Chapter Fourteen
Justine did not appreciate surprises that ended in her getting scolded. Unable to get more than a few hours of sleep, she escaped outside to think. Not that she was capable of contriving a big scheme, but she did have a great deal of emotions to feel, which might as well be the same as thinking.
The horizons beyond the mountains were lightening from dark purple to pink, then to orange and yellow. The cold of the rock seeped into her bum. The cold tips of her fingers felt good on her eyelids, which stung with an unexpected heat in wake of her lack of sleep. Her life would never be the same. Which was honestly something she’d been longing for even before the Matterhorn. Then why was she a little sad?
Because suddenly her future was entirely unknown, and a life with Karl could possibly keep her from returning to England forever. This was the moment, the point so obvious Ophelia could put a pushpin in a map for it, where Justine grew up.
After what she and Karl had just done, she could be a mother. But she would most definitely become a wife—likely within the week. Who knew what Francis and her parents would insist upon.
She heard the swish of grass above her. Normally she would never be still enough to hear it, but this was an unusual morning. Turning, she saw Karl startle as he spotted her.
“Early morning hike?”
she asked, her voice shockingly loud in the spacious dawn sky.
He cleared his throat. “You did not wake early enough to catch me this time.”
“Would you have waited?”
“If I had known, yes.”
He strolled up to stand beside her rock. Sweat glistened at his temples, and the tip of his nose was red from cold. He sniffed and discreetly wiped his nose with the back of his wrist. Even his hands were ruddy from the cool, Alpine night temperature. “What has you up early?”
She gave him a reedy smile. “I’m getting married, haven’t you heard?”
Karl huffed, which sounded something akin to an embarrassed laugh. “How could I not?”
They were quiet for a moment, and then Justine realized she was being rude by taking up all the space on the boulder. She scooted over to give him room. He gave her a questioning look, but when she patted the empty stone, he hopped up beside her.
“Justine, I—”
Karl stopped, looking down at his hands. Justine watched as his fingers climbed over each other, trying to find a position of rest and failing. Finally he looked in her eyes, and she saw the turmoil in his. “If you do not wish to marry me, then don’t. I couldn’t bear it if you thought I had trapped you in some way. A bird will not sing if she is caged against her will, and I want you to sing.”
Perhaps because she was already feeling so many emotions at once, or because she was admitting to herself that her childish life had finished, his words penetrated deep. “It’s because you don’t want to cage me that I agreed to marry you, Karl.”
“Agreeing from family pressure and jumping up and down saying yes are very different things. I would prefer the jumping kind for someone to marry me.”
Karl held her gaze, grimacing, almost as if he was bracing for her rejection.
She looked down at her own hands and held them up to tick off her reasons. “The reasons I would marry Karl Vogel. One, and I deeply regret saying this out loud, you are extraordinarily attractive. Straight nose, excellent teeth, jawline sharper than a carving knife, and shoulders broader than an ox. So aggravating.”
She glanced over to see how he was taking her complete inability to discuss her feelings directly.
“Number two, he lives in a place that I have fallen absolutely in love with. Number three, he, very annoyingly, can keep up with me physically. Very few can.”
Karl laughed with what sounded like genuine delight. “Keep up with you? You keep up with me!”
“Number four,”
she said, louder to emphasize that she was still talking. “Karl Vogel has either already climbed all the best mountains and therefore knows the way, or knows how to climb all the best mountains and would absolutely do it with me.”
“Number five, he doesn’t mind if I drink brandy in the middle of the night.”
At the reminder of the night they met, Karl’s face melted into gentle peace. He leaned back and folded his arms, waiting for the rest of her enumerations.
“Number six, when he says he is not after my family’s money, I believe him.”
Karl nodded succinctly at that, but didn’t interrupt.
“Number seven, he knows how strong I am and doesn’t try to take that from me.”
His expression turned grave. “Never.”
