Much to her alarm, her moments of freedom slid away with frightening speed. As in a daze, she found herself fed, bathed, perfumed and groomed, all against her stunned will. No moment of that morning was hers. As they tugged and pulled and goaded, she thought she might scream in rage at them to leave her be. The noon meal came and though she was not hungry, she pretended to eat so they would give her rest, dropping the food from the window to a hungry mongrel when they weren’t looking. But as soon as the tray was taken away, everything began again. No part of her body was left untouched, no matter what shame it caused her, and when she tried to protest, the three argued.
“But, lass, a touch of essence here or there will make a strong, grand man from a shy, bashful sort.”
And Heather thought wildly that just the opposite was needed for the man she was to marry.
Finally she was readied and for the first time allowed to gaze upon herself. What she saw was herself, yet not the Heather she had always seen. She had never looked this way before. For a frightening moment she caught a glimpse of the beauty that others saw and found uncommon. Her hair, brushed to a silky sheen, was coiled intricately through itself and around the top of her head to resemble the coiffure of a Greek goddess. A tiara of golden spikes and pearls crowned her head, and below it, blue feline eyes stared back at her in alarm. The definite slant of her eyes fringed by the long, sooty lashes was made even more noticeable by the manner of hairstyle which was drawn tightly from her face. Her cheekbones, fragile and high, allowing for a slight hollowness beneath them, had been pinched and were no longer pale. Her soft, pink mouth was slightly opened with her awe.
“A lass more fair than you does not live, Maid Heather.”
The moment was lost for Heather and again she surveyed her raiments. With love, Lady Hampton had sent as a gift her own wedding gown, an elegant garment resembling somewhat a monk’s habit complete with hood. It was ice blue in color and made of rich, heavy satin cut in simple, slender lines. The sleeves reached to the wrist and were, as the skirt of the gown, slightly flared. Elaborate golden embroidery and countless seed pearls embellished the hood and sleeves, and placed about the hips was a girdle of great beauty and considerable fortune. It was of gold, leather and was richly sewn with pearls and rubies. A train a good arm’s length longer than herself waited to be attached with gold chains and its heavy satin was richly embroidered and embellished with the gold and seed pearls.
A costume fit for a queen, Heather thought drearily.
She frowned suddenly and moved to the window again. The hour of her doom was growing near. Time was fast draining away and still she trembled.
“For once in my life,” she prayed silently, “please—oh, please let me be brave.”
Behind her the door swung open and Aunt Fanny marched in.
“Well now, I see you’re all dressed in your finery,” the woman sneered. “And I’m supposin’ you be thinkin’ you look pretty, ain’t you? But you look no better’n what you did in my old dress.”
Mrs. Todd stiffened her spine as if the insult had been directed at her. “I beg your pardon, madam!”
“Oh, hush your mouth,” Aunt Fanny snapped at the woman.
“Please, Aunt Fanny,” Heather pleaded softly. “Mrs. Todd has worked hard.”
“Aye, I’m sure she had to with you.”
“Madam,” Mrs. Todd said coldly. “The girl is not deserving of criticism. She be by far the comeliest maid I’ve ever had the pleasure to attend or have ever seen for that matter.”
“She’s the daughter of Satan,” Aunt Fanny hissed. “Her beauty is his doing, and ‘cause of it, no man will find peace with himself after he’s seen her. It’s the devil’s way of makin’ man lust after a witch, and to me she’s ugly. That man she’s marryin’ is her just mate. The two of them be of the devil!”
“That’s nonsense!” Mrs. Todd cried. “The girl is an angel.”
“Angel, is it? I don’t suppose she told you why she’s gettin’ wedded so soon, did she?”
From the open doorway where he had come to stand and listen, Uncle John spoke with a slow but steady voice. “It’s ‘cause Captain Birmingham wants her without delay, ain’t it, Fanny?”
