A Faerie Fated Forever (10 page)

“Certainly,” Badgerton said with an expression that screamed “back off” belied by his polite words. “Boz, this is Lady Heather MacIver of the Isle of Skye, Scotland. Heather, this is His Grace, Bozworth Harrison, the Duke of Sedgewick.”

“An honor to meet you, Your Grace,” Heather said with a little curtsey. She rose and proffered her hand, and Boz bent to kiss it just a bit too quickly.

“Heather,” Geoff chastised, “it is completely improper for you to offer your hand to be kissed in such a manner.”

The spectacle of his longtime companion in debauch lecturing the lady upon propriety caused a violent twinkle that he knew Geoff didn’t appreciate. Boz literally bit his tongue against the hearty chuckle that threatened to emerge and only made the effort because he knew Geoff would appreciate that even less.

“Viscount Badgerton, if I recall correctly you grabbed my hand and kissed it when we were introduced. Why is it proper for you to kiss my hand and improper for His Grace to do it?” She challenged openly, her ire making her eyes spark with passion. Oh yes, Boz thought suddenly, Nial knew this one. At the thought, that inner something shifted again. Ah yes, this must be the other part of his impulse to hurry to the couple

“Because,” gritted Badgerton from between clenched teeth, “Sedgewick is a rake and a rogue. You should avoid him at all costs.”

Her eyes glittering, she said, “A rake and a rogue like you, my lord? Then perhaps I should avoid you as well.”

Geoff turned to her in a fury of passionate rage and began his words by advancing as he said, “Bloody hell, Heather…”

The duke decided to play white knight and protect his friend from himself at that point, conscious that Badgerton hovered at the verge of forgetting their august company and kissing the lady soundly, publicly and within an inch of her life. Entertaining though that might be, the instinct of a gentleman bred in him for generations compelled him to protect the lady from being so publicly compromised.

There was something else too, something Boz acknowledged to himself only with great reluctance. It was the ability that family lore said had been bred in the lines from the long ago marriage of a cousin to a faerie that allowed Sedgewicks to sense what they couldn’t know. Long and hard knock lessons from life taught him that whenever that sixth sense emerged, it was to be considered and obeyed.

The lady accepted and took his arm. Geoff leaned close as he walked by, saying, “Tread carefully here lest I forget our years of friendship”

“I think we should all tread carefully here, my friend,” the Duke replied in a low tone, before taking to the dance floor with the lady. As he did, he realized that he felt a connection to her, but oddly, it wasn't attraction. That was strange, for he was above all else a ladies’ man, and Heather was a unique female, beautiful in some outrageous and nearly over-the-top fashion. He remembered the comment he intended to make earlier, the sudden ping from his pesky sense and decided to probe.

Badgerton hadn’t mentioned the connection to Skye that Sedgewick had because while it was hardly hidden, it was hardly well known either. Come to think of it, he had not had occasion to discuss it with the other man.

“I have been to your Isle of Skye. I've reveled in the beauty and magic of your famed faerie glen.” She looked up, startled at this unexpected piece of information. He held her eyes as he made his next comment. “I have even beheld the faerie flag possessed by my kinsmen, the Maclees. Do you know my friend and cousin, Laird Nial Maclee?”

At the question she stumbled in the steps of the dance but he covered for her easily, prodded by that inner sight to expect the lapse. Her golden eyes filled with liquid pain, longing and loss underscored by love, nearly hidden, but still pulsing, still present. Boz saw it all in the tiny fraction of time before she shuttered her gaze but with his extra sense, he'd have known it even if her eyes stayed closed.

She gathered her composure but her voice remained unsteady. “Nial? You know Nial?”

Her sentence broke when she said the name and in her tone he perceived a fire of rage that hadn't yet consumed the love hiding beneath the hate. She had not quite been able to prevent a single tear that fought free of one lovely golden eye, and he reached up with a finger to wipe it away.

He answered almost tenderly. “Yes, Heather, I do. He is my cousin but more importantly he is my friend. I sense that he has hurt you somehow. Would you like to tell me about it?”

She was shaking her head no, fiercely as the dance ended.

Geoff didn't wait for them to leave the floor. He strode over, brushing dancers aside to get to Heather. He put his arm around her waist when he arrived, and Boz fought a sudden urge to tell him not to attach himself here. Sedgewick sensed trauma and turmoil and heartbreak clearly, but whose he couldn’t say for sure and so he remained silent as his friend swept the girl into the next dance without even waiting for him to leave the floor.

