Chapter 21 #2
“Just prepared. And I told myself that I couldn’t feel this intensely about anyone and it not be reciprocated.”
“I’ve felt that way for over six months.”
There was a complaint in it, and he responded. “If I hadn’t been abroad, I’d have come to you sooner. Much sooner. You have been a void in my heart.”
Irresistibly, they sank back into kisses. “Today would be nice,” she murmured, half over him, his cravat loose in her fingers because she wanted to be skin to skin.
He moved her and stood, raising her with him. “Then why not? With Mallorens and Wares, surely it is possible. There are still guests. Even royalty. We can be as grand as we please or we can slip down to the village church and be very private. What is your desire, my lady?”
Warm, blue, laughing eyes. Smiling lips.
You.
“Private is tempting,” she said. “Especially as it could be now. But I’m a Malloren. By all means, let us be grand.”
And grand they were.
The king and queen, who had witnessed Cyn’s wedding the year before, and actually hosted Bryght’s wedding not long after, were amused to be again involved in a hasty Malloren march.
The guests who had stayed were happy to delay a few hours to witness the vows and partake of a grand breakfast made up of rather unusual dishes.
It was mostly made up of the leavings of the previous night’s supper.
Rothgar, appearing benign, murmured something about funeral baked meats furnishing the wedding feast.
Fort and Elf were standing hand in hand, trying to pretend they weren’t burning with lust. Did all married couples feel this impatience? she wondered.
“You see,” Fort said, “I knew it was Hamlet.”
“Amanda thought it was Romeo and Juliet.” Elf thanked a plump dowager for her warm and slightly risqué wishes.
“A foolish story.”
They were married. The event was almost over. The guests had been fed and were finally leaving. What else was there to do but chatter? “Then she said it was Benedick and Beatrice.”
“Closer, but a scrambling plot in that one.” They both spoke briefly to a departing couple.
“Which play do you choose, then?”
“Why not make up one of our own? And a merry Christmas to you, Sir Charles. Yes, an impulsive wedding does save a great deal of fuss. Bon voyage.” Fort turned back to Elf.
“A lighthearted comedy, I think, with somber moments at appropriate times, and even elements of farce. But always, always, with a happy ending.”
“In iambic pentameters?” Elf thought for a moment. “Behold brave Fort, and lively chattering Elf / Waving off guests, but wishing only to be by them self.”
“Not well scanned or even very grammatical.”
“Then you do better!” Elf had to turn away to kiss good-bye to Aunt Kate.
“Those evenings at Sappho’s must have taught me something,” he murmured. “Her vows all said, the baked meats all consumed, / The bride and groom wish only to be roomed.”
Elf fought laughter. “It might scan better, but it lacks something of elegance. Thank you, Lady Garstang. And a happy Christmas to you, too. The vows all said, the bride and groom thus wedded, / They chatter nonsense, impatient to be bedded.”
“You may not have noticed, but it is only just past noon.”
“I noticed. For I have known you in the dark of night, / And would now know you in the sunlight bright.”
“And I have stripped you by the candle light, / And”—he screwed up his face and laughed—“And can’t now think of how to make this right.”
“Isn’t that what marriage is for, to make this right? I do believe that everyone of importance has left.”
They looked at one another, suddenly somber, but somber in the happiest possible way. “Then let’s escape,” he said, “before anyone thinks we want to engage in polite chatter or a game of cards.”
Feeling like guilty children, they slipped away and ran upstairs hand-in-hand to her room. By her orders it was well-heated by a leaping fire, and even this early, her bed was turned down invitingly.
“I never asked if you wanted a wedding journey.” He leaned back against the door as he had the evening before. “I must warn you, my lady fair, I have come here to seduce you.”
“I know. You’re wearing satin breeches.”
He laughed, glowing and flushing with it. Or perhaps with embarrassed lust.
Despite their impatience, it took time to extract her from the layers of formal clothing. It took less time to strip him of his. They stood naked in winter sunlight and she reached up to tug off his ribbon and set his hair free.
“There. That is how I like to see you. Though black silk is appealing, too.”
“If I please you, I am delighted.” He took her hand and twirled her, as if in a dance. “Do you realize that I’ve never seen your naked body before? It is perfect.”
“You’re blinded by love, sir.”
“Indeed I am. But it is perfect. Golden hair in interesting places. It flatters the sun. Will you dance in the summer sun for me, out in the woods where elves belong?”
Now she was blushing at the thought. “Perhaps, if you dance naked with me.”
“ ‘I know a bank whereon the wild thyme blows . . .” ’ Perhaps it was A Midsummer Night’s Dream all along.”
Elf tugged him over and down onto the waiting bed. “No, it was always something wicked. Show me. Show me something else. Something wonderfully, deliciously wicked . . .”