The obese woman turned in a huff, ready to snarl a denial at him, but something, perhaps her fear of the Yankee sea captain, made her silence the angry words that came to her lips before they were spoken. Instead, she whirled on her niece and made as if to pinch her, but Heather quickly glided out of her way, reasoning the less pain she suffered now, the better prepared she would be for it later.
“I can say I’ll be happy to get you off my hands,” Aunt Fanny spat. “You’ve naught been a pleasure to have around.”
Heather flinched under the biting remark. Tears came to her eyes as she turned once again to the window. All her life she had lacked the love of her kinsfolk. What her father had given to her had been marred by unhappiness, and now she was destined to go through life without knowing of another. Even the son, if it was to be a son, whom she was carrying would probably be encouraged to hate his mother by a father who was forced to be one. There would never be another chance for love in her life.
An hour later, stiff and unsmiling, Heather descended from the steps of the rented carriage with the aid of Uncle John. The mighty cathedral loomed upward, overpowering in its immensity, and she, small and insignificant before it, mounted the steps, clinging to her uncle’s arm. She was numb to the world about her. She did things mechanically. She put one foot in front of the other as she was towed along by her uncle. Mrs. Todd, who had come along for last minute assistance, walked beside her, fussing with the bridal cape that she held draped over her arms. The woman would have swooned if some harm had come to it. She worried and clucked like a mother hen over her brood, but Heather scarcely noticed her. She stared straight ahead toward the high, main portal of the cathedral, coming closer with each step she was taking. It gaped dark and sinister, waiting with maddening patience to swallow her life. Then she was under its arched frame, moving into the vestry, and she stopped because her uncle stopped. The organ music drummed on her heart and sounded loud in her ears. Mrs. Todd flitted about her, straightening the hood over her head, attaching the long train at her shoulders with the gold chains, spreading it out behind to its full length. Someone handed her a small, white Bible with a golden cross stamped in the soft leather, and she took it without thinking.
“Pinch your cheeks, Heather,” Aunt Fanny scolded harshly from somewhere near. “And stop lookin’ so frightened or I’ll pinch you myself.”
Mrs. Todd glared at the woman, then did her duty by bringing some life to Heather’s cheeks herself.
“You’re the queen of the day, love,” she whispered to Heather and gave a final adjustment to the crown and hood.
The music changed and so did the beat of Heather’s heart. The shock brought her out of her daze.
“’Tis time, love,” Mrs. Todd said quietly.
“Is—is he in there?” Heather murmured to the woman, hoping greatly that he had refused finally to come.
“Who, love?” the woman questioned.
“She’s talkin’ about the Yankee,” Aunt Fanny hissed.
“Yes, pet,” Mrs. Todd replied kindly. “He’s standing before the altar waiting for you. And a high handsome man he is too, from what I can see of him.”
Heather swayed weakly against Mrs. Todd and the older woman steadied her with a helping arm and a smile and walked her to the door.
“It will all be over in a moment, love,” she said, giving a final encouragement before the door swung open.
Then Lord Hampton was offering his arm to her and she took it mechanically, moving on her own quaking limbs beside him down the aisle. She could feel the pounding of her heart inside her breast and the weight of the Bible in her hand. The heavy burden of the train tugged at her shoulders, seeming to hold her back, but she moved on as the great organ drowned out all other sounds, even the beat of her heart.
The candles at the altar burned beyond the group standing there, making them dark shadows in a dimly-lit church. But she knew which one was her husband-to-be by his height. No one in the world seemed as tall as he at the moment.
She came closer and the candlelight touched on his face, and for a split second Heather was halted by the cold, stark features. She had an overwhelming desire to flee. Her bottom lip quivered, and she caught at it nervously with her teeth to still its cowardly shaking as Lord Hampton moved away from her, leaving her alone. The green eyes before her roamed insultingly over her person, divesting her of her bridal gown in a cruel, heartless way, and Heather trembled more violently. The Yankee stretched out a strong, brown hand and offered it to her as his leer brought a deep blush to her pale face. Reluctantly she lifted her hand, which was cold as ice, and placed it in his much larger, much warmer one, and he drew her the remainder of the way to the altar steps.
