A Faerie Fated Forever (29 page)

Nial stood with his hands clenched into fists. He glanced at Carrick and Bonnie, and saw them already grieving for their daughter. Heather drew in another loud, rattling breath. He vaulted to her side. She opened her eyes, and appeared to be conscious. He put a trembling hand to her hair and smoothed it down, and then bent and took her lips. He tasted her blood and thought of their digging a hole and putting her in it. What if he took his own life and as a final act of vengeance the elders refused to bury him with her? An eternity separated from Heather. No. That could not be. The thought was intolerable.

He would never beg for his own life. But Heather’s, well, that was different. If he begged for her on his knees he would shame himself before his clan, her clan and the assembled guests. Hell, he would shame himself before all of Scotland. Could he live with that? From infancy he was taught that pride made a man and he lived that lesson every day. Could he force himself to beg on bended knees for her life? Could he let her die knowing there was any possibility that he could have saved her?

Regretfully, he kissed her hand and walked over to stand before the King with his uncertainty in his expression. “Don’t ask me to do this.”

An audible gasp rose arose from the crowd as they realized that the laird was actually considering the demand. Carrick walked to Nial’s side. “Son, you are a Scot and the laird of your clan. Your heritage and our culture say that you should not consider this demand. I don’t know that I could ... I’m nearly positive I couldn’t do it to save her, not even to save my wife. You must let Heather go. The price is too high.”

Raibeart shouted, “Not a man here would consider it, laird. You can’t go down on bended knees and beg and still pretend you're a man, much less a Highlander. Do it and you lose the respect of every person who ever walked Scottish soil. Do it and you shame every ancestor of your line. You’ve fulfilled the dratted curse. This one can die and you can marry and not have to worry that your fate is out there somewhere waiting for you. You can marry another woman and forget this one.”

Considering the elder’s words, Nial stilled. “That’s why you do this. My ancestor put aside his love for your daughter and pledged himself to another. You give me the same choice, don’t you? Would you have relented if Ian had begged for your daughter on bended knees, Your Highness?”

The King had his own hands clenched into fists by this time and for a moment Nial thought he would not answer. Then the King threw back his head and growled, “The day we came for her on the bridge I told him that I would consider letting her stay if he begged for her on bended knees. The bastard replied that he begged for nothing. So yes, Laird Nial. I put the choice to you today. Will you humble yourself for Heather?”

The Princess heard for the first time that her father had loved her enough to put her happiness first. “You would have done that for me Father?” He nodded yes and she kissed his cheek.

The King looked at the lady who started twitching as the throes of death approached. She breathed intermittently in uneven chains of rattling gasps. “Decide, Nial. Quickly. Or else, her death will make your decision for you.”

Nial watched his world, knowing she would be gone in minutes leaving him with his manhood intact. He recalled his earlier words to his cousin and suddenly he knew - pride didn’t make a man. Love made a man. He could keep his pride and lose his love but without her he wouldn’t be a man anyway. He might die for his pride, but he would never sacrifice Heather for it. In the final analysis, his choice was easy. The unthinkable wasn’t so unthinkable at all.

He grimaced as he bent down to one knee. The act was physically painful. He heard loud shouts of “No” from the crowd as his eyes met those of the Faerie King. He unlocked the other knee to slowly lower it to the ground. As both knees met the soil, loud broken gasps told him that she was about to leave him.

What would he do to keep Heather? He would do anything. He would do everything. He would betray every oath and duty. He would thrust aside his pride, his dignity and even his manhood and beg like a trained hound.

He did just that, suddenly overcome with the knowledge that he had best do it quickly and he had best get it right the first time. Heather hovered at the verge of death. She would be lost to him forever. At the unimaginable thought, no pride remained in the gaze of the man who bent before the King in abject supplication. All that remained was a plea from his soul.

