldn’t allow himself to think about what he wanted to do with that lock of hair. She took rather a long time getting his shirt off and leaned so close that if he had opened his mouth he could have had her nipple in his mouth. His tongue battered against his clenched teeth with an eagerness to do just that.
As she leaned over to examine a scratch on his forearm, several long strands of golden brown, auburn and chocolate fell beneath the sheet to curl around the top of Nial’s erect which by now far outstretched his pants. While she didn’t know where her hair touched him, he and the trouser traitor certainly did. It craved contact with any part of her and she turned her head slightly so that the hairs tickled its sensitive engorged head. He gasped and clenched urgently but couldn't halt the large dollop of liquid pleasure that emerged.
The instinctive growl that followed was borne of the pleasure of that single burst and of the pain of holding back the release that he needed so badly from her, only from her. He lay back on the pillows, panting through teeth barred against a need more potent than he thought humanly possible. He shut his eyes against the sight of her creamy breasts leaning over him and clenched his fists around a hunk of bedding so he couldn’t palm those breasts or suckle them or feast upon them or….
“Nial?” She asked, concern plain in her voice.
He was a cad, a heel of the worst kind, and if he opened his eyes she'd see the wild cauldron of boiling need and know what he was and what he wanted.
“Nial?”
Her worry was more apparent this t
ime, as she raised a hand to the beaded drops of perspiration on his brow and then, heaven help him, she touched his chest, where drops of sweat glittered amongst the wild black tangle of hair. She began to comb through that hair, and soon enough made her way to the taut nipples that drew her fingers time and time again.
“Nial?”
This time a husky tone underscored the question and her touch to his nipples frankly teased. His eyes popped open and her golden gaze remained close, too close for evasion or dissembling. The pebbling of his nipples had been a virgin’s first clue to the cause of his distress. She recalled that under his touch her nipples had become as sharp as the desire battering her body.
His gaze whipped and tossed like the sea surrounding Skye in the throes of a thunderstorm. The lightning sparkled in his eyes. Then she placed her hand over his heart and felt the thunder. Her gaze flickered down to his lips as his tongue darted out to lick the dry surface. His desire kindled so flagrantly that a virgin could not mistake it.
Nial knew his lapse shredded his pretense. Now she would never believe he craved only her friendship. The plan had been ludicrous anyway because his desire was as open as his heart and both were Heather’s, whether she'd have him or not. So he grabbed her hand, afraid she would storm from the room. If she did, he would be left alone in an aching, unsatisfied void where he would be tormented by love and a passionate yearning that would never be fulfilled. A faerie fated forever it would be, but would it be filled with joy and passion or aching loneliness and biting need?
His expression revealed the pain of where his thoughts wandered so she didn’t jerk her hand away, though that had been her first impulse. He gripped her fingers tightly and long moments passed in silence as only their eyes spoke for them. Hers carried the pain of remembered betrayal and lost dreams, but showed hints of hope that the prince who rescued her today would show himself to be the man of her dreams. His overflowed with a heady brew of passion, fear, possibilities and a hope as stubborn as the Scot who couldn't quench it.
A Faerie Fated Forever Page 13
