Chapter Ten

 

 

 

"Come in, dear Mariah." Mrs. Partridge welcomed her over the threshold with all the pomp of a countess greeting her bosom-bow for an evening's whist. "It's a chilly evening, isn't it?"

Mariah smiled politely and nodded. "It is indeed."

"Here, let me take your pelisse."

Mariah was glad to shed the heavy cloak, since Mrs. Partridge's house was warmer than an oven. A large fire roared in the small parlor, heating quite possibly the two houses next door as well.

"It's good of you to come over." The woman fussed as she led Mariah near the blaze.

"Where's the vicar this evening?" Mariah felt the question appropriate.

"Oh, he's in the church, I think." Mrs. Partridge waved her hand airily. "Something to do with the Bible. Putting bookmarks into the relevant passages for Sunday's sermon. Or perhaps making sure the children didn't leave any scuff marks on the pews." She sighed. "I wish our church was bigger, believe me I do. But God's word has to be spread, no matter how tiny the surroundings."

Mariah nodded. The Buckler's Hard church was indeed deserving of the adjective "tiny". There were no more than four pews, each holding five or six people if they squashed snugly. Which barely left room for the organ and a small altar, not to mention the vicar himself. Fortunately, he was a thin man. If he'd been larger—well, several sermons had passed unheard while Mariah had pondered the matter.

They held multiple services on Sundays simply by virtue of the inability of the church to hold its entire congregation at one time. But even in spite of all the drawbacks, Mariah loved the little place.

It smelled holy, a mixture of incense and time and quiet devotion. That typical fragrance that seemed unique to places of worship everywhere, no matter what their size.

She drew her thoughts to more immediate matters. "I understand it's time to think about refilling the pew cushions?"

Mrs. Partridge nodded. "Yes indeed. Before the winter comes on, you know. I was wondering if you had any of that nice sheep's wool left? The softest ever, it was. People commented on it."

They chatted in front of the fire, discussing the varieties of wool, the logistics of re-stuffing the cushions and the difficulty of obtaining matching threads locally. Would they need to send to Southampton for them?

Mariah forced her thoughts to focus on the topics. It wasn't easy, but she managed. It had been a long time since she'd had to rigidly listen to every word spoken in order not to weep aloud.

The last time—well, it had been a conversation with her husband. One that had ended badly, just as she knew it would.

She swallowed and pushed that memory aside. The tears she'd shed then were ones of hopelessness. Now it was a bittersweet grief that clogged her throat.

She coughed. "Mrs. Partridge, if you'll forgive me—it's been a long day. Perhaps we should work with these ideas and meet again?"

"Hmm." The woman tapped her chin and—oddly—glanced at the clock. "Well, you're probably right, but before you leave, let's just pop in to the church and take a good look for ourselves at those cushions. Just so we know what we're talking about when it comes to repairs."

Mariah sighed and stood. "Very well. But then I must be off."

"I like your gown, by the way. Very pretty silk and the lace is lovely." Mrs. Partridge's gaze was approving.

"Thank you." There was little more to say. Mariah walked behind Mrs. Partridge to the small door that led into the adjoining church.

All the buildings lining the main path to the waterfront were linked into a row, making it quite easy for the vicar to attend his flock without getting his feet wet in the event of rain.

It wasn't raining now, but it was still chilly as Mariah stepped through behind Mrs. Partridge into—

 

Into—

 

Marcus watched as Mariah eased through the little door and stepped into the brilliant light of at least two dozen candles.

Her eyes got wider as she stared around at the people gathered in the cramped pews and spilling out through the open door into the chilly twilight beyond.

Then, finally, her gaze returned to the altar and she saw him standing next to the vicar.

"M-M-Marcus?" she stuttered, pale as a ghost in spite of the heat that seeped in behind her from the Partridge residence.

He smiled. "Hello, love."

This was the moment, the time to set aside all pretense, all superficial nonsense and cut straight to the heart of the matter.

She absently put a chilled hand into his outstretched one. "What the dev—" She glanced around and blinked. "What the dickens is going on?"

"We're getting married."

"What?"

"You and me. Married. Here. Now."

"What?"

