A Faerie Fated Forever

by Mary Anne Graham

  Panic flared in Nial's eyes. He suppressed it quickly, but not quickly enough.

  "That's right, my friend. Today your faerie fated forever is the lamb."

  "What do you want?" Nial asked, his voice carrying the terror he couldn't conceal any longer. "Whatever it is, we can arrange it. I give you my word."

  "Carte-blanche? And if I say I want your role? Will you entrust the Clan Maclee to me now, Nial?"

  Without blinking, without pausing, ignoring the hissed caution from Boz, Nial said, "Yes."

  "What if I want the clan and your life? Will you give me both?"

  Again the reply came, immediately. "Yes." Then a deep breath, a long pause and words that sounded more like a prayer. "Just let her go. I'll walk over and take her place. You can kill me and take over as laird. Just don't hurt Heather."

  "Stop," Calum said, halting Nial after a single step. "You'd trade the clan for her. You'd trade your life for hers. But I seek neither and need none of your arrangements that inevitably have you finishing at the head of the pack. You see, friend, what I want, you can't give me, for if you give it, I don't succeed. What do I want? Second place Calum shall finish first this time. I want to win. But if I'm to have only one victory against you, it must be the only one that matters."

  "Calum," Nial said, jerking his eyes from Heather's by dint of will alone. "You've been my closest friend for years. For God's sakes, we played together as children. We ran races on foot and horseback, we learned to fight together, we swived our first lasses together, we...."

  "And every time you won. You ran faster, your horses crossed the finish line first, you fought harder. And the lasses? Those not good enough for you anymore should do quite well for me, right? Well, not this time. Under the grief tree, Nial learns to lose." With his last word, Calum leapt around the lass, his arm already extended and he pulled the trigger.

  “Noooooo,” Nial shouted, leaping the second Calum moved but he still couldn't outrun or outpace the lead ball that slammed into Heather. She fell back with blood spurting from her chest. He heard the sound of several shots and then a cackle that melted into a grunt before the other man made no more noise. He didn’t have to look up to know that Calum was dead. The knowledge gave him no joy. His world had narrowed to the scope of one small woman lying in his arms.

  “Sweetheart, you promised you wouldn’t leave me. You promised. Now you have to hold on. I love you. You can’t leave me. Heather?” In his agitation the demand in his voice was unmistakable. He lost all grip on logic and his hold on sanity was fleeting. He bent closer as she spoke, covering her form with his own far too late to make a difference.

  “I love you too, don’t grieve for me. You must go on. Promise?” She asked in broken and barely audible words. Her eyes spoke louder and carried knowledge of her impending death. In her final moments, her world also narrowed to the man who clutched her like he'd hold her here by dint of his will alone. She had not a single doubt of his love for her, for his soul was in his eyes, as he unreasonably resisted the efforts of Mac, the elderly healer who had spent most of his strength parting the crowd to kneel beside the bride.

  At Mac’s repeated urgings Nial finally moved away just enough to allow the healer to attend her, but he didn't leave her side. He held her hand against his heart while the elder examined her and his lips moved ceaselessly saying words even Mac couldn’t hear. Only Heather knew the words were a prayer to a God he couldn’t believe in a moment later when Mac slowly straightened and looked at him with eyes as bleak as the message of the impending death they delivered.

  He held his world and rocked her gently while he crooned words of love so tender that the crowd stepped back a pace. Tears flowed freely from his eyes as he bit his trembling lower lip to try to hold back the sobs that could only make this harder for her. His gaze met Carrick’s and then Bonnie’s, and he saw that her parents had already begun to mourn. Then he saw Boz, and hope had left his gaze too. All three cried quietly.

  A thin trickle of blood emerged from Heather’s mouth and Nial lost his battle to hold back his wrenching sobs. The sobs were expelled against the swelling stream of blood as he whispered against her parted lips, “Sweetheart? Heather, you promised. Don’t leave me. You won’t leave me here alone, will you?”

