“Is that all the kindling you have?” Fergus asked, eyeing the meager stack on the stone floor.
The minister tossed him a sour look. “I have enough, Mr. McTaggart. If you had your way, it would be as hot as hell in here.”
“Well, maybe more folks would be motivated to attend if their bums werenae frozen to the pews.” Fergus chuckled as he headed out the back door to gather more wood from the large stack leaning against the wall.
When Fergus returned, voices drifted from the sanctuary. He deposited the wood on the minister’s stack and dusted off his hands. “I’ll see who’s arrived while you build up that pitiful fire.”
In the middle of the church stood Lords Thorne and St. Ambrose. The marquess turned a slow circle, studying the stained glass windows. “It’s a lovely place for a wedding, but the castle suits my purposes well enough. Is the minister usually here this early?”
Fergus cleared his throat. “Reverend Adair is in the back, my laird.”
Lord Thorne came forward with a smile to clasp his hand. “I didn’t expect to find you at the church this time of day. You must be eager for the wedding. Congratulations on marrying the second most beautiful woman at Aldmist Fell. I, of course, married the most beautiful.”
Lord St. Ambrose excused himself to speak with the minister.
“I hope you don’t mind our early arrival,” Thorne said. “Helena insisted we inspect the church to make sure everything is in order.”
Even if Fergus did mind, he had no authority to deny the baron and his guest entry. Lord Thorne was, after all, the master of Aldmist Fell. Fortunately, Fergus had grown to like the man, though he’d been wary when Thorne first started sniffing around Helena’s skirts in London.
Fergus knew a scoundrel when he saw one, but Thorne had proved a pleasant surprise. He was a good husband who loved Helena, which was all Fergus had ever wanted for her.
“Everything is in order. The only thing missing is my bride,” Fergus said.
The baron chuckled. “It shouldn’t be much longer. The ladies assured us all was well before they tossed us from the castle.”
Fergus doubted that was quite how it happened, but he kept his thoughts to himself. Eddi had told him about the marquess’s wish to marry her friend and Lavinia’s stubborn refusal.
Why the lass kept turning him down when she could gain respectability was beyond him. But then, he’d never had much luck understanding a woman’s reasoning; keeping up with Eddi was challenge enough. Lord St. Ambrose could sort out his own affairs.
The marquess returned from the back room. “It is done.”
“Splendid,” Lord Thorne drawled with a hint of sardonic amusement. “The hard part is behind you.”
“Your insincerity warms the heart, Thorne.”
“It’s the least I can offer, given how gracious you were to extend your stay.”
Leaving the men to their good-natured ribbing, Fergus retreated to the back to tend the fire. He kept it blazing steadily, disregarding Reverend Adair’s muttered complaints each time a fresh log hit the flames. When the minister finally went to climb the tower stairs, Fergus took his chance to slip out front.
At the first toll of the bell, he stepped outside, unfazed by the biting cold, his only thought to catch the first glimpse of Eddi. Three carriages approached from the west.
In the first, he spotted Eddi, Helena, Miss Gracie, and Lavinia. The second carried his mother, sister, and Mr. and Mrs. Mason. Lastly, a coach rolled up bearing Helena’s sister, Cora, and her young children.
With the Christmas rush past, Cora had felt comfortable enough to leave her husband tending White’s Butcher Shoppe alone. It was just as Helena had wished—all of her sisters under one roof again, even if only for a short while.
As for Fergus’s clan, he’d given orders for everyone to carry on as though today were any other day. Aldmist Fell did not run itself, after all. Besides, if every family member squeezed into the church at once, there’d be no room to move, and his bride might acutely feel the absence of her own kin.
A heavy woolen cape covered all but the bottom ruffle of Eddi’s gown, and a hood concealed her shimmering blonde hair, yet the smile she gave him as he helped her down from the carriage was the most beautiful sight he’d ever seen.
A warm tingle began in his chest, expanding until it filled him whole.
“Let’s get you inside before you freeze, lass,” he murmured, leading her into the cozy church and urging her to sit on a bench just inside the door while footmen assisted the other guests. Just then, Ismay bustled through the front door, offering Eddi a pair of dainty satin slippers.
As their guests filed past to find seats, he knelt before his bride to unlace her boots. Lifting her skirts just enough, he caught a glimpse of her slender calf before forcing himself to focus on the laces. Gently, he removed her boot and held her small foot. It was barely as large as his hand, and he marveled at how delicate she seemed on the outside. Appearances could be deceiving, however, as he knew her will was forged of iron, strong enough to keep him on his toes for the rest of their lives.
His father always said he would know his mate when he first laid eyes on her. It hadn’t been as immediate as his father described, but Fergus held no doubts now. This woman was his.
She smiled, holding out a slipper. “Are you going to place it on my foot, or should I?”