“Number eight, if I say I don’t want children, I think he would respect that, and if I said that I did, he would respect that, too.”
Karl nodded, his eyebrows raised as if contemplating the new topic.
“Number nine, I’m fairly certain that Karl worships the ground I walk upon.”
This caused a massive smile to break out across his face, and he reached for her, but she stopped him. It was this last reason that made her heart pound, and her stomach seize.
“And number ten, if I told him that I loved him, he wouldn’t laugh at me.”
This time she didn’t stop him as he threaded his hands around her face and kissed her. She folded herself into his lap, allowing every emotion she had been feeling to open and lay bare to him, as if she were lining them up for his inspection. She did love him. She did. And marrying him would be no hardship, not really. It was a new adventure, and if there was one thing Justine Bad News Brewer loved, it was a new adventure.
Below them, the rustling of the goats’ neck bells alerted them to the outside world. Karl looked at the sky, and then down below where movement could be heard in the hotel.
“I have to go,”
Karl said. “I help Tante Greta with the morning chores.”
“Go,”
she said, shooing him. “But I’m going to stay a bit longer on my rock. I’m enjoying it here.”
He gave her a boyish grin and trotted down the hill. She heard the bell for breakfast, but didn’t feel like eating, so she stayed on her rock as the sun came up and perched over the mountains.
Worse, was that according to Francis, her parents would arrive that morning. She certainly did not want to explain to her mother what had happened. Nor did she want to be nearby when Francis told them, either.
Most likely, she considered, she would become the Frau Vogel to whatever mountaineering venture Karl next undertook. She didn’t know any words of Bavarian German. Or Swiss German. Or really anything. Her French was terrible as well. But she would figure something out. She always did.
“Good morning,”
Ophelia called as she trudged up the hill to join her on her rock.
“Good morning. How did you find me?”
Justine asked, scooting over to make room.
“Well, I went outside because that would be where you would go, and then I looked up.”
“I’m not hiding,”
Justine said, just in case Ophelia thought she was.
“I know,”
Ophelia said, nodding.
“How is your father?”
“His eyes fluttered, and he’s almost swallowing the broth now, not just letting it dribble out.”
Ophelia’s tone was measured.
“But not really awake yet?”
Ophelia shook her head. “No. Not yet.”
They were silent, looking out at the mountains. Justine picked at the lichen on the rock. “Turns out I’m getting married.”
“I heard.”
“Already?”
“Francis told everyone. Frau Brunner is very happy. She’s singing in the kitchen. You can hear it all over the hotel.”
Justine scrunched up her face. Even if Frau Brunner was happy, there would still be scoldings from Lady Rascomb. “And your mother?”
“She has a hard time not thinking about my father. But I believe her exact words were, ‘It’s the only way that girl was getting married, and I’ve said it since the day I met her.’”
Justine’s cheeks heated. “That doesn’t sound very complimentary.”
“I don’t think she meant you’re loose, I think she meant you’re stubborn.”
Ophelia’s words were kind, but Justine could see the sadness coming off her as if it were water vapor.
“Oh.”
Justine looked at Zermatt, wondering if she and Karl would live there year-round. She wouldn’t mind it. She’d figure out how to make cheese and bread, and all those things. Perhaps her father would still give her a dowry. That was something to think about. She’d insist on buying a very big stove.
“There’s an Anglican bishop in town, it turns out,”
Ophelia said after a while.
“An Anglican one?”
Justine frowned. There wasn’t an Anglican church—only the funds being raised for one.
“Precisely. They laid the foundation stone last month for the new church. The bishop stayed on to enjoy the mountains.”
“How do you know this?”
Justine asked.
Ophelia looked at her in surprise. “Your mother, of course.”
Justine’s heart started pounding. “She’s already here?”
“Apparently they came in very early this morning. Francis met them. They’ve been very busy running around town already.”
