Page 80 of Come the Morning

His eyes remained locked upon hers, and he betrayed no emotion. He took her arm. “Shall we, my love?”

It wasn’t an invitation. He was moving, and she was going with him.

“The church is quite full,” he said lightly. “The king has seen to it that this is a spectacle for many to witness.”

She felt a moment’s deep unease. “You—you haven’t—”

“I haven’t what?”

She moistened her lips. “Reneged on your promise?”

“Are you reneging on yours?”

She shook her head.

“I always keep my word. I told you so.”

He was walking quickly, his long strides were difficult to keep up with, and she was tall, and accustomed to moving quickly. “Tell me,” she said, slightly breathless, “is your mistress in the church?”

To her astonishment, he stopped dead, staring at her.

“What?”

“I asked you if your mistress was in the church.”

She didn’t know what he saw, or thought. He studied her so long that she wished she could take back the question. She realized that she was taunting him on purpose, that she was disturbed. There was so much in life that was simply done, or simply expected. Men had wives for gain, mistresses for pleasure.

And, she realized, she did not share well, could not meekly accept such a fate.

“Let’s go, shall we, it makes no difference!” she exclaimed, aware that Angus and Jillian were behind them, and though they hadn’t heard her speak, they were hovering awkwardly some feet away.

She started walking. He held her arm, and walked as well. “Would it matter?” he asked her after a moment.

“What?”

“If she were here. If Eleanora sat in a pew just beyond the altar?” he asked casually.

“Nothing seems to matter, does it?” she said.

“Trust me. The future shall matter,” he promised her.

They had reached the entrance to the church. She didn’t remember exiting the corridor to the courtyard, walking through the twilight, and coming here. The wine had helped, she thought Somewhat. Candles burned brilliantly within, hundreds of them, so it seemed. The light cast an eerie, shimmering glow, and it seemed as if everything within that glow were part of a dream, and not real. She was grateful, feeling that she could rise above the light and watch what went on, as if she were not real, nor was anything that happened.

The king waited impatiently at the rear of the church, ready as her guardian to escort her to the altar, anxious to give her into marriage and be done with her. She was amazed at the number of people there. She would have been touched that the king had gone into his own pocket so deeply for her wedding, except that she knew he had not done it for affection, but for effect. She and Blue Isle were now Waryk’s, Laird Lion’s, and all should know it.

The walk to the altar seemed interminable. She was glad again of the wine she had gulped. She kept telling herself that she was above the glow of the light …

A chorus sang hymns, the bishop was there, a skinny, taciturn man, stern to the extreme. He spoke endlessly, so it seemed. She was on her knees, head bowed, when he came to her with the communion cup. She felt a wild urge to seize the cup and gulp down the wine, as Waryk had taunted, but managed to refrain. It didn’t seem like a good time to tempt God, king, or Waryk.

She was amazed to realize that she was standing again, that she didn’t realize she had come to her feet. There was a silver inlaidband upon her finger, and the bishop was announcing them man and wife before God and all witnesses gathered there.

Then she felt him, touching her, his fingers threading into her hair, tilting her head. His mouth closed over hers, molding to it, his tongue forcing her lips. She had expected a chaste kiss … not this. His lips encompassed hers, his tongue invaded, and she was filled with the warmth and taste of him in a way she had not imagined. She’d kissed before, known pleasure, a subtle excitement …

She couldn’t breathe. He seemed overwhelming. She couldn’t escape his hold, the tangle of her hair around his fingers, the forceful pressure of his lips, his body against hers. A warrior knight, she thought desperately. Hard as steel, unyielding as rock. She breathed him, felt him; he seemed to be within her, stealing her air, seizing her strength. Tremors seared along her spine, heat danced before her eyes. She struggled to free herself, hearing the bishop clear his throat, hearing the laughter and the roar of approval from the gathered guests … Her eyes were closed, her breath was gone, she could barely stand, her knees were giving, she would taste him forever …

He lifted his mouth from hers. Her lips felt damp, swollen, so tender …

She was shaking, and wanted to wipe his touch away. She would never be able to do so, she thought. He had somehow made certain already that she would never be able to forget him, ever. She need only close her eyes, and her senses would remember.