  “Nial,” she mouthed, the power of speech gone from her, “you must go on without me.”

  The large crowd was completely quiet. Even the wind stilled. Nial felt the light of hope leaving as life drained from the woman who held his heart. His hands clutched his chest, as he felt the pain of her loss in waves like an ever-tightening fist gripping his heart. That was when he felt it laying next to his heart where he had carried it every day since his father passed it to him as his last act on earth.

  He backed away from Heather who was beyond feeling anything, as consciousness left her in these final moments. He stood, and his eyes met the puzzled gaze of Boz. Nial’s trembling fingers pulled the ancient pouch from the pocket next to his heart as his thoughts dwelled on the long ago ancestor who waved the flag to save a herd of dying cattle. He'd touched it rarely. The first time had been when his father explained its purpose, the next to toss it to the witch who bought her death by touching the flag forbidden to all but the laird. The last time had been to unfold it when he proposed to the faerie fated forever he'd found and won and by God should be able to keep. He'd never waved it to summon the faeries. His eyes veered to the elders.

  “No. Laird Maclee. You can not.” Eaoseph spoke for the group, united in opposition. “The next use of the flag will be the last. If she dies it will be a tragedy, surely, but her death will not threaten the Clan Maclee. Our clan will survive whether or not she does. Only one use remains and it must serve the good of all. The life of this one woman is a matter of personal import to you and not of survival to the clan. Using the flag for this woman would violate your oath of duty to your clan. If you use the flag for the selfish purpose you contemplate you betray us all.”

  Nial's fingers barely paused as he spoke. “If Heather dies, two will be buried in her plot and no hand of my family shall survive to wave the flag.” The gasps of the crowd did not deter his words. “If Heather dies then the Laird of the Clan Maclee will die by his own hand immediately after her.” The voice that had been so shaky as he bent over his dying lady a moment earlier was now firm and certain as he ignored the mutters of “blasphemy” and “he wouldn’t” to continue. “Heather and I are one heart and one soul. For me to try to live without her would be the act of a fool. If she dies today, so do I.”

  With his final words, he pulled the navy fabric from the pouch. Like the immortal lady who had gave it so long ago, the fabric had not aged a day and looked newly woven. He waved the faerie flag three times, loudly speaking the words drilled into him by his father, words he never thought he would have to say.

  “The Clan Maclee has need of the faeries to save it from sure and certain destruction. I call upon the sidhe for the promised help. Faeries appear. Faeries appear. FAERIES APPEAR.” His last cry was lost in the crash of thunder that accompanied the appearance of the regal King of the Faeries. Beside him, garbed in the glorious green that had won the heart of Ian Maclee generations ago, stood the Princess of the Faeries. Surrounding them a vast number of warriors perched in battle posture, weapons at the ready.

  “Why have you summoned us this day, Laird Maclee?” asked the King, haughtily.

  In the presence of such power Nial reacted with the stubborn refusal to recognize any man as his superior that was the hallmark of the Highlander. In a demanding tone, he replied, “My lady lies mortally wounded. Use your faerie magic to heal her.”

  After a long silence, the King replied, “We decline.”

  Heather’s breathing changed, growing irregular and intermittent. It came forth, when she managed it, with a loud clatter.

  “The death rattle,” the King observed calmly.

  In a still surly tone Nial said, “Damn you. She is my faerie fated love. As you w
ell know, the lairds of my clan continue to labor under your curse. I know you have watched my efforts to win her back. I know you have thrown obstacles in my path and laughed as you watched me struggle with them. Yet I won her love and her heart and she is to pledge me her future today. You must heal her!”

  The King folded his arms over his chest implacably. “We are not motivated by demands, Laird Maclee.”

  Heather gave a long broken breath, exhaled with a coughing spasm and spurts of bright red. Nial forgot everything else and ran to her, collapsing beside her and wrapping her in his arms, willing her to draw another breath. It was a long time before the next one came and it emerged with a moan of pain as a small stream of blood began to fall from her nose. Nial’s composure visibly crumbled and he buried his face against the wound in her chest as his entire body shook with his sobs.

