Chapter 26 #3
The only thing missing from the pile was the usual night-time togs of too-short trousers and Union Flag t-shirt, but he wasn’t sure that improved matters any. He looked at Harriet to find her frowning, which he thought boded well. She looked at him.
“Did your brother put him up to this,” she asked, “or did my Dad think it up all on his own?”
Sam shrugged helplessly. “Hard to say.”
“So,” Harriet said carefully, “what now?”
“What do you mean, what now?”
“Well, do I go upstairs?” She paused. “Or, for that matter, to Omaha, or … “
Sam felt his mouth fall open and was fairly sure it hadn’t been done attractively. “But you’re my wife!”
She laughed a little, then pushed herself up off the couch and walked around the wee coffee table to put her arms around his waist. She sighed and rested her head against his shoulder. “Just checking.”
“You can’t tease me like that,” he grumbled. “’Tis bad for my heart. And my heart, if you know what I’m getting at.”
“I do.”
“I would like you to write that a hundred times in your notebook so you don’t forget.”
She lifted her head, leaned up a bit and kissed him softly, then smiled at him. “I haven’t forgotten.”
“You know what would be lovely?” he asked, finding it in him to smile as well.
“Ten minutes without some member of our two families plopping themselves down in between us?”
He lifted his eyebrows briefly. “I’ll put that higher on my list, but I was thinking we should take ourselves on a honeymoon.”
“Anywhere in particular?”
He took a deep, steadying breath not because he was afraid to fly, but because he was overcome by the thought of the epicurean delights that awaited him.
“Somewhere to the south,” he offered. “Somewhere with decent pastries and gelato.”
Her smile turned a bit wistful. “Then you do want me to stay.”
He pulled away and took her hand. “Let’s go.”
“To the airport?”
“Too far,” he said, looking around the chamber. “We just need a darkened corner for my current purposes of convincing you that we are truly and properly wed.”
“I’ll stop,” she said with a smile. “I believe that you want me to stay.”
“Aye, right next to me.”
“As close as humanly possible?”
He nodded as he put his arms around her. “I would like to tell you how I feel about you, but this seems a poor place to do it. But I’ll make a start.”
She nodded slightly. “Are we going to use the L-word?”
“I think we should.”
“I can say it in French,” she said solemnly. “Joanna taught me how.”
“I can say it in Latin.”
“I think we have it covered then,” she said. She studied him for a moment or two. “What do we do now?”
“Outside of finding more darkened corners?”
She nodded. “Can I just tag along while you do whatever you do?”
He bowed his head and laughed a little, then looked at her. “Tag along? he asked. “I’d like you to do much more than that. Shall I buy you a much larger wedding ring to convince you of the same?”
“No,” she said, putting her hand behind her back. “I like this one.” She looked up at him. “It’s medieval.”
“So am I.”
“I didn’t want to make you feel ancient,” she said solemnly, “but aye, you are.”
He took her face in his hands and kissed her as sweetly as he knew how. “You, Harriet de Piaget, are the loveliest of gels. Thank you for being willing to wed me.”
“Thank you for asking me.”
“And for our immediate future?”
She considered, then went and fetched her notebook out of her backpack. She wrote a note, put it atop the pillow, then looked at him.
“We should leave them some privacy.”
He tried very unsuccessfully to fight a smile. “Generous of us.”
“We’re like that,” she said airily. “I have money for a late snack at that haunted inn.”
He took her backpack and pulled it over his shoulder, then reached for her hand. “My treat.”
She stopped him just inside the door. “What if there are thugs outside?”
“Or cousins?” he asked grimly. “If we give Jackson half a chance, he’ll be pulling a Granny Mary on us. We’ll just have to do our best imitation of spies off to seek shelter at a safe house.” He looked at her. “Ready?”
She nodded.
He glanced at the hearth to make certain the fire was banked properly, turned off all but a wee light over the kitchen sink, then slipped out the front door with her.
He pulled it shut, then made his way quickly and quietly with her out the front gate and up the way to the village.
He had keys and money, though his phone was indeed very dead.
He knew Harriet had a charger in her rucksack because he’d put it there himself not an hour ago, so all that was left for them to do was find somewhere to stay—
Harriet squeaked. He wasn’t sure he hadn’t made the same noise, but he imagined that was the sort of thing Oliver enjoyed far past the point where thoughtfulness indicated he shouldn’t. Oliver was, however, holding out a skeleton key.