“But—”
She must have been kissing Karl a bit longer than she thought she had. She couldn’t see the front of the inn from here. Oh drat. If she didn’t go down and show her face, this would be a disaster. Well, even more of a disaster. She slid off the rock.
“Before you go—”
Ophelia grabbed Justine’s hand. “Will being with Mr. Vogel make you happy? If not, I’ll do what I can to stop this. I don’t know what I could do, but something.”
Justine smiled. Even if she had so many questions about what would happen in the future, not one of them was about whether or not Karl would make a good husband. “I think everything is going to work out, Fee. I really do.”
Ophelia smiled back at her; sadness touched every feature of her lovely face. “Then I’m happy for you.”
“I have to go greet my mother.”
Justine sighed. “I’m not looking forward to this.”
“I know. She’s already invited my mother for tea in her room this afternoon. I believe it won’t be pleasant.”
Justine winced. “I need to apologize to your mother. It’s not her fault.”
Ophelia slid down the rock and joined Justine on the ramble back down to the inn. Now that she’d said it out loud to Ophelia, Justine felt the feeling of assurance settle over her like a shawl. Everything would work out for the best. And maybe this was the only way she would have ever gotten married—being forced into it due to her indiscretion. The indiscretion that she couldn’t wait to try again.
“If I try the Matterhorn again, will you do it, even though you’ll be a married lady?”
Ophelia asked, her voice sounding thin and pinched.
“Wild horses couldn’t keep me away,”
Justine answered. “I wouldn’t let you try this with anyone else. It’s still us against the world.”
They entered the inn, and Justine could hear her mother in the dining room. Her mother’s voice was very distinct. And it carried. Justine looked at Ophelia, who gave her a pat on the shoulder as encouragement. Justine exhaled, hoping for the best, then swanned into the dining room with false confidence.
“Mama, so good to see you.”
Justine took her mother’s hands and kissed her cheek.
“Congratulations are in order, daughter.”
Her mother pushed her hands back out so she could examine Justine. “You look as wild as ever. But at least happy this time.”
“And is Papa here? Who came with you? I’m amazed you came to Switzerland at all.”
Her mother’s face fell into a thin line. “Francis wrote to say you were getting married after climbing the Matterhorn. We were ready to leave when his telegraph came that your expedition was hurt. We wouldn’t abandon you out here, wedding or no!”
Something inside Justine’s chest popped open, like a bubble that burst. They’d come. They’d come for her , not for the prospect of a wedding. Francis had thought of her safety. She’d put herself out of their reach, and yet they ran to her when she needed. Her throat felt hot and thick.
“Francis also informed us of your wedding date, and I am glad we could make it here before you converted to Lutheranism or something else rash.”
Justine swallowed hard. Wait. So her mother believed that this hurried wedding was not because of a night of indiscretion but rather a planned ceremony? “Er—”
Her mother gripped her hands tighter, smothering Justine’s into a tight fist. “In fact, since you allowed Francis the pleasure of arranging the ceremony, I’ve just found you an Anglican bishop to preside over the wedding. Please tell me that you’ll let him, and not whatever Lutheran pastor you’ve dug up. Please. For your mother.”
“I will—”
Justine looked around, still trying to figure out how to best handle this. “I will talk to Karl about it. I don’t think he had his heart set on any particular pastor.”
Her mother sighed in relief. “Thank goodness. This way your marriage will be recognized in England and I won’t have to have any of those awkward conversations about if your children are technically bastards.”
Justine frowned. “Wonderful.”
“And where is Mr. Vogel? Is he nearby? I haven’t met him yet. Your father is still up in the room. He’s having troubles. Something about the dairy doesn’t agree with him. But I would like to meet this young man. Oh,”
her mother blanched. “He is a young man, isn’t he?”
Justine stifled a laugh. “Yes. Close to my age.”