"You're repeating yourself, darling." Marcus drew her hand through his arm and turned to the vicar. "If you would begin the service, sir?"

Vicar Partridge nodded and spoke the words that had passed down through the ages. "Dearly beloved, we are gathered here..."

"Wait just a minute..." Mariah hissed the words and tugged on his arm. "We can't do this."

"Why not?" he whispered back as the vicar paused.

"Because...because..." She frowned. "Because it wouldn't be legal. The banns and things..." She looked helplessly at the vicar. "Tell him."

Marcus remained unmoved, merely waiting while Reverend Partridge adjusted his glasses, reached beneath his robe and extracted a piece of paper. "Actually, Mariah, it's all quite legal."

She shook her head. "I don't understand."

The vicar smiled paternally. "Special license, m'dear. All signed by the Bishop of Lyndhurst too." He glanced at Marcus. "Friend of yours, is he?"

Marcus had the grace to look a little embarrassed. "Not exactly." He cleared his throat. "I believe he had a tendre for my mother when she was young."

A few muttered snickers sounded from the little crowd behind them and the vicar colored. "Oh. Well. In any case, it's quite legitimate." He folded the paper and tucked it back beneath his robe. "So, shall we continue? Dearly beloved, we are gathered here—"

"Wait." Mariah interrupted again. "You can't just do this. Marry me out of hand."

The vicar sighed.

Marcus turned to her. "Why not? It's quite legal."

"Yes, but—" She paused, apparently at a loss for words.

"Dearly beloved." The vicar tried again.

"Are you sure? This can't be right, Marcus." Mariah ignored the vicar and turned to face him, her eyes swimming with tears. "I'm the wrong woman for you. The wrong sort of wife. You're—you're—Sir Marcus Camberley, for heaven's sake. You're titled. A member of the aristocracy. You have a family crest or something."

Marcus grinned. "I heard that, actually. I believe it's embroidered on my nightshirt." He swore he could hear her teeth as they clenched on her temper. He was rather enjoying this.

"I don't care about your nightshirt."

"I know. You prefer me naked."

"Marcus." She squeaked out his name. "Remember where you are, for heaven's sake. You're in church." The snickers had turned to outright giggles and Mariah was blushing furiously.

Marcus realized it was time to set the funning aside. If he wanted to survive his own wedding, then he probably shouldn't be inciting his intended bride to commit violence at the altar.

"Mariah." He took her hand and folded into both of his own. "Do you love me?" He stared at her. "Remember where we are. We're standing in the sight of the Lord. Don't lie, sweetheart. Just answer the question. Do you love me?"

She gulped, lifted her chin, stared him right in the eye and answered. "Yes."

"Good. I love you too." He turned to the altar. "If you would?"

"Dearly beloved, we are—"

"Just a minute." Mariah pulled Marcus' hand. "It's not that simple."

The congregation groaned and the vicar closed his eyes in what could have been an oath or a prayer.

"Get on with it, Mariah. I've got a roast in the oven and Ned needs to pee." Peg's whisper wasn't quiet.

"Shhh." Mariah glared at Peg. "This is important." She looked back at Marcus. "This isn't right. Not for you or the Camberley name."

He let his gaze roam over her face as silence followed her words. "Mariah. The Camberley name means nothing to me. You mean everything."

He spoke clearly and firmly now, not wanting her to misunderstand a word he said. "Some time ago I thought I was going to die. I did a lot of things I'm not proud of and a few I don't even want to think about. I'm not a prize catch, love. Having a title doesn't make me a perfect man." He paused. "Loving you is what makes me—right."

There was a sniffle from Peg's section of the front pew. Marcus tried to ignore it.

"I set out to find my future not long ago. I had no notion of how to go about it or even what it would entail. I'd met friends who convinced me that love could overcome the worst of adversities and I took strength from them. Then my horse brought me here and I met you."

Mariah's throat moved as she swallowed, but for once she remained silent.

"And I discovered that they were right. Love can indeed overcome the direst of circumstances. Love can heal, love can hurt, love can do any number of incredibly powerful things. I learned all this because I managed to fall in love with you the first time I kissed you on the beach."

He held her gaze, refusing to let her look away. This was between them now, a duel to the finish, a struggle to attain what Marcus knew he had to have.

