A Faerie Fated Forever

by Mary Anne Graham

  “Will you all pray with me?” Now the poor man was truly befuddled. As one, the men put down their whiskey and assumed the same prayer posture.

  The father was amazed at seeing so many of those who rarely graced his church seeking prayer. He was glad to pray with them but he frankly had no idea what he should pray for.

  “Son,” Father McGiven began carefully, “I presume that you seek to pray that your coming marriage will be happy and fruitful?”

  Nial looked up, offended. “Hell no, father. Once I’m married to Heather, it will damned well be happy. It’s already been fruitful – she carries our child.”

  He hadn’t intended to say the latter. Neither he nor Heather had yet confirmed that Boz’s earlier sixth sense had been right. “Damn,” he muttered, “Heather wanted to announce that.”

  Carrick was as pleased as punch. “A grandchild? Bonnie and I are to be grandparents, hanh? Well, that was quick work, boy.”

  Pleased he’d been right, Boz gloated, saying, “Upon my word it looks like the Sedgewick sixth sense displays to advantage again." He could have bitten his tongue because Nial looked even more frantic at the words. He started tugging on Father McGiven’s arm again. The priest still looked perplexed that the father of the bride wasn’t trying to kill the groom who had anticipated his wedding vows.

  “Prayer, father?” Nial asked again.

  “Son,” the good man’s patience was at an end, “I’ll be happy to pray for just about anything with you, but it would help to know what it is you want me to pray for.”

  “Heather. Pray that she will arrive at the altar alive,” Nial’s tone grew more tense as the minutes ticked by.

  “Is there some possibility she will not arrive alive, son?” The priest inquired.

  “Yes. They’re making me leave her. As long as I have her with me she will be okay, but they’re making me leave her.” Nial’s panic was really starting to piss Carrick off. He tried not to look pissed off because it was probably a cardinal sin to be pissed off while you were praying.

  “Very well, son. We will pray that Heather arrives at the chapel alive and that she continues to be hale and hearty and lives to a ripe old age.” Diplomacy made the priest add the rest, because Laird MacIver’s temper was nothing to be sneezed at and he was clearly becoming irate.

  “Just pray that she gets to the chapel alive. Once she’s back with me, I’ll not let her out of my sight until the threat has passed. And maybe not then either,” Nial added for good measure.

  “Damn it, Nial,” Carrick began, but halted with a blush when the priest cleared his throat.

  Once the priest started praying, Nial wouldn’t let him stop. Father McGiven tried saying “Amen” five or six times, but each time, when the men started to rise the laird pushed the priest back down again. About an hour later, when Violet came downstairs because they had forgotten the “something borrowed,” she watched for a few minutes before she tiptoed back upstairs with wide eyes.

  “What are the men doing?” Bonnie asked, as she stood behind Heather brushing her hair.

  “They are praying and Nial won’t let them stop.”

  “What’s so funny about that?”

  “The more they pray, the madder Carrick gets. It’s the first time I saw a man on his knees in prayer who looked like he was contemplating murder.” When Vi laughed this time, all the ladies joined in.

  After an hour and a half in prayer, the priest started getting desperate. When he began to pray, “God please allow my knees to hold out long enough to perform the wedding,” Nial finally relented and allowed him to get up. He moved faster than he had in years to exit the dwelling, because the laird looked like he was about to call for prayer again when he saw the black robe hightailing it out the front door.

  The men started pressing Nial to have a drink, and he issued the proclamation that none of them should be drinking today, especially Laird MacIver.

  “Why is that?” Carrick got right in Maclee’s face when he asked the question.

  “Because I don’t want your aim to be off,” Nial’s shouted his reply.

  “Son, I’ve been putting reins on my temper because I don’t want to deliver my daughter to the alter to marry a man with two black eyes and a swollen lip, but you are about to push me too far.”

  Then the other laird put a hand on his arm and looked at him with love and fear brimming from his eyes as he said, “I’m sorry, sir. It’s just that I’m so very worried about her.” The MacIver’s temper visibly cooled. It was impossible to hold onto a good jolt of ire, no matter how well deserved, when it was solely motivated by concern for your daughter.

