Chapter 10
Marguerite glanced around the lamplit shop while the bleary-eyed blacksmith took his place across from her and Walker at the anvil.
In truth she had never imagined her wedding day with no church, no altar, and no family around her, but that reality did not dim the happiness swelling in her breast.
Nor did the early hour, Walker surprising her with his request that they marry first thing and not wait for daylight.
After what had happened with the highwaymen, he’d said he wanted to get her back safe and sound to London as soon as they were wed and had rested for a couple hours. Now he stood beside her, so dark and tall and handsome, and soon to be her husband! What else could she possibly need?
As soon as they had arrived in Gretna Green before dawn, he’d secured them a room at a comfortable inn across the street and had the trunk brought up, and then left her to bathe and change. Not a proper tub bath but a sponge bath from a basin of tepid water that had nonetheless made Marguerite feel so much better after almost two days on the road.
Then she’d dressed in the pale lilac-colored gown with sprigs of delicate white flowers that Lindsay had helped her to choose, the garment so pretty and flowing that Marguerite truly felt like a bride. Last she’d brushed her hair until it shone, and left it cascading down her back rather than pinned in her usual upswept style.
Walker’s only remark upon seeing her when she’d gone downstairs to the inn’s parlor was one low-spoken word, “Beautiful,” his gaze feeling like heat upon her.
He’d gone upstairs then, reluctantly, she could tell, and had his turn to bathe and change his clothes, too, a navy blue coat and matching breeches borrowed from Jared that fit him perfectly. Lindsay had packed a waistcoat for him, but Walker had opted for wearing only a clean white shirt beneath his coat, the open collar revealing a hint of raven-black hair upon his chest.
Oh, Lord. Marguerite blushed hotly when Walker caught her looking there and he smiled at her, which made her smile at him with some embarrassment and fix her gaze once more upon the rumpled-looking blacksmith.
“Hold hands over the anvil, if ye will.”
At once Walker sobered and took her hand, his fingers so strong and steady while Marguerite knew she trembled.
As the blacksmith’s plump wife and a yawning young man still in his nightshift, clearly their son, drew closer as witnesses, Marguerite felt suddenly so flustered that everything became a blur. She heard Walker declare after the blacksmith’s query that he’d come to wed of his own free will and she murmured the same, and then familiar words followed that she’d heard when her father had performed marriages in their parish church.
Walker’s voice sounded so resonant and clear when he said, “I will,” while her “I will,” sounded so breathless—truly, she’d never felt her heart pounding so madly! Then a filigreed gold band was slipped upon the fourth finger of her left hand. She glanced up with surprise at Walker, realizing Lindsay must have given him the ring for her to wear.
He stared back at her intently, his voice grown husky as he repeated the solemn words after the blacksmith, “With this ring I thee wed…” Before Marguerite knew it, she heard the man say, “I declare ye to be man and wife before God and these witnesses in the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost. Amen,” and their wedding was done.
She felt Walker squeeze her hand and she tremulously returned his smile, but she jumped when the blacksmith brought a hammer down upon the anvil with a jarring clang. Walker only chuckled and drew her into his arms to kiss her soundly right in front of their witnesses, while Marguerite was certain her racing heart would leap from her breast.
His lips were so warm and so insistent that she forgot all else around them, her fingers twisting in his shirt…until a gruff cough from the blacksmith made her flutter open her eyes. With evident reluctance Walker released her to accept their certificate of marriage, and then he entwined the fingers of his free hand with hers and drew her with him toward the door.
Her gaze was so fixed upon him that she scarcely realized they had stepped outside until she heard birdsong heralding the sunrise, the sky brightening to the east in fiery hues of orange and gold. No one else was up and about yet, just them. Again Walker pulled her into his arms, but he didn’t kiss her. Instead he looked down at her as if memorizing how she looked in that moment, his hand cradling her face as his thumb caressed her cheek.
“My forbidden duchess…”
She memorized his beloved face, too—yes, she knew then how much she loved him!—while breathing in the sweetness of the cool morning air. But when his expression hardened suddenly, she grew alarmed and stiffened in his arms.
“Walker?”
He didn’t say a word, but hugged her more tightly against him. Then he swept her so unexpectedly into his arms that she cried out, but as he strode across the street toward the inn, he nuzzled her cheek as if to reassure her.
Only when he carried her inside into the small foyer did he press his lips to her ear to whisper vehemently, “Before God and man, you are my wife and we’ll not hide it, that I swear.”
She didn’t speak, her heart beating faster when he took the steps leading upstairs two at a time as if she weighed nothing to him. The inn was so quiet, everyone still sleeping. Even the kindly proprietor and his sweet-faced wife must have gone back to bed after Walker had roused them so early. He didn’t stop until he’d reached their room at the end of the hall, where he used his elbow to press down the handle and push open the door.
Marguerite sucked in her breath. When last she’d seen this modest chamber with its four-poster bed, mirrored dresser, and small coal-burning stove, she’d been an unmarried woman and Walker had kept his distance as was proper to do. Now he couldn’t have held her more closely as he set her down upon the floor, her breasts swelled against his chest. She met his eyes, saying nothing, waiting.
