Some part of her mind was aware that Edith had gone running onto the field, uncle muttering in her wake, but though she knew she should follow, she cannot bring her muscles to obey. Lance, please, she thought in a daze, get off the ground and come save me.
As needed bends over him, Gwen saw him sit up, but her relief vanished as she realized it was nothing he could do to save her now. Fatalistically bowing to the inevitable, she watched Michael steadily approach.
A roar went up from the crowd as the victor came to the rail to claim his prize, as if everyone was eager to witness her humiliation. About to give in to the urge to bolt, Gwen stopped by a sudden pressure on her wrist.
She looked into her father’s eyes. “Hand him the crown,” he said softly, nodding to Michael.
She knew her own eyes must be wide with fright. “But daddy-“
“Hand him the crown, Gwen. “The words grew with sternness, “there is not a man here who can say he did not earn it.”
He was beyond drunk, she thought miserably, knowing that in such a state, her father was incapable of listening to reason, much less her please. Swallowing painfully, she stretched her arms, holding the crown out as far as possible. She wish to avoid all contact with Michael; she did not want to even look at him.
Lance, she kept thinking. How could you do this to me?
As Michael took the crown, she continued to look away. She had hoped that by now the crowd might disperse, but, of course, they meant to savor every embarrassing moments. In her mind she could picture Michael grinning, ready to deliver the words that would make her spinster forever.
“Did you come for that stupid crown?” Daddy asked. “Or are you here to claim my daughter?”
Gwen braced herself, waiting for Michael’s rejection.
“That is up to her,” Michael said quietly. “What do you say my lady? This time, do you mean to keep your promise?”
Was he offering an option, a case of one hand washing the other? If she let him have this victory, would he spare hurt the public humiliation? Willing to grasp any straw, Gwen found yourself nodding.
“Good.” Father waved at the gentleman behind them. “Jones, get over here. You two, Michael. We have work to do.”
Work? Confused, wishing she had it been the so indulgent with the flask, a flustered Gwen watched Rafe climb the steps toward her. “Daddy, what is this?”
“Ceremony.” Standing none it to steadily, John covered a small belch with his hand. “Come on, Gwen, folks are waiting.”
Lance had promised it would be a mock marriage ceremony, meant only to entertain the crowd. The real church wedding wood, later. Surely she had nothing to fear in that.
Conscious of the crowd staring, waiting, she so little choice. It was all right, she thought quietly; she could do this, especially if it made her daddy smile at her, and if it meant the disturbing Rafe would at long last leave her alone.
Stopping before her, Rafe offered his hand to help her to her feet. It was a strong, well-formed hand, she noticed, but she cannot stare at it forever. Bracing herself as she rose, she risked a glance upward.
A mistake. In the conclusion, she’d forgotten his intensity, how his eyes could probe inside and find parts of her she hadn’t known existed. As an unfamiliar heat ignited at the core of her body, she felt herself open up, like a flower blooming but need the warm, brilliant sun.
Tightening his grasp on her hand, he smiled down at her, a gesture no less enticing for its brevity. Unable to focus on anything other than his lips, so strong and firm and near, Gwen relived the moments they had been pressing against her own. Standing before him, her hand encased in his reassuring grasp, she found herself hoping he would kiss her again.
That he shared this need was clear; she could see desire in his heated stare, could all but taste it in the air between them. Lost in his dark eyes, Gwen could be looking into a magical pool devised by the great Merlin.
Indeed, she felt as if she had fallen into that pool, to be transformed into a mythical queen, here to be claimed by her brave king. Any moment now, this beautiful man it would sweep her into his arms to carry her off to their secret hideaway, where alone and undisturbed, he would slowly and painstakingly reveal the mysteries of love.
Somewhere outside her fantasy she could hear Reverend Jones muttering, and she was heavily aware of her daddy prodding her to say “I do,” but for the most part, she remained lost in Michael’s eyes. Words like honor, love, and cherish, echoed in her mind like some ancient, sacred chants, copying the promise is saw in his eyes. This man wanted her – she could feel it in his tightening grasp – and the thought set her on fire.
Just when she thought she could bear it no more, that she would surely perish if he did not seem do something, she heard the words, “… Now kiss the bride.”
