Page 47 of The Widow Wore Plaid

He was in no condition to do so. And the more energy he expended tonight meant less for the morning and their escape. She put her hand under his arm and helped settle him against the wall again. “The good thing about having no witnesses, Gareth, is that we can do what we please. We can stay right here, sitting on the floor, and no one will be the wiser.”

He cupped her cheek and pulled her toward him for a soft, lingering kiss. “Will you try to stoke the fire again, love? I want to see your beautiful face as we say our vows together.”

Nodding, she slowly rose and went to the fireplace, wishing he had not asked this of her. The light on her face would reveal her fear. Not for herself, but for him. The show of weakness before a man who’d never been weak frightened her more than the gunman outside and she had no way to combat it. Her fear would drain Gareth even further, for the last thing he needed was to worry about her. Best steel her mind and school her face to show no undue concern for him or their situation.

She reached into the wood box, grabbed some sticks, and thrust them into the glowing embers. Stirring them around gently, she sprinkled the fire with some bits of bark that had fallen from the wood. The fire burst into flame again and Jane stoked it in earnest, despite her misgivings.

“Have we used all the strips of cloth?”

“I think so.” She looked up from the fireplace into Gareth’s beloved and fatigued face. “Why?”

“I think we are required to actually bind our hands—make them fast, you see—so we need some kind of cloth or rope.” He glanced about the room, but the fire only illuminated the immediate kitchen area. Dark shadows shrouded the rest of the lodge.

“Wait, let me look.” Jane crept to the table, still not certain whoever was out in the woods couldn’t at least see her shadow. She felt all over the wooden surface and the floor around it, but all the strips she’d torn had been applied to Gareth as packing to help stem the blood. She dared not disturb the wound and start it bleeding again. So what else could they use? “Let me check the bedroom.”

“Jane!” He made a grab at her as, bent almost double, she hurried past him, past the window where the curtain flapped in the breeze created by her swiftly moving body.

Once she’d cleared the window, the darkness set in in earnest. She straightened, feeling her way along the wall. Her eyes adjusted to the lack of light and she became aware of the shapes around her. The staircase, a chair, finally the door to the bedroom Gareth had identified as his in his youth. With luck there would be a cover and sheets on the bed, although she was ready to use anything to enable them to perform the ceremony.

Inching around the room, Jane bumped into a chest. It might contain linens, but she’d try to open it as a last resort. Who knew what might have been left behind in it so many years ago? The window glowed a lighter darkness and as it faced opposite the side of the lodge where the window had been broken, she risked moving the curtain aside a crack to try to shed some light on the room. The moon was new, so only faint starlight shone in through the window, but it was enough to reveal the small bed with a thick cover on it. She pulled it off and ran her hand over the mattress and was rewarded when her hand met the smoothness of a sheet. Stripping it off gleefully, Jane balled both items together and carefully made her way back to the kitchen. If nothing else, they would be warm, perhaps even comfortable on their makeshift bed tonight.

When Jane made it back to the relative light of the kitchen, her first look was for Gareth. He’d been unusually quiet while she’d been gone, but she’d assumed he wished to keep her movements from the man outside. But perhaps not.

He lay where she’d left him, eyes closed, not moving. “Gareth!” She dropped the covers and dove down beside him. Putting her ear to his chest, she held her breath listening for his. The steady lub, lub of his heart beneath her ear made her gasp in a sob.

“We have to be married before we can consummate the wedding, Jane. It won’t be legal otherwise.” His dear, droll voice almost made her cry, he sounded so normal.

“I beg your pardon, my lord.” She sat up and rubbed a hand over her face, getting rid of the telltale tears. “I promise to restrain myself until it is the proper time to debauch you.”

“I can hardly wait. I meant that sincerely, even though I apparently fell asleep while you were gone.” He sobered, a scowl marring his face. “I cannot do that again, Jane. One or the other of us must always be on guard.”

“I promise, we will take turns watching.”

“After the handfasting.” He took a breath before pushing himself up once more. “We need to do it now. Did you find some cloth?”

“Yes, and covers off the bed to make a pallet for us.” Jane tried to sound as cheerful as possible, although God knew her serious doubts about everything. “No need for us to be but so discomfited on our wedding night.”

“I fear it will be a poor way to begin our marriage.” He turned this way and that, trying to get comfortable.

“As long as I begin it with you, I will have no objections whatsoever.” Taking the sheet in both hands, Jane gave it a mighty pull and the cloth split neatly down the middle. She turned it again, tearing off a long strip and discarding the rest, although bunched up it might be used as a makeshift pillow for them. “There.” She held the strip up. Even draped over her hand, both sides dragged the ground. “Is that enough?”

“Enough for your entire coterie of friends to be handfast.” His charming grin found its way to his lips. “Even though none of them have need of a handfasting. We are the only ones to come tardy to that ball.”

“Only fashionably late, my dear.” She smiled as she tore the long strip in half. “Can we manage with this?”

“I believe so.”

Jane looked at him and laughed, almost giddy. “What do we do? I have no idea how this is done.”

“Well, since I should probably not try to stand, why don’t you come down here with me?”

Of course, how stupid she was. Jane knelt down next to him, still uncertain what to do. A sensation she hated above all things. She stared into his rapt gaze. “What’s wrong?”

“I can’t believe you’re about to become my wife.” He took her hand and kissed it, then let it rest loosely in his hand.

A feeling of warmth and belonging surged through her. “How do we begin?”

“It’s not too different from getting married before Mr. Ross would be.” He gripped her hand as if he were about to shake it. “We just don’t need all the folderol, like ‘Dearly beloved, we are gathered here,’ because they’re not.” He smiled sheepishly. “We can move right to the point where we promise ourselves to one another. But first we have to bind our hands.”