nickngreg | The Highlander and His English Lord, Greg/Nick, PG

Chapter Title: The beginning
Author:

prettiful_pout
Characters: Nick & Greg
Warning: This chapter contains another pairing that will become quite evident once you start reading.
Rating: PG for this chapter
Summary: “Over my dead body!” Nicolas chucked a pillow at the blond man’s head, smirking triumphantly at the look of astounded shock that crossed Gregory Sanders’ face.

a/n: Here it is, the fourth chapter. Enjoy ^_^

The Highlander and His English Lord

Chapter 4: The beginning

Grissom Sanders was a powerful man. He had men who’d give up their lives just to please him, fulfill his every desire. He had women swooning all over the Highlands and even in England for him. And he had an amazing Son who was strong, brave, and soon to be married to a very highly regarded young lord. Yet the only thing he seemed to be able to think about at the current moment was her.

Catherine Willows, most respected maid in the Sanders’ keep danced freely as she puttered around the indoor garden. A song on her lips and a steady rhythm in her hips, she didn’t even notice the intense Blue gaze which locked on her slim, willowy form. “Drink up,” She crooned, watering a lively looking fern, smiling brightly at the instant affects the water had on the dehydrated plant that only an optimist such as herself would notice.

“You move with a great deal of Grace, Lady Catherine.”

The beautiful blonde woman nearly leapt out of her skin at the sudden announcement. Spinning around, pitcher of water in hand, her eyes spat blue fire as she prepared to do battle with that of the person whom had disturbed her in her own personal haven. A curse was frozen upon her lips as she instantly recognized the giant, handsome King of the Highlanders. Gasping she dropped the pitcher, water splashing all over the ground and glass shattering into a million tiny little pieces. “Oh my heavens! I am so sorry my—I mean your Highness. I didn’t mean to intrude and if you’d just allow me to clean up this mess I so stupidly made then I’ll be out of your way in no time.”

Grissom’s hand stretched out swiftly, gently placing itself upon the timid woman’s shoulder, halting her actions. “Nonsense, I would not have you leave on account of my sudden appearance. Please, take a seat,” The salt and pepper haired man indicated a bench and led a protesting Catherine Willows to where it sat. Sitting her down he continued, “Worry not about the mess, was my own fault for startling you in such an ungentlemanly manner. I’ll soon enough have someone else here to clean it up. In the mean time I’d truly enjoy some time with you, if that is not a problem?”

Catherine’s eyes widened in shock and she was pretty much sure her jaw had struck the ground at her King’s request of her company. What seemed like an era later of silence she nodded her head dumbly. It was obvious it wasn’t a request anyways. This was in fact his Castle and he could go wherever he saw fit without getting any back talk.

Grissom took a seat beside the woman he had watched in secret for the seven years she had been in his care. She had a pretty mysterious background and apart from both her parents being murdered by a viscious killer when she was that of the age of only 15, he didn’t know much else about her. ’She’s absolutely riveting.’ His mind screamed to him and the handsome Scotsman had to turn his head slightly to hide his immense blush that spread hastily across his cheeks and right straight up to his ears. What if he made a move? Would that be it? The new beginning he had longed for since his late wives death?

Catherine noticed the blush and smiled shyly. She’d loved the King of the Highlanders ever since she’d been taken in by him so kindly, seven years ago when the Monestary had kicked her out for ‘Ungodly’ behaviour. ’Whatever,’ she thought, a slight attitude coming back at the memories of the cruelty she had sufficed back in the care of the much resented Sisters.

“You’re beautiful.”

It was sudden. It was unexpected. It was all she’d ever wanted to hear, and it confirmed the tense attraction that the two of them had bore for years. Taking a deep breath, the blonde woman reached out a shaky hand and gripped the rough, worn hand of the King. His tan skin clashed with her creamy colouring and she’d never seen a more beautiful sight in all her 36 years of life.

Grissom smiled, wrapping an arm around his young, mature, beautiful love, pulling her fit form flush against that of his own brawny, broad shape.

The romantic atmosphere confirmed that the day would be that of a glorious one.

~*~

“You bastard! I hate you! You took advantage of me, you jackass!”