“That’s for the best, anyhow. I can’t believe how he managed to sweep you off—”
At that moment, Karl peeked into the dining room, his waistcoat hanging open, his hair a mess, holding the hatchet across his shoulder. He looked every inch a mountain woodsman, broad and capable and muscled. His blue eyes speared Justine. “Is all well? Do you have any needs I may address?”
As Justine caught her breath, she looked over to her mother, whose mouth gaped open.
“Karl, this is my mother,”
Justine said. “Would you like to be introduced?”
“I apologize, I did not know they arrived.”
He backed up a step. “Please excuse me, I must bathe before introductions. I’d like to be presentable.”
Karl nodded his head, almost as if he were bowing. “Ma’am.”
Karl disappeared from the lobby, his footsteps heavy on the stairs.
“That’s him,”
Justine said, clasping her hands to pinch herself.
“Oh my,”
her mother said, the admiration clear in her voice.
Justine grinned. “Isn’t he just?”
**
Karl scrubbed himself red. He shaved as close as he could muster, and he put on his second-best suit. He needed to be presentable for his future wife’s parents. According to Tante Greta, they’d already found an Anglican bishop to perform the ceremony, and if it would be an Anglican wedding, then Tante Greta wanted every other tradition to be Swiss. Karl reminded her that he was Bavarian, but she said it did not count since he was here so much.
Karl wasn’t sure which traditions she wanted, but he supposed Tante Greta would make sure it would happen. On the stairs, Karl met a portly Englishman. The cut of the suit was unmistakably British, and when he got closer, he noticed distinct dark brown eyes, filled with mischief. It had to be Mr. Brewer. He was a large man, much larger than Karl thought he would be, given how small Justine was.
“Good evening,”
Karl said.
“Evening, evening.”
Karl slowed his steps to keep pace with the gentleman.
“Are you heading out to dine somewhere?”
the large man asked.
Karl shook his head. “I am here to meet my bride’s parents.”
“Ah! How fortuitous!”
Mr. Brewer stopped his slow advance. “You must be Mr. Vogel.”
Karl gave him a shallow bow. “At your service.”
“You must be quite something to have caught my girl’s eye. She was never taken in by fools or dandies, thank the Lord.”
“Thank you?”
Karl could only take that as a compliment.
“Have you met my wife yet? She’ll be impatient to take your measure. Come along.”
Mr. Brewer picked up his pace, and before long, Mr. Brewer presented him to the diminutive Mrs. Brewer.
Mr. Francis Brewer also arrived, and then Tante Greta bustled out and told him that Lady Rascomb had agreed to move Lord Rascomb from the dining room up to a guest room. That meant he had to forego discussion and help move the sick man and then clean the dining room so they might have a proper dinner with their new guests.
When Karl meant to protest, Tante Greta stopped him. “Show your future parents what a good boy you are,”
she said in German.
Karl made his excuses, and although he waited until the party had left the dining room to remove his coat, he did notice later that Mrs. Brewer was watching him as he and Tristan moved the heavy wooden bed frame upstairs.
Perhaps Justine’s parents approved of him enough?
**
There was a gunshot.
Justine sat bolt upright in bed. Another one. Then firecrackers? Ophelia rubbed her eyes and turned over to look at Justine.
“What is going on?”
Justine demanded. “Is it war?”
Ophelia laughed. “No, but it is your wedding day.”
“Why are they shooting guns? It sounds like they’re right outside the window!”
Justine rushed over to peer out the curtain.
“They are right outside the window.”
Ophelia yawned. “Austrian custom. Bride awakes at dawn.”
“What? That’s ridiculous!”
“You better announce that you’re up so I can get some more sleep,”
Ophelia said with another yawn.
Her blood pounded in her ears from the noise. There was no way she’d ever sleep again. “Nonsense. You hate sleep.”
She pulled off Ophelia’s blanket. Ophelia grumbled but gamely sat up.
Justine waved out the window at Herr and Frau Brunner outside, with Frau Erhart the healer, the young maid, and a few others she didn’t recognize. They cheered her and laughed and, according to Ophelia, told her to meet them downstairs.
