Her friend plopped herself into the opposing chair. “I sent them about their duties.”
“Thank God.”
“A touch overwhelmed, I take it?”
“Besieged. I never suspected a wedding was so much trouble.”
“Well then, lucky for you…you’ve got me,” Quinlyn said, chuckling as Aurora made a face. “Besides, you’ll not have to put up with it much longer. Everything is well on its way to being ready for the morrow. No thanks to you, I might add.”
Aurora snorted. “Don’t even try to sound put out, Quin. You’re loving every moment of this.”
“Absolutely.” Quinlyn wiggled in her chair and grinned like a lunatic. “’Tis a good thing you decided to marry, Rory. Otherwise, I would be…”
“Decided?” Ha! Right. Not true in the slightest. “I didn’t decide anything. I simply got dragged along by a brute who won’t take no for an answer.”
Her friend laughed. “Oh aye, your brute.”
“He is not mine.” The instant the words left her mouth, Aurora’s heart sank, regret wrapping her up tight. ’Twas foolish to deny it, but… “Oh, Quin, whatever am I going to do?”
Hazel eyes full of concern, Quinlyn sat up a little straighter. “What’s wrong? Why are you not happy about wedding Lord Brigham? I thought he attracted you…that you were interested in him.”
“I…well, he does and I am, but…it’s difficult to explain.”
“Try.”
Knowing there was no way to voice her concerns without sounding like a complete idiot, Aurora took the direct approach. “He doesn’t wish to marry me. The Bishop caught us red-handed and, well…Brigham got trapped. His honor demanded he offer for me, otherwise—”
“Honestly, Rory.” Exasperation stamped across her face, Quinlyn shook her head. “Sometimes you are as dense as an old post. How can you believe Lord Brigham does not want you? He regards you in such a heated fashion, ’tis surprising you do not burst into flame whenever he spies you.”
Aurora’s mouth dropped open before she recalled herself and snapped it shut. “I never said he didn’t want me, Quin, just that he doesn’t want to marry me. There is a difference between lust and love, you know.”
“Of course, there is. But if you begin with one, often enough the other follows.”
Aurora frowned. “And just what is that supposed to mean?”
“Do you really think Eamon and I have always gotten along so well?” Expression intent, Quinlyn raised a dark brow. “That he fell head-over-heels in love with me the instant he saw me?”
“He didn’t?”
“Lord above, no. When we first met, he believed me naught more than a nuisance and I…well, I thought him an insufferable ass.” Quinlyn smiled, no doubt remembering their early confrontations. “Albeit, a very handsome one.”
Aurora rolled her eyes and yanked her friend from what looked to be the start of a lengthy daydream about her Viking. “But then, how did you make him fall in love with you?”
Head tilted, Quinlyn stared at her a moment. “Why, the interest? Unless, of course, you wish to secure Lord Brigham’s heart.”
“Nothing of the sort,” she said in self-defense. Quinlyn gave her a dubious look. Aurora cringed, aware her vehement response gave her away. “Well, mayhap. Aye. Oh, I don’t know. He seems a hard sort. ’Tis the truth I’m not sure he possesses a heart.”
Quinlyn snorted. “He’s a man, is he not? Of course, he has one, though he may not realize it. ’Twas much the same with Eamon in the beginning.”
“It was?” Quinlyn nodded, and curiosity went on the rampage, getting the better of her. “Then how did you do it? How did you make him love you as he does?”
“I hate to tell you this, Rory, but there isn’t much I can make Eamon do,” her friend said. “Unless of course, he wants to.”
“Well, there must have been something you did.” Frustrated by the lack of information, Aurora pressed for more. There must be a list or something. A stratagem—guidelines or recipe—she could follow to ensure Brigham came to love her as deeply as Eamon loved her friend. “I mean, he fell in love with you…eventually.”
“Aye, but that does not mean it was simple or easy. God knows, we clashed more in the beginning than two knights on a battlefield.” Quinlyn paused, reflecting on her relationship with her husband. “The truth is, I don’t think I did much of anything to win his love. It just seemed to happen…to both of us.”