  “Laird Maclee?” He had to say the name several times before he succeeded in gaining the man’s attention again.

  Nial stood on shaky legs to hobble towards the Faerie King. He was drenched in Heather’s blood, but his eyes retained a little of the stubborn laird as he spoke. “Please. Please help her. Please, “ He faced the King full on and said, “Please help me. I can’t live without her.”

  “We might, mind you, just might be able to save her Laird Maclee. But, the price of our help is high. Likely, you would be unwilling to pay. Perhaps, we should leave,” and he turned as though to go.

  “No,” Nial cried imploringly, all demand gone from his voice. “No price is too high. I will pay anything. I will do anything.” He stepped forward to touch the shining arm. His hand should have passed through that arm but it did not.

  “The price is that which you value most - your pride and your dignity. Your clan and your neighbors watch the plea you have already made with distaste. They wait for you to tell me to go to Hell. Will you do that? The price my good laird, is that you must beg for my help. When you have begged pitifully enough, I might, mind you, just might give it to you.”

  Nial stood quietly for a moment. He heard the elders hissing “no” and “tell them to sod off.” Then he heard another labored breath and he had to struggle for his own. He had never begged and would rather do without than ask. Do without Heather? Impossible. She was the one thing he had to have to live. So he said, “I beg you for your help.”

  The King laughed in a great crashing sound that reverberated through the crowd. “Nice try, but a man can only beg properly if he is on his knees. If you would have me save your lady, my proud Highland laird, you will break the fundamental code you all live by. You may not kneel properly to your God or your King, but you will get down on both knees before me and beg me for my help. YOU WILL HUMBLY BESEECH MY AID ON BENDED KNEES.”

  Nial stood with his hands clenched into fists. He glanced at Carrick and Bonnie, and saw them already grieving for their daughter. Heather drew in another loud, rattling breath. He vaulted to her side. She opened her eyes, and appeared to be conscious. He put a trembling hand to her hair and smoothed it down, and then bent and took her lips. He tasted her blood and thought of their digging a hole and putting her in it. What if he took his own life and as a final act of vengeance the elders refused to bury him with her? An eternity separated from Heather. No. That could not be. The thought was intolerable.

  He would never beg for his own life. But Heather’s, well, that was different. If he begged for her on his knees he would shame himself before his clan, her clan and the assembled guests. Hell, he would shame himself before all of Scotland. Could he live with that? From infancy he was taught that pride made a man and he lived that lesson every day. Could he force himself to beg on bended knees for her life? Could he let her die knowing there was any possibility that he could have saved her?

  Regretfully, he kissed her hand and walked over to stand before the King with his uncertainty in his expression. “Don’t ask me to do this.”

  An audible gasp rose arose from the crowd as they realized that the laird was actually considering the demand. Carrick walked to Nial’s side. “Son, you are a Scot and the laird of your clan. Your heritage and our culture say that you should not consider this demand. I don’t know that I could ... I’m nearly positive I couldn’t do it to save her, not even to save my wife. You must let Heather go. The price is too high.”

  Raibeart shouted, “Not a man here would consider it, laird. You can’t go down on bended knees and beg and still pretend you're a man, much less a Highlander. Do it and you lose the respect of every person who ever walked Scottish soil. Do it and you shame every ancestor of your line. You’ve fulfilled the dratted curse. This one can die and you can marry and not have to worry that your fate is out there somewhere waiting for you. You can marry another woman and forget this one.”

  Considering the elder’s words, Nial stilled. “That’s why you do this. My ancestor put aside his love for your daughter and pledged himself to another. You give me the same choice, don’t you? Would you have relented if Ian had begged for your daughter on bended knees, Your Highness?”

  The King had his own hands clenched into fists by this time and for a moment Nial thought he would not answer. Then the King threw back his head and growled, “The day we came for her on the bridge I told him that I would consider letting her stay if he begged for her on bended knees. The bastard replied that he begged for nothing. So yes, Laird Nial. I put the choice to you today. Will you humble yourself for Heather?”

