A Faerie Fated Forever

by Mary Anne Graham

  “Where?”

  “There. The blonde who would be second in line to kill the lecherous fop holding my Heather.”

  “Yes,” Boz smiled at the description, “that’s Geoff, ” he agreed a moment before he seized Nial’s arm to drag him out of the foliage. “Now get a hold of yourself, man. I’ve spotted your first dancing partner and your number is coming up.”

  “You engaged me to dance with someone other than Heather?” He was aghast at the thought. He only wanted Heather.

  In the same tone he would use with a toddler, Sedgewick said, “It will be difficult to convince Heather that you need friendly advice on courting if you are not doing any of it.”

  “She's too sharp to believe that the fire that is only in my eyes when I look at her is for other women.”

  “Either way, you’re booked to dance with other ladies. For God’s sake, you can try to damp down the fire.”

  “Bloody hell,” was Nial’s less than enthusiastic reply as he approached Lady Elizabeth Montwell, who was to be the first act in the private play they would stage for Heather.

  Boz grinned at Nial's grim expression. Most men would view dancing with the lovely blonde with some degree of anticipation. He nodded approvingly as Nial managed to assume an acceptably bland expression as he took her hand and headed for the dance floor.

  When a familiar bottom swirled by Heather's face blanched. She put a hand to her throat as a twirl of the blonde turned Nial to face her. “My God,” she murmured “It can’t be. Why would he be here?”

  “Who? Are you all right?” Geoff followed her eyes. "What's his deal? Most men would be dragging her off to a quiet corner." As the hands on the dance floor grew bolder in their caresses of the tall black-haired bloke, he asked, "What on earth is wrong with Liz? She has her hands all over him.”

  Heather huffed in exasperation. “He has that effect on women.”

  Geoff succeeded in attracting her attention away from the man momentarily by asking about the man Viv was dancing with.

  “He is another of her cast offs. She vows that she will never marry because she doesn’t want any man to control her future. Viv says….” She broke off in the middle of her story when the voice that haunted her dreams nightly whispered in her ear.

  “Hello, Heather. I had to speak with the panther in this room of tabbies.”

  She turned to him. “Nial! I saw you dance by a moment ago. What are you doing in England?”

  He gestured and she held out her hand to be kissed. He told himself to plant a polite kiss on the back of her hand and back off. When his lips touched her fingers a strong physical jolt traveled through his body, vibrating between his heart and his manhood. It felt like he had slept all of his life and awoke just now, at her touch. Even the insipid English ballroom felt like a brand new adventure because she occupied it. He had felt a smaller connection before but had been stupid enough to discount it.

  He didn’t discount it now. He allowed his tongue a brief caress of her fingers before he released her hand. It could have been accidental, though it wasn’t. His eyes held hers in that moment, and when he saw her blush as her lips parted slightly as though she had to draw in more air to breathe, he knew that at least she wasn’t immune to him physically. He almost fell to his knees in gratitude.

  He smiled then, a seductive knowing smile that dazzled Heather. Such a small thing, but she had dreamed for years of having him look at her thus, even once.

  They were drowning in each other and could see nothing else. Certainly, they could not see Geoff, but he was about to take some pretty drastic action. To prevent the imminent social disaster that would ensue, Sedgewick spoke up.

  “Lady Heather, you are all that is lovely tonight, and I see you do know my cousin Nial. Skye is such a small place, that I thought you might.” Boz kept his tone casual in an attempt to deflect the charged atmosphere between the other two men that Heather wasn’t even aware of.

  “Certainly I know Nial. We are friends. My family has known his for many years,” she said carefully, trying not to look like her world had just been upended – even if that was exactly how she felt.

  Hearing her describe their relationship that way was a sucker punch to the gut. His jaw tightened in response. Now she wanted to be just friends? Not on her life. Any charade would be short lived, assuming he could play it at all. It would have to be, because he didn’t know how long he could refrain from smashing Badgerton into tiny bits.