Lips pursed, Aurora tapped her fingertips against the arm of the chair. “You’re not helping, Quin.”
“I know. I wish I could give you a sound plan of action, but the only thing I can tell you is to be yourself. ’Tis clear the man wants you and, if my guess is correct, will continue to do so. And that can only be a good sign. I think the best advice I can give you is to go on as you began.”
“What? Knee him in the groin and run off with his horse?” Placing her chin in the palm of her hand, Aurora rolled her eyes. “I’m almost positive that won’t work.”
Quinlyn laughed. “Aye, and well, if that doesn’t gain results, we could always mix up a magic potion of some sort.”
“I don’t suppose you’ve got a recipe handy?” Aurora asked, picturing the two of them hunched over a caldron while they stirred a foul-smelling concoction.
But then, desperate times called for extreme measures. Much as she would’ve liked to, Aurora refused to pretend anymore. She wanted him. Despite everything, she yearned for a place to call her own with a man who would love her always and never let go. So now, she must face the facts. Escape was an impossibility. Her heart simply wasn’t in the game.
Which meant one thing.
She must move toward fate instead of away. Aye, the circumstances might not be ideal. But then, not much in life ever was, and although she preferred to know Brigham’s feelings before the wedding, with less than a day to go she didn’t expect a miracle. That, however, didn’t make her situation hopeless. A perfect example of what remained possible sat not three feet from her. And if Quinlyn had gotten Eamon to love her, well then, there was hope yet for Brigham. Real possibility. The kind that melted hearts and inspired bards, because…aye. No doubt about it. If she didn’t want to live with a man who did not love her, the only thing left to do was make him.
EPISODE SIX
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Wedding Bells
Rolling thick and black on the horizon, thunderclouds rumbled, signaling their disquiet. Aurora stood watching their approach from her chamber window as the light gray of early dawn surrendered beneath the weight of the coming storm. On any other day, she would have welcomed the tempest without reservation.
Today was different. And no wonder.
Within hours, she would marry a man she barely knew. A warrior with a frightening reputation, one counted amongst the most powerful in all of England. That the weather had somehow taken precedence over those alarming facts and become her primary concern, she couldn’t explain. Temporary insanity? Mayhap. Nerves? Certainly. But whatever the case, she couldn’t help feeling the impending deluge was not a good sign. That it would rain on her wedding day seemed, well…
All wrong. A bad omen of some kind.
Not that she was superstitious. She’d never been one to believe in the stories and whisperings in which so many placed their faith. Today was proving to be the exception. Something ominous hung in the air, twisting her tight. The unfamiliar tension invaded her body and sank deep, unsettling her, making her uncomfortable in her own skin, as though it had been stretched taut while she slept.
Nate would say ’twas naught more than wedding jitters. A perfectly reasonable reaction for any bride. And the weather? A simple thunderstorm that would come and go, uncaring of what occurred beneath it. He might be right. Probably was, and yet the logical explanation did little to alleviate the angst pricking her nerves.
Rubbing her upper arms to chase away the chill, Aurora turned from the window and walked across the chamber. Thick rugs cus
hioned each of her footfalls. The crackle and heat from the well-laid fire reached out to soothe her. She stopped at the edge of the bed and stared down at her wedding gown.
True to form, each of Nate’s hand-drawn stitches was perfect. So beautiful. Incredibly elegant. A gown fit for a princess. She reached out. Ice-blue velvet brushed her fingertips, making her shiver as it shimmered in the soft light. Fingering one of the wide, slit sleeves, she traced the spray of white roses embroidered in the fabric. The intricate pattern flowed flawlessly, winding around each arm from wrist to elbow. She smiled a little. Had she said fit for a princess? Well, she’d meant a queen. A wealthy one given that a gold girdle—a gift from her future husband—lay in an open wooden box at the foot of the bed. Just below, matching gold-tasseled shoes stood at attention, waiting to be worn, near the hem of the gown.
With a sigh, Aurora dropped the sleeve, allowing it to fall back to the mattress. Guess that settled that. Everything appeared to be in order. Now the only thing left to do was wait.
Which was proving to be a problem.