Part of her mind thought “bride?” By her brain longer ruled her actions. Her body did, and every inch of her leaned closer to the man now claiming her lips. Cradling her head in his hands as if she were some precious, fragile creature, he slowly deepened the kiss, bit by delicious bit, urging her lips apart. Gwen clung to him, overwhelmed, a willing slave to the thousand new sensations pulsating through her body. Hands sliding down her back, Michael clasped her against his rock hard form, telling her with his body that he would never let her go. His kiss claimed her, left his mark on her forever.
Magic, she thought dreamily.
But then someone coughed, and Michael abruptly broke away. Stood there for a moment, staring at her and breathing heavily, before putting a short safe distance between them.
Gwen it was so dazed, she could not think straight win her daddy jammed the pen in her hands and demanded she “sign this.” Since the only papers she could recall had been the list of rules, she obeyed the voice she had been reared to obey, though in all honesty, she could think of no reason the list would require her signature. Swaying a bit as she wrote, she feared she might have had one sip too many of her father’s bourbon.
When daddy next handed the list to Michael, she fought to bring her thoughts into focus. She should not have been drinking in the hot sun, she thought any panic; her mind was fair swimming with confusion.
“There,” that he said suddenly to Michael. “I think we can now safely considered the score settled.”
Settled? Looking from one man to the other, Gwen felt an ugly taste invade her mouth. The bourbon no longer gloat insider; it threatened to come up uninvited.
“Take care of her, Michael. I’m going back to the house now.” He belched again, this time not bothering to cover his mouth. “Homer, come here and help me. All of a sudden, I am not feeling all too well.”
This time, Gwen’s no was a great deal more loud, but daddy paid no attention. Stemming down the steps beside Homer, he nearly crashed with his patiently suspicious brother, now returning to the platform.
“What is going on, John?” Uncle barked out, nodding to Gwen and Michael. “What have you done?”
“Something I should have done long ago.” Father gave him a slow, idiotic grin. “Too late, brother. It’s signed and delivered.”
Her uncle’s gaze narrowed on Mr. Jones, still holding the paper. “That license was not for Michael…. It’s dammit, John this can’t be legal.”
License? With mounting for, Gwen watched the Reverend perplexed expression give way to a slow, dawning smile. “You’re right, I forgot the most important part,” Mr. Jones said, turning to beam at them.
“I now pronounce you man and wife.”
Chapter 9
Jervis could have happily murdered his brother. Damn John and his alcoholic meddling. From his smug, no doubt thought he had saved the day, but in truth, once again, the drunken fool and messed up everything.
It was all Jervis could do not to scream out his bust ration. All his carefully laid plans, gone in a flash, and all because of a mere drunken fool.
You should not have gone to Lance–you could see that now–for the only damage done here had been to th
e man’s pride, and Lord knew, Edith fussing had more than made up for it. Service might better have employed his time keeping watch over his brother and niece. How could this silly girl have married the wrong man?
His gaze slid to Gwen. Taking in her obvious anger and bewilderment, he smiled. Ah, could it be that she was not altogether happy with this new arrangement? If so, thought with rising opinion, he must find some way to make her unhappy or yet.
Might yet be away to recoup this loss.
***
And Gwen were unhappy, her anger, for the moment, was directed at herself. It bothered her, how easily she had responded to Michael. Worse, she knew how easily she might be induced to do it again.
She was intensely aware of him standing stiff and proud at her side; Lord help her, the throbbing had yet to subside. How could one man, with a single gaze, turn her so weak and senseless? How could that one man now be her husband?
“Lance applied for that license,” uncle repeated, climbing the steps toward Mr. Jones. “Here, let me look at it. I can’t see how this marriage can be legal..”
Michael stepped between them and neatly snatch the license away.
“I don’t understand.” Mr. Jones looked from one to other, blinking rapidly. “I was told to marry Gwen to the winner as soon as possible. As far as I knew, we had all the necessary paperwork. Ask for Mr. McCloud.”
He nodded at where John had been standing, but he had already gone tottering off to the house with Homer.
“I assure you, it is legal,” Michael said to all goal as he folded the license and slipped it in his shirt pocket. “Or it will be, the moment I file it with the parish records.”
Scowling, uncle came over to stand beside Gwen. “I knew you were low, Michael, but I never thought you would due to blackmail. Do you honestly think you can use my niece as a hostage to get what you want from me? That I would actually pay you not file that license?”
“I won’t grace that with an answer.” Shaking his head in disgust, Michael held out a hand for Gwen. “Let us go, my lady. I think I’ve had enough drama for one day.”
Gwen eyed both men with mounting horror. Was that all she was to them? Some pond they could use to settle their differences?