  It eased him a bit that Heather still held his arm, although the wariness in her eyes knifed his soul. She had a thick wall protecting her heart. His task would not be easy. But she held his arm, his heart, and his future. He was finally in her presence again. It was a start.

  When Nial made a point of telling her how well young Fergus was doing, her eyes lit up wildly. “How did you come to see him, Nial?”

  “I’ve been stopping by to check on him and his family to be sure the lad was well,” he said generally, not telling Heather how astounded the crofters had been by each visit. He especially didn’t mention how it bewildered them that the laird spent most of the visits staring at an empty stool beside the boy’s bed.

  At those words, he was her prince again – albeit Nial knew it would only be seconds before she recalled that she now thought him to be a frog instead. The entranced expression Heather wore at his words told him how much the gesture meant to her.

  She stood up on tiptoe to kiss his cheek and give him a hug as she whispered, “Oh Nial. What a sweetheart you are. Thank you.”

  “Heather, you have been with the Sassannach too long if you think that is how a Highland lass says thank you.” He quirked a brow in challenge, never expecting her to take up the gauntlet because he was still having trouble reconciling the shy odd lass who had been his friend with the panther who stood before him.

  The twinkling mischief in her eyes told him otherwise only a moment before her lips met his in what would have been a quick kiss, except that he was starving for a taste of her. He lengthened the moment, even as he ordered himself not to. His starving senses seized control of his will. For an all too brief frozen moment, his arms held her to him tightly as he sipped at her lips. When the kiss ended one of his hands remained on the small of her back in a gesture that Heather never thought to protest because it felt so natural and because, well, it was Nial.

  His free hand twirled a loose curl that was both sandy and chocolate, as he leaned close to her ear and said, “Ho ro mo nighean donn boidheach.”

  Boz glared at Nial, who shrugged apologetically. Boz glared harder, for the apology was supremely insincere. The duke stood close to Geoff, which was a good thing as it happened. He had to put out a restraining hand when Geoff moved forward, intending to physically separate the couple.

  “What the hell did he just say to her?” Geoff snarled.

  Because Boz tried not to lie directly to friends, he replied, “Gaelic can be so difficult to interpret.” He didn’t tell the man who was already seething that the comment meant My beautiful brown-haired maiden because Badgerton’s response to the possessive phrase would have been impossible to restrain.

  The duke tiptoed through a battlefield already, and it was still early. The two hadn’t even danced yet.

  Heather knew what the words meant, but took them as one of the compliments that the charmer tossed out casually and the throngs of women panting after him were foolish enough to take to heart. She had been a fool once and deliberately summoned the image of Nial naked and writhing in passion with the widow to bolster her still-foolish heart, which beat faster at his words.

  As the warmth his words inspired changed to skepticism and rejection, Nial watched the play of emotions in her eyes and was briefly disheartened. How would he tear down that wall? With the lightning-quick thought processes that allowed him to lead his clan so successfully, he evaluated the cards he held and the challenge he faced. Her heart rejected him but her body craved him. She was –had better be— unawakened, but she h
ad wanted him for years. Her crush was legendary on Skye, and he struggled with unaccustomed guilt recalling that being teased about it had always brought annoyance and sharp words to his tongue. Passion wasn’t all he wanted from her, but a man fought with the weapons at hand. She'd selected those he was best with and she'd chosen his favorite game. It was one he would never play with another woman.

  When the orchestra struck up a waltz, he turned to her, pleased that the timing prevented any attempt she might make to guard against her reaction to his touch. He took her hand as he said, "My Lady, I believe this is my dance.”

  “You don’t have to dance with him, Heather. To hell with Almack’s and its rules,” Geoff snarled.

  Nial kept her hand within his and hidden within that grasp, his thumb traced small arcs on her palm that caused her to shiver in response to the light touch. “Have you become so fancy here in London that you haven’t time to spend with a lad from Skye?”

  His touch interfered with her ability to think or to summon her defenses. “Of course not, Nial. Shall we?”

