Saving Nathaniel

by Jillian Brookes-Ward

  They stayed in the water until the bubbles dispersed and their skin began to show signs of pruning. Not once did she broach the subject of the day's events. Neither did he.

  Wrapped in bathrobes and still glowing from the bath, the pair retired to the kitchen to find something to feed their empty stomachs. Nat, although at first willing to accede to Megan's wishes, opened only his second most expensive bottle of wine, citing the desire to save the more exclusive vintage for a 'special occasion'. They savoured the intense, ruby liquid and it perfectly complimented their simple meal of cheese-on-toast.

  Once suitably sated with both food and drink, they withdrew to bed, and Megan's third directive. Her decree that he make love to her until he begged for mercy, or died in the process, was also fulfilled. He hadn't died, of course, but he felt certain that, if it hadn't been for her able assistance, he wouldn't have been able to last as long as he had.

  There was movement behind her eyelids as she came into consciousness. Moments passed until she took in a single, deep breath and opened her eyes. She blinked as she focused, and a wide smile crossed her face when she saw him looking at her intently.

  'Good morning, sweetie,' she whispered, her voice only half awake.

  He kissed her forehead, still carrying the flush of sleep.

  'Good morning to you, too. Sleep well?'

  She yawned and turned over onto her back. Reaching her arms above her head, she stretched and arched her spine until it clicked. 'Like a baby,' she said, and relaxed down onto the bed. She ran her fingers through her hair. 'You're going to have to get used to this,' she said. 'I did warn you. I look like this every morning.'

  'What…gorgeous?'

  'No, a yeti.'

  He put his hand on her stomach, feeling her muscles tense. He moved it slowly down to the protrusion of her hipbones. She turned herself over and his hand squeezed her buttock.

  'How are you today?' she asked with dreamy airiness.

  He grunted. 'Apart from the back-ache, leg-ache and major friction burns on my cock, I'm just hunky-dory, thanks for asking.'

  She clambered over to lie on top of him, her expression one of pouting sympathy. 'Oh, you poor darling. Shall I kiss it better?'

  Enough daylight came through the drapes for him to get his first good look at the damage to her face. The mark on her forehead looked angry. The swelling around her eye had gone down a little, but the eye itself was still bloodshot, the deep purple bruising, profound. Remorse filled him as he brushed his fingertips over it.

  'I did that,' he said. 'I did that to your beautiful face.'

  'Don't be silly. The airbag did it. It's not your fault.' She kissed his ear and down his throat.

  'It is. If I hadn't been so greedy and stupid, none of this would ever have happened. He touched her face again.

  'Don't, Nat…you're not to blame. I told you already I was a rubbish driver. It was bound to happen sooner or later.'

  'I thought I'd dreamt it all,' he said. 'I hoped it was all some horrible nightmare and I'd wake up and you'd be…we'd be…but yesterday was real wasn't it?'

  She nodded. 'I'm afraid so. It happened and it was horrible, but what's done is done, there's no changing it.' She sighed. 'We're both okay, we're here together and we can forget about it now. Everything will be okay and I'll be better in a few days.'

  'I'm sorry, my love. I'll never hurt you again.'

  'I know you won't,' Megan ran her hand over his stubbled cheek. 'Not on purpose anyway.'

  'I won't, not at all, I promise…on my life.'

  'You can't say that, because you never know what's going to happen.' She pressed her forehead to his and he closed his eyes.

  'I love you, Meg. I love you so much, it hurts.'

  'I know you do, sweetheart.' She kissed him softly on the lips. 'Now give me a cuddle.'

  'What time is it?' She asked, her eyes closed, her head against Nat's chest.

  He twisted his head to peer at the clock. 'Ten to ten.'

  'What time are the estate agents coming?'

  He pushed her off, sat up and threw back the cover all in one swift motion. 'Shit! I forgot…'

  'What time?' she asked again.

  'Erm…I don't know… around noon I think. Where the hell are my pants?'

  She put her arms around him and pulled herself up, her breasts pressed against his back. She kissed the back of his neck and pulled him down into the bed and cuddled up close, the warmth of his groin against her bare leg. She pushed her knee gently against him. The pressure caused him to moan softly.

  'There's plenty of time. We'll hide the chair in the garage and it won't take more than a few minutes to clear up the mess. No-one will ever know anything had ever happened.'

  He opened his mouth to protest, but she closed it with her fingers. 'He can have a snoop around and take his pictures, and everything will look perfect. I'll make sure of that.' She took her fingers away and kissed him. 'And then…when he's gone, and we're all on our own again…we have something very important to do.'

  Nat let out a groan. 'No, Meg, no more. I can't. You've worn me out.'