“Control yourself Nicolas Stokes, or I will be forced to restrain you.”

“Over my dead body!” Nicolas chucked a pillow at the blond man’s head, smirking triumphantly at the look of astounded shock that crossed Gregory Sanders’ face.

A cry of surprise was heard as the young, Englishman was lifted into the air, the Prince’s strong arms wrapped tightly about his lithe form. “Let me go you conniving, foul, loathsome, blackguard! I despise youhmppff.” Nicolas’ rant was cut short as the blonde man’s mouth came crashing down on his own, claiming his lips powerfully and thrusting his tongue forcefully past the brunette’s barrier of pearly white teeth. Nicolas beat against the broad chest, yet to no avail. Gregory’s left hand pulled one of Nicolas’ legs around his waist and it was an automatic reaction for Nicolas to wrap his other leg around the young Prince, his hands trailing hesitantly through the blond, curly locks of the domestic male, finally succumbing hopelessly to the powerful kiss.

Gregory felt all the blood rush to his already stiffening cock and he moaned in the pure ecstasy of the soft body molded up tight against his. “God Nicolas, if you only knew what you do to me.”

Nicolas’ eyes clouded over with a dark light, “Example, milord?”

Gregory’s eyes narrowed dangerously. He was mocking him, seriously mocking him! Thrusting his straining erection up against tight buttocks, he glorified victoriously at the squeak which was elicited from the younger man. “That’s one of them. Would you like another?”

Gregory chuckled as Nicolas squirmed until he was released, panting heavily, and the Prince noted observantly that the young man leaned heavily upon his right foot, as if trying to keep as much weight off of his left foot as possible. ‘We’ll have to have that checked out.’ The Prince thought to himself. Nicolas had sustained an injured ankle over a month ago in one of his struggles for escape, yet it should have healed by now. “Huh…” He murmured, rubbing his stubbled chin in thought.

“Why are you look-looking at me like that?” Nicolas stuttered, tilting his head up and to the side suspiciously. After all, this was his kidnapper and soon to be husband. An odd flutter of something rose in his stomach at the thought of being married to this strong, handsome rogue yet he pushed it aside, mistaken it as obvious disdain.

Gregory didn’t answer his question and merely turned on his heels, throwing a robe carelessly around his body as he walked in the general direction of the door. Nicolas watched with hurt eyes as he was left alone in the room at the Highlander’s exit. He didn’t understand his feelings of hurt but he accepted them as feelings of just not wanting to be alone at the current moment.

Sighing Nicolas limped over to the door, not surprised to find it locked. “Ya, cause he’s going to leave it open just so a bloody fool such as myself can escape.” Nicolas wandered over to an immensely sized desk, eyes widening as he spotted a beautiful picture of a woman, the sketch obviously done by that of a talented hand. He lifted it and studied the different shades and colours of charcoals and leads. From what he could tell the woman had flowing, shoulder length brown hair, eyes doe like and a gorgeous chocolate brown. Her body was slim and her smile gap-toothed.

Footsteps sounded and Nicolas was snapped from his ponderings of who the beautiful woman was. Placing the picture back down where he’d found it he scrambled over to the bed, throwing a fur around himself just in time as the door was flung open carelessly and a tall, chocolate coloured man walked in with the oddest hair that Nicolas had ever seen, Gregory trailing not far behind him. The Englishman’s eyes slitted with distrust as the two men approached him.

Obviously sensing the brunette’s distress, Gregory nodded reassuringly at him, as if telling him that everything would just fine. “This is the Castle’s healer, Warrick Brown, Nicolas. I trust you will accept his gracious offer to examine that injured ankle of yours.” There was room in that steely voice for objection and it was just as obvious that ‘Warrick’ hadn’t offered his assistance but had yet just received orders to follow without question.

Taking a gulp of air, Nicolas timidly nodded his head in agreement and took a seat on the edge of the bed, wincing as he sat on a patch of something dry and hard. Wondering what it was he moved aside, all thoughts of the mystery substance forgotten as his ankle was grabbed with firm yet gentle hands. Yet as gentle as the large, Black man’s hands were, it still hurt to have his tender flesh touched in anyway whatsoever. He let out a whimper of pain, his brow furrowing in pain.