After they dressed and descended, Frau Brunner greeted them with fresh rolls and a pot of tea. Through Ophelia’s halting translation, they told Justine what to expect for the day.
“Apparently they decided to forego the kidnapping,”
Ophelia said.
“Pardon? Kidnapping?”
Justine swallowed a scalding sip of tea.
“It is a grandiose tradition here, from what I gather. I think it has something to do with how well your husband can protect you? By finding you? I’m not sure. My language skills are not perfect.”
Ophelia frowned as Frau Brunner again started talking at speed.
When it was time to dress for the ceremony later that day, her mother tsked over the fact that they hadn’t time to get something new.
“Something from Paris,”
her mother said with a sigh. “My only daughter, and this is what she wears.”
It was the most appropriate dress she had—her nicest pale frock, the one with the red buttons and satin sash. The very one Karl had peeled off of her. At least there had been time to get new buttons covered in a cream silk and change the ribbon sash to cream, so it could seem more like a wedding dress. Even as they were altering it, her mother noted a slight tear in the skirt.
“It’s a good thing we are working on this today,”
she’d said. “You must be more careful with your things.”
There was a knock at her door as her mother’s lady’s maid yanked and pulled and twisted her hair into place.
Frau Brunner entered holding a length of lace over her forearm and a coin in her hand.
“Schuhe,”
the woman said, gesturing with the coin.
Justine looked at her mother, hoping she understood, but apparently Swiss matrimonial customs were outside of her scope of knowledge. Frau Brunner mimed putting the coin in her own shoe.
“You want me to put it in my shoe?”
Justine asked. Frau Brunner nodded. She looked to her mother, who looked as baffled as she was.
Justine took the coin—a pfennig—and placed it under her arch inside the slipper. Frau Brunner said more, explaining the custom perhaps? But no one understood. Then Frau Brunner presented her with the lace. Again, Justine wasn’t clear what to do with it. So she draped it around her shoulders, thinking it was meant to be like a shawl. Frau Brunner shook her head fiercely.
The innkeeper took the lace and draped it over her head, covering her face.
“Can you please fetch Ophelia?”
Justine said to her mother’s lady’s maid. “I believe we need a translator. I can’t see a thing.”
Once Ophelia arrived, she listened intently to Frau Brunner’s lecture. She gave thoughtful nods, and Justine wanted to shake her.
It was Justine’s wedding day, and she couldn’t see, and apparently would have to hobble everywhere she went due to a coin in her shoe. Top it all, she was tired from being woken up at the crack of dawn by gunfire, and she hadn’t even seen Karl, whom she supposedly was going to be marrying later.
But it didn’t bother her that she was technically being forced into marriage, since she had decided to marry Karl anyway, that night they’d spent sweating, curled up in her narrow bed. She could be angry about not knowing where she’d live next year, or even where she would tomorrow. Would she sleep on a pallet in front of the fire here at the inn as well? She had no idea.
But it made the whole thing exciting. Who knew what was coming next? The one thing she could bet on was more mountains. More hikes in the woods. That which made her happier than anything else. And she was going to be walking with Karl, who was her second-favorite person. Because really, who could be better than Ophelia?
It was a backwards way to get to happiness, but Justine was fairly certain she was stepping into it in her own way.
“I think I understand now,”
Ophelia said, her eyes still on Frau Brunner as she turned to Justine. “The coin in your shoe is to give you good fortune in your married life.”
Justine’s mother harrumphed, no doubt disturbed that no one who spoke English knew about Karl’s family except Karl, and he was pleasantly evasive about his financial prospects.
“And the veil is so that no evil spirits recognize you and carry you away before the wedding.”
Ophelia said it slowly, glancing back to Frau Brunner, asking something in German, and received a confirmation.
“They seem awfully concerned about brides being stolen away here,”
Justine said. “I’m not sure what that says about Switzerland.”
