“Are you sure you want to do this, boy?” Ambrose stared at him warily. “I’ll brave the pit of damnation up there if you want me to deliver a different message.”
Gavin gave another fervent nod. “I’m sure. I love Cinnia and want nothing more than to make her my wife.”
Ballard rose, refusing to dwell on the fantasy of being in Gavin’s place, preparing to wed Louvaen. “Let’s go,” he said and nudged Gavin toward the great hall. “You don’t want to keep them waiting and raise Magda’s ire.”
They entered the hall where a small portion had been sectioned off for the ceremony. Two chairs covered in ells of costly dosser faced each other. The rich fabric shimmered in the candle and torchlight, turning the serviceable chairs into seats suitable for royalty. A veil of fine transparent lawn had been erected between them, the symbolic barrier separating bride from bridegroom before they were declared married.
As the officiant, Ambrose took his place in front of the chairs. Ballard nudged Gavin toward the one on his right. “Remember, don’t sit until Ambrose says so.” His son was still pale as a wraith. “And don’t swoon.”
He smiled when Gavin rounded on him, frowning. “I’m not some milksop woman, Father.”
Ambrose sniffed. “Ketach Tor certainly doesn’t house an overabundance of those.”
A door opened and closed above them. Ballard tracked the small entourage of women as they made their way down the last flight of stairs. Except for Cinnia, each woman had donned the same garments they’d worn for Modrnicht. They were doves instead of buntings and finches to his eyes now—sporting shades of gray in their skirts and ribbons. The bride wore a flowing gown embroidered in glittering thread—an acquisition from one of Gavin’s forays into the world beyond Ketach Tor. The intricate embroidery reflected the light, seeming to undulate across the gown’s hem and draping sleeves. Cinnia’s features, as sublime as the dawn, broke into a wide smile when she saw Gavin.
Ballard’s gaze rested on Louvaen, dressed in the gown he remembered as red. He’d freed her from it an eternity ago in the sensuous quiet of his bedchamber. Maybe tonight she’d allow him to help her a second time. She returned his stare with a brief frown, and he caught the flash of annoyance in her eyes. She didn’t like him wearing the cloak and hood anymore than Gavin did.
Once they reached the chairs, Ambrose bade Gavin and Cinnia to sit on either side of the veil with their hands clasped together below it. The ceremony itself was a simple one—the wrapping of velvet cord over the couple’s hands with assurances from the bride and groom that they entered the union willingly and vows exchanged of love, fidelity and loyalty.
Ambrose invoked a prayer of good fortune and long life over the two, and Ballard tried not to flinch. He looked to Louvaen who watched her sister, pale skin drawn tight against her facial bones, a faint smile hovering around her mouth.
He silently repeated the sorcerer’s words as Ambrose pulled away the veil and recited the last prayer. “Thus no longer divided. I recommend unto thee a man with a wife and a woman with a husband. Happy is the place upon which a holy man builds a house, with fire and cattle, wife and children and good followers.”
They were ardent words uttered for so long by ascetics and celebrants that they’d become rote. Ballard had only half listened to them when he married Isabeau. All had been lies in that union. Some were still lies in this one, but not from lack of effort by the married couple. Given a chance and a future, they might have fulfilled every part of the prayer.
Gavin helped Cinnia to her feet, enfolding her in his arms for a passionate kiss. There was cheering and applause amongst the witnesses, along with sniffles and hastily wiped tears from Louvaen and Magda.
Ballard pulled Gavin into a hard embrace, forcing a grunt from the younger man. “You’re truly shackled now, boy.”
Gavin grinned and nestled Cinnia into his side. “In the best way, Father.”
Custom dictated that Ballard embrace his son’s new wife as well and kiss her cheeks as part of his welcoming her to his household. He offered her a respectful bow instead. “Welcome to the House of Ketach, Lady de Lovet.”
She blushed and curtsied in return. “Thank you, Lord de Sauveterre.”
Both men watched as she went to Louvaen. The two women hugged. Cinnia burst into tears, prompting Louvaen to hush her and pass her a handkerchief. Gavin started forward, his formerly ecstatic expression dissolved into outright fear.
Ballard halted him with a hand on his arm. “Leave her be, son. She isn’t regretting your union; she’s just snipping the last lead string from her sister’s apron.”
They waited for the women to finish their conversation. Ballard stood easily next to Gavin who, despite his father’s assurances, remained tense and uneasy at Cinnia’s tears. His knees visibly buckled with relief when she returned to him, still sniffling but smiling happily at him.
Ballard left them to receive congratulations from the others and sought out Louvaen who now stood alone to one side. She turned to him, watery-eyed. “I’m not crying,” she said. “The rushes need to be thrown out. They’re full of dust.”
Ballard played along. “Magda’s housekeeping has slackened, though I understand she’s made fig pies.”
“Oh, well in that case, anyone can forgive a little dust.”
He captured one of her hands and lifted it to his mouth to kiss. “No longer the lymer,” he murmured against her knuckles.”
Her shoulders sagged. “No, and I don’t know whether to be relieved or sad I’m not tasked with guard duty anymore.” Her brow knitted into a faint frown. “We did have the inevitable discussion about what to expect the first time in the marriage bed.”
Ballard could only imagine how that went. Cinnia wide-eyed and stunned while Louvaen described the act in her blunt fashion. “And?”
“Mortifying,” she said. “I wish our mother Abigail was still alive. Cinnia wouldn’t have dared ask the questions of her she asked me. You’d think I was the keeper of a knocking shop with all the details she wanted.”
Ballard’s bark of laughter earned him a singeing glare from a blushing Louvaen and stares from the others. His new daughter-in-law had surprised him a second time today. He’d once thought Cinnia a timid creature engulfed by her powerful sister’s long shadow. He suspected she’d prove him wrong many times over the next few days. “She’s a lot more like you than I ever guessed.”
“More fool her then.” Louvaen’s expression turned melancholy as she gazed at her sister in Gavin’s arms. “Cinnia would have married Gavin barefoot and in a rainstorm, but this isn’t how I imagined her wedding. I gave her the mirror so she could at least see Papa today. It’s a small comfort but better than nothing.” She still held his hand and squeezed his fingers. “You and Ambrose concocted a lovely idea for a gift for us.” She winked. “Even if it reeks of magic.”