Badgerton was a veritable font of barely controlled passion, and Boz’s instinct prompted him to provide the control that his friend would either be unable or unwilling to exert. He watched the pair closely, and wasn’t surprised to see them dancing in ever widening circles that neared the patio door. As he saw the other man glance at the door and then furtively around him, Boz looked around for Peter Crandle. He found the lad standing in the circle of six or seven young lords who worked hard to develop the reputation he never sought. To his dismay, they tended to surround him at a gathering, basking in the reflected infamy of his rake’s reputation. He had never once before joined the group of his own free will, but did so now.

He quickly pulled young Standings aside, asking, “Aren’t you chaperoning your cousin tonight?”

“Yes, but I was only taking a moment with my buddies. What trouble could she get into in such a short time?” He asked, defensively as he flushed at being caught off duty from his post.

“Badgerton has taken her to the terrace. I think you should follow, immediately.”

“Why would you of all people care about my cousin’s virtue?”

“Never mind that now,” He avoided the question, since this was assuredly a new role for him. “You should check the interior of the maze, near the folly first.”

Peter sprinted away to follow the couple, but his progress was impeded by the sheer volume of the crush in the room and on the dance floor, as well as by several friends who tried to hail him.

******

Heather followed her host through the patio door, breathing deeply of the crisp air before she stopped and pulled away when he began descending the steps. "Where, exactly, are we going, my lord?"

“You were gazing so longingly at the garden that I thought you might like to see it first hand,” Geoff replied.

Thinking that she'd prefer most environs to the judgmental climate indoors, Heather followed her host. She preferred the wild beauty of Scottish gardens but acknowledged that the formality and order of this English version had a certain charm, if only her companion would slow down long enough for her to see it. She paused beside a marble carving and Badgerton took her hand, nearly dragging her along.

“For goodness sakes, Lord Badgerton. I just wish to admire the statue. Aren’t we here to see the garden? If so, you should let me see it.”

He took her hand for a kiss that ended with him lightly sucking her fingers before he said, “There is something amazing out here that I simply have to show you.”

When they arrived at the center of the maze, Heather was a little out of breath and a lot dismayed by the scenery. They stood in a confined area with a view of the backs of two statutes, and several scattered pails and gardening implements half hidden beneath a stand of shrubs.

“What is so amazing here?”

He drew her close. His lips lowered towards hers as he said, “The passion I want to express to you, sweet, amazes me more than I can express with words. I simply must kiss you.”

She tried to avoid his mouth. “My Lord, please. This is most improper.”

He ignored the attempt to evade him and drew her close to whisper, with his mouth only an inch away, “No formality. Say my name, Heather.”

“Geoff, don’t. This isn't proper.” Heather’s words softened, as the thought flashed through her mind that this man had passion in his eyes while he looked at her. How would his kiss feel?

Badgerton's mouth met hers as he whispered the words. “Improper, yes, the way I feel about you is highly improper, scandalous even.”

He took her mouth possessively, demandingly. It was her first kiss, which he couldn't have known. She'd never confess to being so very unwanted to the first man who didn't share that sentiment. He seemed to want her very much but that was something else she couldn't share with him. She didn't feel urgent desire or even a rush of warmth. What she felt was an absence of air and a sensation of being choked. When his embrace tightened more she started feeling a lot of something, but unfortunately it was fear and it paralyzed her for an instant. Then she balled her hands into fists and began pounding his chest while she jerked away, or tried to. He kept pulling her back.

"Unhand my cousin this instant, you ass," said Peter, as he charged into the alcove.

The familiar voice promised safety and rescue and Heather ran to him, grabbing him like a promise of salvation she might lose if she didn't hold on tight. Her clothing was askew, her hair was rumpled and her face was wet with tears. Peter held her against his chest while she cried.

“Badgerton, you get away from my cousin and stay away from her until you learn the difference between a lady and the sort of companion you’re more accustomed to. Got it?”

Geoff's eyes were wild and he panted still as he paused beside Heather. “I am sorry, so very sorry. I wasn’t trying to scare you. I just got carried away and I apologize. Please say you forgive me.”

