A Faerie Fated Forever

by Mary Anne Graham

  Then with a gentleness that belied her words, she shepherded the latest female to be evicted from their houseguest’s bed to her room to change. By now, she didn’t really have to listen to them at all, she merely murmured, “It will be all right dear,” and “It's his loss, it really is,” at scattered intervals. She got this one out the front door in less than half an hour, besting her record time by nearly six minutes. Then she sent the elderly housemaid �� the only one who wouldn’t sigh, touch or generally make a nuisance of herself -- to Nial’s room with yet another bedspread.

  Downstairs, the duke had just resettled himself to his correspondence when the butler announced more visitors. “Damn. Please send whatever English rose has appeared on our doorstep to offer comfort away. I wonder how much bedsport my cousin had before he found his fate and swore off the game.”

  “Sir,” the Butler insisted, “I believe that Laird Maclee may want to see this one. A pretty brown-haired lass and her father.”

  “Why didn’t you say so? Summon Nial and show them in please. Tell him Heather is here,” Boz said, as he rounded his desk to offer Carrick a drink.

  “This is an unexpected late evening visit, Laird MacIver,” Boz commented, as he rounded the bar and poured the other man a whiskey. MacIver didn’t have time to reply before Nial ran into the room, his bare feet and open shirt attesting to his haste. He didn’t question the unexpected bounty of his love’s appearance, he simply opened his arms and she ran into them.

  He took her mouth passionately, completely disregarding the presence of the others in the room. When the kiss ended, he scooped her up in his arms and took three steps toward the stairs before he said, “Damn,” and retraced his steps. He turned to the laird. “Did you bring Heather to me, sir?”

  The Scot laughed loudly at the inquiry, made only after the presumption. “I thought you might require some explanation of why a father would deliver his unmarried daughter to the bed of a lover but I see that is not really necessary.”

  Nial’s eyes went serious as he turned to the other laird, without loosing his death grip on Heather. “Laird MacIver, I hope it is not necessary for me to again assure you of the complete honorability of my intentions towards your daughter. I….”

  Carrick held up a hand. “Nial, that is not necessary. I would sum it up this way. If this wedding must take place at the point of a gun, it will not be my hand holding the weapon. Is that a pretty good summary, son?”

  Nial grinned and only paused briefly as he headed upstairs with his treasure. “I’ve been polishing my pistol so it’ll shine brightly just in the event the need should arise, sir.”

  He asked the lady in his arms. “Why have you come, love?”

  “I didn’t want to see you the next time over the hilt of a sword. ”

  “You are not coming tomorrow. Do you hear me?” Nial said firmly. “I want you far away from weapons and bloodshed.”

  “I will be with you.”

  “We’ll discuss it upstairs, love.”

  The other two waited for the bedroom door to close.

  Carrick turned to the duke. “Would you care to bet against Heather talking him into letting her come?”

  Sedgewick shook his head no. “I'd never bet against a sure thing. Begging your pardon, sir, but she'll have his promise to take her before she lets him put his sword in her sheath.”

  Carrick downed the rest of his drink and grimaced slightly. "We really don't need to discuss the details."

  "Sorry," Boz said, with an unrepentant grin.

  Less than an hour later, Heather’s talented tongue had tormented the sword in question with relentless ferocity for about ten minutes as she repeatedly asked, “Can I come?”

  He replied “No” each time.

  Showing no mercy, she switched her attention to his balls. After about five minutes of that his tarse thrust upward impotently at each swipe of her tongue below. His entire body shook with need as her attention filled his erection to straining insistence.

  When she asked the question again, his crumbling restraint was clear. “You don’t really want to see it, sweetheart.”

  She smiled victoriously and moved to position her crotch just out of reach of his thrusting, twitching staff. “If you are dueling in my honor, love of my life, I want to be there. Let me come and I’ll let you do the same.”

  He gritted his teeth as he half-snarled, half-hissed the word, “Yesss.” He hissed it again in an entirely different tone as her tight throbbing portal of paradise enclosed the penitent finally permitted to enter within. Short moments later, her moans of satisfaction as loud as his, they entered the Promised Land simultaneously.

  Very early the next morning as his squire completed the polishing and sharpening and he inspected his blade, he still tried to gain her agreement to stay home. He gave up entirely and surrendered to laughter when she asked, “Tell me, sweetheart, if I were going to battle another wench at sword point for you, is there any way you would miss it?”

  ******

  A few miles away, Badgerton, Ricefield and Erving paced circles around each other. Sedgewick’s physician stood by with his assistant prepared to render any necessary medical attention.

  "How would you call it?" The assistant asked while he and his boss watched the circling anxiety of the English continent.

  "I suspect that any services we render will be to Badgerton and not to the duke’s kinsman." The Doctor examined his black bag as he spoke.

  "I can't get over the number of ladies present. Why ever would their husbands or fathers allow them to attend such an event?"

  "The presence of the ladies testifies to Maclee's popularity with the fair sex. It also shows that their men believe this will be a contest of wills rather than a bloodbath," the doctor summarized.

  "Have you placed any bets?" The assistant queried, thinking of his own.

  The good doctor winked as several local businessmen approached. He bent to his the other man, just before they arrived. "I've a good sized wager on the Scot placed on the books at Whites."

  Across the field, Geoff examined his blade yet again as he said, “It appears that my cowardly opponent will not even appear.” A man in the crowd shouted out a reminder that they weren’t due for another ten minutes.