"I don't care about anything else. Any of these matters you find so overwhelming. I know that beneath it all, you're looking out for me, putting your own needs aside so that I may go on and live the life you seem to think I want."

He moved closer and put one hand beneath her chin, tipping her face into the candlelight. "I only want one thing. You."

A tear welled from one of her eyes and she blinked it away. "You do?"

"I do." He took a breath. "What do you want, Mariah?"

"I want you too."

"Really?"

"I do."

The vicar exhaled loudly the spoke as fast as he could. "Then by the power vested in me by God and the Church, I now pronounce you man and wife. You may kiss the bride." He slammed the Bible shut and grinned.

A massive roar erupted in the tiny church, rippling outside to the assembled crowd that had gathered there as well.

Marcus didn't hear any of it.

He was too busy kissing his wife.

 

*~*~*~*

 

"Well, all things considered, that was rather an unusual wedding." Mariah chuckled as Marcus finally closed their bedroom door behind them.

It was late, since as soon as the vicar did the deed, they were swamped by well-wishers, invited down to the inn and feted for several hours. In fact, the celebrations were still going on, but Marcus and Mariah had managed to sneak away without anyone noticing.

It was possible the second barrel of ale the partygoers had tapped might have had something to do with it.

Whatever it was, Marcus didn't care. He had accomplished his goal and married the woman he wanted by his side for the rest of his life. Everything else was just details.

"I enjoyed it." He grinned as he removed his coat. "I'm glad I don't have to do it every day, but it was certainly something to remember. Your face, when you walked in to the church..."

Mariah threw her bouquet at him. It was somewhat ineffective though, because on the way to the inn, Marcus had stopped to kiss his wife—again. The donkey next to them had snacked on the flowers while the bride and groom were otherwise occupied. Little was left of the floral arrangement other than a few half-chewed petals and some crushed stalks.

Marcus caught it in one hand. "Should I put this in water?"

Mariah rolled her eyes. "No. Although it's a shame that beast ate so much of it. I don't even have one flower to save and press as a remembrance."

Marcus stripped off his shirt and unfastened his breeches. "You have something much better."

"I do?" She blinked.

He dropped his breeches to the floor and stepped toward her, naked and aroused. "Yes. Me."

"One of the things I find so attractive about you, husband, is your extraordinary modesty." Mariah turned and let Marcus unfasten her gown.

"There's a lot of things I find attractive about you, wife." His hand caressed her naked back through the unlaced dress.

"I'm glad." Mariah laughed and freed herself from her clothing.

She turned and Marcus' breath caught in his throat. He stared at her creamy skin, her dark hair, the breasts full and their nipples already budding with excitement.

He spoke one word. "Mine."

Mariah gave him back look for look, her gaze traveling from his legs to his face, lingering at a variety of different places along the way. "Yes. All mine."

By mutual consent they moved to each other, slowly and cautiously touching as if it were for the first time.

Marcus was struck by the magic of this moment, the unique night when he would claim his mate as his wife. "I bullied you shamefully." He muttered the words as he began to drop tiny kisses along her neck.

"Yes, you did. But I love you. It was worth being bullied." She arched for him, sighing as he nipped the tiny spot where muscles merged and her shoulder curved.

"We will make it work, you know." His tongue tested the flavor of her earlobe. It was—tasty.

She shivered in response. "I know. I'm still afraid, though."

"Of what?" He drew back a moment, regretfully abandoning his investigation of the whorls around the outside of her ear.

"Of not being able to be the woman you should have married."

Marcus sighed, then picked up his bride and dropped her unceremoniously onto the bed. He came down on top of her, pinning her in place, lifting her arms above her head and holding her still with one hand.

With the other, he cupped her cheek.

"For once and for all, you are the woman I love. I want no other, nor shall I in the future. Ever." He kissed her, hard, holding her face where he wanted it, pushing his tongue into her mouth and stroking the soft velvet he found within.

Mariah moaned and Marcus broke the kiss.

"You are everything I could desire in a woman—a friend, a lover and now a wife." He continued to make his point by bending to her breasts, sucking each in turn, bringing a rosy tinge to their peaks and another whimper to Mariah's throat. "You are, and always will be, my heart. My life..."