Aurora knew she should enjoy the solitude before the mayhem began. But no matter how hard she tried, she failed to stop unease from bubbling in the pit of her stomach. The moments alone gave her too much time to mull over, sort through, and analyze the events of the past few days. A dangerous undertaking for any soon-to-be bride, never mind one who remained uncertain she wished to wed at all.
She hoped the troop of servants coming to assist her with dressing arrived soon, before she could think her way out of the ceremony and onto the nearest horse. Not that she would run, much as she wanted to at the moment. She’d made her decision. Given Brigham her word and refused to break it. No matter how many reservations she harbored about their future. Even so, the more she thought about it, the more uncertain she became of both herself and Brigham. And that fear and uncertainty? Aye, well…neither was making the most comfortable of companions.
The clip of approaching feet echoed in the corridor outside her chamber. Aurora blew out a steadying breath. Thank goodness. A distraction, at long last. She needed to stop thinking about all the reasons she shouldn’t marry Brigham and get it over with…before she went stark raving mad.
Determined to preserve her sanity, she abandoned her position by the bed and walked to the door. The iron handle chilled her palm, then clanked as she pressed down. With a tug, she pulled the door wide. Poised to deliver a solid knock, Quinlyn’s hand hung in mid-air. Taken off guard, her friend blinked before she recalled herself and swept into the chamber, a gaggle of excited servants in tow.
“Ready?” Quinlyn paused, her gaze boring into hers.
Aurora swallowed, trying to settle her stomach. “Aye.”
“Liar,” her friend said, her voice soft with understanding as she reached out to squeeze Aurora’s hand. “’Twill be all right, you know.”
Grateful for the reassurance, she nodded. “I know.”
“Good.” Quinlyn gave her a pointed look, then released her and turned to the flock of maids shuffling behind them. “Let’s get to it. Girls?”
In the hour that followed, Aurora clung to patience as the gaggle primped, poked, prodded, and pulled, all in an effort to prepare her for the ceremony and the celebration to follow. To her credit, she didn’t complain when the flock cornered her, clucking incessantly about this treatment or that. Not even when they stripped, bathed, and anointed her with scented oils, lotions, and all other fantastical potions did she so much as open her mouth in protest. Her hair washed, trimmed and dried, a maid brushed her tresses into a shiny mass of curls. The silk chemise ghosted over her well-groomed locks and settled into place an instant before the women presented her wedding gown. The cool, soft velvet whispered against her skin as she slipped it over her head, then settled in a shimmering pool about her feet.
An oval looking glass was set before her.
Aurora blinked, staring wide-eyed at her reflection. She drew a quick breath and looked again. Oh, my. The transformation took her breath away. She swallowed the lump rising in her throat. Great heavens, every moment of the last few hours had been worth it. The icy-blue velvet hugged her curves. Her pale skin and the blue of her eyes glowed with vitality. Piled into a simple arrangement that complemented her features—and surprisingly, her sensibilities—her hair shimmered in the candlelight. The overall effect was stunning. So much so, ’twas almost as though an impostor stood gazing back at her.
Tears pricked the corners of her eyes. Aurora held each one back, refusing to ruin the moment. But it was hard. She wanted to let loose. Jump for joy. Laugh out loud. Twirl in a circle and feel the gown flow. A silly reaction, but an honest one too. Not once, in all her years, had she imagined she could look so, well…pretty.
She glanced at Quinlyn.
Her friend gazed back, a smile on her face and pride in her eyes. “You will take his breath away.”
“I hope not. He might swoon, and then I’ll be forced to catch him,” she said, making light of the compliment to keep her composure. “I’ll be crushed, for certain.”
Quinlyn snorted in laughter. “Don’t worry. I’ve got smelling salts.”
She rolled her eyes. “Forever prepared.”
“Come hell or high water.”
Finding comfort in the banter, Aurora smiled and, with a nod, turned and made for the door. The gaggle came with her, chattering in her wake as she walked along the corridor and started down the stairs. Reaching the bottom, Aurora stepped through the doorway and out onto the gravel path. Damp air washed over her, rushing her into the well-kept gardens and onward to where the ceremony would be performed. Quinlyn came alongside her, matching her stride for stride. She didn’t say a thing. Neither did Aurora. Words were unnecessary now.
