Chapter Forty-Eight

In the hall that eventide, revelry got under way, celebrating the victory and the demise of their enemy.

Bridget had been cleaned up and bandaged, and was being fed and feted by her family and vassals, along with Kaitlin, whom a blade had sliced shallowly across her upper chest, and all the other brave souls who had defended the keep so valiantly. So many people had come to Bridget’s aid without a thought to their own safety. Her throat tightened, and her eyes stung with tears. It humbled her to know so many people supported her. She would never, ever forget it.

She gazed round at everyone in the hall, so full of happiness it was as if she floated on a river of bliss rather than sat on a chair beside Grégoire. Cook had outdone himself in preparing Bridget’s favorite foods and presenting Grégoire with a roast of beef as big as a Yule log. All the tables teemed with bounty, and mead flowed generously. Minstrels sang, and the people laughed and ate and drank in celebration.

“You look content,” Grégoire murmured to her with a smile.

“I am. Most definitely. Are you?” she asked.

He bent and kissed her temple. “More than I ever thought possible.”

“You’re not sorry ’tis I who belong to you, and not another?” Her pulse thundered to see the heat in his gaze and feel his desire for her quicken.

“Never doubt it, woman. I’ve chosen you.”

She smiled. “You chose me, I fear, because no one else would have you.” She’d meant it as a jest, but mayhap as a test to see what he would do. He didn’t disappoint.

His hand left her waist and went to the back of her head, where he wrapped his fist in her hair. Anticipation roared through her. Ever since this morning, she’d been unable to think of—or want—anything more than to make love to him again. She couldn’t wait until their nuptial night, to see what other delicious things he would teach her and do to her.

His green eyes blazed into hers. “I’ve chosen you above all others, and that’s the end of it.”

His mouth came down on hers, right there in front of everyone in the hall. Instantly, she tumbled into the dark sensuality of his kiss. It went on forever, his kiss, telling her in no uncertain terms where she stood with him. Just when she had given up all control and hung limply in his arms, he broke the kiss and righted her in her seat.

It took a moment to recover, but when she did, she glanced around and saw that every woman in the hall was watching her with envy. She blushed with embarrassment…and pride.

It felt good to be the future Countess of Shyleburgh. Very good, indeed.

Beside her, Grégoire rose abruptly.

“Where are you going?” she asked.

“There is something that can wait no longer.”

As he strode off, she caught Aislinn’s querying gaze, and they shrugged at one another, puzzled.

He returned a few moments later with Father Usrich in tow.

“Marry us,” he told the elderly priest.

Father Usrich’s eyes popped. “Now?”

Bridget’s heart leaped in surprise. “What?”

Grégoire drilled her with a gaze. “We had a bargain, did we not?”

Her jaw dropped. She’d all but forgotten. “Aye, but—” She snapped her jaw closed. “Aye.”

He motioned to the priest. “Proceed.”

Father Usrich stammered. “B-But Michaelmas is—”

“Two days hence. I know. This will not wait.”

“But the abbot—”

“Was expecting the honor. Aye. But my beloved and I are anxious to wed. He will have to understand.”

He’d said that all the while his gaze bored hotly into hers. Her belly fluttered mercilessly. He was serious!

Aunt Edyth gasped, a scandalized sound. “This is outrageous!”

Uncle Edward snorted and awoke. “What is’t? What’s going on?”

“We’re to have a wedding this night, Uncle,” Kaitlin said.

“Wedding! Wedding!” all the younger girls chanted.

The folk in the hall cheered.

Grégoire drew Bridget to her feet. They clasped hands and turned to the priest.

Then, right there, standing so proudly beside the man she loved, cocooned in the faith and support of their family and vassals, dreaming of future babes and a long lifetime filled with challenges and happiness, Bridget wed the Earl of Shyleburgh and became his countess.

And cherished in her heart the certainty that she loved and was loved in return.

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