A Faerie Fated Forever

by Mary Anne Graham

  He frowned and a tic started in his cheek. He said not a word, simply stood and looked and glowered. Finally, Heather moved, taking a step forward, but she halted in her tracks when he said, in a quiet tone threaded with threat. "Don't move an inch. Not a single, bloody inch."

  "Or what?" Heather asked, striding forward. “Is this supposed to scare me?”

  At her words, his frown grew fiercer.

  She put one hand on her hip and gestured towards his grimace with the other. “Am I supposed to believe that you actually give a farthing what I wear?”

  The door opened and two men started to enter but stopped, wide-eyed on the threshold, male approbation sparkling in their eyes. Her gesture widened the neckline of her dress, until a great deal more flesh showed and the tip of one pebbled nipple peeped from beneath the garment.

  One of the intruders put on a seductive smile and walked forward. “Hello there beautiful. I’ve really got to get out to more ton functions, if you're a sample of what they offer these days. I’m Bart Lyon, the Baron of Rangeford, and you…..”

  Nial delivered a right hook aimed at the man’s overly seductive smile, which disappeared quickly enough. As he delivered his physical message, he said, “She is someone you need never think about again. If you forget the fact that you ever saw this display you might live long enough to regret never knowing her.”

  Rangeford blotted his bloody lip but paused to burst out laughing. “Forget such a prime show, mate? Not bloody likely.” He accompanied his words with motion, heading towards the enticing female. His steps took him out the door instead thanks to Nial plowing him in that direction.

  The other gentleman opened his mouth to speak but shut it again when the Scot turned to him with such a distraught expression on his face that he paused.

  Nial said, “For the love of God, man, we haven’t much time until someone else sees her!”

  Bascombe lifted his right brow and quirked a quick grin. “And what a tragedy that would be, I gather.”

  “Go and get Boz’s handkerchief. Now!”

  "Now see here, I don't take orders from anyone, anywhere and certainly not in my own damned home." The Englishman looked aghast at the mere notion.

  "Bascombe?" Nial asked and at the man's nod, he said, "Aren't you hosting this ball to introduce your new Scottish bride?"

  At the reminder, Bascombe nodded and smiled. "Yes, indeed. I do have a certain partiality to things Scottish just now. That fact alone, wouldn't motivate me to help as quickly as another -- I recognize the look of a man who's just gone under for the third time, having recently been in that very condition, myself. Boz? Do you mean Sedgewick?”

  “Yes, man and hurry. For pity’s sake close the door,” he yelled as the other man left the study in what was, for an Earl, a ripping hurry.

  The Earl turned back, but Nial threw himself against it, yelling, “Never mind. I’ve got it. Go man!”

  Bascombe rushed through the ballroom and paused for only a moment at his wife’s frown.

  Miranda asked, “What on earth are you doing? Where have you been?”

  Bascombe replied, “Sorry, love. I’ll explain it all in a minute. I’m in a tearing hurry to find a duke to tell him that an insane Scot in my study demands his handkerchief.”

  Miranda looked at him as though he were insane, and he promised again to give her the full story later, and tore off, having spotted his target.

  Boz stood with Bonnie and Carrick and tried to look like he meant it when he assured them he was certain Nial and Heather had been detained. Bonnie didn't look like she believed a word out of his mouth. Of course, it's tough to pitch an excuse you don't buy.

  “I tell you, Carrick, he nearly ravished her in the house with all of us watching,” Bonnie’s motherly dander still prickled at the memory.

  Surprisingly, Carrick, who should have been irate, soothed his wife, patting her shoulder as he said, “Now, sweet. I’m sure Heather is fine.”

  “Fine? He looked like he was going to eat her up, right in the foyer for goodness sake!” Bonnie said, "I mean, I'm understanding and all that but enough is enough."

  Boz couldn’t help choking on a swallow of wine as Laird MacIver bit his lip to keep from laughing at his wife’s choice of words. Sedgewick would bet the profits from his next shipping venture that his pal had already enjoyed that meal.

