Page 48 of The Widow Wore Plaid

Jane produced the strip of material and loosely wound it around their joined hands. The binding, though slight, sent a shiver down her spine. They were indeed about to bind themselves, physically and spiritually, and according to Gareth, legally to one another for the rest of their lives. It was a fateful moment she did not intend to take lightly. Though she knelt before Gareth, she straightened her back and gazed deeply into his eyes. “What do I need to say?”

“Remember Maria’s wedding?” His blue eyes shone in the firelight, the excitement within them deepening her eagerness as well. “And Georgie’s? All your friends’ weddings in fact. Those are the words you speak, or as close to them as you can. Do you want me to go first?”

Throat suddenly tight with emotion, she nodded and swallowed hard. She needed to be ready to speak her pledge to him when the time came.

He cleared his throat, laid his free hand on top of their joined hands, and looked steadily into her eyes. “I, Gareth Oliver Argyll Ransom Seton, do take you, Jane Munro Tarkington, to be my wedded wife. In the sight of God and in accordance with the Holy Church, I plight thee my troth.”

Jane released the breath she’d not been aware she’d been holding. His words, spoken solemnly and with the utmost deference, resonated in the flickering firelight, giving the dim room a grandeur far beyond its mean physical form. Her stomach trembled, but she refused to falter.

Carefully placing her hand on top of theirs, their flesh now intertwined with one another’s and the tie that bound them, she returned her gaze to him. Staring straight and true into his shining eyes, she repeated her vows as though she had practiced them a hundred times. “I, Jane Augusta Elizabeth Munro Tarkington, do take you, Gareth Oliver Argyll Ransom Seton, as my wedded husband. To have and hold from this day forward, in utmost respect and love, until death will part the two of us. I swear this in the sight of God and in accordance with the Holy Church, and thereto I plight thee my troth.”

The words seemed to linger in the warm air surrounding them, enfolding them in the circle of light, almost like a benediction. Peace as she had never known it before settled on Jane’s heart, a sense of union with this man deeper than any she’d ever experienced in her first marriage. This man . . . Gareth, her husband . . . was irrevocably part of her now, as deep as bone, as true as blood. Spellbound by the look of love in his eyes, Jane leaned closer to him, wanting his kiss to seal the bond they had created.

“Damn.”

Jane jerked back, the mood shattered by his oath.

“The token. I’d forgotten, we have to exchange a token.” Frowning, he leaned his head against the wall, eyes staring into the darkness above them. “It’s like the ring a bride is given, but it doesn’t have to be a ring. Often it’s just a coin, but there needs to be something we give to one another.”

“Coins?” Mind racing, Jane wracked her brain to remember what items had been packed in the carry bag. No coins, surely.

“It doesn’t have to be. It can be anything, I think.” Gareth stared into the fire, his frown slowly disappearing. “Bring me the tinderbox, please, Jane.”

Puzzled, but not wanting him to see it, she rose and took the metal tinderbox from the mantelpiece where she’d found it when she’d first started the fire. Silently, she held it out to him, still not sure why he wanted it.

Eagerly he took the rusty, eight-sided tin box, lifted the lid, then fished out the dark gray sharp-edged piece of flint. “Here we go. You take the piece of steel.”

Looking askance at Gareth, Jane still did as he asked and grasped the oblong piece of metal with a decorative heart-shaped hole in the wide end.

“Good.” He set the box on the floor, then cupped the flint in his palm. “Here.” Gareth held the little dark stone out to her. “Mind you don’t cut yourself.”

“I have handled flint almost my whole life, Gareth.” Jane had to repress a smile. How did he think she’d made the fire earlier?

“I know, but you are in my keeping now.” He gazed at her, love and longing on his face. “I need to keep you safe. This ceremony is one way I can try to do that. So here.” He tipped his hand up and the flint slid into her outstretched one. “I give you this token of my undying love and pledge to keep you from all harm.”

Throat clogged with unshed tears Jane mutely held out the oblong of steel.

He took it, looked at it lying in his palm, then raised his gaze to her.

Clearing her throat three times, she finally spoke the only words that came to her. “Take this striker that I freely give to you. May we ever be as this flint and steel, creating a living spark that will blaze up wherever we go, as long as we are together. May nothing ever part us.”

The look of pure love in his eyes gave her sudden tranquility, a benediction to the tumults of the day that seemed to lay them to rest, opening the way for a calm, serene night for the both of them. “Amen.”

“Amen.” He picked up the tinderbox, deposited both flint and steel into it, closed it, and set it off to the side. “I think I feel more married now than I ever will no matter what kind of ceremony Mr. Ross concocts for us.” He drew her close to his chest and sighed.

“We will still be wed in the castle?” She agreed that nothing in Mr. Ross’s service would ever feel as vital as what they had just committed to one another.

“You wouldn’t want to disappoint your friends, would you? I know Lathbury would likely kill me himself if he wasn’t allowed to witness us getting married after all the moaning and cursing I’ve put him through this past year.”

Jane laughed and snuggled against his chest. “They might all rise up as one and carry us to the church on their shoulders, or at least their husbands’ shoulders. I think I shall agree to your suggestion and give them a wedding they can rejoice at, since they cannot take part in this one.”

“And there is yet one part left to dispense with, my love. You haven’t forgotten that vitally important piece of the ceremony, have you?” He raised an eyebrow, seeming to enjoy her discomfiture.

“The law really won’t care if we do not perform that portion, don’t you think?” Jane looked down at the messy cover and attempted to straighten it, anything to not see the hurt that must be in his eyes. Of course she wished to make love to her husband if she thought doing so wouldn’t kill him.

“I think the law will mind very much if we don’t do that part. It clearly states that conjugal relations must have been performed after the handfasting or the parties are not married.” Gareth lay back against the wall, a self-satisfied smirk on his lips. “Don’t tell me you are going to be squeamish about this, my love. It’s not like we haven’t done it before.”

“And since we have, I see no reason we need do it now and risk sapping your strength, Gareth, when you’ll need every ounce in the morning to escape with me.” Picking up the tinderbox, Jane rose and took it to its original place on the mantelpiece.