“The lace is very becoming,”
Justine’s mother said, holding the lace up. “Very fine craftsmanship.”
“Mine,”
Frau Brunner said, tapping her chest with her hand.
The pride of this woman, how she honored Justine with her loan. Tears pricked Justine’s eyes. “This belonged to you?”
“Ich—”
Frau Brunner stopped and turned to Ophelia, speaking in German again.
“She made it,”
Ophelia said. “It was for her wedding to Herr Brunner. She said she put all her love into it, and hopes that it will bring as much happiness for you and her nephew.”
Justine was not sentimental, at least, not in her own opinion. But this was more generosity than she could take. She stood and pulled Frau Brunner into a tight hug, whispering her thank-yous in English and in German. When she pulled away, she could see the redness in Frau Brunner’s blue eyes as well.
When it came time, they rode donkeys over to the site of where the Anglican church would one day stand. For now, the one foundation stone marked the territory. Wooden benches had been brought out for guests, and while it was meant to be a church wedding, Justine was glad it was outside. Glad that the mountains could attend, watch over them, bless them in whatever way mountains could.
She’d decided to forgive the Matterhorn. She’d done what the Matterhorn always did. The Ladies’ Alpine Society had turned back due to the injury of one of its members, an honorable and admirable thing to do. The Matterhorn tested them, and they emerged with honor. The next climb would come in due time.
Karl was already at the church site, looking handsome in his best suit, the gold braid covering the military-style jacket. She stumbled dismounting the donkey, lace obstructing her sight. She hobbled a bit from the coin in her shoe. She could hear her mother sniffling already. But this felt right and good. And she had the rest of the Ladies’ Alpine Society there, cheering her on. Prudence pressed a bouquet of wildflowers into her hands, and Eleanor kissed her cheek through the lace veil.
“You are going to love being married,”
Eleanor promised, mischief in her voice.
The ceremony went so fast, Justine almost didn’t believe it had happened. At least, until Karl raised the veil, kissed her soundly—in front of her parents!—and they adjourned to a donkey cart with a bag waiting for them on the board.
“Boiled sweets,”
Karl said, when she looked at it with eyebrows raised.
She peeked into the bag to find at least a pound of brightly colored paper twists. “This is an awful lot of sweets for two people.”
Karl laughed, climbing into the donkey cart and putting out his hand to pull her up. At least she didn’t have to keep her face covered anymore. She could see. Frau Brunner pinned the veil back, so she still had lace cascading down to her shoulders, and her mother admitted it was very becoming.
“We throw the sweets to the children as we go back to the inn. To celebrate our joy, and to give back to our community as they welcome us.”
Justine liked the idea. It was better than people throwing things at them. As soon as they hit the streets of Zermatt, children appeared, as if they heard the siren song of sugar. Justine threw handfuls out and they skittered across the cobblestones. This was the most fun she’d had in ages . Well, public fun, anyway. She grabbed two handfuls and threw them both in the air. “I want to do this every day!”
Karl laughed. “I will see what I can do to put sweets in our budget.”
At the inn, Frau Brunner pulled her into the kitchen and handed her a small box. Guests were arriving, and Herr Brunner was serving beer and wine and schnapps. Justine hadn’t ever been in the kitchen before, and just like the veil scenario earlier that day, she hadn’t a clue of what was going on. It had to be another gift, but Frau Brunner kept pushing her to the cooking stove, where a steaming pot of soup cooked.
“Ophelia?”
she called, hoping her voice carried through the heavy wooden walls.
Frau Brunner shook her head. She mimed taking something from the box, tossing it in the soup, then pointed at Justine.
Justine frowned and opened the box. It was salt. “You want me to salt the soup?”
“Salze, ja.”
Frau Brunner nodded at her, trying to make her get on with it.
“I don’t know how much to use.”