“What’s it to?” Sam asked, taking it advisedly.
“A room over the pub.”
“Ghosts?” Harriet asked.
Oliver shook his head. “Ghosts aren’t my area of expertise.”
Sam suspected that might not be the case, but the present moment was obviously not the one in which to discuss it.
“Doubt you’ll sleep much just the same,” Oliver said blandly. “The music’s pretty loud.”
Sam looked at his wife. She was blushing, but she looked at him and laughed a little.
Oliver smiled. “Nighty night, kids.”
Sam watched him walk away, then looked at his wife. “Well?”
“Someone rented a room for us,” she said with a shrug. “We can hope it wasn’t Jackson and at least go investigate, don’t you think?”
He couldn’t not agree that they should, so he nodded, took her hand, and walked quickly and carefully to the pub with her. They’d already had supper, so he supposed there was no reason not to simply head upstairs and examine the lay of the land.
He fitted the key into the lock, then paused and looked at her. “I’m afraid.”
She laughed a little, took the key, and nudged him aside. “I’m not—”
He put his hand over hers. “Nay, wife, the task of going first to rebuff any ruffians—”
“Or cousins—”
“Or other ne’er-do-wells falls to me,” he finished. He paused, leaned over and kissed her briefly, then faced the door and hoped for the best.
He opened it, then reached in and felt for the light switch.
He was slightly surprised to find that instead of a blanket on the floor, he was facing a surprisingly lovely guest chamber.
He stood aside and let Harriet pass by him mostly because he was equally surprised to find the chamber empty and not full of ruffians.
Harriet picked up a note that had been propped up against a selection of what he could see already were fizzy drinks and near a basket of chocolate indulgences.
She read the note, then handed it to him.
Happy honeymooning, lovebirds.
— Nicholas, Jennifer, Harold, and Petunia.
“Well,” he said, nonplussed.
“Unexpected.”
He set her backpack down on the floor and made certain the door was at least shut. He considered, then looked at her.
“We could go for a walk,” he said. “Or have desert.” He paused. “We needn’t do anything … well—”
“Have you lost your mind?”
He fought his smile. “Just trying to be chivalrous.”
“I have some thoughts on that.”
He realized as she led him around a chair, pushed him down into it, then sat quite comfortably on his lap that she did indeed have a few thoughts on that.
“Well,” he amended, “you do get to choose.”
She looked at him seriously. “I choose you. Again.”
He realized she was waiting for him to say something, so he looked at her and hoped he wouldn’t either blush or weep.
“And I choose you,” he said seriously. “Not for the first time and definitely not for the last.”
She took a deep breath and looked at him seriously. “Do you want to know what your sister taught me?”
He winced. “I’m not sure I do.”
“Nothing nefarious,” she said with a smile, “just a few things to say in French.”
“Very well,” he said, holding onto the arms of the chair, “crack on, love.”
“I learned how to say, I love you,” Harriet said seriously. “Also, get this man some chocolate before he draws his sword, and, Samuel de Piaget is my sunlight.” She smiled. “We liked the last one the best.”
He wondered if it were possible to accept those things with the appropriate solemnity or if he would just have to settle for not speaking a great deal of the time.
His wife very carefully tucked his hair behind his ears, one side after another. She looked in his eyes.
“You should wear it like that more often,” she said seriously. “Don’t hide behind it anymore.”
He smiled. “As my lady wishes.”
She considered. “And now?”
“We could enjoy a few friendly kisses,” he offered.
“Well,” she said with a smile, “we have to start somewhere.”
He laughed a little because he was simply arse over teakettle for her, then started somewhere because what else was he going to do? His lady had spoken and he was, as usual, her loyal servant.
“Je t’adore,” she murmured against his mouth at one point.
“Te amo,” he returned, then he smiled at her. “We can try other languages tomorrow, if you like.”
“Tomorrow?”
“We’re going to be busy tonight.”
“Well, you do leave me a little breathless,” she admitted.
And that didn’t begin to describe what she did to him, so he decided he would save that description for when he had the breath for it and instead show her exactly how he felt about her.
They could worry about translating that into words later.