‘I now pronounce you husband and wife.’ The priest’s face assumed an unctuous smile. ‘You may kiss the bride.’
Her heartbeat accelerated. She saw Harry turn towards her and then his gaze met hers, only now the grey eyes revealed nothing of the thoughts behind. His face came closer and she closed her eyes, felt his lips brush hers, a sudden intimacy that intensified the fluttering sensation in the pit of her stomach. It should have been repellent but it was not. Rather it revived something in her that she had thought long lost. Then it was over. When she opened her eyes again he had drawn back. She saw him rise and extend a hand to her. Trembling she took it. Strong warm fingers closed over hers and squeezed gently, a gesture that was both reassuring and unexpected.
Wordlessly she allowed herself to be led from the church. After the close confines of the building with the musty smells of dust and stale incense, fresh air was a blessed relief. She took several deep breaths to steady herself. Then she became aware of the rest of her uncle’s entourage waiting a little way off, and with them Concha and Jack, both grim-faced. Harry paused and, retaining his hold on her hand, turned to face her uncle. For a moment they faced each other in silence. Then Don Manuel spoke.
‘I bid you both farewell. We shall not meet again.’
‘You are quite correct,’ replied Harry. ‘We shall not.’
The don strolled across to the horses and, retrieving his own, remounted. As the rest of his servants followed suit he glanced once more at the newly wed couple. Then he turned his horse’s head and rode away with his men.
For a moment the quartet in front of the church watched them go. Then several more moments passed in awkward silence. Offering congratulations to the newly married couple didn’t seem appropriate in the circumstances and yet, in the light of what had just happened, all other topics seemed irrelevant. It was Harry who eventually solved the dilemma.
‘It’s getting late. We’ll find an inn and stay there tonight. Jack, why don’t you and Concha go and seek out somewhere suitable?’
Clearly relieved at having something to do, Jack nodded. ‘Right away, my lord.’
He and Concha exchanged glances and then hurried off. Elena watched them depart and then turned to Harry.
‘I don’t know how I can begin to apologise to you.’
He surveyed her steadily. ‘It is not you who should apologise.’
‘I dragged you into this business and, but for me, you would still be a free man.’
‘But for you I might have been a dead man.’
‘You are generous.’
‘It’s the truth,’ he replied, though remembering the don’s cold smile he knew that superintending this marriage had always been the man’s intention.
‘Your life has been turned upside down because of my folly.’
‘You did what you felt you had to do at the time. Would you rather have gone to the convent?’
She shook her head. ‘Never that.’
‘Things could be much worse, then.’
‘They are bad enough, I think.’
‘You do yourself too much disservice.’ His gaze held hers. ‘I know that from now on I shall be the subject of much envy among my fellow men.’
She could detect no trace of irony in his tone or any note of disdain. It intensified her guilt. In many ways it would have been easier if he had given voice to his anger and berated her soundly. This quiet and gentlemanly conduct was unnerving. Was he waiting for a less public place in which to vent his wrath? After all, he could do anything he liked now. Officially she had become his property. As the ramifications of that loomed large her unease increased.
Fortunately Jack returned a few minutes later with the intelligence that suitable accommodation had been secured.
‘It’s not t’finest inn I’ve ever seen, my lord, but it’s clean and seems to be well-run.’
Harry smiled faintly. ‘Good. At least we can look forward to a decent meal and a comfortable bed, then.’
Elena’s stomach lurched.
* * *
The inn was just as Jack had described it: unpretentious but clean and well-run. The food, though equally unpretentious, was good, home-cooked fare. At any other time Elena would have enjoyed it. As it was, she had no idea what she ate that evening. All she could think of was the man sitting opposite, the man who was now her husband. Apart from one brief interlude in the library at her uncle’s house, this was the first time she had been alone with him. Once she would not have found that a displeasing prospect. Now it filled her with dread.
They were sharing a private dining room but, since the food required their attention, conversation was minimal. Elena’s appetite had fled but she forced herself to eat, taking her time, trying not to think about what must inevitably come. Several times she shot a glance at her companion but his face gave nothing away. Nor did his appetite seem in any way diminished by recent events. She watched him put away a bowl of soup and a manchet of bread, a generous portion of pastel de puerros and then follow it up with patatas bravas and a bistec that must have come from the largest steer in all of Spain. Moreover, he ate it with ease. How could he be so calm when her stomach was in knots? She took another drink of wine to steady herself. She noticed that he drank sparingly, consuming only two glasses of wine over the entire meal. He intended to keep a clear head, then. That thought was no more reassuring than the rest. Unable to bear her own thoughts she grasped at distraction.