Gregory was at his side in an instant, his muscular arms wrapping around his small waist in a protective manner. Nicolas couldn’t help but stiffen and then reluctantly lean back into that comforting embrace.

Warrick studied the two men, a brow quirked in thought. ’So this is Nicolas, huh? Greg caught himself a cute one, I’ll admit that much. Too innocent for my taste and definitely not female but who am I to complain?’ The dark skinned man rubbed his fingers along the swollen flesh of the tender ankle, eliciting a soft whistle. This was going to hurt. “It’s broken.”

“Bro-broken? What do-do you mean?” Nicolas stuttered, wondering if that meant his foot had to be cut off or something like that.

“Warrick?” Gregory’s voice was unwavering and sounded calm, yet the blue eyed man sensed the ferial hint of danger there if he messed up with what was Gregory’s.

“The bone has been broken and then tried to heal on its own. The only problem is that it healed at an awkward angle and has most likely created the infection in which we can see along these purplish marks along this area of the skin.” He indicated which areas he was talking about before continuing grimly, “If your laddie wants to keep his foot Greg, the bone is going to have to be broken and then repositioned. Even with opium wine and laudanum, this process is that of a painful one.”

“Oh god,” Nicolas groaned, throwing his head back in pain and frustration as his ankle was twisted slightly to a different angle for further observation.

“Dautie? You’re going to have to have this operation. You okay with that, love?” Gregory’s voice was sweet and tender as he crooned softly to Nicolas and the young man could only nod in understanding. Nicolas was no fool, and he knew that having painful reparation of his ankle was much better than getting his bleeding foot chopped off by some savage Scotsman.

“Okay then, lay back and I’ll get you something to numb your senses. The operation will in fact be painless; it’s the after math of it that kills.” Warrick warned grimly, getting to his feet and leaving the room.

“This would’ve never happened if you hadn’t had your man Bethen or whatever you call him, smash me over the head with his sword which in turn caused me to fall from my horse!” Nicolas’ furry was rising, his ebony eyes flashing dangerously.

“I know.” Gregory’s voice was soft and full of pain at what had been done to the younger man. He hadn’t deserved this. No one deserved this. His eyes locked with the younger man’s and he stole a sweet kiss, glorifying in the feel of Nicolas’ instant response. He pulled away and smiled reassuringly. “You’ll make it through this, young one. We’ll make it through this. My word as the Prince of the Highlanders.”

Nicolas looked as if he were about to say something but the door to the room swung wide and Warrick, along with a group of others entered the room, the moment broken. Looking away, Nicolas studied his swollen ankle while conversation of what was to happen was tossed around the room, all of it a blur to Nicolas. He didn’t hear the conversation yet he could hear Gregory’s strong voice as he made sure that Nicolas would be in as less pain as was possible. Did it make sense? No, yet he was far from caring.

“Nicolas? Sweeting, you’re going to have to drink some of this. It’ll make it painless.”

Nicolas’ head snapped up at the soothing, concerned lilt of Gregory Sanders and he nodded numbly, taking the cup of god-knew-what and swallowing it in one, long gulp. Furrowing his brows in disgust he stuck his tongue out, making a “Blah!” sound before thrusting the mug into the hand of a random aid. Glaring at the people around him he suddenly felt angry. ‘Damn all bloody Scots to bleeding hell!’

And then he was instantly drowsy. “Wow…” He murmured, trialing off to focus his eyes on the long, hooked shaped nose of a ugly, pudgy woman that stood with a bowl of water in her hands. Why were they all in the same room as him? Oh that was right, he had to have his bleeding foot rebroken! “Bloody hell,” He moaned, clenching a hand that had somehow wound up within his own. The hand was large, firm and hot. But it was the calluses from years of sword practice which gave the owner away. Turning his head he studied Gregory Sanders, wondering why it was that he was so kind to him at one moment and then so controlling at others.

Then suddenly the he swayed in Gregory’s lap for a moment before slumping back against Gregory’s hard chest limply; out cold.