  The shouting got so loud it was heard upstairs. Bonnie, seeking to avoid the men coming to blows or Nial finally succeeding in forcing all the others to strangle him, made her way downstairs. She looked at Boz, who was to serve as best man, and strongly suggested, “I think that you and Nial should depart now so you won’t be late to the service.”

  Sedgewick pulled out his pocket watch and glanced at it, and then he looked around the room at the hopeful expressions on every male face. He said, “She’s right. Let’s go and get you and Heather married.”

  Surely a star was added to his heavenly crown for not pointing out that it was still an hour away from the ceremony and the walk to the kirk wouldn’t take five minutes.

  He practically had to drag his cousin out the door. With every step he kept turning around to say, “You will watch out for her? You will be careful?” At the end, Boz pretty much pushed the anxious groom outside.

  ******

  As they walked down the stairs, Nial said, “I guess I’m a little worried. I’m driving everyone daft, aren’t I?”

  “They passed daft a while back. I think they were contemplating murder by the time we got out of there.” He knew he would be able to torment his cousin for years with jabs about his insane behavior, provided that he managed to get hitched without Heather dying.

  Nial stopped to lean against a tree, which was likely a good thing because he really didn’t look too steady on his feet. The particular tree he chose had a view of the window of his room and he stood gazing at it, moonstruck in the middle of the afternoon. When Heather appeared for a moment, he blew a kiss.

  “I love her so much. You hear about how love will sneak up and blindside you but until it happens, you just don’t understand how it is. Just wait, it’ll be your turn next,” he teased, and he worked for a rather manic grin.

  “Not me, my friend. After watching what you’ve gone through in the name of love, I’m planning to look for a nice little English chit I can marry and ignore. I’ll get her with child and then continue on with my mistresses and my clubs and forget all about her,” Boz said, but in his mind’s eye flashed a vision of a girl with straight black hair and purple eyes.

  They resumed walking but Boz stopped suddenly, struggling for balance as the landscape whirled around him like a storm-tossed ship. He grabbed the trunk of a tree for balance as faint hues of green tinged his complexion. The import didn’t escape Nial.

  “Jesus, are you nauseous?”

  He couldn’t lie to Nial. “Yes, I am.”

  “Just now? Did it start just now?”

  “No. It actually started a few minutes ago. It’s getting worse now.” He said, putting out a restraining hand to Nial, who turned to dash back to the house. “You can’t go back there and grab her away from her family because that would tell the world that you don’t trust her father. You would start your marriage off with a father-in-law who believes you think him weak which would be bad enough with any man, but it would be the kiss of death to tell another laird you don’t think he can protect his own daughter.”

  Nial paused, but unwillingly. He squeezed his eyes shut, unwilling to reveal so much of his soul to anyone. Sedgewick said nothing further, knowing he had made his case. The other man’s thoughts whirled frantically, and his conclusion was in his eyes when they snapped open. It was also in his posture because he co
ped by becoming the laird. He stiffened, threw back his shoulders and steeled his gaze as he turned toward the kirk, making a sweeping motion with his hand.

  “Shall we?” He asked levelly.

  They walked on to the kirk where the laird greeted Father McGiven somberly. The man was surprised by his composure, but the twinkling in his eyes conveyed his belief that he didn’t expect it to last. He generally spoke with couples before the ceremony, and he had spoken with the lovely bride a few minutes earlier.

  “Laird Maclee, I must be certain that you appreciate the import of the ceremony that will occur today. I impress this upon you particularly for your love of cavorting with the ladies is well known to me. Today you will promise me to give yourself only to your bride until one of you dies. That is a vow before God and I must have your word that you will keep it.”

  Just that quickly, the priest’s words shredded the remnants of his control. A flare of fear glinted from Nial’s eyes. He intended to keep faith with Heather for the rest of their days. But how many would they number? Nial whirled wildly and the priest caught his arm, ignoring the whispered word of caution from his kinsman. He was a man of God and would not shirk his duty.