Peter started guiding her away before she raised a tear strained voice to say, “I'll be okay. Just promise that you'll behave better if we speak again and I'll try to forget this.”

Badgerton yelled after them. “Peter, I will do the honorable and wed her. Wait, Peter. If I've compromised her…”

Looking at the renowned rake like he'd just grown a third eye, Crandle replied, “For God’s sake, man. Get a hold of yourself. I’m not that much of a prig. It was just a kiss.” He didn’t try to take her back inside the gathering. Instead, he took her around the side to get her pelisse and leave a note for his family before he sought their coachman. A short while later after her maid had helped her change to her nightclothes and had brought her a sherry “for her nerves,” Heather lay in bed contemplating the experience.

Geoff’s kiss frightened her with its demand and urgency. Still, she should have felt something more than sadness beyond the fear. She'd never confess to a soul that her first kiss made her feel so dirty that she scrubbed her lips nearly raw as soon as she got home. She fought the thought with all of her might, but it finally overcame her will to emerge.

What would Nial’s kiss have felt like?

She squelched it quickly, but when she fell asleep some time later, her dreams overcame the barrier she erected during her waking hours. In her dreams, she was being kissed again, insistently and with passion. But when the man with her lifted his face to stare into her eyes it wasn’t Geoff, she wasn't afraid and she wasn’t fighting him off.

It was Nial, and she kissed him back with demand and urgency and more, so very much more.

CHAPTER NINE

To say he rode hard to London would be a vast understatement.

Nial rode a horse and led two others. Along the way, when the ridden horse tired, he stopped and left it near the house of some poor farmer – God forbid the tired horse should slow him down. He spared neither the animals nor himself. He rode like his life depended upon it, because he knew that it did.

In every clop of the horses’ hooves he heard, “another man, kissing another man, another man,” until he thought he'd go mad. When he made it to the outskirts of London it was late morning and he had been riding non-stop, with brief pauses to relieve himself only when nature’s demands grew unavoidable. His meals consisted of apples stuffed into his saddle at Skye and water from a canteen, which he had on horseback. The only time he rested had been on the boat ride from Skye to the mainland of Scotland, and he had been so frantic then that the Captain had threatened to throw him overboard several times.

It was little wonder that the citizens of London who were about that late morning looked at him askance. More than one husband drew his wife to him protectively, and several mothers gathered their children around their skirts. He didn't much resemble the ladies' debonair darling. He looked more like one of the outlaws from America’s Wild West pictured on the covers of the dime novels. When he pounded on the door of Sedgewick’s London estate, the butler tried to slam the door in his face while screaming to the household for someone to, “Alert the watch.”

At the breakfast table with his mother and younger siblings, Boz heard the butler’s alarmed cry but smiled as he assured his family that all was well. He yelled out to the butler and the two footmen trying to restrain the intruder, “If the outlaw wears a kilt, let him come in.”

Seconds later a filthy, disheveled, and yet strangely elated Nial burst into the dining room. His cousin’s young siblings surrounded him when he entered, squealing his name happily. He returned their enthusiastic hugs, after which the dowager duchess rose to be greeted, wisely extending her hand in lieu of a hug. After casting an assessing eye at her nephew by marriage's rather begrimed state, she promptly escorted her children upstairs to change.

Nial didn’t wait for an invitation. He lurched to the breakfast table and seized his aunt’s abandoned juice, downing the glass in one draw before he stuffed a sausage in his mouth. Sedgewick surveyed the normally debonair man with open amusement. The Scott was quaffing his second glass of juice and chewing his fourth roll before he slowed down enough to note his cousin's grin. He flushed and slowed his chomping to mumble, “Sorry.”

Boz quirked a brow and asked, “Bloody hell! Didn’t you stop to eat, or change or,” he wrinkled his nose, “bathe? I presume you at least stopped to rest?” At the negative nod, Sedgewick broke out in laughter.

“Well, damn, cuz, sit down and eat. You’ve arrived before your baggage. After breakfast you can have a bath, and you can borrow some clothes after a nap. They are preparing your room now and…..”

“No,” Nial said between hurried bites.

“What do you mean no?”

“Let me back up. I thank you for the hospitality and the clothes which I will accept. But I don’t have time for a nap.”

“You do have time for a nap. None of the entertainment will start until tonight. I assume you’ve come to try to make amends to Heather for whatever asinine screw up caused her to come here and launch herself on the marriage mart?”

