A Faerie Fated Forever (22 page)

He held forth Heather’s left hand to show the ancestral Maclee stone on her ring finger. Then he looked in her eyes as he swept the hand to his lips for a kiss before he turned to her father and said, “Aye, Laird MacIver. Your daughter has done me the extreme honor of accepting my proposal of marriage. So now I put my request to you. May I have your permission to marry your daughter?”

“As though my denial of permission would affect you one whit. Of course you have it. Need I remind you that in this matter I saw the future first?”

John interrupted, centuries of English breeding at the formalities attendant upon a proper betrothal prompting him to protest. “This is not at all proper, Laird Maclee. You are bound to meet with her father and his solicitors to agree upon details of her dowry in contract before any betrothal is arranged or announced.”

Nial quirked a smile, which grew at Carrick's loud chortle. “Lord Standings, the dowry I require is the lady herself. Laird MacIver can keep every coin he possesses and give me Heather without so much as delivering her clothing with her and I will count myself as the single most fortunate man in existence. All I need to guarantee my future happiness is this lady bearing my name and sharing my life.”

The lady spoke up at that point, the quiver in her voice and the tears at the corners of her eyes betraying her overwhelming emotion at his public proclamation. “My love, poor specimen that I am, still, I am and shall ever be yours. My heart bids that it be so and I am Scot enough to listen well to its command.”

With a joyful laugh, and ignoring the sea of watchful eyes that judged, Nial gathered her close for a kiss as Boz jumped on the nearby platform and signaled the musicians to cease. The interested crowd fell silent quickly. Geoff had begun angrily making his way over through the crowd at the sight of the kiss, and was only inches away when Sedgewick's words rang out.

“Ladies and gentlemen, I propose a toast to the happiness of a betrothal made just moments ago. To my kinsman, Laird Nial Maclee and his faerie fated forever, Lady Heather MacIver. May the light of their love shine eternal and may it be fruitful. I have no doubt that such fruit will be plentiful.” He quirked a brow as he bowed mentally to the Sedgewick sixth sense, the completely untraditional nature of the union already recognized by the families and his own offbeat humor in glancing at Heather’s tummy, as he proclaimed, “I also expect that the first fruit will be promptly presented.”

Nial choked on a sip of champagne and dropped his glass as he glanced at his cousin, who winked and nodded. His eyes suspiciously moist, he bent in full view of the assembled crowd to place a tender kiss on Heather’s tummy. He glanced at her father when he stood. “Laird MacIver, I’m sure you know that the Sedgewick sixth sense is never wrong. That being the case, I’m for Skye as quickly as we can make arrangements. I would have your daughter before our priest at the Kilcuillin kirk with all due speed.”

“Indeed, Nial. I’ve a need to shake off the
Sassannach
dust from my kilt without delay. Let’s…"

Badgerton’s voice interrupted Carrick’s words. Geoff stepped forward aggressively. Nial anticipated the movement and thrust Heather a pace behind him.

The Englishman sniffed loudly. “You smell of sex, Maclee. It appears that your failure to gain her consent to marriage must have prompted you to resort to rape. The poor lady surely feels shamed and compelled to agree to your suit.”

Boz nearly leapt from the stage to the floor and he attempted to place a calming hand on his friend’s arm. “Don’t do it. She’s his. She has always been his. Her family knows that, which is why her father is not challenging him. Trust me, if this was an insult Laird MacIver would issue the challenge quickly enough.”

Badgerton stiffened. "The bastard has stolen the lady I intended to claim. Bloody hell, man, I had claimed her. Ask any chap of the
ton
if you doubt me. I would have made her my countess. Heather would have reigned over the
ton
and outshone every lady in it. Now the bastard will drag her back to the outer boundaries of the universe and breed her like a farm animal. He could only have gained her compliance by force. Otherwise, she'd never have turned down the sort of future I could have given her."

" You're talking like a egotistical fop, Geoff. Your damned title and fortune have spoiled you so that you have rarely been denied anything. Besides, again, I tell you that the only one with a right to challenge here would be her father. He won't do it. I understand he knew Heather was Nial's before my cousin knew it himself. Laird Carrick doesn't challenge him and you must let it be."

Geoff raised his chin and glanced down his nose at Carrick. “A backwoods pretender to nobility, Heather’s sire is either a mewling coward too afraid of Maclee to challenge him properly or too stupid to appreciate the insult.”

The Scottish contingent fell silent. The ominous silence grew as Badgerton continued. “Maclee is a villainous bastard who lacks honor. He used his phallus as a weapon against a lady whom honor should have bade him defend. Because he knew the weapon lacked heft and fire-power, he coerced his cousin into pretending to have some kind of ridiculous premonition that the seed he forced found fertile ground.”

He slapped Nial across his cheek with the glove he removed from his right hand. “I stand for Heather where her father will not. I challenge Maclee to a duel, although I suspect that he lacks enough backbone to see the contest fairly met.”

Nial raised his hand for silence when Carrick and Boz would have spoken. He felt Heather’s tug upon his jacket and turned to her. His smile was tender, so she knew the ire in his gaze was not for her but she feared it boded ill for the young Englishman she'd once had some fondness for. She reached up to whisper in his ear, “Nial, please don’t…”

“My love, he accused me of being a dishonorable coward, and hurled the same accusation at your father. The blood of every Maclee and MacIver ancestor cries out from our sacred soil that such slurs can not be allowed to pass. I must meet him.”