All had been said and done. Nothing left to do now but move forward. On ahead…into the teeth of her future.
The large trees and small shrubs standing sentry on either side of the winding path swayed. Colorful leaves frolicked amid the gusts of wind tousling the treetops, warning of the approaching storm. The air was thick and the sky dark, but not a single raindrop fell, even though thunder rumbled in the distance.
Glancing up at the black clouds, Aurora shivered, then gasped as she bumped into Quinlyn. Muttering an apology, she sidestepped her friend and stood on tiptoe to peer over the hedge into the small courtyard beyond. Set beside the chapel, the circular garden looked beautiful in the gloom: jagged leaves of the rose bushes a shade darker than usual, flower petals more blood-red than ruby, the wood of the arbor more black than brown. Not that the shadows deterred anyone. The entire congregation was present. All of those who’d witnessed Eamon and Quinlyn wed remained, the urge to watch the Monster of Mornay exchange wedding vows too compelling to pass up.
Restless in long pews placed in neat rows, the group shuffled in their seats, colorful attire a tribute to both the harvest and the autumn season. Bishop Duvalle stood under the decorated bower, dressed in purple and white, while Father Edward paced behind him. The stout priest must be rehearsing, no doubt eager to deliver a scathing oration on the evils of sinning in a bishop’s bed. Aurora frowned, disliking the possibility, as she turned her attention to her betrothed.
Planted in front of the two priests, Brigham stood with his hands clasped behind his back. He paid little attention to his audience and scanned the surrounding vegetation. His navy blue tunic and leggings matched, setting the amber crest on his chest off to perfection. And his sword—never far from his side—hung from a wide belt slung low on his lean hips, matching the black boots that stopped at his knees. He looked as he always did: confident, arrogant, his innate authority apparent for all to see.
What happened next, Aurora could not say for certain.
How she went from Quinlyn’s quick hug and encouraging murmur to halfway down the aisle baffled her. Numbness spread as panic vied for supremacy. Heart beating an unnatural rhythm, she wanted to pick up her skirt and run in the opposite direction. She killed the incl
ination. It was too late now. So instead, she forced one foot in front of the other and kept her gaze glued to the man waiting at the end of the aisle. In that moment, no one else mattered. Her focus narrowed. Her senses throbbed. Yet she remained fixed on him, finding the confidence she needed in his unswerving gaze.
Steadier now, Aurora stopped at the base of the steps. A mere three to climb. Just a few seconds to rise to his level and pledge herself, mind, body, heart, and soul.
Regarding her in silence, Brigham scanned her features. Heat sparked in his eyes. She swallowed and stared back at him, afraid to miss the tinniest twitch in his expression. Dark gaze penetrating, he raised his arm and held out his hand.
“Come, loving,” he murmured, palm poised in mid-air.
His deep voice stroked over her, leaving goose bumps in its wake…and realization struck. In that moment, Aurora understood the intent behind the action. He wanted her willingness. Freely given. Without hesitation or marred by doubt. Aurora’s chest went tight. God love him. Such a small gesture, but so much more powerful than words. Now…in front of all…he asked, giving her a chance to change her mind. To flee him before witnesses.
His generosity clinched it. Uncertainty fled in the face alacrity.
Taking a deep breath, Aurora placed her hand in his. “As you wish, my lord.”
Brigham’s fingers curled around hers. He tugged. She climbed the steps, joining him beneath the flower-covered archway. God be swift and merciful. She was in it now. There would be no going back. No escaping either…ever. By word and deed, she’d sealed her fate. Now Brigham would never let her go.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
In a Hurry for Love
The instant Bishop Duvalle said “amen,” Brigham wrapped his arms around her. Startled by the sudden movement, Aurora flinched and glanced up. Her gaze landed on his face. Not that she saw much of it as he dipped his head. Her brute was too quick. Or mayhap, she was too slow. Neither explained, however, why she stood stone-still while her new husband kissed the ever-loving sense clear out of her.
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