Justine was out of her depth. Oh no, would she be expected to cook for Karl? It had not occurred to her that they would be so poor as to have to cook for them both. She had no idea how to do anything in a kitchen.
Frau Brunner kept gesturing to the pot, so Justine took a pinch and tossed it in. The pot was rather large, and more cauldron-shaped, so perhaps more? Frau Brunner urged her again, so Justine dug out a handful and threw it in. Frau Brunner looked worried.
“Oh no, was that too much?”
“Gut, gut,”
Frau Brunner said, shaking her head and pushing Justine out the door and into the dining room.
The rest of the afternoon was fun, and not at all like the weddings she’d attended in England. This was loud, full of music and dancing and drinking. They spilled outside and danced and she listened to men yodel and clapped as women danced. The older men wore the traditional lederhosen, and she was still not sure she was ready to see men’s bare knees, but see them she did.
As the sun set, Karl pulled her away from the crowd. “It is time for us to go.”
“But the party—”
“It is time.”
Karl’s voice was smooth and rough, and she realized that she hadn’t paid much attention to him today. She’d been so focused on these strange traditions, and old men's knees, and tasting the soup that was clearly over-salted. Whoops.
He handed her up into the donkey cart, and she scooted over to make room for him. Crested carriage with matching horses, this was not. The sweet smell of hay still permeated the wood. “Where are we going?”
“To a cottage nearby. We will stay there for a few nights. Then I wanted to ask you to go to Augsburg with me. I would like for you to meet my parents.”
He sounded nervous to her, so she leaned over and put her arm around his. “That sounds fine. What about my parents?”
“I invited them, but your father insists on returning to England. They will leave in two days.”
“What about—”
Karl smiled at her, and it struck her suddenly that this was her husband. She’d married him. This competent, giving, strong, kind man. “Herr and Frau Moon will be returning to England at the same time as your parents and your brother. Lord Rascomb’s health will determine when they return. Moving him to Zurich is too difficult at the moment.”
Justine nodded. They might stay for weeks, but Justine knew the second they could safely get Lord Rascomb down the mountain, they would return to England as well. Ophelia needed her parents more than she needed Justine right then anyway. She might as well go to Augsburg.
Karl pulled the cart to a stop in front of a gorgeous chalet. It was meant to be a herder’s hut, but this was if the herder were a prince in disguise. It was larger, and had massive windows—a terrible idea for keeping warm in the winter, but it was summer and beautiful. Pretty red and white flowers had been planted, making the building as welcoming as any she’d ever seen.
Karl got down and held out his hand as if to hand her down, but instead, he blocked her path, pulling her into his arms. “You are my wife.”
Justine leaned down to put her arms around his neck, reveling in being taller for once. “And you are my husband.”
He threaded his hand up to her cheek, pulling her down for a kiss. What started out as tender and full of the excitement of the day quickly turned passionate as they both realized what this night was meant to be for them.
When Karl pulled away, Justine was gasping, feeling a now-familiar ache in her belly and between her legs. Karl handed her down, as if he were a gentleman. “I have to deal with the cart,”
he said, his eyes roving over her in a way that was most definitely ungentlemanly. “You go inside. Start unbuttoning.”
Justine blushed, and he chuckled.
“I like making you blush,”
he said, pride showing in his expression. “Challenging, but worth it.”
“I hate you,”
she said, even though they both knew she meant the opposite.
“I love you too,”
he said. Was he staking a donkey? Yes. But he was staring into her eyes, connecting in a way she’d never connected with anyone else.
She swallowed hard, stopped short by his clear declaration. “I love you,”
she whispered, testing out the words on her tongue. When they flowed out of her mouth, she realized that she meant it. She loved him in a way she’d never expected to be able to do. It almost felt like a parlor-trick—the way it had snuck up on her. The way he’d so easily slipped through her defenses, earned her esteem, and then quietly made her love him.
He beamed in response to her whispered declaration, and it didn’t matter that the sun was behind the mountains, because Karl was her light.