She reached a trembling hand to his lips and whispered, “Not to the death. I think there is hope for him. One day he may grow up to be a fine mate for some other lady. Please, for me?”

He traced her trembling lips with a steady finger she kissed as he nodded. He then turned and faced Badgerton. “You have insulted the honor of my future father-in-law and of my kinsman, but you saved your vilest lies for me. You have no right or standing to challenge on Heather’s behalf, as you bear no relationship to her. Therefore, your challenge is not well founded. Further, you accompanied it with a blow.”

He turned to the gentlemen assembled nearby. “I believe that makes me the injured party and gives me the choice of weapon and duel. Is that your understanding as well?”

The elderly Lord Bassingate was a well-known student of the art and rules of dueling, and his was the authoritative voice that spoke for all. “Indeed, Laird Maclee. The choice is yours.”

“I choose the sword and I choose to fight to first blood. I will not insist upon the death of the rash Lord Badgerton unless he continues beyond first blood.”

The approving murmurs of the crowd indicated it to be a popular choice.

Lord Bassingate asked, “Your seconds, gentlemen?”

Badgerton indicated two of his fellow rakes. “Lords Ricefield and Erving, sir.”

Nial started to speak but his words were cut off when Boz strode to one side. “I will be a second for my cousin.”

Carrick stepped to the other side. “Although I see this duel as mine by right,” Nial turned to him angrily, but calmed when he continued, “I cede my rights to my daughter’s betrothed. However, I insist upon standing as his second.”

Geoff hefted his nose again and chuckled smugly. “I should tell you Scottish fellows what Sedgewick knows. I am a champion of the art of fencing.”

Carrick snorted and Boz smiled. Geoff found the lack of concern irritating. The lack of respect from the duke galled him most bitterly for he should have known better.

Nial raised a brow. “ A champion of the art of fencing, you say?”

“Indeed,” Badgerton replied.

“Then tell me, fencing champion, how often has your life depended upon your skill with the sword? How many times have you raised it against bloodthirsty warriors who plotted your death by means fair or foul? How many lives have you ended at the point of your blade, fencing champion?”

Badgerton was silent.

Nial said, “The seconds shall meet now to set the time and place and shall return to advise us of their decision.”

The four men withdrew and Heather flew into Nial’s arms. He stroked her neck gently as he whispered, “Love, please don’t tell me that you are worried that I cannot best the English fop. I fear my manhood could not withstand such a lack of confidence.”

She smiled tremulously. “This is all completely unnecessary and ridiculous. I cannot comprehend why Geoff has done this.”

Nial looked down at the panther he held so carefully. She appeared deceptively tame at the moment because her wildness was reserved for him. He glanced at the flowers of English womanhood decorating the room and then back to his panther as he said, “That is the other reason I acceded to your plea that the duel not be to the death. I understand what motivates the man all too well. It is my understanding of his motivation that causes me concern about the duel. I hope he will let the contest rest somewhere short of his death. I know he will follow it beyond first blood.”

“Why?” Heather was puzzled. “How can you state that with such confidence?”

“Because if I stood in his shoes I would use every means at my disposal to see his death met. He faces life without you and for that I pity him.” He led Heather to the dance floor, and used the ruse of dancing to move with her closely in his arms. "As for me, I shall count the hours until I can don the ball and chain I once avoided so studiously. Love and faeries surely do work in mysterious ways."

Across the way, Geoff stood tensely, his gaze rarely wavering from the door that the seconds disappeared through. Peter Crandle eyed Nial’s lack of concern and said, “I fear that the laird does not appreciate the seriousness of the coming duel, particularly with an opponent as skilled as Badgerton.”

John laughed at his son. “You, young Peter, have a lot of living to do and much yet to learn. Nial is not concerned over the party game because he has played for real. Geoff is about to get an education on the difference between what he has learned playing with a sword and what Maclee has learned staking his life on his skill with the weapon. Yet Badgerton will probably survive the day, unless he insists on dying.”

The door opened and the seconds emerged. Geoff fumed when Boz insisted that they would await Nial. A few minutes later, when Maclee joined them, he gave the announcement.

“Tomorrow at dawn at Abbott’s field.”

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

The MacIvers left after the seconds returned, and Nial departed for the Sedgewick mansion immediately thereafter. There was not one thing on earth save Heather’s presence that would induce him to attend a
ton
party. Boz agreed wholeheartedly and departed with his cousin. At his home, he had poured his first whiskey and barely seated himself to attend to some business correspondence when Nial’s loud, “Get the hell out of my room this minute,” rang through the house.

Boz laughed and strode upstairs to find a lovely English rose sniffling in the hallway, wrapped in the fourteenth bedspread to grace his cousin’s room, and carrying the bundle of her clothes. “He doesn’t want me. I can’t believe he doesn’t want me. I came to offer comfort before his duel with the dastardly Badgerton and this is how he repays me!”

Boz knocked on his mother’s door. She emerged in her dressing gown to peer disgustedly in the hallway. “Another one? We’re running out of bloody bedspreads.”

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.