  “What’s so funny? Carrick MacIver, are you trying to tell me that you would not care if some man is cavorting with your unmarried daughter?”

  “Honestly, sweetheart, so long as that man is Nial, then I have no worries. It would be easier to toss the Cuillins into the sea than to change the intentions of a Maclee laird who has found his fate. Honorable? There is not a word quite strong enough to describe that man’s determination to marry our daughter. I just choose to consider him my son-in-law today and view his claiming her publicly as enough for now.”

  “Hummph. A claim does not a wedding vow make,” she turned to her husband, between anxious glances at the door, rounding up a good head of steam that was interrupted by the hurried arrival of James Finchley, the Earl of Bascombe who panted for breath from his deft sprint.

  “Quick, Sedgewick, give me your handkerchief.”

  “I beg your pardon,” Boz protested the unusual request. “In a mansion this size you must have at least one of your own bloody handkerchiefs.”

  “Not for me, for the crazy Scot. Don’t know why it had to be your handkerchief but…”

  “Nial is here? Why in God’s name does he need my handkerchief?” He found the request bizarre, but just then he spotted Rangeford’s jaw, which was being cooed over by a lithe blonde. “Is Nial hurt? Did he get into a fight with Rangeford?”

  Lady MacIver demanded, “What has he done with Heather?”

  The sight of his bride whirling by in a tall man’s arms distracted Bascombe, and the duke had to nudge him to remind him of the topic at hand. “Lord preserve me from ever being afflicted with the malady called love. James, damn it James!”

  “Oh, Sedgewick. Yes, look, the crazy Scot is perfectly healthy, although I can’t say the same for Rangeford. Apparently, Bart’s interest in the tempting brunette armful was too much for him. Anyway, the Scot is in the study, and I believe he may actually be holding the door shut. I am quite confident the brunette is with him, because there is no force I know of that would get him to let her out of his sight – at least not while she looked like that. Now if you will excuse me, I must go remind that chap holding my wife that she is taken,” Bascombe said, wandering off with a determined look.

  Boz hurried away to the study, with an amused Carrick and a worried Bonnie hard on his heels. He tried the door but sure enough, it opened a scant inch or so before a body leaning against it slammed it back shut.

  He knocked hard, almost hard enough for his knuckles to crash through the wood. "Open the door, you idiot.”

  Nial opened it an eyes-width and peered outside. Then he extended a hand through the crack. “You didn’t have to come yourself. I just need your handkerchief.”

  Shaking his head in astonishment that his friend thought he was just going to amble away in the face of such outlandish behavior, Sedgewick got foot in the crack before Nial could close the door. “Back away, buddy, we’re coming in.”

  “We,” did not penetrate. He heard only that another man wanted to see his lady while there was entirely too much of her to see. “Hell, no you’re not coming in here. There is no way you’re going to see her until I …”

  Boz pushed his way forward, and the MacIvers followed him into the room. None of them could get to Heather, because at the first entry, Nial shot across the room to stand protectively in front of her.

  The gesture didn’t sit well at all with Lady MacIver. “What have you done to my daughter, you bloody oaf? Why do you need a handkerchief? Is there blood? Have you hit her? If you've hurt her so help me I don’t care what chaos it will plunge Skye into, I will kill you with my own hands.”

  Nial�
��s temper had snapped long ago. “My Heather is physically fine and if you were a man insinuating I would ever lay an angry hand on my mate I'd toss you out the window in little pieces. So you better back off. In fact, I've got a few questions and you and your husband damned well better have the right answers. What in the name of all that’s holy possessed you to allow her to leave the house looking like this? Tell me lady, did you encourage her to display her wares in order to have every man in this building beating a path to seek her hand?”

  That possibility carried the younger laird back to his nightmares. He glared accusingly at Carrick who gave up trying to pretend not to be amused. The older man grinned while Maclee growled, “I can promise you that Heather is mine in every way a woman can belong to a man and…”

  “Nial. Shut up,” Heather’s voice emerged from behind him. “You’re embarrassing me.”