He bowed his head and kissed the extended royal hand and spoke in a tone void of anything but entreaty and love, unfettered and boundless. “Please. I beg you to save Heather.” Tears fell unchecked from his eyes as he humbled himself in view of the crowd who mocked him for it loudly. All of their jeers and taunts of “coward,” and “pathetic fool” and even “misplace your manhood laird?” went unheeded.

“I beg you, Your Majesty. Please. She is my heart and my soul. She is my life. She is my world. What good is pride without Heather? What good is anything without her? She carries, or carried, our child. She is my future and I can't live without her. I beg you to help her. Please?”

At the final plea, the hard knot of rage that the King had carried for generations crumbled. He smiled because Nial was so focused on his groveling that he didn’t see the King make a motion with his hand that caused a faerie knight to touch a sword to his ladies’ head. Nial’s head remained bowed in supplication as he begged without pausing for so much as breath. “Please, please. I beg you, please.”

The King turned his hand over to take Nial’s as he said, “She still carries the child, Laird Maclee. We look forward to playing with him as he comes to adulthood and faces The Choice. We look forward to seeing if he chooses as wisely as his father who has gained his love and three additional uses of the flag for his clan.”

Before the meaning of the King’s words penetrated the dense fog of grief and loss surrounding Nial’s brain, he heard a voice. At first he assumed he imagined it because he wished so hard for it. Had he slipped into insanity? It was a female voice and it sounded like Heather.

“Nial?” What was going on here? She was lying in the dirt in her wedding dress surrounded by a crowd of angry people who seemed to be jeering unspeakably horrible things at Nial. At her feet stood a host of shining, brightly garbed folk. They were faeries. It was easy to identify the regal one wearing the crown as their King. What she couldn’t identify or make sense of in her brain was what Nial was doing.

Her proud Highland Laird was on bended knee before the King. Two knees, not one. The begging posture. His head bowed in humble supplication as he repeated the words “please” and “I beg you” over and over. His clothes were filthy and covered with blood. What could possibly make Nial beg? He wasn’t wounded was he? Was Nial hurt?

At the thought, she sat up but found herself too dizzy to rise. The crowd gasped loudly. Her mother turned to her and screamed, “Praise the Lord God,” and none of it distracted Nial. So finally she screamed, at the top of her lungs. “Nial Maclee, get over here and explain this to me.”

He looked up and his future was in his eyes as he met the smiling gaze of the Faerie King. Then he lurched toward Heather so suddenly that he had to catch himself on his hands to keep from falling face first in the dirt. She was alive. He hadn’t lost her. He might have lost the respect of every person who stood in the crowd, but he hadn’t lost Heather.

She was all he needed.

He tried to rise to his feet but was too shaken to make it. He crawled to her, finding he couldn’t speak, and his eyes couldn’t seem to focus. She was alive. His hands went to her chest where the gaping hole had poured forth her life’s blood moments ago. The wound was gone as though it had never been. She blushed, and her eyes fogged with a complete lack of comprehension as to what was going on. He realized that to her, it must seem that his hands were fondling her breasts in view of a large crowd.

Yet, he couldn’t stop, couldn’t pause in his examination. He patted her down from head to toe. He ignored her protests for modesty and even turned her over to examine her rear. He patted each inch of her and could find no wound. Still, he wasn’t assured so he turned her back over and began examining her front again before he loudly called for Mac. Nial’s hands wandered continually and the healer had to ask him to cease so he could examine the lady properly. A moment later Mac pronounced her “fit as a fiddle.”

She was well?

He threw back his head and laughed, filled with joy beyond bearing. He was laughing too hard to answer her, and she didn’t like being ignored, so she pounded on his chest as she demanded he stop acting like a mad man and explain all of this immediately.

Instead, when he finally found his voice, he turned to the faerie host and looked at the King. “Thank you. I wish I had words for what your gift means to me.” He was already taking Heather into his arms as he finished. “She is everything and my pride was a very tiny price to pay to still be able to do this.”

