A Faerie Fated Forever (27 page)

Now she cried as he reached down and took her lips for a long and tender kiss filled more with love than passion. Normally, Bonnie or Violet would have gone into a bout of coughing or throat clearing to break it up, but the truth was, they couldn’t. Both were so choked up from his words that they couldn’t speak at all.

He left without another word, and Bonnie held her arms open to her daughter. All three women sobbed. Vi sniffed as she said, “Drat that man, he’s got us starting already. But I’ll tell you what, you’d better marry him or I will.”

“Oh, I’m going to marry him. And I’m going to surprise him by being hale and hearty when I say my vows,” Heather promised.

“You may be more hale and hearty than he is my dear,” Bonnie warned dryly.

“Why is that?”

“Because if he keeps insulting your father by implying that he’s not strong enough or careful enough to get you to the altar in one piece, then Carrick just might kill him.”

******

As the women bustled about getting ready, Nial donned his ceremonial kilt and made it downstairs in a matter of minutes. He’d never be able to understand how it took women so many hours to get dressed. Then he recalled Heather at the various balls they had attended in London and smiled as he decided that he couldn’t argue with the results.

After about fifteen minutes everyone wished he'd go back upstairs. The laird’s state had passed tense, anxious, and even desperate. His worry level now hovered somewhere beyond berserk. This should be a joyful occasion, but Nial’s pacing and muttering made it impossible for anyone to feel like celebrating. When Peter got close enough to hear what he was saying, it didn’t help anyone’s mood to learn he was praying.

Even more astonished by the laird than the men in the house was the priest. The good man nearly fainted. He stopped by to be sure that everything was still as planned for the wedding. He took three steps into the dwelling before Laird Maclee grabbed his arm.

“Father McGiven will you pray with me? Now, right now?”

The priest could hardly have done otherwise, especially since Laird Maclee was yanking him down. It was either get on one knee or fall. One knee was the Highland prayer posture, since the men here refused to go down on two knees. They said that they’d not beg anyone, even God. Priests here considered themselves lucky to get the stubborn Scots to the one knee, so they gave up pressing for more.

The father glanced at the other men and Sedgewick mouthed “humor him.” Boz was less generous a moment later, after his cousin's next words.

“Will you all pray with me?” Now the poor man was truly befuddled. As one, the men put down their whiskey and assumed the same prayer posture.

The father was amazed at seeing so many of those who rarely graced his church seeking prayer. He was glad to pray with them but he frankly had no idea what he should pray for.

“Son,” Father McGiven began carefully, “I presume that you seek to pray that your coming marriage will be happy and fruitful?”

Nial looked up, offended. “Hell no, father. Once I’m married to Heather, it will damned well be happy. It’s already been fruitful – she carries our child.”

He hadn’t intended to say the latter. Neither he nor Heather had yet confirmed that Boz’s earlier sixth sense had been right. “Damn,” he muttered, “Heather wanted to announce that.”

Carrick was as pleased as punch. “A grandchild? Bonnie and I are to be grandparents, hanh? Well, that was quick work, boy.”

Pleased he’d been right, Boz gloated, saying, “Upon my word it looks like the Sedgewick sixth sense displays to advantage again." He could have bitten his tongue because Nial looked even more frantic at the words. He started tugging on Father McGiven’s arm again. The priest still looked perplexed that the father of the bride wasn’t trying to kill the groom who had anticipated his wedding vows.

“Prayer, father?” Nial asked again.

“Son,” the good man’s patience was at an end, “I’ll be happy to pray for just about anything with you, but it would help to know what it is you want me to pray for.”

“Heather. Pray that she will arrive at the altar alive,” Nial’s tone grew more tense as the minutes ticked by.

“Is there some possibility she will not arrive alive, son?” The priest inquired.

“Yes. They’re making me leave her. As long as I have her with me she will be okay, but they’re making me leave her.” Nial’s panic was really starting to piss Carrick off. He tried not to look pissed off because it was probably a cardinal sin to be pissed off while you were praying.

