Kathleen E. Woodiwiss(18)

“Cease your worry, my dearest,” she crooned and leaned her weight upon his foot. “The banns are published.” She feigned worry in her frown. “But you seem somewhat pained. Aren’t you feeling well? Or is that old wound plaguing you again?”

Shanna pulled back slightly but not enough to give him ease, and her slender fingers went searchingly to the buttons of his waistcoat.

“How I have pleaded with you, Ruark, to take better care of yourself. You’re always so reckless.”

Had he been of a mind, Pitney could have warned the colonial this was not the sort of woman to tamper with overly much. From the bottom step, as her hooped skirt swayed slightly upward, he caught a glimpse of the small, slippered foot treading carelessly upon the larger. His laughter softly rumbled in his chest as he folded his massive arms and waited.

The Reverend Jacobs’s eyes had widened behind his spectacles as the lady seemed on the verge of undressing her betrothed, and he could only surmise it had not been the first time. Mrs. Jacobs, her plump cheeks a deep hue of scarlet, was suddenly aflutter and didn’t seem to know quite what to do with her hands other than to wring them nervously.

Ruark parried the attack in his own fashion, bending his knee and at the same time raising the toe of the foot she trod upon. With most of her weight upon it, Shanna weaved precariously as her balance was suddenly upset. With a gasp she stumbled against him, one arm flying about his neck to stop her fall while her other hand grabbed his sleeve. She heard his chuckling laughter in her ear as he steadied her on her own feet.

“Shanna, love, restrain yourself. We’ll be home soon enough,” Ruark chided.

His amusement rankled her, and she longed to screech her ire at him but knew all too well the folly of that. She caught Pitney’s loud cough as if he were seized with a choking fit and simmered all the more.

“We’d best get this marriage underway,” the clergyman suggested with much conviction and peered disapprovingly at them over his square-rimmed glasses.

With a quirk in his brow, Ruark viewed this lovely Shanna who silently glared her rage at him. She might well be the fairest thing he had ever seen, but he glimpsed a bit of a witch there, too.

“Aye,” Ruark agreed. “ ‘Twould appear the proper thing to do before the babe’s christening.”

Shanna’s jaw dropped, and the urge to kill was strong. In another time she would have let fly a stinging slap to the knave, but here she found herself with no recourse but to bear his buffoonery. In a temper she whirled as Pitney’s low chuckles broke the stunned silence, and she bestowed upon him a glare of such heat that it should have set the very blood in his veins to boiling. But the man bore the pain with dignity and struggled to control his mirth.

The ceremony was quick and unpretentious. It was obvious the Reverend Jacobs wanted to put right any wrong that the young couple might have engaged in prior to this union    . The proper questions were asked and answered. Ruark’s deep, rich voice came firm and unfaltering, promising to love, honor, and cherish until death. As she repeated her own vows, Shanna felt an almost stifling sense of doom. It was like a premonition warning her that her ploy would fail. Reluctantly her eyes were drawn to the tiny band of gold on the open face of the Bible, and she could only think, as the minister spoke the words over them, of the years of devotion her own mother had given her father. In contrast this marriage was a farce, and it was a sacrilege to ever pledge her love on an altar of God. It was a lie, and she might well be damned for saying it.

For all of her attempts at composure, Shanna’s hands trembled as Ruark slid the ring on her finger, and the final words came.

“By the authority vested in me and in the name of God Almighty, I pronounce you man and wife.”

The deed was done. The haughty Shanna was wed. Vaguely she heard the Reverend Jacobs give his consent for a nuptial kiss, and she was brought abruptly back to reality as Ruark turned her in his arms. That was enough to snap the brittle twig of conscience. Deliberately setting his hands from her, Shanna raised on tiptoes and very primly placed a sisterly kiss upon her husband’s cheek.

Ruark drew back and frowned slightly into the exquisite face before him. Her tauntingly sweet smile was not what he relished in the way of passionate response. He was more in a mood for something richer than light pecks of gratitude. Already he had concluded his wife had much to learn of love. He only hoped that his hours were enough to see him through the thaw.

“Come now, my children,” Reverend Jacobs urged, his cheerfulness mightily restored. “There are documents to put your names to. And I do fear ‘twill be another storm upon us before long. Do you hear the rain?”