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NA GRACH CROI


Chapter 3:


A/N: Please give this is read? I promise it will get better. I thank you for your reading and reviews.

Buffy watched as the handsome Mr. Spike O’Hara nervously ate his supper. ‘He is as nervous as a cat,’ she surmised silently with just a tint of amusement. However, jaded as she was, Buffy found Spike’s shyness quite sweet and innocent really.

They, Spike and Buffy were eating a the poshest restaurant that Belfast had to offer, at the time. “How is your supper Miss Summers?” Spike asked politely, trying not to stare at his companion’s ample bosom that peeked out of her lovely emerald green, silk dress. It was the richest silk that he’d ever seen and set off Buffy’s eyes like jewels. The dress itself was in fine taste, seductive, yes, but lady like and suited Buffy to a tee.

“My supper is fine, Mr. O’Hara,” Buffy purred as she gave him a coy, but slightly saucy smile. “Please call me Buffy, as I have asked.” Spike cleared his throat, anxiously, “I am sorry, Buffy,” he stammered with a slight blush, “I’ll try to remember to go by your wishes from now on. But, please, call me Spike. I wish you would.” He finished, felt the heat of a blush creep up his face and quickly went back to his supper.

“Tell me, Spike,” Buffy began with a silky tone to her voice, “what does bring you to Belfast?” She was instantly regretful when she saw the look of pain pass over Spike’s lovely blue eyes.

“I,” Spike hesitated momentarily, then continued, “I’m returning home, to my farm im Antrim.” He gazed out of the massive window of the restaurant, “I’ve been away, on business you could say, I guess. Oh, the hell with it. I was part of Sinn Fein, Buffy,” he admitted finally, his head bowed in shame, “I got caught up in it, ran off from home and family to liberate Ireland. It was a lost cause, I’m afraid. Can we just forget this?”

Buffy nodded briefly then went back to her soup, which was truly delicious. After a few moments of silence, she caught Spike’s gaze and whispered, “if you felt that your cause was important, Spike, at one time anyway…then so be it. You should be proud, not ashamed, that you stood be your beliefs and fought for them.”

She picked up her soup spoon and went back to eating it, silently, noting the look of adoration and admiration for her on Spike O’Hara’s handsome face. Never had a man, especially such a fine one as this, given her a look of awe and respect as Spike O’Hara was doing, right at this moment.

“Who is your family,” Buffy dared to ask Spike, intent on changing the subject from the Rebellion. Spike gave her a bright smile and seemed to warm up to this line of discussion. Buffy felt pleased that she had brought up a subject that Spike O’Hara seemed to warm up to.

“I have a younger sister, Tara and a baby brother, Angel,” he responded. “They live at the farm my parents left us, although, my being the eldest, I guess I kind of run things. My folks, they passed on years ago and Tara, my little sister, she kind of takes care of things in the house and all. She’s a fine girl, Tara is. All the young men in the village have been after her for years, can’t imagine why she’s not wed before this. Tara is smart, lovely and kind. Angel, on the other hand, the baby of the family, is a little different.”

Spike tried to hide the look of pain that he knew always reared it’s ugly head when he spoke of his baby brother. “My brother, Liam, or Angel as my Mum named him, he’s a different sort. His taller then me, heavier, dark-eyed and haired, like my Mum. He’s,” Spike hesitated then gazed at the little blonde angel before him, “he’s crippled, Buffy. Lost an arm, his right one. I guess he is rather bitter about it.”

Buffy decided right at that moment not to ask Spike how his younger brother lost his arm. ‘Do not push him,’ she told herself sternly, ‘I’ve a feeling he’ll tell you more about himself before it’s over. Let him do it in his own time.’

“What about you, sweet?” Spike asked Buffy softly. “What can you tell me about yourself?” Buffy blushed bright red, something she had not done in years, especially in her line of work. “Me?” she asked this man innocently.

“I mean,” Spike paused then continued, “how could you have escaped marriage this long, Buffy? Such a beauty as yourself, must have had the lads beating your door down and such.” He gave her a warm smile and silently encouraged her to reveal some of her past with him.

“I am a widow, Spike,” Buffy responded softly. “I was married at seventeen, to an older man by the name of Scott Hope. He was a good man, true enough, but loved the drink. Scott was killed, in a riding accident on his way home from a good friend’s house. There was a bet, one that Scott, my late husband had to take on. He jumped a neighbor’s high fence, fell and broke his neck.” Buffy hoped that her lack of emotion did not alert Spike to her massive white lie.

