A Faerie Fated Forever by Mary Anne Graham Page A

innate knowledge that she was his destiny. He felt the press of her body at the fair and his immediate arousal at her touch. He saw her tending little Fergus and perfectly at home supping with the staff who barely spoke to him these days.
    He was on their side. He couldn’t stand himself either. Some amorist he turned out to be. She'd been right in front of him and he hadn’t seen her. He felt the connection with her, fought his unwilling arousal at her touch and disregarded all of it as unimportant. Now he missed her company, her smiles, their conversations and debates, their long walks in the garden. He hadn’t been able to make himself go back there at all since that night. Her absence dug a gaping hole that ate away his soul.
    His elaborate scheme to keep her friendship while chasing after some fantasy had been idiotic. His stubborn refusal to let the elders back him into a corner had been partially responsible. Mostly though, his greed and cowardice cost him his world. Yes, he argued with the inner voice that howled at such terms. What else could you call a man who wouldn't just sit down and be honest with a friend? What else could you call a fool so damned determined to have it all? Today Heather must hate him almost as much as he hated himself.
    Bloody hell, he fell in love with her long before he recognized her as his fate. He loved the woman within almost from the instant they met but his gigantic ego refused to let him contemplate marriage to "Heather the hag." He should have been man enough to acknowledge that he loved the lass who dwelt in her soul, society and appearances be damned.
    How would she look at him today? Might some smidgen of her emotion for him still survive? He hadn’t been able to face her, but now he saw that he had to try because he had to know. He deserved anything she said but he couldn't just let her slip away. Likely, her father would have him killed but that was better than trying to go on alone. Without Heather nothing lay ahead but an empty road meandering aimlessly to nowhere. The path to the future, whatever future he had left, led through Castle MacIver.
    With purpose in his steps for the first time in weeks, he strode towards his horse. He would ride to the MacIvers and find a way to see Heather. His resolution firm, he made haste and good time getting to their castle. When the butler opened the door, looked at him and said, “Oh dear,” he knew he faced a battle.
    “I’ve come to see Heather,” he said firmly, as he placed a foot in the door to keep the man from slamming it in his face. He grimaced when the door collided with his foot.
    “Sir, please don’t ask me to tell Laird Carrick of ye’re presence here. I promise he’ll not take it well.”
    “Then don’t tell him. I want to see Heather,” Nial issued the demand firmly, his face as determined as his tone.
    “Lady Heather isn't here,” the little man said as his eyes darted again to the door and the foot. "If you'll kindly remove yourself from our ..."
    Maclee picked the poor fellow up by his shirtfront and felt him quiver, but Nial wasn't in a merciful mood. This time his demand was a physical threat, “I think you are lying. Get Heather down here or tell me which room she is in and I’ll go to her.”
    “He’s not lying, Laird Maclee,” said a harsh voice and he looked up to see Carrick. He heard a deliberate cough, and saw that six MacIver warriors surrounded him from the rear. It spoke volumes of his preoccupation that he hadn’t heard the men approach.
    Even though the other man’s hatred blared at him, Nial would not be deterred from his purpose. It was the only purpose left to him. "Then where is she? I want to speak with her.”
    “Why? Do you want her to watch you dance the reels o’bogie with another woman? Wasn’t it enough that she saw the man she was foolish enough to love bare-assed and buried to the hilt in that witch? You need her watching to get it up these days, boy?” Carrick