He stopped as a sob broke from her lips. "Oh, Marcus, I love you so much. The thought of you leaving was tearing me apart."

"I couldn't leave. I hoped you knew that. I would have spared you the pain, but you were so bloody stubborn."

"I know. I'm sorry. But—"

He stilled her protests and settled himself between her thighs, staring at her even as he hardened in readiness for their loving to come.

"Mariah. Here's the thing. I want to stay with you. Here, in Buckler's Hard."

She shifted beneath him, but he shook his head. "Listen to me for a minute. I've lived a full life in London. One I don't regret, but one I don't want to revisit. It holds nothing for me now. Yes, I have a small estate—which is probably falling to the ground since I haven't been there in too long. There's nothing there for me but bad memories of a time I've put behind me. I have a cousin who is quite content to live there and act on my behalf. I do have money, so we'll want for nothing, but I need to know...would you be content here? In this farmhouse? With me?"

"Of course I would, you idiot." She moved again, lifting her hips urgently against his cock. "How can you even ask?"

"Just as you worried about being Lady Camberley, my love, I worried that you might not want to stay here in these—er—rustic surroundings once we were wed."

"Rustic?" One eyebrow went up.

"Well, I would like to maybe add on a room or two." He nuzzled his head between her breasts. "And if you'll forgive me, I will be investing in a larger bed for us at the earliest opportunity."

Mariah laughed then, a soft sound that flooded Marcus with heat and the warmth of pure joy. "Anything you want, my love. As long as you'll be content being plain Farmer Camberley."

"I can't wait." He slid down to kiss her pussy and tickle her with the tip of his tongue. "I believe Ned would like some goats."

"Good for Ned." Mariah arched as he found her sweetness and sucked.

"Maybe even a sheep or two and some more cows?"

"If you say so, my dear." Her voice was getting ragged.

"Oh, and I think we might give Peg and Ned a little more money every month. After all, they'll have more work now, won't they?"

"Give them the moon. I don't care. Just love me, Marcus." Her thighs tensed. "Now."

And like every new husband, he did as his wife told him.

He loved her.

Right then—and for every moment of the rest of their lives.

 

 

 

 

The End

(For more about the delightful Colonel Rogue Chambers, please visit Ellora's Cave Publishing and look for Sahara Kelly's short story/Quickie titled "Rogue's Diamond".)

 

 

 

 

About the Author

 

Sahara Kelly is always happy to explain to editors that her spelling errors aren't really errors, since she was born and raised in England, where an extra "u" is quite in order. She likes to think it adds colour to her writing. Sadly, it's not a widely held belief, so she'd like you to know she still retains a lot from her English childhood even though you won't see much of it in her stories.

 

Arriving in America with her almost-complete collection of Leslie Charteris' Saint novels and a passion for Monty Python, Sahara's new life eventually expanded to include a husband, offspring, citizenship, and a certain amount of acclimation to her new surroundings. (She still cherishes that extra "u" though.) Life in New England became complete with the publication of her first novel just after the birth of her son, and over two decades later she's still writing.

 

Now enjoying the greater freedom offered to authors by the rapidly expanding self-publishing scene, she's looking forward to many more such experiences, both with older favorites like this one and lots of new stories as well. Being freed of restraints has opened doors—for Sahara and many other writers. There are now no impediments; no obstructions barring the path from writer to reader. Which is, in many ways, exactly as originally intended when that first storyteller sat on a rock outside her cave, tugged her bearskin around her shoulders and smiled at her kids across the open fire with the words "Once upon a time..." (or however it sounded several million years ago.)

 

To find out more about Sahara Kelly and her writing, please drop by her website and visit her at:

 

http://www.saharakelly.com

 

Since she has jumped into the world of private enterprise literature, Sahara has formed her own little publishing company. You're also welcome to come and check it out at the address below.

 

http://www.skprivatelabel.com

 

She has quite a few books available for your eReaders, novels from various publishers at various prices. Some are older titles re-released at a greatly reduced price for those readers who may have missed them the first time around. You can find almost all of them here at Smashwords if you search for "Sahara Kelly". Some are brand new from SK Private Label Publications.

 

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