He felt terrible, Spike that is, to have asked such personal questions of this wonderful lady. Then to receive such horrible, painful answeres was just to much.

“I’m sorry, luv,” Spike murmered to Buffy, sincerely, “I should not have…” Buffy interjected quickly, “It is all right, Spike. I was young, barely nineteen when my husband passed on. It was an arranged marriage by my parents to Mr. Hope. They had adjoining farms and had hoped to keep the land within our community in upstate New York. Sadly, before my husband’s death,” Buffy continued with small tears of regret, “we were not blessed with children. Perhaps, it is for the best, however. I hope you do not think ill of me, Spike?”

“No, dear Buffy,” Spike replied quickly, “I would never think ill of you. ‘Such a sad, tragic beauty,’ Spike thought to himself, ‘so young and sweet to have endured such a painful past.’ His poetic nature was coming out, something that he had not had to deal with for many, many years, and it both disturbed, yet delighted him.

Buffy was a little stunned, to find this kind man, a virtual stranger to herself, had not only accepted her tale of widowhood at face value, but had felt pity for her and her fabricated loss. She truly amost felt unworthy of his attentions. Almost, that is.

“So, Spike O’Hara,” Buffy purred as she glanced up at him from under dark lashes, “how had a handsome man like yourself escaped matrimony for this long?” He laughed outright, then shook his blonde head, “oh, they tried,” he continued gleefully. “In our village we have the matchmakers who try and set us all up into marriage. However,” he continued to chuckle softly, “none of the matches ever suited me, I’m afraid. None of the lasses were right for me. I’m glad, though,” he gazed meaningfully into Buffy’s eyes, “I’ve waited for the right lass to come along and I believe it’s time.” Buffy felt a shiver of delight, at his words, run up her spine.

Spike watched the young woman before him daintily eat her soup, ‘a real lady,’ he thought happily. Another baser part of himself was glad that Buffy was not a virgin and might be atuned to love making together. ‘After all,’ he thought to himself, ‘she’s got needs, right? Why shouldn’t I be the one to fullfill them? And she mine?” This pleasant thought filled his mind with wonderful visions as they finished their supper together. The instant connection he had felt with Buffy Summers overrode Spike’s nagging feeling ‘why does she go by her maiden name?’

After a long, delightful supper, Spike walked Buffy back to her hotel for the second time that day. He took her tiny hands in his strong, calloused one and kissed them both gallantly, “good night, sweet Buffy,” he murmered reluctantly. Spike glanced up the dark front lobby to the stairs that led to the rooms above them. There was such a longing inside of him, he was afraid Buffy could read every thought he had.

“I would ask you up, Spike,” Buffy murmered hesitantly, “however, it would be most improper for a lady such as myself…”

Spike cut off her excuses by crashing his lips down onto hers, passionately. He was pleasantly surprised when he felt Buffy return his kisses with equal ardor. Both of them seemed to simply forget where they were and that anyone at all might come across them, kissing and touching each other in what was basically an open doorway.

With masculine agressiveness, Spike pulled Buffy, by her wonderful little rump, up even closer to his own body. The dark night seemed to cover their desperate love making, the streets oddly empty tonight. Except for them, Spike and Buffy, there kissing and fondling each other, frantically.

“We must stop this,” Buffy finally broke away from Spike’s lips and his strong body. “It’s not right, here in public and all,” she sighed reluctantly, allowing him to bring her tiny hand to his lips in a chaste kiss.

“I’m sorry, luv,” he mumubled in dissapointment, “got carried away and all. Forgive me and I’ll say goodnight now.” Spike knew his face was covered in dissapointed and he felt a pout begin on his mouth. He was happily stunned to see Buffy’s look of dissapointment in her gorgeous green eyes.

“I am at fault as well,” Buffy murmered softly, then she tilted her golden head to the side, slight and continued, “perhaps,” Buffy whispered breathily, “there is someplace, nearby, Spike? Somewhere where you and I could go and continue this blissful activity in private?”


A/N: Please read this and give it a chance. It will get rather angstsy later, but first, much Spuffy in next chapter! Thank you, please review, good bad or indifferent. Luv, Spuf





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