  They took the floor, and Nial summoned every ounce of discipline to force himself to place his hands in the proper waltz position. That wasn’t where they wanted to go, and it wasn’t where they belonged. Still, he held her with the distance propriety demanded. However, he spoke in a deliberately muted tone.

  “What? I’m sorry, Nial, I couldn’t hear you over the music,” Heather said, naively unaware of his ploy.

  He repeated his words, still softly and she shook her head, indicating that she had missed his statement again. Then, as though it was the most natural thing in the world, she said, “This is silly” and put both arms around his neck, allowing him to draw her close, and he did so quickly. He drew her close to his heart, where he could feel every inch of the body that haunted his dreams.

  “I’m sure my comment wasn’t all that fascinating, sweet, and nothing you don’t get told a hundred times a day.” He glanced down at her, at the exquisite body he would take and hold as closely as her heart. He rubbed a finger against her cheek but it wasn't enough. He cupped it in his palm as he said, “Sweet Scotland, Heather you are beautiful.”

  She rubbed her cheek into his hand as her fingers played through his hair. He felt himself warming and twitching as his staff stretched at record pace and much against his will. He had been making every effort not to react physically while he held her so close for fear she might be frightened away. He willed his body to calm down, and lowered his lids to hide the wild light in his eyes. The angle gave him a prime view of the full curve of her lips and the fuller curve of the breasts nearly overflowing her gown. His tarse failed to heed his instructions to cease and desist.

  A moment later, Heather’s finger trailed over his pursed lips. “Nial? Are you all right?”

  His navy eyes snapped open and smoldered at her, and he gave his tongue strict instructions that it would not help his body cool down if he licked her finger. His tongue actually obeyed him. Of course, he should have said a word or two to his mouth, because it promptly applied suction to the stroking digit. That touch sent ripples of heat that slowly and inexorably made their way to his rigid digit. She moaned and he vehemently wished that the rigid digit in question occupied his hand, instead of his tightly fitted trousers.

  He bit her finger lightly, as she looked at him with pain and questions and desire. “Sweet, so sweet,” he murmured, as his rebelling tongue began to lick the stroking index finger, and his errant brain began to imagine licking a smaller, hidden nub. He would nibble on that one too and she would writhe helplessly as he tasted her passion. His manhood pulsed with need. He sucked in his breath and forgot to let it out as she took her free hand and rubbed his earlobe.

  Heather felt hot and achy. She itched in the oddest places. Nial had fire in his eyes and he was looking at her, at last, at long last. Her nipples pebbled against the silk of her gown as she felt the heat of his mouth against her finger. When he sucked it lightly, she started in surprise before she twisted slightly in his arms, feeling that suction in her breasts and lower, in the hidden place between her thighs.

  He resisted the lure of her pebbled nipples for as long as his will power would allow. He must have held out for at least three breaths before one hand left her waist and his fingers lightly touched the underside of her breast. He heard the raspy sound of her breathing and knew she was his. His fingers moved higher to stroke the nipple through the thin silk.

  For years, he'd abhorred that women considered an invitation to dance to be the equivalent of the hunt master crying “Open season on Maclee’s gear.” For the first time he found himself in the position of those women. He cupped her buttocks with his free hand and stopped dancing entirely as he rubbed her against his erection.

  The touch she had dreamed of for so many lonely years overwhelmed her ability to resist. It overcame her betrayal and rage as it intensified the tug of her nipples and caused a spurt of moisture between her legs. When he stopped dancing altogether and pulled her bottom to cup the aroused male member she had only heard whispers about before, her first thought – deny it though she would to her dying breath – was “finally.”

  Fortunately, her attempts to visualize his bare sex brought back vivid recall of the time she had seen his bare bottom. The member she tried to imagine had been embedded in the witch. She stiffened her arms to push him away. Then she slapped him across the face and ran off the dance floor.

