Mr. McKay made a polite noise.
“I don’t know how you find your way about.”
“I have a map,” he said briskly.
At first, she thought it a jest. But the butler gave no sign.
“You must lend it to me,” she said in awe.
“Of course, Your Ladyship.”
Catherine felt that her hands should be growing cold and numb from touching the butler’s arm, so icy was his demeanour.
Perhaps he takes his lead from his master. Aaron has been cold towards me, too.
The chapel they eventually arrived at by carriage was a place of stone and shadows. A stained glass window allowed shards of red, green, and blue light to dapple the altar, but ivy growing wild across the outside blocked most of the sunlight. A priest stood behind the altar, and before him, with his back to Catherine, was Aaron. Mr. McKay halted until given a nod by the priest.
The congregation consisted of members of Caerleon’s household staff, all wearing their work uniforms. Catherine felt a pinch of pity that her wedding would be a small interruption to an ordinary working day for them. There would be nothing of the special occasion about this ceremony. No feast. Not even a day’s ease.
Perhaps I can ask Aaron to invite them to partake in the wedding breakfast. Or at least partake in the feast…
Then, Aaron looked at her.
It was no more than a glance over his shoulder, his eyes shadowed by a lock of dark hair that fell across his face. His gaze locked with her, and she almost gasped. Something ran through her from head to toe, a frisson that made her want to clench every muscle, to squeeze every drop of pleasure from the tension.
That glance seemed to last an eternity.
Mr. McKay began to make slow, stately progress down the central aisle. Aaron looked away, but Catherine could not. She watched him get nearer. His height and broad shoulders stood out to her first. His sheer physical presence seemed to fill the brooding medieval space. When she stood next to him, it felt as though a magnetism held her in place by his side.
He stared straight ahead, one arm raised, onto which Catherine placed her hand. It was like holding the arm of a stone statue. She thought that if she hung from that arm, it still would not move. The notion of Aaron as a tree beloved by children for climbing made her smile.
Aaron glanced at her then and frowned.
“You find something amusing?” he asked.
She quickly reined in her expression. “I—I was just happy.”
“Why?”
“Do I need a reason?”
“Most people do.”
“Count me in the latter then.”
She would never have dared speak to her Aunt or Uncle, nor any of their friends, in such a way. Even now, the boldness of it set her heart to racing.
“You are feeling better since your draught some days ago?”
The oddity of the question in this place stopped Catherine for a moment, mouth open around her reply. The priest spoke before she could, asking if they were ready to proceed. Aaron impatiently gestured that they were.
He glowered through the ceremony, snapping his responses. Catherine replied with solemnity that earned a reassuring smile from the priest.
Then it was done.
She wore a ring on her finger, and so did Aaron. They turned to face each other, and the only thing left to do was for the bride and groom to kiss.
Catherine was suddenly breathless.