Maclee growled, leapt up to seize the other man’s shoulders, shake him and say, “You better not have laid a paw on my Heather, and what the hell do you mean the marriage mart?”

Only the Duke’s loud laughter caused the footman entering the room to refrain from jumping to his employer’s aide.

"Calm down and have some tea and finish eating. You look like you’re coming off a three-day bender. I have met YOUR Heather. I have danced with YOUR Heather. Although she is of a certainty a nice piece – sit DOWN- my Sedgewick sixth sense was in full operation so no, I had not one lustful thought nor committed one improper deed. You can stop glaring at me now,” Boz said with a raised brow and an ironic inflection produced by that single word.

My Heather said the man who too-frequently threw the various women dangling after him towards Boz to buy a few moments peace. That word alone told him that Heather’s was the lure his cousin would bite and hold without her ever having to dangle. Yes, his sixth sense had been as frustratingly right as always. The girl was his cousin’s faerie fated forever and the business with Badgerton promised to be messy and unpleasant all the way around.

“Now, it appears that you’ve assuaged the worst of your hunger and thirst. Although you assure me you are somehow not exhausted after breaking all records I know of for travelling time between Skye and London, you should still go upstairs to bathe and rest a bit. My footman advises that your room and bath are ready and a change of clothes is laid out – luckily we are of a size. I‘ll have my man of business discreetly scout about and advise us where the fair Heather will be tonight. When you are ready and refreshed, I’ll be in my study attending to correspondence and several business matters.”

“Thanks. Thanks for everything. I really appreciate your help. I’m going to need it,” the laird said. Without his cousin’s title and consequence, he would never pull this off.

Both men stood and Nial gathered his cousin close for a hug.

Sedgewick said, “I am sure of one thing. There is a story here.” Maclee nodded in response. “I surely look forward to hearing it.”

At that, Nial left and went up to his chamber. He bathed and changed but saw little point in trying to rest. He should be exhausted, but something within him was elated to simply be in the same city as Heather. She was here. Boz saw her. He had to hear about that, had to hear all of it. He must know what obstacles stood between him and getting Heather back.

He tried to stay upstairs for a bit longer, but then he recalled the letter and the mention of Badgerton, and that Heather had been kissing him. Kissing him passionately. Once he remembered that, he couldn't wait. He didn't exactly run downstairs but he did walk very, very quickly. At every hurried footfall along his path to the study, he heard, “another man, kissing another man, another man, kissing another man.”

Nial almost managed not to burst into the room.

“I see you really rested. You’ve been upstairs almost an hour.”

He'd always been close to his cousin and there was little they did not share. He seated himself on the sofa and threw his head back. “I couldn’t sleep. Had I slept, I would not be rested. I have nightmares that take my sleep whenever I do manage to find it these days.”

Thinking of the admissions to come and anticipating the plea he'd have to make for his cousin's help, his eyes landed rather longingly on the small bar in the corner. It wasn't a confessional, but a dram of liquid courage would surely help to loosen his lips even if it wouldn't ease the grip of his stubborn pride.

The humor left Sedgewick, and although it was early, he poured them each a glass of the Scots Whiskey he kept on hand and sat in a chair across from the sofa.

“Tell me what this is all about. What has you so twisted and tangled?”

Nial nodded and fiddled with his fingers. “Before I do, tell, me, you've seen Heather?”

“Yes. Several times.”

“How is she?” His expression made it clear that the question wasn’t a casual one. He looked like he waited for the Angel Gabriel to pronounce whether or not he could enter the Golden Gate.

“She is well, although there is a sadness behind her eyes,” Boz evaluated carefully.

“I put that there.”

“So I gathered.”

“You spoke of me?” The hope in Nial’s voice battled with the wariness in his eyes.

“Only briefly, but I sensed that you made her very unhappy. She seemed sad, resentful and filled with something akin to hatred.” Nial clenched his face at the statement, girding himself to withstand the expected blow, trying to remind himself of Laird MacIver's statement about the other emotion that shared that coin. Still, the color drained from his face and he sank into the sofa.

Boz watched him as closely as a physician but Nial knew his cousin saw far more than any leech for he evaluated with that extra sense of his. After a few moments, Boz leaned forward, sat his glass down, cupped his hands and stared at them instead. "I hadn't intended to involve myself in this matter because Geoff is also my friend. I just might have to re-evaluate that decision. Tell me everything.”

