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Finally, they drew near the church and dismounted. Warm, welcoming light shone from its windows.
Henry held her hand tight, warming her cold fingers as he led her to the gate and up the steps to the heavy wooden door. Taking out his purse, he knocked.
In a few moments the door opened to reveal a friendly, curious face. The clergyman took them in at a glance, and a smile creased his lips. “Coom tae marry, hae ye? Ma apologies if ye’ve coom a long way, but it’ll hae tae wait ’til mornin’.” He made to close the door.
“And if I were to make a generous donation in addition to the usual fee?” Henry quickly asked, jingling his purse for emphasis. “It is imperative that we marry immediately, and I want a legitimate ceremony before God, not a handfasting.”
The clergyman paused at the jingling noise of the coins in the pouch. Flinging the door wide, he bade them enter, taking the proffered payment as they crossed the threshold. “There be hungry mouths tae feed in this parish. Far be it from this lowly servant of God tae deny His divine providence. Wait here. I’ll need tae gather witnesses.”
“Is there a place where I may change my clothes?” Sabrina requested timidly. Henry had managed to procure a comb and a serviceable gown along the way for her to wear at their upcoming nuptials. It wasn’t a Madame de Salle creation, but it was clean and had looked as if it would fit well enough.
Flushing beet red, the little man turned and pointed at a door to the side of the vestibule before scurrying away.
Ducking into the tiny little antechamber, she quickly removed her travel-stained clothing. Smoothing the wrinkles out of the gown, she donned it, struggling to tie the ribbons on the bodice with shaking fingers. When the last was finally secure, she stood. A bit snug in the bosom and a bit loose in the waist, but it was at least clean.
There was no mirror in which to check her appearance, but if the long, ragged braid hanging over her shoulder was any indication, she must look a complete fright. Trying in vain to smooth down the loose wisps at her temples, she jumped in alarm at the gentle tap on the door.
“M’lady? May I coom in?”
Settling her frayed nerves, Sabrina opened it. A sweet-faced woman of some fifty years greeted her with a kind smile.
“I’m Eleanor,” she whispered. “I’m told ye’re tae be marri
ed?”
“Yes. But I’m afraid I don’t look very much like a bride,” Sabrina laughed, trying again to smooth down her wayward hair. “We’ve been riding for days.”
“Here, let me help.” Stepping inside, the woman reached into an apron pocket, withdrew a brush and comb, and set to work combing and plaiting Sabrina’s tresses.
Tears sprang into Sabrina’s eyes. “Thank you,” she murmured thickly.
“Now, now, lass. No tears! I hope ’tis happiness tha’ brings ye tae Gretna?”
“Yes. Yes, it is,” Sabrina affirmed, mopping at her eyes.
“Ye’re in love, then?” said Eleanor as she wound the long braid into a small coronet, leaving the remainder to hang down her back.
“I am,” she finally admitted, smiling damply. It felt good to say it, even to a complete stranger. Peace settled over her heart and her nerves calmed. She would no longer deny her feelings for Henry. Mama had been right. Her heart had been in his possession for a long time, and she had not even realized it.
Whipping out a slender length of pale-blue ribbon, Eleanor tied off the braid. “Somethin’ blue,” she whispered with a wink. Another foray into her apron pocket brought forth a small cluster of tiny white flowers. Carefully, she tucked them into the coronet. “There! Ye’re as bonny as any princess! Are ye ready?”
Nodding happily, Sabrina rose. On impulse, she turned and hugged Eleanor. “Thank you again for your kindness.”
Eleanor blushed. “’Twas my pleasure, an’ I wish ye joy.”
Together they walked to the front of the church, where Henry stood waiting with the minister and another man who’d obviously just been pulled from his bed.
THE BREATH IN Henry’s lungs stilled when he saw Sabrina’s face. Gone was the pale, tired, pinched look, replaced by a soft radiance. Her bright eyes held his gaze steadily, and her blushing smile struck him with the light of a thousand sunrises.
No silk wedding gown covered in pearls and lace. No glitter of gold and jewels. No bishop, no choir, no illustrious company of guests lining the aisle. His bride wore the humble dress of a villager, right down to the worn boots, yet no expensive finery could have made her more beautiful. He held out his hand, distantly noting how it trembled in time with the thundering in his chest as the ceremony began.
A few minutes later, Henry gently kissed his bride. The witnesses signed the testimony, the officiating clergyman put his seal upon the parchment, and it was done. Sabrina was now his in every respect.
They did not tarry to celebrate, but immediately set out south toward the docks of Solway Firth. When the lamps and windows of the village were no more than dim pinpricks of light in the distance, Henry turned them in a long, slow arc north, back toward English soil.
Crossing the River Esk to the southeast of tiny, slumbering Longtown, they made for Brampton. For two and a half hours they rode in silence, carefully avoiding settlements along the way, until at long last they reached their destination.
Though he’d seen nothing, every instinct told him they were being pursued. He hated the idea of stopping, but they could not continue on. Sabrina looked half ready to fall off her horse, though she had not uttered a single word of complaint.