“Very well, son. We will pray that Heather arrives at the chapel alive and that she continues to be hale and hearty and lives to a ripe old age.” Diplomacy made the priest add the rest, because Laird MacIver’s temper was nothing to be sneezed at and he was clearly becoming irate.

“Just pray that she gets to the chapel alive. Once she’s back with me, I’ll not let her out of my sight until the threat has passed. And maybe not then either,” Nial added for good measure.

“Damn it, Nial,” Carrick began, but halted with a blush when the priest cleared his throat.

Once the priest started praying, Nial wouldn’t let him stop. Father McGiven tried saying “Amen” five or six times, but each time, when the men started to rise the laird pushed the priest back down again. About an hour later, when Violet came downstairs because they had forgotten the “something borrowed,” she watched for a few minutes before she tiptoed back upstairs with wide eyes.

“What are the men doing?” Bonnie asked, as she stood behind Heather brushing her hair.

“They are praying and Nial won’t let them stop.”

“What’s so funny about that?”

“The more they pray, the madder Carrick gets. It’s the first time I saw a man on his knees in prayer who looked like he was contemplating murder.” When Vi laughed this time, all the ladies joined in.

After an hour and a half in prayer, the priest started getting desperate. When he began to pray, “God please allow my knees to hold out long enough to perform the wedding,” Nial finally relented and allowed him to get up. He moved faster than he had in years to exit the dwelling, because the laird looked like he was about to call for prayer again when he saw the black robe hightailing it out the front door.

The men started pressing Nial to have a drink, and he issued the proclamation that none of them should be drinking today, especially Laird MacIver.

“Why is that?” Carrick got right in Maclee’s face when he asked the question.

“Because I don’t want your aim to be off,” Nial’s shouted his reply.

“Son, I’ve been putting reins on my temper because I don’t want to deliver my daughter to the alter to marry a man with two black eyes and a swollen lip, but you are about to push me too far.”

Then the other laird put a hand on his arm and looked at him with love and fear brimming from his eyes as he said, “I’m sorry, sir. It’s just that I’m so very worried about her.” The MacIver’s temper visibly cooled. It was impossible to hold onto a good jolt of ire, no matter how well deserved, when it was solely motivated by concern for your daughter.

The shouting got so loud it was heard upstairs. Bonnie, seeking to avoid the men coming to blows or Nial finally succeeding in forcing all the others to strangle him, made her way downstairs. She looked at Boz, who was to serve as best man, and strongly suggested, “I think that you and Nial should depart now so you won’t be late to the service.”

Sedgewick pulled out his pocket watch and glanced at it, and then he looked around the room at the hopeful expressions on every male face. He said, “She’s right. Let’s go and get you and Heather married.”

Surely a star was added to his heavenly crown for not pointing out that it was still an hour away from the ceremony and the walk to the kirk wouldn’t take five minutes.

He practically had to drag his cousin out the door. With every step he kept turning around to say, “You will watch out for her? You will be careful?” At the end, Boz pretty much pushed the anxious groom outside.

******

As they walked down the stairs, Nial said, “I guess I’m a little worried. I’m driving everyone daft, aren’t I?”

“They passed daft a while back. I think they were contemplating murder by the time we got out of there.” He knew he would be able to torment his cousin for years with jabs about his insane behavior, provided that he managed to get hitched without Heather dying.

Nial stopped to lean against a tree, which was likely a good thing because he really didn’t look too steady on his feet. The particular tree he chose had a view of the window of his room and he stood gazing at it, moonstruck in the middle of the afternoon. When Heather appeared for a moment, he blew a kiss.

“I love her so much. You hear about how love will sneak up and blindside you but until it happens, you just don’t understand how it is. Just wait, it’ll be your turn next,” he teased, and he worked for a rather manic grin.