“Damn ‘Rick, what’d you give the young laddie? He’s out like the morning sun in the middle of the night.” The young Prince’s voice held incredibility yet there was also a warning there too that spelt danger if anything bad were to happen to his young fiancé.

Warrick merely shrugged his shoulders with a heavy amount of nonchalance. “No need to worry Greg my friend, ‘twas just a touch of opium diluted with wine from your father’s cellars.”

Gregory narrowed his eyes, not liking the sound of the mixed combination but nodded his consent nonetheless. Warrick had, in fact been trained in the arts of healing by his adoptive and now deceased father, Al Robbins. Warrick had decided to keep his last name as a reminder of the grandmother that had raised him. Gregory couldn’t remember how it was that Warrick had landed his position of healer at his father’s castle but never really cared. He was just glad that he had in fact taken the place of the old healer for the young Prince had found a great friend in the black man.

Laying Nicolas back onto the bed of furs he got out of the way of the healers yet stayed beside the beautiful teenager the whole time, his hand firmly clasping the smaller one within it. Warrick and his team of help worked quickly at preparing the swollen ankle, poking it with objects, extracting fluids from small cuts made to it. Gregory clenched his jaw at what Nicolas had to go through yet when he looked down at the young Lord’s lovely face, he seemed completely peaceful.

Warrick seemed to catch the thoughtful look on his face because he chuckled, stating matter-of-factly, “He’s out my young Prince. Although, heed my warning that when the bone is snapped in place, he’ll more than likely be jolted awake. You ready to catch him Greg?”

Gregory nodded firmly, a determined look upon his face. “You know I’m always ready my friend.”

Warrick merely chuckled before grasping Nicolas’ ankle with both hands, his lip between his teeth and a slight sheen of sweat on his upper brow as he jerked the bone, his muscles flexing with the intense exertion, a sickening cracking noise heard throughout the room.

Warrick had been right about his predictions for Nicolas though. A shrill scream was tore from his pink lips, his eyes clenched tightly together in pain. The chocolate coloured man wasted no time with repositioning the bone, his aids splinting it swiftly yet efficiently.

Sobbing, Nicolas turned his head, his eyes finally opening to reveal their pain in the shiny, ebony orbs of emotion, wide open and searching Gregory’s soul it would seem. “It hurts Gregory, it hurts so bad.” He whispered, afraid to speak to loudly for fear of more unknown pain.

“Shhh dautie, I’m here. You just rest your pretty little head alright?” The Prince’s expression transformed to that of one of pure remorse as he was guilt stricken at the reason why Nicolas had needed this operation. “This was all my fault. I’m so sorry, love. I promise to never hurt you in such a way again.” A tender kiss was brushed against Nicolas’ damp forehead to show his growing affection for the young man.

Feeling that it was the time to take his leave, Warrick snapped his fingers to his helpers and soon they were gone, the door clicking shut softly. ’Good luck my friend…’

“It isn’t your fault. You-you had no choice, right? It was for the better good of your people and your father’s safety. If I had in fact turned out to be a spy I could have had your father killed, along with any faithful followers of yours.” Nicolas’ voice was soft and dry, not from thirst but from recovering pain. His ankle killed, no question, yet he’d faced worse injuries before. At least, that’s what he kept telling himself.

“Still…”

“Lay with me?” Nicolas was surprised by his bold request and blushed furiously. It was just, he’d grown accustomed to having the solid strength of the blond haired beauty beside him all the time and he rather begrudgingly enjoyed it.

Gregory smiled in answer and soon joined the brunette beneath the covers on the high, thick bed of furs. Wrapping his arms possessively around Nicolas’ petite –well to him anyways- frame, he tugged him close to his own chest, loving the feel of the beautiful adolescent against him. He felt Nicolas’ breathing even out, telling of his exhaustion from the operation and he was shocked to find that he wasn’t to far behind him in sleep. Nicolas murmured something in his sleep, cuddling back into Gregory’s body heat and the 24 year old couldn’t help but think that this could be the beginning of a very fine relationship; what with a few repairs here and there. He chuckled at the thought before dozing off into a comfortable snooze.

TBC