“Yes,” Ashbey chuckled. “Planting an oar is exactly what you’d expect of a practical man.”
“Ready Chev?” Hurtheven asked.
“You can do the honors,” Chev replied.
Hurtheven lifted the oar and then shoved it down, hard. It wedged between the stones, standing on its own.
“Well, it’s done,” Ashbey said.
Hurtheven nodded at his handiwork. “And the couple will be long-blessed.”
“I, for one, feel much better,” Penelope said.
“As do I,” Cheverley chuckled.
Together, they made their way back to Hurtheven’s castle, returning just before the start of a downpour.
Rain ticked against the windows as Cheverley and Penelope undressed for the evening.
“Come here,” Cheverley said by the window.
Tying her dressing gown, she joined him. He motioned down into the courtyard.
Lightening flashed.
“Was that—” She placed her hand against her chest. “Is Hurtheven still out there? In the rain?”
A great crack of thunder sounded and then another flash of lightening lit the sky—bright enough to illuminate Hurtheven’s face, upturned to the heavens and smiling.
The rumble of thunder soon followed.
“Should we bring him inside?” Penelope asked, uncertain.
“Oh, he’ll come in on his own,” Cheverley answered. “When he’s good and drenched.”
“Aren’t you worried about him?” she asked.
“Worried for Hurtheven? Not in general, no.” Chev kissed his bride. “But do I hope he finds the happiness we have? Absolutely. Even if he must face a dozen or so labors before he sees the light.”
THE END