“Not me, my friend. After watching what you’ve gone through in the name of love, I’m planning to look for a nice little English chit I can marry and ignore. I’ll get her with child and then continue on with my mistresses and my clubs and forget all about her,” Boz said, but in his mind’s eye flashed a vision of a girl with straight black hair and purple eyes.

They resumed walking but Boz stopped suddenly, struggling for balance as the landscape whirled around him like a storm-tossed ship. He grabbed the trunk of a tree for balance as faint hues of green tinged his complexion. The import didn’t escape Nial.

“Jesus, are you nauseous?”

He couldn’t lie to Nial. “Yes, I am.”

“Just now? Did it start just now?”

“No. It actually started a few minutes ago. It’s getting worse now.” He said, putting out a restraining hand to Nial, who turned to dash back to the house. “You can’t go back there and grab her away from her family because that would tell the world that you don’t trust her father. You would start your marriage off with a father-in-law who believes you think him weak which would be bad enough with any man, but it would be the kiss of death to tell another laird you don’t think he can protect his own daughter.”

Nial paused, but unwillingly. He squeezed his eyes shut, unwilling to reveal so much of his soul to anyone. Sedgewick said nothing further, knowing he had made his case. The other man’s thoughts whirled frantically, and his conclusion was in his eyes when they snapped open. It was also in his posture because he coped by becoming the laird. He stiffened, threw back his shoulders and steeled his gaze as he turned toward the kirk, making a sweeping motion with his hand.

“Shall we?” He asked levelly.

They walked on to the kirk where the laird greeted Father McGiven somberly. The man was surprised by his composure, but the twinkling in his eyes conveyed his belief that he didn’t expect it to last. He generally spoke with couples before the ceremony, and he had spoken with the lovely bride a few minutes earlier.

“Laird Maclee, I must be certain that you appreciate the import of the ceremony that will occur today. I impress this upon you particularly for your love of cavorting with the ladies is well known to me. Today you will promise me to give yourself only to your bride until one of you dies. That is a vow before God and I must have your word that you will keep it.”

Just that quickly, the priest’s words shredded the remnants of his control. A flare of fear glinted from Nial’s eyes. He intended to keep faith with Heather for the rest of their days. But how many would they number? Nial whirled wildly and the priest caught his arm, ignoring the whispered word of caution from his kinsman. He was a man of God and would not shirk his duty.

"Son,” the father’s stern voice called, “I must have your pledge that you will keep faith with your wife or I’ll not give you the vows.”

The laird slammed the cleric against the wall of the chapel. “You braying ass, how dare you question my keeping of any vow, much less the one I have prayed my whole life to be able to take? I’ve no concern about the vows, merely a very pressing desire to get them said.”

Aware that the laird expected trouble, the priest was glad to escape the man’s clutches by ducking under his arm and scurrying away, as he said that he would check to be sure that all was in readiness for the ceremony.

Boz shook his head at his friend. “Attacking the priest is one of the less bright acts I’ve ever seen you commit.”

“I know. I just want this over. I need this to be over with Heather beside me. The man is worried that I will be unfaithful to my wife? That concern is both paltry and needless. I am physically incapable of mating with any other woman.”

The corners of Nial’s mouth stretched into a tight smile at his cousin’s surprise. “If Heather should…” He stopped, unable to voice the thought specifically, and tried again. “If anything happens to her, one way or another, my days as a man are done.”

Nial turned to stare anxiously at the pathway that the bride would not walk down for a good fifteen or twenty minutes. Boz excused himself to slip inside to comfort the priest, because there was a limit to how much of Nial’s uncharacteristic anxiety even he could take. At a tap on his arm, the laird turned to find Calum at his elbow.

“I hear that today you will step into the trap with the mouse you schemed so hard to shun. I was called away by family illness and have missed the sweeping events leading up to this calamity. Truthfully, you do not look like a happy man. Tell me, is this wedding an occasion for joy or mourning?”