  She gave him a playful slap. 'Not that! God, you're obsessed! Did you forget already…we have a wedding to plan?'

  The smallest frown of doubt creased his brow. 'Do we? Do we really?'

  'Yes, absolutely we do.'

  'You weren't just saying it to keep me quiet, to humour me?'

  'Shut up.'

  'Because you've done it before…'

  She put her finger back against his lips. 'I wasn't, my love, I mean it. I want to marry you. I want to spend the rest of my life with you.'

  His frown vanished, to be replaced with a soft smile. 'When?'

  'As soon as possible.' She touched her finger to her swollen eye. 'Well, as soon as these silly bruises have all gone. I want to have nice pictures. I'm still a little bit vain.'

  'Where?'

  She sucked on her bottom lip and felt the healing cut with her tongue. 'Anywhere, I don't care. Somewhere nice, except not…'

  He finished the sentence for her. 'Except not at the kirk where Joanna and I were married?'

  She nodded. 'Yes, if you don't mind.'

  'That shouldn't be a problem at all. It's away over in Edinburgh and I don't believe it's a kirk any more. Actually, I think it's a carpet warehouse now.'

  'We can do it here if you like,' she said.

  'What? By here you mean...in the house?'

  'Yes, why not?'

  He puffed out his cheeks. 'I'd never really considered that...we certainly have the room. Aye, why not?'

  She snuggled up closer to him and he kissed her forehead gently. 'Aye, I can't help thinking I'm a gey lucky man,' he said. 'It's not everyone who's fortunate enough to get a second bite of the cherry.'

  'My darling, I would give you the whole damned cherry tree if I could,' she said, and her hand found its way down between his legs. 'You deserve it.'

  She touched her lips to his. 'Are you sure you can't manage a quickie?' she murmured. 'There's still time.'

  He sighed out his pleasure as her soft, warm hand encased him and applied light pressure. 'Aye,' he pulled the covers over their heads, 'I think…I just might.'

  Chapter 42

  They had no need to be concerned. The visit by the estate agent passed off without a hitch.

  Between them, they manoeuvred the chair out of the study, through the kitchen and out into the garage, where they hid it from view with a tarpaulin.

  She opened the study window to let in fresh air, removing any trace of the smell of gunpowder, and it took no more than a quick run around with the vacuum and a slight rearrangement of the furniture to make the room look completely normal.

  In a flurry of activity, she made the beds, dropped the toilet seats and straightened the towels. He tidied the kitchen, plumped cushions in the sitting room and opened up the conservatory. When the estate agent arrived to take his photographs and make his measurements, the whole house was spick and sp
an, and presented at its magnificent best.

  They saw the man off with a cheery wave and hearty thanks and returned to the kitchen to have lunch over which they began to discuss arrangements for their impending nuptials.

  The marriage of Megan Thomas and Nathaniel Mackie took place three months later, on a sunny Wednesday afternoon under a canopy on the front lawn at Struan Lodge, in the presence of their friends and family.

  Megan wore a dress of ivory silk with matching shoes and carried a bouquet of red roses and gypsophilia, identical to the ones Nat had given her to thank her for nursing him through the flu. A single string of pearls, a wedding gift from her soon-to-be husband, graced her neck

  Nat didn't wear his kilt, instead he opted for a smart, dark grey suit with tartan waistcoat and a red rose in his lapel buttonhole.

  The couple were radiant with happiness and there was hardly a dry eye in the congregation as they affirmed their love for each other and made their vows. They exchanged rings and the celebrant duly declared them to be husband and wife. When Nat kissed his bride, he did so to a round of polite applause.

  A chamber quartet played music by Mozart, as arm in arm and smiling broadly, the newlyweds mingled with the gathered audience. Rose petals were thrown, photographs taken and a new album started.

  A small, intimate reception took place in the dining room and conservatory and the invited guests, including some villagers and Old John the gardener, gathered to toast the bride and groom with champagne, to share wedding cake and wish them well for the future. As a gesture of goodwill and reconciliation, but more at Megan's insistence, Nat had invited Phil McNeil. The two men greeted each other with civility, shook hands and made up their quarrel. Nat enquired after Phil's broken nose, to be told it had healed without incident. Of Elaine and Irana, there was no mention.

  To Megan's pleasure and utter surprise, Rebecca used the occasion to make an announcement of her own - after a four year courtship, she and Paul were to be married in the New Year...and Megan was to become an aunt shortly afterwards.