With his final words he took Heather’s lips in a tender kiss, too full of the vision of her lying near death to give his passion free rein. He kept his eyes open and saw the faerie host floating to the clouds and heard the King’s hearty laughter the entire time. He waved, before he turned his full attention to the woman who, by God, would be his wife in a moment. Well, he would make sure they were wed as soon as he could lift his lips and stop reveling in the fact that this would not be their last kiss.

She tried to rise, but he still saw her, in his mind’s eye, lying there as her life’s blood left her. She was still here, and by God he would keep her. He rose and scooped her up in his arms, ignoring her protests that she was fine. He called for his guard and the warriors surrounded them immediately. His eyes frantically searched for the priest among the crowd. He refused to allow anyone, including Boz or her parents to approach them. In the pressing crowd he could not find the father so he called for him. The priest appeared, wearing the biggest smile Nial had ever seen.

“Father, we will exchange the vows right this minute.” Nial demanded, providing full proof to the crowd that the supplicant was gone and the Highland laird had returned.

“I don’t know if I will promise anything until you put me down and explain to me what exactly has been going on here,” Heather began in a demanding voice. Her demand was softened by the absolutely besotted look in Nial’s eyes as he gazed at her. She looked up at him and saw again the blood and was reminded of her fear that he was wounded. “Nial, for goodness sake, put me down so I can examine you.”

“Sweetheart, I’m fine. The blood was yours.” His assurance wasn’t enough for her, and he looked at her within the circle of his arms and realized that like him, she would not be assured until she had examined him with her own two hands.

After sweeping the area with his eyes, and repeated assurances from his warriors that they would guard her safety, he put her down, but kept her within the tight circle of his arms. She ignored the gathered, pressing crowd completely as she examined him with the same care he had shown her. By the time she finished, his shirt was open and her hands patted his bare chest, ceaselessly seeking the wound that must be producing all of the blood that coated his garments. She was puzzled, for she could find no injury.

“Nial, if there is no wound, where is all of this blood coming from?”

“My love, I am fine. The blood is yours.”

“Mine?” She chuckled, “But that is impossible. I am not hurt. I am quite fine”

“You are fine now, thanks to faerie magic.” The humor left his gaze as his eyes darkened to show the horror of unimaginable loss that would haunt the dark corners of his mind for the rest of his life. They darkened to show the fear that would keep his lovely Heather close by his side for every moment of their future.

“You were shot, love and you were very close to breaking your word and dying and leaving me here to face forever without my faerie fated love. However, thanks to the magical touch of a faerie sword you seem to be fine. The healer has now pronounced you well.” His face took on the stubborn look that would brook no disagreement as he continued.

“I am done with ceremony and rules that would have you walk away from me. Within the circle of my arms you will be safe. There you will stay.” He turned to glare at Carrick who looked guilty as Nial shouted, “Unlike your father, who would leave your side for something as inconsequential as flowers, I will keep you within my arms from this moment forward.” Carrick hushed his wife who wanted to protest the insult. Just now he couldn’t argue with the man who put aside clan and pride for love of his daughter.

Carrick whispered to his wife instead, “Love, cease. Boz and I are already taking bets on how long he will insist on keeping Heather right within his arms.”

The irrepressible laird was back in force as he said, softly so that only Heather heard, “Immediately after we are wed I will whisk you away to our bridal chamber. There I promise that I shall answer your questions and you shall relieve the ache that now flourishes for all to see thanks to your thorough examination.”

She looked at him questioningly and her wide-eyed golden gaze saw that his shirt was wide open (Good Lord, she had apparently torn it in her worry) and his nipples had drawn into hard buds of need that her mouth went dry in a sudden desire to taste. The front of his kilt was tented with the pressing ache just mentioned. As she blushed, she licked her lips and he threw back his head and laughed.

“Perhaps it is fitting, my sweet. A few minutes ago, my summons of the Faerie King for the magic that saved you provided ample evidence to the crowd that I love you beyond all else. Now, as we are finally united, your touch has proved that my love is joined in full measure by those claws of passion. Thus, I am certain that no one here doubts that you are, indeed, my faerie fated forever.”