  He ignored her to continue to berate the couple, and after hearing her daughter’s voice and having some assurance she was all right, Bonnie joined her husband in his grin.

  Nial wasn’t through though. There would be no misunderstandings about this. “So lady, if you think to add some fancy English title to the family tree let me disabuse you of that notion. You let another man see Heather, speak to her, or God forbid, court her and I’ll take her so far away none of you will ever lay eyes on her again.”

  "I know from personal experience that a Scot in love can be as prickly and possessive as a mother grizzly bear guarding her young – and as dangerous. I'm trying to remember that you love my daughter and restrain my impulse to hit you over the head with an inkwell, a desk chair or perhaps a nice heavy book." Bonnie eyed the heavy volumes on the third shelf of the bookcase longingly as she sighed.

  “Answer me lady,” demanded the grizzly.

  “We don’t object to your courtship of our daughter. I admit that I did not see what she was wearing before she left the house but I’m confident she wouldn’t wear anything improper.”

  “Indeed?” questioned Nial, who moved aside so that the others could finally see Heather, even if none of them could get to her. “Then how do you explain that garment?”

  Carrick looked shocked. Bonnie looked a little surprised.

  Unfortunately, Boz experienced an absolutely male moment of sensual appreciation before he collected himself enough to shutter his gaze. He was fast, but not fast enough.

  “Bloody hell,” Nial said, raking back his hair before he leapt over to his cousin to throw a punch, but the duke warded him off by waving his silky black handkerchief like a flag of surrender.

  Softly, as he handed the cloth over, Boz said, “You need to gain some control. You damn well know you don’t have to worry about me. When she leaves this room is another matter. Men are men, and you can’t expect them to act like turtles. So long as appreciative looks is as far as it goes, you’ll just have to cram your fists in your pockets and put up with it. Okay?”

  Nial nodded but didn’t speak. His expression showed that speech was beyond him. He strode over to Heather and pulled out his own black silk handkerchief, which was a twin of his cousin’s. He turned his back to the others to stuff the cloths down the neckline of the gown. The fingers trying to arrange the cloths kept grazing her nipples, so Heather flushed beet red but still responded helplessly to his touch each time.

  Heather watched him displaying all the signs of a man beset with jealousy. She smiled sadly. "We'll get to the truth tonight one way or another. It may take more than I thought though. I hadn't expected your talent to extend this far. You’re good, Nial. You’re very good.”

  “No, we’re good together. If you’d just let me get you out of here to somewhere private I could work on reminding you that I don’t need any help to want you in the most hellishly constant way imaginable.” As he took her mouth he mumbled against her lips, “Those claws of passion never let me rest, sweetheart.” He kissed her like a drowning man grabbing his lifeline. He nibbled on her lower lip until her mouth opened and his tongue dueled with hers, thrusting and parrying, imitating and arousing the part of him that needed to thrust and parry with her so very badly.

  The kiss went on and on, and soon the other three were more than a little uncomfortable. This time, all of the throat clearing and coughing in the world didn’t work, so Bonnie finally stepped over and tapped him on the back and he lifted his head to reveal eyes clouded with desire that blinded him to all else.

  “Heather,” Bonnie said, reaching for her daughter’s hand and pulling her around Nial. Then she removed the cloths and tossed them on the floor. “If you ever tire of being a laird, Nial, I would not recommend that you go into fashion.” She led her daughter toward the door, saying that they were going to the powder room. Heather gave her mother a small smile of gratitude at giving her a few moments away from Nial’s overpowering presence. It was not to be however, as he followed on their heels.

  To get to the powder room, they had to skirt the edge of the ballroom, and after about four steps men surrounded Heather, clamoring for her attention. Nial grabbed her hand and led her away without saying a word, unless a growl counted. The light of battle in his eyes announced his hope that someone would be stupid enough to step close to his lady again. The duke and the MacIver followed and exchanged a comment about the unusual dose of wisdom among the men of the ton that evening.

