Chapter 11
“I, Padraig Fitzgerald, take thee, Trinli Byrne, to be my wedded wife. To have and to hold from this day forward, for better for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health. A faithful husband to love and cherish you, till death do us part.”
Trinli’s bright and teary smile hits me in the gut like a sucker punch. Happiness pours from her more freely than any tavern ale back home. The simple light blue dress fits her snugly around the breast, following the feminine curve of her waist and generous hips.
My heart stopped at the sight of her at the end of the town’s small church aisle. The boys and I stared in awe as she glided toward us. The church’s pews are filled with the wives and children of the patch and a few husbands I have become friendly with during my time here.
“I, Trinli Byrne, take thee, Padraig Fitzgerald, to be my wedded husband. To have and to hold from this day forward, for better for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health. An obedient and faithful wife to love and cherish you, till death do us part.” Her voice breaks with emotion as she recites her vows.
Every word another brick in the foundation of our family.
The pastor speaks, but I cannot understand a word, my gaze locked with Trinli’s, our entire future laid out before me as far as the eye can see. The laughter of the guests registers a moment before Jakob tugs on my trousers. I glance down at him and smile.
“Da, he says to kiss Mutti.” He stares up at me with an angry tilt to his head and his brows slanted. “Kiss her!”
Trinli giggles, though it fades quickly when I cup her jaw and lift her chin. I whisper, “I love ye, wife of mine,” and press my lips to hers. She sighs, that feminine breathy sound a woman makes when she is happy. Reluctantly, I break the kiss and rest my forehead against hers.
“Husband.” Hearing that word, that long-yearned title falling from her sweet and sinful lips is almost too much.
“I need ye, Trin.”
“I know, Paddy. Soon.” She gives me a chaste kiss, then bends to hug the boys. They will be staying with Margaret tonight, giving Trinli and I a night alone to celebrate our union.
“Da, I a Fissgerd now,” Riordan states proudly.
“Fitzgerald,” Trinli corrects.
Riordan bobs his little head with a serious expression. “Yup.”
I kneel next to Trinli and pat each boy on their shoulder.
“Ye are true Fitzgerald men, now. My sons.” I cough to clear my throat; my voice threaded with unexpected emotion.
I hug each of them, squeezing a little tighter than I should.
“Tomorrow, we will collect you from Margaret’s and you will move in with me. ”
“We live with you forever.”
I ruffle Gabriel’s hair with a chuckle. “Until yer an adult.”
He shakes his head. “I never a adult. No.”
“Give your Mutti another hug and a peck.” The three of them launch themselves at Trinli, nearly bowling her over.
I rest my hand along her back and keep her upright.
They pepper her with kisses, and she soaks it all up with a grin.
Patting their behinds, she sends them toward where Margaret stands with her own little ones.
“The Fitzgerald men are ready.” Jakob announces, much to our amusement.
I hold Trinli’s hand as we leave the church, wandering through town.
I force myself to keep the pace sedate, sensing Trinli’s nervousness.
At the house, I lead her to a chair to sit while I get her a glass of birch beer to drink.
She holds it in her hands, the liquid sloshing as a violent tremble travels through her body.
I hold the cup steadily and bring it to her mouth.
“Drink, cailin.” She downs half the glass before pushing my hand away.
“There is no rush or timeline to which we must adhere.” I reassure her in an even tone.
“I would like to kiss ye more, if that is acceptable.”
She grins at me, her cheeks pinkening. “Yes. I love your kisses.”
My hands on her jaw, I rub my thumbs over the apples of her cheeks, as I tilt her head back.
I map every freckle, every line, dip, and curve before my gaze lingers on her lips.
Her eyes sweep closed, the blonde lashes fluttering against her sun-bronzed skin.
I bend to run my nose along the column of her neck, smiling at the goose flesh that appears.
Her lips are puckered and ready when I make it to her mouth.
I kiss her softly, at first, giving her time.
She squirms in her seat, pressing her body closer the longer our lips touch.
Her hands spear into my hair and she tugs.
“I want you, husband,” she whispers, scraping her nails along my scalp. A shiver runs down my spine, my cock thickening in my trousers.
“Aye, I want ye, too, wife.”
“Please, Paddy, please take me to your bed.”
“Our bed.” She nods in acceptance when I correct her. I reach up and grip her hand in mine, bringing it down as I pull her from her seat. She follows silently up the stairs to our bedroom.