Outside the great hall at Striguil, the snow continued to fall; flakes brushed the windows, drifting down like miniature puffs of cloud. The diamond-shaped glass panes rippled and shone in the light from the hall, hundreds of candles blazing out from wall niches and wrought-iron candlesticks. Inside, the glorious scent of winter-sweet filled the air; trailing garlands adorned window ledges and arches, the glossy evergreen leaves studded with tiny white flowers whose exquisite fragrance belied their size. An enormous fire crackled in the stone hearth, warming the crowds of people. Musicians, red-faced, fuelled by potent honey mead, played lively dance tunes on the fiddle and drum. The trestle tables had been pushed back; couples danced and laughed as they joined hands across the flagstone floor.
‘I can’t believe this is happening to me.’ Eva turned to Bruin, heart overflowing with love for the man sitting at her side. Her wedding gown, heavy cream silk, glimmered in the candlelight. Pearls, sewn into the shape of flowers, decorated the curving neckline. Each pearl glowed with a lustrous patina, matching the beauty of Eva’s skin. Beneath her diaphanous veil, her ebony hair was loose, the shining tresses coiling down, pooling into her lap. Splaying her hand out across the pristine tablecloth, she stared hard at the gold band on her ring finger.
Following her frowning scrutiny, Bruin laughed. ‘It is all real, you know.’ His arm rested against her back; now, he squeezed her close, pulling her shoulder into the muscled hardness of his chest. ‘Even the ring.’ His brilliant eyes roamed over her, hot, possessive.
‘I know.’ Her cheek rubbed his shoulder. ‘But I still can’t shake the feeling that everything today has been like a dream. A wonderful, delicious dream.’ Her gaze drifted over the thronging crowds, watching as the manservant from Deorham, Simon, steered Lady Sophie across the flagstones, a confident arm around her neat waist. Eva nodded in their direction. ‘And that is certainly something I never thought to see.’
‘You mean Simon de Chisholm? I have the impression he has always looked after Sophie,’ Bruin replied. ‘He told me that he watched out for her well-being where my brother was concerned. Sophie is happy now and so is young Arwin.’ He searched for his small, bronze-haired nephew and found him running the length of the hall, giggling loudly, pursued by all three of Lady Katherine’s children.
‘And Katherine is content,’ Eva added, her gaze alighting on the statuesque frame of her friend dancing with a dark-haired man. ‘Her new husband is not the ogre we all imagined him to be. And he’s fond of the children, as well.’
Bruin’s hand covered hers, squeezing her fingers. ‘And Striguil is yours again,’ he murmured. Carved bone buttons secured his shirt sleeves around his wrists; his wedding tunic was of dark blue wool, moulded to his large frame, a leather belt pulling in the fabric about his slim hips. His bronze hair was tousled, loose strands brushing down across his forehead.
‘And yours, too.’ Tilting her chin up, she brushed her lips across the side of his mouth, a fleeting, sensual touch. His irises widened, black and knowing, flooding the silver of his eyes; the promise of the night captured in a single glance. A roar of appreciation rose from the dancing crowds, smiles flicking from bobbing heads towards the handsome couple. A blush stole across Eva’s cheeks.
His chin grazed the top of her head. ‘Even if we had nowhere to live, I wouldn’t care,’ he replied. ‘All I want is the woman that I love, by my side.’ He glanced along the table, across the shining faces of the knights and their ladies who had gathered to celebrate their wedding, across the sumptuous fabrics of their clothes, the sparkle of their jewels in sword hilts and circlets. His heart swelled with happiness, overflowing with hope for their future together, but most of all, with love for the woman in his arms. Eva, his darling wife, whom he would cherish for a lifetime.
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