  The Princess heard for the first time that her father had loved her enough to put her happiness first. “You would have done that for me Father?” He nodded yes and she kissed his cheek.

  The King looked at the lady who started twitching as the throes of death approached. She breathed intermittently in uneven chains of rattling gasps. “Decide, Nial. Quickly. Or else, her death will make your decision for you.”

  Nial watched his world, knowing she would be gone in minutes leaving him with his manhood intact. He recalled his earlier words to his cousin and suddenly he knew - pride didn’t make a man. Love made a man. He could keep his pride and lose his love but without her he wouldn’t be a man anyway. He might die for his pride, but he would never sacrifice Heather for it. In the final analysis, his choice was easy. The unthinkable wasn’t so unthinkable at all.

  He grimaced as he bent down to one knee. The act was physically painful. He heard loud shouts of “No” from the crowd as his eyes met those of the Faerie King. He unlocked the other knee to slowly lower it to the ground. As both knees met the soil, loud broken gasps told him that she was about to leave him.

  What would he do to keep Heather? He would do anything. He would do everything. He would betray every oath and duty. He would thrust aside his pride, his dignity and even his manhood and beg like a trained hound.

  He did just that, suddenly overcome with the knowledge that he had best do it quickly and he had best get it right the first time. Heather hovered at the verge of death. She would be lost to him forever. At the unimaginable thought, no pride remained in the gaze of the man who bent before the King in abject supplication. All that remained was a plea from his soul.

  He bowed his head and kissed the extended royal hand and spoke in a tone void of anything but entreaty and love, unfettered and boundless. “Please. I beg you to save Heather.” Tears fell unchecked from his eyes as he humbled himself in view of the crowd who mocked him for it loudly. All of their jeers and taunts of “coward,” and “pathetic fool” and even “misplace your manhood laird?” went unheeded.

  “I beg you, Your Majesty. Please. She is my heart and my soul. She is my life. She is my world. What good is pride without Heather? What good is anything without her? She carries, or carried, our child. She is my future and I can't live without her. I beg you to help her. Please?”

  At the final plea, the hard knot of rage that the King had carried for generations crumbled. He smiled because Nial was so focused on his groveling that he didn’t see the King make a motion with his hand that caused a faerie knight to
touch a sword to his ladies’ head. Nial’s head remained bowed in supplication as he begged without pausing for so much as breath. “Please, please. I beg you, please.”

  The King turned his hand over to take Nial’s as he said, “She still carries the child, Laird Maclee. We look forward to playing with him as he comes to adulthood and faces The Choice. We look forward to seeing if he chooses as wisely as his father who has gained his love and three additional uses of the flag for his clan.”

  Before the meaning of the King’s words penetrated the dense fog of grief and loss surrounding Nial’s brain, he heard a voice. At first he assumed he imagined it because he wished so hard for it. Had he slipped into insanity? It was a female voice and it sounded like Heather.

  “Nial?” What was going on here? She was lying in the dirt in her wedding dress surrounded by a crowd of angry people who seemed to be jeering unspeakably horrible things at Nial. At her feet stood a host of shining, brightly garbed folk. They were faeries. It was easy to identify the regal one wearing the crown as their King. What she couldn’t identify or make sense of in her brain was what Nial was doing.

  Her proud Highland Laird was on bended knee before the King. Two knees, not one. The begging posture. His head bowed in humble supplication as he repeated the words “please” and “I beg you” over and over. His clothes were filthy and covered with blood. What could possibly make Nial beg? He wasn’t wounded was he? Was Nial hurt?

  At the thought, she sat up but found herself too dizzy to rise. The crowd gasped loudly. Her mother turned to her and screamed, “Praise the Lord God,” and none of it distracted Nial. So finally she screamed, at the top of her lungs. “Nial Maclee, get over here and explain this to me.”