Tall and powerful he stood, garmented regally in black velvet and flawless white. He was Satan to her. Handsome. Ruthless. Evil. He could draw her soul from her body and never feel remorse.
If she were brave, she would turn now before the vows were spoken and fly from the insanity of what they were doing to her. Every day women gave birth to bastard sons and raised them in the streets. Why was she not so courageous? Surely having to beg for food and being destitute were lesser evils than being thrown into the fires of hell.
But even as she argued with herself, she slid to her knees with the man beside her and bowed her head to pray for the blessings of God.
Time stood still as they were swept into the marriage ceremony, and all the while every nerve, every sense she possessed screamed of the presence beside her. The lean, well manicured hands held her gaze and the closeness of his body lent to her nostrils a scent of his cologne, not overpowering like so many strong perfumes meant to cover the stench of unwashed bodies, but fleeting and inoffensive, a clean, masculine smell.
“At least he is well washed,” she mused.
She heard him respond to the priest’s urging in a firm, steady voice.
“I, Brandon Clayton Birmingham, take you, Heather Brianna Simmons, to be my lawful wedded wife—”
Thankfully appearing not to falter, she spoke the same words, pledging herself to this man in soft tones. It seemed only a moment later that he was sliding a gold band upon her finger and they were again bowing their heads before the priest.
She rose finally on shaky limbs as her new husband drew to his full height. He looked down at her unkindly, his green eyes freezing to her hesitant gaze.
“I believe it is customary for the groom to kiss the bride,” he said.
She replied in a nervous strained voice. “Yes.”
She feared she would faint under his stare. Her heart raged so turbulently that her gown fluttered over her heart. His long, brown fingers moved around the delicate bones of her jaw and gripped it firmly so she could not move her face away while his other arm slid behind her back under the loose, flowing train. He crushed her to him suddenly in a fierce, possessive embrace, and Heather’s eyes widened and her face drained of color. She felt the eyes of the others on them, but he seemed not to mind. On the contrary, he seemed to welcome their stares. His arm was like a band of iron around her, squeezing the life from her small body, pressing her tighter against him. His head lowered and his parted lips moved over hers in a passionate kiss. His open mouth was wet and searing, demanding and insulting, leaving her little dignity. Her hand struggled up and strained against him piteously.
From somewhere near she heard Lord Hampton cough uncomfortably and her uncle murmur something unintelligible. Finally the priest touched Brandon’s arm and spoke awkwardly.
“You will have time for that later, my son. The others are waiting to congratulate you.”
At last his grip slackened and she could breathe. Her quivering mouth burned from his blistering lips and an imprint of his fingers was clearly marked upon her fair skin. She turned on wobbly knees and smiled tremulously as Lord and Lady Hampton came up to her. The kindly man gave her a fatherly kiss upon the brow.
“I hope I have not done wrongly with you, Heather,” he said uncertainly, glancing up at Captain Birmingham who stood stiff and unyielding beside her. “My intentions were to see you cared for, but—”
“Please,” she murmured, reaching out to place shaking fingers against his lips.
She couldn’t let him finish. If she heard her fears put into words, she would run shrieking from them all, tearing at her garments and hair in an excess of insane passion.
Lady Hampton glanced up timorously at the Yankee captain who stared coldly ahead, his mighty seaman’s legs planted firmly under him, his hands clasped behind his back. He appeared to be standing on the deck of a ship, staring out across an ocean. Her hands trembled uncontrollably as she embraced Heather and tears moistened her eyes. The two women, both small and slight, clung to each other in their distress.
As if the thought just occurred to him, Lord Hampton quickly made a proposal. “You will stay the night at Hampshire Hall. There will be more room there for you than in the ship’s cabin.”
He didn’t add that any room there would be easily accessible to him if Heather screamed while in the hands of her new husband.
Brandon turned his frigid gaze upon the smaller man. “And of course you insist upon that also,” he growled.