  "Son,” the father’s stern voice called, “I must have your pledge that you will keep faith with your wife or I’ll not give you the vows.”

  The laird slammed the cleric against the wall of the chapel. “You braying ass, how dare you question my keeping of any vow, much less the one I have prayed my whole life to be able to take? I’ve no concern about the vows, merely a very pressing desire to get them said.”

  Aware that the laird expected trouble, the priest was glad to escape the man’s clutches by ducking under his arm and scurrying away, as he said that he would check to be sure that all was in readiness for the ceremony.

  Boz shook his head at his friend. “Attacking the priest is one of the less bright acts I’ve ever seen you commit.”

  “I know. I just want this over. I need this to be over with Heather beside me. The man is worried that I will be unfaithful to my wife? That concern is both paltry and needless. I am physically incapable of mating with any other woman.”

  The corners of Nial’s mouth stretched into a tight smile at his cousin’s surprise. “If Heather should…” He stopped, unable to voice the thought specifically, and tried again. “If anything happens to her, one way or another, my days as a man are done.”

  Nial turned to stare anxiously at the pathway that the bride would not walk down for a good fifteen or twenty minutes. Boz excused himself to slip inside to comfort the priest, because there was a limit to how much of Nial’s uncharacteristic anxiety even he could take. At a tap on his arm, the laird turned to find Calum at his elbow.

  “I hear that today you will step into the trap with the mouse you schemed so hard to shun. I was called away by family illness and have missed the sweeping events leading up to this calamity. Truthfully, you do not look like a happy man. Tell me, is this wedding an occasion for joy or mourning?”

  “Calum,” Nial’s eyes lit up at his friend, “It’s good to have you back. I have been concerned over what had befallen you. I’ve not seen you since the night I made the single biggest mistake of my life.”

  “Sorcha? Well, when you mate with a snake you might get bitten. I do not see her about. Yet I suppose it is not unexpected that she might mourn your wedding even as she counts the days awaiting your return to her bed.”

  Nial gave a genuine snort of laughter, “Were she capable of counting still, she would tally days without number on that score. She will trouble us no more.”

  He had heard the story of course, but would have enjoyed hearing it from Nial’s lips. He couldn’t press the man for that today of all days. He would hear him state his feelings for Heather, however. “Do you avoid my inquiry? How did the elders manage to press you into this marriage?"

  The laird gave a real smile at that question. “On the contrary, my friend. ‘Tis I who have been pressing and pushing. This day has been far too long in coming for me. Heather is the one. She is my fated love and this day I join with her forever. I assure you, celebration will abound.”

  Calum took the news calmly, and no hint of his inner emotion showed in his face as he said, “Good, good. Well, I suppose I shall see you after the vows.” He turned and walked into the kirk quickly, taking a seat on the back pew.

  Nial resumed his pacing and his gazing at the path. He was still at it when Boz came outside to tell him it was time to join the father before the altar. The laird resisted his friend’s tugs and attempts to shepherd him inside. He had no claim to a sixth sense of any kind, but something urged him not to take his eyes off the path.

  “She will be escorted by her father. Guards are everywhere. Surely she will be fine. The guests are growing restless as the organist and the bagpiper have been playing for some time. You must come inside.” His tug was again resisted, so he reached for the heavy artillery. “You are here today to give your bride and her family the ceremony they desire. In that ceremony, the groom awaits the bride at the altar. You must come inside now.”

  With greater reluctance than Boz had ever seen him show, Nial nodded and slowly made his way to the door. His tread slow and labored, he walked to the altar like an old man. The guests began to glance around uncertainly. None of them had ever seen the laird like this. All had seen or heard of the couple’s love and commitment to each other. Laird Maclee had been open enough about his feelings. What was this about?

  It was an anxious group of three who waited at the altar and Nial’s face grew more grim with each second that passed.

  ******

  At the house, Heather prepared to step outside on her father’s arm. Her mother had walked ahead so Carrick paused for one last moment alone with his little lass who would become a wife today.

  “I should ask you if this is what you want and if you are certain. I have the feeling that is not necessary and my concern would be misplaced. Is that true, Heather?”

