Worse pain shot through her as he kicked the door open and stepped into her bedroom. “I may be sick,” she warned. Her head spun and her stomach churned—and all the while her chest burned as though hot coals were piled upon her.
“Here is your bed, my love.” Elias gently lowered her onto the pillows, then kissed her forehead again. “Hold fast, my courageous one.” He held her hand tightly, then shifted beside her.
Biting her lip against the terrible aching, she cracked open one eye. “Send for everyone so we can marry.” She could no longer make out his face. Everything was so dark and blurry. “And light more candles, please. It is so dark—and cold.” She let her eyes close again and vaguely sensed something falling across her.
“A blanket, my love,” Elias whispered, brushing his lips against her cheek. “Monty is fetching everyone. I do not mean to cause you more pain again, but I need to change the cloth on your wound and check the bleeding.”
“Change it?” She puzzled over his wording. To change it meant he had already used a compress on it. Had she blacked out and not realized it?
At a resurgence of pain, as though the wound had a cruel personality of its own and had gotten its second wind, a hitching groan escaped her. “Damn,” she said. After the past few hours, she had the right to such profanity, and dared anyone to deny it.
“My Celia!”
“Mama.” Celia smiled and breathed easier. “Is the reverend here too?”
“Yes, my darling, but you do not have my permission to die. Do you understand?” her mother said through a soft sob. “We can have the ceremony once you heal. Dr. MacMaddenly is on his way.”
“Now,” Celia whispered. “I do not want to die alone, and Elias promised.”
Muffled whisperings swirled around her, but she dared not risk opening her eyes. She needed to conserve her energy for the vows.
“Elias?”
“I am here, my love.”
The warmth of his hand cradling hers as he sat on the bed beside her brought her comfort. “Tell the vicar to get on with it,” she said, trying to sound stern but failing miserably.
“Reverend Neville?” Elias gently squeezed her hand, then kissed it. “The briefest ceremony possible, if you please.”
“Do you, Cecilia Elizabeth Madeline Rose Bening Tuttcliffe, take Elias Raines to be your lawfully wedded husband until death shall part you?” asked a man whose voice Celia didn’t recognize.
“I do,” she said, hoping everyone could hear her. The roaring in her ears seemed to get louder.
“And do you, Elias Raines, take Cecilia Elizabeth Madeline Rose Bening Tuttcliffe to be your lawfully wedded wife until death do you part?” asked the same voice.
“I do. And even beyond death, because she will never have my permission to leave me.” Elias’s mouth was so close to her cheek that his warm breath tickled across her.
Celia smiled as something slid onto her finger. A ring. Perhaps she would look at it later when she had less pain distracting her. And if she didn’t live to see it. Maybe her spirit could tarry long enough to glimpse it.
“I now pronounce you man and wife,” the reverend said, suddenly seeming in a greater hurry. “Let no man attempt to part that which God has joined. Kiss your bride, my lord, and then have her mark the register as best she can.”
“I love you, Celia. The doctor has arrived. Promise me you will fight to live.” Elias barely brushed his mouth across hers, and she vaguely became aware of a quill between her fingers.
“I love you, Elias. Help me mark the register. I don’t have the strength to open my eyes.” Her hand moved, then the quill went away, and her arm was once again at her side. “Tell Mama I am sorry, and that I love her.”
“There is nothing to be sorry for,” her mother said, her voice sounding far away.
“Everyone out,” Dr. MacMaddenly said. “Now!”
At least, she thought it was the rude Scot barking like an angry dog beside her bed. But it didn’t really matter now. She was not alone anymore. She sank into the darkness knowing that she was Mrs. Elias Raines.
*
Elias kept hisgaze locked on the slow, steady rise and fall of Celia’s bandaged chest, smiling at the realization that his breathing had matched itself with hers. He closed his eyes and sent up another prayer of thanks that she had survived the terrible ordeal. He had feared her doomed because of all the blood. But Dr. MacMaddenly had approved of the wound bleeding so much. The arrogant Scot had informed him that her bleeding cleansed the wound better than any splash of whisky could. Praise God that the deepest part of the stabbing slash was closer to Celia’s shoulder than her heart or lungs.
He opened his eyes and smiled at his precious bride, his fearless lioness. Even though her wound had required quite a bit of stitching, the doctor seemed certain she would recover with no lasting effects. Even so, the physician had accepted the offer of a room for the night.
Elias shifted with a silent huff of amusement at that. He had caught the gruff old Scot glancing at the dowager duchess with a tenderness that had nothing to do with medicine. Elias would wager his favorite horse that the good doctor had fallen completely under the dowager’s spell.
