“Part the Fecond… I meansecond?—”
“D’you need reading glasses?”
“No! Shush. It’s just written with thoseS’s that look likeF’s, and all kinds of weird capital letters. As I was saying… The Betrotheds must knowingly partake of Sweet Water drawn from the Pippin Well.” I glanced up. “Water from Pippin Well? Is that a place? Or do they mean, like, ye olde municipal water supply? ’Cause if drinking tap water is enough, I’m halfway handfasted to this entire town.”
Webb snickered. “You can be the one to tell Mayor York that we’ve become a handfastingorgy. The rules say knowingly, though. I bet it means you have to drink from the same glass I used or something.”
“Ah, well, then that’s easy enough to avoid.” I arched an eyebrow. “You’ve probably got cooties anyway.”
“Loaded with them,” Webb agreed. He stroked a hand over his beard. “What else?”
“Part the Third, Betrotheds must Prepare a Matrimonial Domicile with their own Skillful Endeavors.”
“Got it. No house building.”
“More than enough houses between us already,” I agreed. I looked back down. “Uh… Okay, Part the Fourth. Betrotheds must Layeth By a Store of Cloth, Salt, Tools, or other Provisions required of a Plentiful Union.”
“Damn. Hey, Alexa,” Webb called to my imaginary computer, “cancel the gift subscription to Salt of the Month that I purchased earlier.”
Webb’s teasing grin was back in place, doing funny things to my stomach, and I couldn’t help grinning in response. “Agreed. You’re salty enough already.”
“Rude.” Webb stood up and stole the scroll from my hand, then pushed me to sit on the opposite side of the table from where he’d been.
“Hey!”
“Part the Fifth,” he read, leaning against my bright orange stove and making the thing look all kinds of sexy. “Betrotheds must Bestow Their Own Clothing or Footwear upon One Another.” He looked up. “I can’t foresee you borrowing anything of mine, and I cannot see me fitting into anything of yours.”
“Accurate.” I wondered how that worked back in the old days and had a brief mental image of some colonial guy wearing his future wife’s dress.
“Part the Sixth says Betrotheds must Commingle their Flocks of Livestock in Gracious Union, even as they will Join their Own Lives. Uh, how about no?”
“Nope. My sheep have better things to do.”
“Sure. Part the Seventh, Betrotheds must Swear an Oath or Declaration of Intention to the Parents, Guardians, or Other Persons of Authority in the Life of their Betrothed.” He pursed his lips. “If you were planning to confess your love for me to Uncle Drew, please refrain until after the eight weeks are up.”
“I’m more likely to confess my love for Drew’s blueberry pie. My turn…” I reached for the scroll, but he set a hand on my chest to hold me back and held it out of my reach… which wasn’t hard since he was half a foot taller than me.
“Nope. Part the Eighth,” he went on. “Betrotheds must Attend Church or Town Assembly Together… Hmm. That one might actually happen. Does the Spring Fling count as a Town Assembly? Because we’ll both be there.”
“Maybe. Probably. Okay, so we’ll already take the loss on that one. Now gimme.” I tried to jump up and grab the paper, but he held me back easily and grinned down at me.
“Speaking of taking the loss…Hush. The tall people are reading.”
“Hey!” I squawked, pretending I didn’t like the feel of his hand on my chest and that his smile wasn’t turning my brain into puree.
“Part the Ninth, Betrotheds must spend One Evening, from Moonrise to Sunrise, Bundled in the Betrothed’s bed, and Greet the Morn Praising the Lord.”
“Oh, wow.” I wondered. “So not only do we have to get in bed together, I’m gonna have to pray? No way.”
Webb wrinkled his nose in confusion. “I thought colonials were all prudish and shit. What’s up with this kinky bed-sharing thing?”
“Bundling… that was the equivalent of a platonic sleepover, back in ye olde days. Potential betrotheds needed to chat in order to get to know each other, right? But in cold-weather places, it would be too chilly for them to stay up late talking without a fire—which was expensive—and it would be a b-i-t-c-h for the one betrothed to have to hitch up his horse and ride home in the snow. So instead, they’d put the betrotheds in bed, with a special bundling board running down the middle to prevent anyone getting handsy, and they’d tuck them in, and it would be really wholesome, and— What’s funny?” I demanded when I saw him bite his lip against laughter.
“I dunno. Just…” He spread his hands. “Your… enthusiasm when you explain things. The way you spell out curse words. It’s cute. Reminds me of Aiden.”
Oh.
Well, then.
