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A log collapsed, sending up a shower of sparks. “Perhaps,” he replied. “Perhaps not. And which would be better, I cannot say.”
Chapter Thirty-One
Morgan knelt behind Ellery, fussing with the hem of her makeshift wedding gown. The style was old-fashioned and they’d hidden the expanded side seams with a drape of creamy lace, but still the borrowed pearl-gray silk gown hugged every curve of Ellery’s body until she could barely breathe. If she inhaled too deeply, surely her breasts would spill out of the tightly laced bodice. And if she didn’t, she was liable to faint before it was all over. But none of it mattered. She was marrying Conor this morning.
Excitement sang through her, and even the worry and fright that haunted her steps couldn’t completely quench the happiness that lit up her insides like a flame.
Morgan grasped Ellery’s shoulder. A confident soldier’s grip swathed in the gauziest of sea-foam green silk. “I’ll not let it end like this. Uncle Mikhal and Gram may have warned away the others from Ilcum Bledh, but I’m not so easily swayed.”
Conor’s father poked his head around the door before Ellery could answer. “They’re ready.”
And then it was time.
Mikhal Bligh had offered to give her away. And Ellery had been honored. Now, dashing in a coat of royal blue that fit snug across his broad shoulders, he was almost as breathtakingly handsome as Conor. Years had added a patina of wisdom and gravity in the small lines around his storm-cloud eyes, but he carried himself as proud and erect as a man half his age. He smiled, tucking her hand beneath his arm. “You’re lovely.”
She glanced up at him. “Be prepared to catch me is all I have to say.”
“Nerves?”
“Stays.”
He chuckled as he led her into the drawing room. A week ago, the scene of a funeral, now the walls were festooned with garlands of flowers. Seasons held no sway over the conjured bouquets of primrose, narcissus, peonies, and enormous pink and white cabbage roses. Gold and orange chrysanthemums and purple Michaelmas daisies combined with summer’s scarlet columbine and spring’s lacy, delicate blue violets. Entwined among the blossoms hung ribbons of gold strung with tiny silver bells that swayed in the breeze from the open windows, making a sound like rushing water or windswept treetops.
She looked to Lowenna who winked and motioned toward the far end of the room where a man in a plain frock coat stood waiting, a visible line of disapproval between his bushy, gray brows.
The vicar did this? Ellery’s eyes widened in disbelief. Conor’s grandmother wrinkled her nose, pointed behind the cover of her open fan.
Conor stepped up beside the vicar, a dark angel in unrelieved black, magic palpable in his every movement, from the straightening of his cuffs to the adjusting of his cravat. His lean face was carved into sober lines until he spotted her. Then his eyes lit with a fire that singed her to her toes and set her heart fluttering like a captured bird. Conor had done this? For her?
Lowenna nodded, smiling.
Conor came forward to meet them, his fingers closing firmly around hers. She smiled. “He looks none too happy,” she whispered beneath her breath at the vicar’s continued scowl.
“He’s here as a favor for Father,” Conor murmured as they walked back together.
“We’re not exactly doing it properly.”
“If he only knew the half of it,” she replied.
The vicar cleared his throat and began, and with each word spoken the ill feelings and exasperation she’d carried through the last day drained away. She loved Conor. She buttressed her mind against anything beyond that clear thought.
Then it was Conor’s turn, his vows deep and resonant, his gaze never straying from her face as if he were memorizing her.
The bright, fluttery feeling came back. She tried a deep breath to calm herself, but her stays crushed her ribs. She gasped, coughed, fought the suffocating pressure of her gown with quick rapid pants. Prayed she didn’t fall on her face.
“Miss Reskeen?” The vicar’s worried voice startled her.
“Ellery?” Conor asked. “The vows?” She repeated the words. To love. Honor. Cherish. All things she could do easily. To obey. She stumbled over the final vow, thinking over the night to come.
She looked back at the family ranged behind them in a half circle. Lowenna, ethereal in white and silver. Mikhal hand in hand with Niamh. Solid, dependable Ruan and sweet-tempered Jamys. Morgan, a shuttered expression in her eyes as she looked from Ellery to the windows and back. All of them had taken her in, welcomed her, accepted her even when they knew her life meant Conor’s death. They had become the family she had searched a lifetime to find.
“Until death do you part,” the vicar coached. “Should I repeat it?”
Duty burned clear in her mind. “No. Not at all.” Clearing her throat, she fixed Conor with a steady look, the worry melting away with her decision.
“Until death do us part.”
“Come with me,” Conor whispered. “I want to show you something.”