  When Nial rounded the corner holding tightly to Heather with Bonnie trailing just behind, they nearly bumped into Geoff. He wasn’t afflicted with the rare wisdom that had arisen so unexpectedly amongst the other men, and blocked their progress. “Heather, my sweet. You're a vision of loveliness. Your charms make a man ponder the possibilities.” Then he grabbed her hand to lift it to his lips, but Nial snatched it back and planted an elbow in the bounder’s ribs. The elbow had him gasping for breath, and out of sorts enough to allow Nial to escort the ladies further down the hall to the door of the powder room.

  By then Badgerton had recovered physically, but sadly was still no wiser, for he strode toward Nial with clenched fists. “Heather will be mine and you had better not lay so much as a hand on her, you bloody heathen Scot.”

  Laird Maclee squared his shoulders and looked the other man in the eyes. "Let me state this clearly enough for even a silly fop to understand. She is already mine in every way a woman can belong to a man. We heathen Scots tend to take what we want, and we’re damned possessive about holding tight to what is ours. Make a move towards my lady and it might be your last this side of the grave.”

  Boz took Geoff’s arm and drug him out of harm’s way. Sedgewick tried to reason with his friend, but Geoff refused to listen. “I am telling you that Heather is not for you. She is his, and if you don’t leave her alone he really will kill you. That was not an idle threat.”

  “She can’t want him. He’ll drag her back to beyond nowhere and install her in some musty old castle to breed little heathens. I’ll keep her in London and give her the advantage of culture and all the whirl of activities each season. His boast about having known her is nothing but a desperate gambit of a man who knows he has no hope.”

  "He doesn't lie about his possession, " Boz insisted, but the other man still appeared unconvinced. "Watch them on the dance floor. Lips lie but physical proximity doesn't."

  The men watched the pair and Geoff's certitude that Heather retained her virginity took a few knocks. The posture the couple assumed on the dance floor was anything but traditional. Nial gathered her close and her hands started around his neck, but rested there only a second before she reached up to stroke his hair. That seemed safe enough, but when her hands played to the top of his head and he dipped down to accommodate her, his eyes opened wider at the feast of her breasts fully open to his rapt gaze. He snapped his eyes shut against the lure but his willpower was weak and his craving was strong. He opened them again, resentful at his inability to resist the sight that would only torment him more.

  As though his groan were a signal, her hands dipped down to his coat, and she li
cked her lips as she slowly unbuttoned it to slip her talented fingers inside where they began to torment his nipples through the thin linen of his shirt. Her light stroke awoke them to tighten and pucker, begging for a firmer touch, but she contented herself with teasing strokes, and as his involuntary arousal grew he drew her closer to his heating groin.

  The music showed signs of ending, and Geoff broke away from Boz’s restraining hand, saying, “I am going to break this up and get that bastard away from her.”

  Boz shook his head again at the stupidity of fools in love as Geoff appeared at Nial’s elbow as the song changed.

  “I believe this is my dance,” he said.

  Nial knew he was on a short fuse but he really didn’t want to make more of a spectacle of himself than Heather already had planned. Even so, there was not the slightest chance that any other man would hold her on the dance floor tonight when a male’s superior height gave him a view of treasure he'd already claimed. “No,” he said and prepared to twirl away, but Geoff reached out to try to stop him.

  “Since you lack any grasp of etiquette, I will do you the favor of informing you that you are only allowed three dances with a lady on any given night. You are one third through dancing with her already, assuming she would ever allow you to do so again,” Geoff gloated as he advised the other man that society's rules made his claim temporary.

  Heather liked the man and tried to avoid the coming scene. “It’s quite all right. I’m fine, and you have no need to concern yourself with me.”

  “On the contrary, my lady. Since your parents are either too naïve or too incompetent to teach this untrammeled heathen any manners, I must step forward to do so.”

  Nial appreciated the fire of temper in her eyes at the insult to her parents that the boor apparently thought would go unnoted. He didn’t appreciate the man’s interference, and said, “As you have pointed out several times tonight, I am a heathen Scot and proud of it. One of the rules of our culture is that a man holds what is his. I can assure you that I will hold Heather very closely tonight and every night after tonight until there are no more nights to count.”