  The party broke up at around eleven o'clock that night. The house had already been sold, but not yet vacated and many of the rooms, the exception being one guest bedroom, had been stripped of their furniture. Stacks of packing crates and assorted carefully labelled boxes awaiting removal to the couple's new home, had been stored in other rooms, including the bedrooms, and so the company dispersed to stay at various bed and breakfast establishments in the village.

  At two o'clock the next afternoon, Mr and Mrs Nathaniel Mackie departed Struan Lodge for a three week honeymoon cruise in the Caribbean, leaving the final packing and clearing up to Rebecca and Paul.

  The holiday revealed a new man in Nathaniel, much to Megan's delight.

  Almost at once his whole disposition changed as the strain of his failing business, the loneliness of Struan, and his awful memories of the deaths of Joanna and his baby were stripped away and discarded. Buried deep within the metaphorical onion layers could be found the real Nat, and he soon came to the fore.

  He relaxed completely and she saw for the first time how truly contented he was with his new lease of life.

  He drank very little, no longer having the need to seek solace in a bottle, and he exchanged scowls and frowns for deep, infectious laughter that made her heart light.

  Laconic, irreverent humour replaced foul-mouthed temper tantrums and there were no more fits of selfish pique or periods of dark sulkiness. He was a different man - confident, funny, caring and considerate. He was a passionate lover and a wonderful companion and she adored this new Nat even more than she had the old one. She knew in her heart he was the man with whom she would spend the rest of her life in idyllic contentment.

  They returned home, tanned, healthy and happy, and within a fortnight had completely moved into the cottage they had bought on the outskirts of the city. It was small, having only two bedrooms compared to the seven at Struan, but it had everything they needed.

  They were surrounded by dense mixed woodland and it shielded them from the noise of the nearby main road. Its quiet and peaceful location encouraged much wildlife and birds to visit. The cottage also boasted a sizeable garden with a greenhouse, and Megan laughed out loud when Nat declared his intention to keep chickens and grow vegetables.

  'You can't even boil an egg,' she tittered. 'What are you going to do with the whole bird?'

  She was happy with her rustic kitchen, complete with its Aga range and large pine table, and he made himself at home in the cosy sitting room with its deep inglenook fireplace. His old armchair and footstool had been replaced by new ones, and they took pride of place by the hearth.

  He put his portfolio of land up for sale, along with his business, and relinquished his shotguns to a dealer for a substantial amount. They had been an investment indeed. But the car stayed...for a while.

  A month later, on her birthday, Megan had a surprise. Nat covered her eyes with his hands and led her outside. When he took them away, her vision fell on a brand new Range Rover in his favourite metallic green. He had chosen the latest upgraded model - very sophisticated and very, very expensive. The new personalised plate now read MEG4N

  She squealed with joy and circled the vehicle, running her fingers over every surface. He stood back and allowed her to do it. He would enjoy cleaning it later. 'I don't think I've ever seen anything so beautiful in my life,' she declared.

  'Open the glove box,' he said.

  'Why?'

  'You'll see.'

  She opened it and from it pulled out a neat square box. She flipped open the lid to see the velvet pad inside. It cradled the most exquisite pendant in the shape of a pair of intertwined golden hearts, one yellow, one rose, together with a fine gold chain. 'Oh, Nat...' she gasped, delighted and awed.

  'Happy birthday, darling.' He took the chain from the box and fastened it around her neck.

  She pressed the pendant to her chest. 'It's beautiful. Thank you so much.'

  'My pleasure.'

  She hugged and kissed him and when she withdrew he saw a small, sly smile sitting on her lips.

  'You do know there's only one thing we can do now, don't you?' she said, opening the rear door of the car.

  'What?'

  She climbed onto the ivory leather seat and sat expectantly. His face remained blank. She curled her finger suggestively and he feigned coy innocence. She grabbed him by his belt and tugged on it until he was on the seat beside her. She then reached across him and pulled the door closed with a satisfying thud.

  END

  About the Author

  Author Jillian Brookes-Ward hails originally from the North of England but now lives in a pretty village on Royal Deeside in Scotland where she draws inspiration for her books from the dramatic yet romantic locale and the people around her.

  A former medical secretary, she quit the nine to five to concentrate on writing. Now a full time author she has four other published novels,

   Linda Loves...?

  Watch Your Back!

   On The Fly

   Three Way Street

  Find out more at:

  Jillywrites... or Writers-Unlimited

  Connect with Jillian on Twitter at @jillywrites

  Contact Jillian direct at mailto: j.brookesward@gmail.com

  From the Author:

  Thank you for reading Saving Nathaniel. If you have enjoyed it even half as much as I enjoyed writing it, then my labours have not been in vain. I hope you will consider reading my other works.

  Kindest regards

  Jillian Brookes-Ward

 

 

 
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