“I love you too,” she said. “That was wonderful.”
“Do we have the rings? And the ribbon?” asked Gwenla.
Finnli came forward with a ring box, and Idris produced a white ribbon from his pocket.
Alison hadn’t yet seen the ring Weyland had made for her. He’d made it to match the engraving on her engagement ring, and it was really lovely.
“Thanks, Weyland,” she said to him. He was down in the second row.
“You’re welcome,” he said, and the crowd laughed.
“With these rings, you share your oaths.”
Keir placed the ring on Alison’s finger, his hands shaking a bit from the nerves of it all. It fit like a glove.
Then Alison gave Keir his ring. She imagined holding his hands, years later when they had wrinkled, and seeing the ring still in the same place.
Gwenla tied the white ribbon over their hands. “With this ribbon, you bind your spirits together for all time.”
She paused for a moment for effect, then she raised the hammer above the anvil. “By the power vested in me by this crazy place that apparently lets anyone do this, I now pronounce you husband and wife.” She struck the anvil with a loudplink!
Keir leaned forward, kissing Alison as the crowd clapped.
He was her husband. She was his wife.
“Now let’s have some cake!” yelled Gwenla, and everyone cheered.
Keir was as impressed by the cakes as Alison had been, and he was very interested to hear Alison’s news that she thought Julian and Charlotte might be together now.
“We’ll have to see when we’re dancing,” he said in between mouthfuls of chocolate frosting.
They signed the marriage certificate after the cake. It was time to make a choice, and Alison had been right—what she wanted to do was clear now with Keir beside her as her husband. “I’d like to be Alison Lennox-Ainsley, if that would be alright with you,” she told him.
“Of course,” he said, opening the locket to see the pictures of Alison’s father and his mother. “I’d like that as well.”
“Dr. Keir Lennox-Ainsley, Marquess of Caernock? It’s a bit of a mouthful,” said Alison.
“No more than Mrs. Alison Lennox-Ainsley, Marchioness of Caernock.”
“Touché.”
“You do know Gallic after all,” said Keir, laughing and kissing her on the forehead as he signed the certificate.
There were a number of toasts; Idris’s came as something of a shock to the people who didn’t know him well enough to know what he was like, and Rinka’s was equally as funny as it was sweet. Alison demanded an end to it after her mother’s toast: she was starving.
They enjoyed a meal Gwenla had cooked with Mr. Rainey in the inn’s kitchen: roast beef from Brytak’s family’s farm and lamb from Aras’s flock, cheese from Julian shop, and vegetables from Gwenla’s root cellar. Julian brought several bottles of wine for them to share, and Idris had gotten a crate of the fiery whiskey they enjoyed the night before delivered.
By the time Nigel Smalls began to play his mandolin, with Duncan Corbett accompanying him on the town hall’s pianoforte, they were all quite warm and full.
“Come, my darling. I wish to dance with my wife,” said Keir, leading her to the dance floor.
Alison regretted that she hadn’t practiced when Keir pulled her in. He was such an incredible dancer.
“Perhaps you can teach me,” said Alison. “If you’re looking for something you can do for me.”
“With pleasure,” said Keir.
They danced the night away, couples old and new, friends taking turns with friends. Brytak did get his dance from Eloise—Keir had brought five gold for Rinka, knowing he was likely to be wrong. Charlotte and Julian were inseparable; Idris and Rinka were entirely too much as usual, dramatically tangoing to a simple folksy tune; Weyland and Lady Sibba were sweet together, gently swaying to the music; Alison’s mother enjoyed a few lively dances with Tomasar and Genn, who found her enchanting; Ceri was swept off her feet by the surprisingly elegant Leo, who was much less clumsy on the dance floor than off it; and even the spriggan joined in for a time, his branches creaking from the movement. Alison was sad when it was over, but she was also exhausted and ready for bed.
