“I will,” Ian responded just as solemnly, though he punctuated the words with a wink that made her smile.
“Hero Margaret Victoria Ashburn Conagham,” the bishop continued, turning to her, “wilt thou have this man to thy wedded husband, to live together according to God’s law in the holy estate of matrimony? Wilt thou love him, comfort him, honor and keep him, in sickness and in health and, forsaking all other, keep thee only unto him, so long as ye both shall live?”
“I will,” she answered without hesitation, and the light in Ian’s eyes glowed. He hadn’t had to do this. Not just the proposal, but the bishop and this ceremony. Marriage laws in Scotland were lax even now. All they truly needed to do was declare their intention to be recognized as man and wife before witnesses and it would be done. The handfast was the very reason Scotland was so popular with those from England and Wales intent on eloping.
Still, Ian had brought the bishop and arranged for this small ceremony at the most beautiful and fanciful location at Cuilean…for her. For her sense of romance and, he claimed with a wicked grin, so that no one could ever claim that she wasn’t legally his. Hero would even have included the word “obey” in her vows, but he’d insisted that the words be removed. That way, he said, when she acted willfully, as he was sure she would, no vows would be broken. Hero smiled at the thought and squeezed his hand.
“Who giveth this woman to be married to this man?”
“I do,” Beaumont boomed promptly, and she turned in surprise to find her father’s attention firmly on the ceremony. He bent and kissed her cheek affectionately and smiled down at her with none of the wavering glassiness in his eyes that she’d become used to. Indeed, he looked utterly focused. “You look just like your mother did the day I married her,” he whispered brusquely. “I hope you are as happy as we were.”
“Thank you, Papa,” she whispered as tears sprang to her eyes.
“None of that now,” he said more sternly. “You have more vows to repeat if we’re going to get this done and feast on that glorious cake Mrs. Potts has made.”
That was more like it. Hero turned back to Ian, seeing the smile in his eyes.
“My lord,” the bishop went on, “please repeat after me. I, Ian Alexander.”
“I, Ian Alexander …”
Yes, it was a perfect day.
Nothing could destroy it now.
“Would you care to dance, wife?” Ian asked when many hours later when they were finally able to break away from Beaumont and retreat to the privacy of their rooms.
Their rooms, Hero thought with a smile, since Mandy had returned her belongings to the marchioness’s chamber that afternoon.Theirs.
The sound of a crank turning caught her attention, and she turned to find him winding up the music box from the music room. “You had that brought up here?”
“How else was I to dance with my bride?” He grinned. “I’ve been wanting to hold you in my arms all day, but the staff seemed intent on making the occasion far more festive—and prolonged— than I’d planned.”
“They only wanted to please us,” she chided, though she was glad to know that her new husband was as eager for her company as she was his.
Husband.
She couldn’t help but smile. In fact, she’d smiled so much that day that her cheeks ached. From the moment the bishop pronounced them man and wife and Ian kissed her enthusiastically to seal the bargain, she’d been hard put to do anything else.
“They’ve certainly created a welcoming wedding chamber.” He gestured at the huge bed. All the bed hangings that had been tied back the night before were loose and drawn to enclose the bed. “Either winter has come without warning or the maids thought I might want to do my duty in blessed darkness. In truth I want to see you in all the detail I missed last night.”
Her smile broadened even more, if that were possible. She felt positively giddy, excited. Though it was past the dinner hour, with the summer solstice so near the room was still awash in the light of the setting sun. Unless they were to enclose themselves within the bed, there would be no shadows to hide in this time.
Ian would be able to see her clearly, true. But she’d be able to see him as well.
“Come here, wife.”
She slipped into his arms as the strains of another Strauss waltz filled the room. He circled and dipped, twirled her until she was laughing and clinging to him for support. Lifting her off the floor, he spun her around before coming to a halt.
Breathless, she wrapped her arms around his neck and inhaled the scent of him, warm and spicy. “Mm, you smell good.”
Nuzzling her neck, he said, “You do, too.” For some reason she couldn’t determine that made her giggle, and he lifted his head suspiciously. “Are you drunk?”
She lifted her brows haughtily. “On a day like this? Never!” But she spoiled the effect with another grin. “I’m just so happy, dizzily ecstatic.”
“Perhaps I shouldn’t spin you about anymore.” He playfully waggled his brows. “Or better yet, perhaps you had better lie down.”
“Lie down?” Hero feigned surprise. “Do you think it’s that serious?”