  Actively engaged in trying to distract Geoff, Boz succeeded to a degree only because he was talking about the man’s intentions toward Heather. Boz winced when he saw Nial’s open passion for the girl. His mouth fell open when his cousin stopped dancing and pulled Heather to cup his obvious hard-on. He had to use both hands to hold Geoff back until Heather delivered the well-deserved, but assuredly belated slap and ran off the dance floor.

  Like a hound called to heel, Geoff ran after Heather.

  Boz walked over as his kinsman stood at the edge of the dance floor with hot eyes that traced Heather’s path.

  “We better get out of here before the fit of your pants gets you arrested on public indecency charges. Bloody hell, what's wrong with you?”

  “I couldn’t control myself,” Nial said, smiling in self-castigation. “I feared that would be a problem. But no, I will not go until I know she is all right.”

  ******

  Heather was many things at that moment, but all right wasn't one of them. She stood in the center of the powder room grinning, in tears, and steaming mad. Viv followed after she halted Geoff who actually tried to enter.

  "Personally, I think we should climb out the window. The cleaning crew would have to run Geoff out, hours after the hall empties and every other soul lies long abed." She walked to her cousin and tucked up a stray lock of hair, as she whispered, "Come on lass. You're made of sterner stuff than this. I gather that gorgeous specimen of masculinity is Nial?”

  “’Tis said demons come in the fairest guises, isn’t it? Well 'tis certainly true of that one,” she said, her wrathful words unmatched by her wistful expression.

  “I thought you said that he had no interest in you? He certainly appeared, well, interested.”

  “What I can’t believe is that I fell for it - for a bit, mind you. On the night that part of my life ended he conveyed his opinion of me, his scorn at the idea of a future together so plainly that even I could understand.” Incongruously, Heather thought about how much she'd have given to change places with the black-haired bitch, evil or not.

  “From the looks of him tonight, he may have changed his mind.”

  “Humph. Likely he’s changed his mind about several women since the black widow. The old caution about a leopard and his spots comes to mind,” said Heather. She still couldn't stop the dreamer inside from thinking, what if he wants me, what if he….no, don’t delude yourself, lass. She told the dreamer firmly that Nial didn’t know the meaning of the word love.

  "Just be careful. Leopards are sly crea
tures that appear tame just before they bite," Viv said with a grin. When her cousin grinned in return, she said, "I'm just not sure whether you should be careful to avoid the bite or encourage it."

  "Me either, " Heather replied, sounding more like herself.

  They decided to re-enter the fray, and sure enough, Geoff waited patiently.

  As they got to the end of the hall, Nial tried to grab her arm and Geoff whirled on him.

  “Back off, you backwoods lothario. Perhaps in the bloody Highlands it is acceptable to accost women on the dance floor, but we behave with a bit more class in town.” Badgerton said, accompanying the words with an aristocratic sneer.

  Nial backed off, and didn’t try to pursue her, not because of Badgerton’s words, but because the hurt expression in her eyes said he should tread carefully. His nature wouldn’t let him take the insult without response. He stepped forward and gave the man a light shove, causing him to stumble into a passing waiter carrying a full tray of partially empty glasses. The loud crash, the assorted beverage remains staining Badgerton’s suit, and the raised brows of society matrons focused the room’s full attention on the formerly sneering noble.

  “At least in the bloody Highlands, we do it with grace, Badgerton,” Nial replied and turned to leave, but not before Heather raised her glass to him. Dusting off his wet clothing and trying to soothe the ruffled feathers of the waiter, Badgerton caught the salute as well and grimaced.

  It appeared that the new Heather still considered herself a proud Highland lass.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Early the next afternoon, Nial and Boz set out for a ride in the park. ‘Twasn’t what Nial considered a ride at all. The whole endeavor felt more like a stroll atop a horse that served more as fashion accessory than steed. The ton rode here to see and be seen by the others in the small, manicured to within an inch of its life snippet of greenery that passed for nature in the crowded environs of London. Nial viewed the fact that this was “socially, an important contact spot” as proof that the English lacked both common sense and enough to do.