Nial told him all of it. Although he related Sorcha’s part in the sordid tale, it wasn’t that he emphasized. So when he finished, Sedgewick gave a tight smile. "Most men would happily shove most, if not all, of the blame on the witch and her wicked potion, but not you. No, you blame yourself. Hell, it sounds like you hate yourself."

Nial shrugged. "The bitch witch embodied pure evil. She had no conscience and no concern for anyone outside her own skin. Perhaps," he took a long swallow of his drink and then circled the glass with his finger, "she and I were kindred souls. Maybe I tossed her the faerie flag to exorcise my own demons."

"You're nothing like her," Boz said, donning a small smile. "She was an attractive wench you noticed before she ever dosed you with anything. You thought her to be another in the long line of women who throw themselves at your feet. When you were younger, you took because it was available and that was reason enough. This one artificially spiked your lust and drugged you into desiring her. That should be excuse enough for your behavior, shouldn't it? Once Heather hears the full story, and you turn your damned charm on her, isn't she bound to forgive and forget?"

"No," Nial said, downing the rest of his drink in a long swallow.

"What make you think she wants more than the prize? How do you know she's not just another one who imagines a target on your tarse with her name on it?"

"She's nothing like that. She knows me," Nial said, tapping his chest with his fist, "me. Not the stupid wrapping, but rather the person who wears it. She saw the man inside the mask and loved me anyway. And I..." He took a deep breath and lurched for the bar, pouring another drink and holding the glass with both hands.

"And you've spent a lifetime choosing only the most prime dishes on the menu. So you took one look at the hag and wrote her off in any romantic sense. You decided that she wasn’t good enough for you and so you never looked below the surface, even after she became the only female you've ever considered a friend. In making that judgment, you committed the same offense as all of the women whose pursuit you disdained as selfish and false." Boz nodded, as though hearing an inner voice confirming his analysis.

"Like I said earlier, I proved myself to be a kindred soul to the bitch witch. How can I expect her to forgive me for that?"

"Okay, I'm sure it upset the hell out of her to see your wand making magic with the widow. But you're right, that's not the seat of this dilemma. It would piss her off but it wouldn't give her that sad, lost expression. She saw the package but kept looking until she reached the person and then she wanted the man. You saw the package and reached the person but rejected the woman. For that, she will have to forgive you but she won't do it until you first forgive yourself. But you're nothing like Sorcha. It doesn't sound like she'd walk across a room out of concern for another person. You've crossed a country."

"I've crossed nothing with motives as noble as you attempt to ascribe. But, yes, I've crossed a country to get to her. I'd cross hell to claim her and forsake heaven to keep her." He faced his cousin with hands curved into fists at his side.

“You mentioned a letter from Lady MacIver that spoke of Badgerton kissing Heather in the garden at his parent’s ball,” Boz said.

“Badgerton the bastard. Yes, I hear he has been pursuing her. I shall end that. I shall end that right away,” Nial said, his tone threaded with unmistakable vehemence.

“It may not be as easy as you think. In a one-dimensional world where there was only black and white, you would be the good guy and he would be the bad guy and I would know who to root for. But the fact is, Geoff Ramsgate is a friend of mine and he is a good person. I believe that he genuinely cares for Heather and I am convinced he will come up to the mark for her.”

“Heather is mine,” said Nial immediately and without hesitation. His claim was firm and unshakable.

“There are others, but from what I've seen Geoff is your biggest competition. It won’t be an easy match for you, because he has a great deal to recommend him. In addition to which, he never shoved her aside or betrayed her.” Boz wasn’t one to pull his punches, and his friend should know what he faced.

Maclee leaned forward on the couch and put his empty glass down on the occasional table. He sensed that his kinsman still hadn’t chosen sides and intended to stay out of the fray. Nial couldn’t have that, for he was certain he would need all the help he could get.

“You say that Badgerton cares for Heather. Well, let me tell you how I feel about her. I know you have not yet been in love and somehow you seem to believe that you are too logical for it to ever happen to you. I promise you that it will because you care too much for it not to. Maybe you won’t understand or believe what I am about to tell you today. But someday, when you least expect it, you will fall madly in love and then you will know that I have told you the truth.”