  Heather radiated happiness in her wedding finery. She refused to wear the dress hurriedly tailored for her by the London clothiers. She wore the ancient dress that brides of the Clan MacIver had worn for countless years. The fabric and lace was aged to a deep creamy hue that suited all of the shades of brown in her hair, and set off her golden eyes as though it had been crafted for her alone. The joy on her face answered her father's question before she spoke.

  “I love Nial and I always have. I am still amazed that he loves me, but his actions have made it impossible to doubt his feelings. There is no concern, father, unless it is that my groom shall die of anxiety before the ceremony is done.”

  “Daughter I suddenly find myself not at all anxious to give you away. However, I agree that your groom is terribly anxious to take you. In fact, I am a little surprised he hasn’t barged over to carry you to the kirk. Never saw a man in quite such a hurry to wed. Ready, little girl?” Carrick asked as he held the door and took her arm for the short walk to the chapel.

  ******

  Inside the chapel, the change in music heralded the beginning of the ceremony. Nial panted for breath as he gripped the banister of the altar to keep from running to get his bride. Bonnie swept into the chapel and was seated. Heather would be next.

  His eyes fixed upon the door but sudden agitated movement beside him caused him to look at his best man. Boz bent in half, doubled over, clutching his stomach. Nial stopped breathing. Boz waved his hand toward the door.

  Nial forgot to let go of the banister when he turned to dash out of the chapel. He heard the sound of wood breaking when he took a piece of the altar with him as he nearly flew to the chapel door. He jerked it open and ran outside.

  CHAPTER TWENTY ONE

  Heather and her Father were laughing over how frantic Nial had been on the way to the kirk. When they rounded the last curve she stumbled over a stone. They were in sight of the kirk when she realized she had dropped her bouquet as she stumbled. Carrick ran back to r
etrieve it. She stood alone and unguarded for only a matter of seconds, but it was only seconds that the man awaiting her needed.

  He darted out from behind the Dule tree she'd just passed. He drug her over to it and put the tree at his back. She covered him from the front. He fished for something under his jacket and she felt cold metal pressing against her right breast. By the time she opened her mouth to scream, Nial erupted from the kirk, leaping down the entire flight of stairs to land on his feet, only a short distance away.

  "Hello, again, my friend," Calum said, spitting the word out like the vilest of insults. "Planning to call your warriors? None of them can help you now. The time for their help would have been during the search, when the lads confiscated all the weapons. Or should I say, most of the weapons. They allowed me to keep mine, for they believed me to be one of them still, a loyal little soldier. 'Twas easy to gammon them, you see."

  Nial gulped. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Carrick come to a lurching halt, clutching Heather's bouquet in his left hand, while his right hand lingered uselessly where Nial's did - on the butt of pistols they could not draw.

  "Ahh, Papa is here now, too. Isn't that nice, Heather? Your father has made it in time for the grand finale," Calum said, as he veered the barrel of the pistol up and down between her exposed cleavage. "Neither of them will risk drawing their weapons, you see. They know that my finger is right on the trigger. One nervous tick and then, bang - you'd be dead. They can kill me and doubtlessly they will, but in the end, 'twill matter not at all."

  Nial heard the sound of running feet and knew without looking that armed warriors from two clans stood with weapons poised and useless. Heather shivered and her eyes sought his for strength he wished he had. He held her gaze as he spoke to the man who now rubbed the barrel under the neckline of Heather's dress. "What is the meaning of this, Calum?"

  Heather gave a squeal as the cold metal ventured further into her garment, but forced herself to hush when she saw the affect her distress had on Nial's composure. Calum noticed as well. "Oh, how sweet. Little Heather is being brave so that her beloved knight in shining armor doesn't get upset. Some bloody knight he turned out to be, ehh, sweetness? Look at him, the metal of my pistol plays where his mouth has surely cavorted many times and he stands as helpless as a lamb led to the slaughter. Ahh, but 'tis not he who shall face that fate. His death would be too fast and too noble. He'd far rather die a hero than face life without you."