His lordship faced him with an unwavering stare. “Yes, I do,” he said calmly.
A muscle twitched angrily in Brandon’s cheek, but he said nothing, not even when his lordship suggested it was time they left for the wedding feast at Hampshire Hall. He just took his bride’s arm in a firm, solid grasp and allowed the others to precede them from the church.
Heather, nervous and jittery with his hand at her elbow, would have preferred going out on Lord Hampton’s arm, but Brandon clearly had no intentions of letting her do so. His mastery over her had already begun and she knew that she would never again belong to herself. His possession of her was complete—except for perhaps her soul, but he would not stop until that too belonged to him.
Much to her dismay, she was halted by the sudden refusal of her cape to be drawn with her up the aisle. Frantically she looked over her shoulder to see what was binding it, and Brandon turned his black scowl on her as she appeared to tug away from his unrelenting grasp.
“Please,” she started in a quavery voice, lifting a hand to explain her seeming reluctance to move forward.
His eyes went past her toward the garment caught on a splintered pew, and he grinned down at her sardonically and went back to release it. Heather watched him nervously, clasping the Bible she held in both hands. Her palms were moist and her fingers twitched. She glanced at the gold band that stamped her as his. It was rather loose and slid around her finger easily. Just to look at it brought more fear to her heart, knowing what it would mean.
Brandon detached the golden embroidery from the rough splinter and tossed the end of the cape over his arm in a careless manner and came back to her. Again his hand slid under her arm.
“There’s no need to distress yourself, my love,” he said mockingly. “The garment is intact.”
“Thank you,” she murmured softly, raising her eyes uncertainly to his.
His taunting smile seared her and brought a rush of color to her face. He was cruelly laughing at her and her stung pride would not allow that. It brought her chin up defiantly. She glared at him through the tears that sprang to her eyes.
“Were I a man you would not smirk so easily,” she spat, hating him.
He raised a finely arched eyebrow and chuckled unmercifully at her. “Were you a man, my dear, you wouldn’t be in this situation.”
Her blush deepened. Infuriated and seething with anger and humiliation, she tried to wrench free from his long fingers but he only tightened them around her arm.
“You cannot escape me again, my beauty,” he said easily, seeming to enjoy her distress. “You are now forev
er and for always mine. Marriage with me is what you wanted and that is what you shall have for the rest of your life—unless by chance you are widowed. But do not fear, love, I have no desire to leave you too soon.”
Her face turned ashen under his careless gibe, and she swayed on her feet, feeling faint. He steadied her by drawing her near, and he raised her chin so he could gaze down into her eyes. His own burned like coals of green fire.
“Not even your Lord Hampton will be able to save you from me now, though I see he will try. But what is one night in many?”
The words sent a quivery spasm of fright rushing through her body, and her head fell back weakly against his arm.
“What a beauty you are, my sweet,” he said huskily. “I shan’t grow tired of you too soon.”
Lord Hampton, tense and nervous at their long delay with coming from the church, could not wait a moment longer. He hurried back in to find Heather clutched in her husband’s arms, her head thrown back, her eyes closed, her face very pale.
“Has she fainted?” he asked anxiously, coming to them.
The fire in Brandon’s eyes died and he glanced at the smaller man briefly. “No,” he replied and returned his gaze to his wife. “She will be better in a moment.”
“Then come,” his lordship said irritably. “The carriage is waiting.”
He turned and left them, and Brandon’s arm tightened around his wife.
“Shall I carry you, my love,” he asked mockingly, an evil jeering grin twisting his handsome mouth.
Heather’s eyes flew open.
“No!” she cried, flinging herself from him in a sudden burst of pride and energy. His laugh straightened her spine even more. With a toss of her head she walked from him, but he still held her train over his arm and she came up short when the extra length ran out. She glanced back audaciously and glared at him when he would not release it. The corner of his mouth went up scornfully as he came to her side again.
The Flame and the Flower Page 10