“I suppose not.” But Portia was tempted. Rip off the cords, through the window, and away.
“Bryght will make you a good husband.”
“But I hardly know him. I’m not like you. I’ve been raised to see marriage as a holy vow.”
“So have I,” protested Elf.
Portia pressed her hands to her cheeks. “Oh, I’m sorry. I mean that the nobility marry for money, for land, for titles. I have always intended to marry for…”
“For love?”
Portia shook her head. “Not even that. For a deep regard. For absolute trust in my partner’s integrity. I have rejected offers because I wasn’t sure of that and now I’m going to marry a rakish gamester.”
“He’s not quite that bad,” Elf protested.
“Whatever he is, I hardly know him.”
But, Portia reminded herself, in the biblical sense she knew him all too well. “I’m sorry, Elf. Just bridal nerves.”
With that, she raised her chin and headed off to her wedding.
Chapter 22
Bryght was genuinely nervous that Portia would not turn up for her wedding. That would certainly create a stir for Rothgar had arranged for it to be in the Chapel Royal with the king and queen in attendance.
When she appeared, small and shining in a remarkable dress, he let out a slow sigh of relief. He had her, and what he had, he held.
When she arrived by his side, Bryght took her hand, searching her face for a hint of her feelings. She was too calm, but she didn’t appear terrorized or in despair.
It would be all right.
When it came time to say her vows, she said them clearly and firmly, as did Bryght. When it was over, he turned her and kissed her lightly—a kiss, he hoped, of peace. “You will be as happy as I can make you, Portia. I promise.”
She frowned up at him as if puzzled, but then she did smile back.
They signed the register as was the new custom, so that all marriages should be properly recorded, then traveled back to the reception at Trelyn House in a coach accompanied by Elf and Brand. As usual, Elf could be relied on to cover awkward silences with chat.
Bryght was just aware of Portia and desire, and aware that it would be many weary hours before he could surrender to that desire. He would have liked to at least look at her, but as Elf had insisted that they sit side by side he would have to gaze sideways like a lovesick fool.
He was such a fool, of course, but he hoped he could conceal it.
Once in the house, they greeted the monarchs, who had arrived first, then Nerissa fussed them into position to receive their guests and their best wishes.
All went smoothly until Kinbolton, damn him, said to Bryght, “I assume Barclay’s here. Need to have a word with him.”
“No,” said Bryght, knowing Portia must have heard. “He’s out of Town.”
“Pity.”
Kinbolton went on into the rooms and Portia smiled and greeted the next person in line.
Bryght waited for the cannon to explode.
As soon as they had greeted the last guest Portia drew Bryght to one side. “This Barclay is a close friend of yours?” She was quiet as a naked blade is quiet.
“Very close,” he said.
“A gamester?”