  Badgerton returned to examining his blade. It was the sort of weapon designed for show. He tossed it in the air and caught it to the cheers of the crowd, and practiced with Ricefield. It was a cool morning, but perspiration already dotted his face as he fenced with his friend. They stopped to stare down the road at the sounds heralding the arrival of a carriage. The coat of arms showed it to be Standing’s carriage, and Geoff smiled in anticipation of a few moments with Heather before the bastard arrived.

  Out of the carriage came Carrick, Bonnie, John, Peter and Vivian. Geoff waited, but Heather did not appear and the coachman drove away to park. About five minutes later a coach bearing the coat of arms of the Duke of Sedgewick appeared. Maclee got out and leapt down before turning around to assist Heather. Damnation! Had she spent the night with the bounder?

  Bassingate served as monitor, and he summoned the principals who drew lots for standing spots. Nial returned to Heather as the seconds were summoned, and Carrick and Boz moved away to mark his standing spot. Careful measurements were made by all of the seconds to insure that the allotted two feet remained between the points. The pair then produced Nial’s sword and the other seconds produced Badgerton’s. The blades were measured and determined to be of equal length, even if one looked shiny and stylish and the other bore scars and marks.

  The monitor summoned the combatants and Nial held up a finger, asking for a moment and Bassingate nodded. He turned to Boz and Carrick. “All I have to do today is cross swords with a man who believes them to be toys. For you, I save the hard work. I ask that you keep a restraining hand on my lovely fiancée. Under no circumstance do you release her, do you understand?”

  Boz said, “Since you will be holding a weapon, I merely ask that
you remember that my touch is first, that of a friend and second, is only at your insistence. Don’t laugh, Nial. I know how you get over her.”

  Nial held up a hand. “Admitted. I plead guilty to being a wee bit possessive of Heather.”

  “A wee bit?”

  “Okay. I’m head over heels in love with the woman and jealous of anyone she looks at. Are you happy?” Nial smiled at the admission, which was hardly news to either of the men.

  He turned to Heather and asked for a kiss for luck, and her embrace was so warm and inspiring that his other blade awoke again, demanding her attention. He was abashed at himself, for he had kept the woman awake most of the night, and they were late this morning because he couldn’t force himself to leave the bed without loving her again.

  He reluctantly kissed her hand as he walked away. With each step he assumed more of the Highland warrior, until he arrived at the marked center of the grounds bearing the countenance of a man who could challenge death and best it. Badgerton shifted as he recalled Nial’s words last night and acknowledged that he had never seen this side of the man before. This was a warrior and the bleak landscape of his eyes showed the years of battles he had fought.

  Bassingate commanded that their chests be bared to prove they wore no armor or hidden protection. Geoff hadn’t anticipated the audience, and found himself oddly reluctant to bare himself in comparison to the honed and seasoned body of the man who stood across from him. The barest quirk of his brows questioned Badgerton’s hesitation while Nial casually tossed his upper garments aside, leaving him wearing only his kilt.

  The man Geoff knew returned briefly when Heather found the murmurs of feminine appreciation intolerable. She shouted. “Shut up. The woman who issues the next moan or smack of the lips will be answering a challenge from me. Nial is mine. All mine. Only mine.” At her words, the fierce expression left Maclee’s face and the corners of his mouth turned up in a smile he quenched before it reached his eyes.

  Nial had to force the return of the warrior. He drew himself inward, to the place where a man had only a choice between death and survival. Badgerton’s seconds stood close behind him, with swords pointed downward, ready to intervene should a transgression of the rules occur. As Geoff bared his chest, he protested Nial’s seconds being so far away, stating that his concern was for “a fair fight.”

  Nial replied, “My seconds guard that which is most precious to me. I have no problem with the fairness of the numbers.” Nial had taken on numerous opponents from opposing clans before and had no fear that three callow Englishmen could overcome him.

  Bassingate cried, “Commence” and Badgerton began a series of thrusts, which Nial easily parried. At this point, he measured his opponent. He allowed Geoff to show off his vaults and passes and fancy footwork. Nial knew the moves that fencers considered apt swordplay, but he learned early that a stealthy quick thrust could kill easier than a choreographed showy one. In the Highlands, a warrior trying to show off the way the other man was would be lying dead before he completed his first series of moves.

  Geoff impressed the audience who rewarded him with murmurs of approval. Nial didn’t give a fig for the crowd; he cared only that Geoff’s maneuvers tired him without gaining him any ground in the battle. Badgerton's eyes proclaimed his intentions so Nial had little trouble warding off his thrusts. When Geoff’s frantic motions and showy displays slowed, Nial lunged forward steadily with blows designed to be parried, provided the other fighter had a great deal of energy.

  Nial shouted across to the other man. “Tell me Geoff, why do you want a woman who bears my brand? You would give your name and English estates to my son?”

  The other man’s movements became less guarded. “You turned her into a whore! You turned my Heather into your whore!”

  Nial’s smile sparked the man’s temper, and his words caused him to lose all reason. “She wears my ring and will shortly bear my name, so she is hardly a harlot. However, I will admit that were she forced to such a life,” he winked, “she would doubtless earn a fortune.”

  Geoff raised his sword high to deliver a deathblow in a move he trumpeted well before he made it. Nial swooped in and cut him lightly on his arm before stepping out of reach. Geoff’s sword was in a forceful downward motion that had his body behind it. Nial waited until the sword was at the lowest point of the arc, before kicking Badgerton's legs out from under him. Nial did not heed the choreographed dance designed by men who played with weapons.

  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 fian
cée. 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.