“You stay right here with us, Gwen.” Uncle grabbed her arm about her shoulders. “There is no call for you to be going off anywhere with this–this–“
Rafe’s features hardened. “I believe the word you are looking for is husband.”
Uncle snorted.” He cannot expect anyone to take this mockery seriously. You might grease enough palms to get that license filed, Michael, but no marriage binding if either party has been tricked into it.”
“Tricked? I thought the whole purpose of this exercise was to force your niece into marriage. Don’t renege now, just because the man you backed up did not win your competition.”
“On the contrary” Lance stomped up to the grandstand steps, Edith standing behind him. “I demand this man should be disqualified, according to the rules that is the punishment for cheating.”
Michael looked at Lance as if he had crawled out from under a stone. “You, Lance, have the gall to accuse me?”
“Tell them,” Lance said, dramatically pointing to Edith. “Tell them what happened to my cinch.”
Edith looked on easy, as if she wished to be anywhere else. “Someone, seems to have cut it halfway through it.”
There was a collective gasp as all eyes meant to Michael. No one called for an investigation, for no one doubted guilt. He was still the outsider, Gwen realized, and they were still closing ranks against him.
Looking at him, she cannot help but be impressed by his poise. Another man might have bent under such public scrutiny, but Michael stood against them strong and defiant. “I did not cheat,” he told Lance quickly.. “Whatever you and your inquisition might decide, Lance, we know I did not need to.”
Lance demanded further. “You cut that cinch,” he yelled, pointing a finger at Michael’s chest, dusty and bruised and puffed up like an angry hen, he did not look like much of a rescuer. It made her feel intensely disloyal, but Gwen realized Michael seemed far more the hero.
“Furthermore,” Lance said, “cannot expect to believe anything a murder might say.”
There was a second on the easy stirring among them. Gwen, suddenly cold inside, now looked at Michael with dismay.
He shook his head. “So cheating was not crime enough? Tell me, Lance, who is it I’m accused of murdering?”
“Jacques Morteau. Ah, see, you cannot deny it. I’m told that after your duel with him, you took to hiding in the swamps. Indeed, I’ve heard there is an outstanding warrant for your arrest.”
Michael eyed him scornfully. “You are good at making rumors, Lance. Too bad you are not as skilled on a horse. Let’s go, my lady. I don’t have the stomach for much more of this.”
Lance moved beside her, blocking her way. “We think too highly of Gwen to let her go anywhere with a common criminal.”
“First you call me a common farmer, then a common criminal, why not add a common husband to the list? Move out of the way, Lance. It is time I was taking my new wife home.”
“He is right,” Edith said behind him. “Gwen did marry the man. We all heard Reverend Jones pronounce the man and wife.”
Uncle frowned at his daughter. “This is not of your affair. You go on up to the house and see your uncle John.”
“But–“
“Do as your father asks,” Lance added. “You go on and let your menfolk take care of things.” In the face of his smile, Edith’s defiance deflated. She went off happily. Watching her trudge to the house, Gwen wished she could share her cousin’s faith in her men, but as far as she could see, they did not seem to be handling things all that well.
“I must warn you,” uncle spouted at Michael. “We are quite prepared to challenge this marriage in the courts. It cannot be legally binding if our Gwen did not enter it of her own free will.”
“Good point.” Michael fix her with his gaze, bringing back a swirl of memories, the sweet aching magic, to Lance’s accusations. “You tell me,” he probed. “Is this marriage legally binding? Or does your word still mean nothing at all?”
Gwen felt myriad emotions, from longing to guilt. Her mind swam with confusion. “I thought it was just for show. Lance said the ceremony was just another way to entertain the crowd.”
“There, Michael, are you satisfied? Clearly, my niece had no idea what you were leading her into. I think we will find there is not a judge in Louisiana, who will declare this marriage legal.”
Michael continued to stare into her eyes. “It’s not up to the courts to decide, Is it? It’s your choice, my lady.”
For a breathless moments, it was as if a door had opened, and Gwen had only to step over the threshold to enter a magical new world. Her hand moved up, but before she could offer its, Lance grabbed her arm and held it against his side.
“Your audacity, sir, is matched only by your conceit,” he told Michael. “Do you honestly believe Gwen would jeopardize the lifetime of dreams and hopes we have shared, to go off with some fortune hunter? I ask you, what would she want with the stranger, when she can stay here safe and sound, protected by her own kind.”
Each word Lance spoke seemed like the bites of a lash, stinging her with the truth. He was right; what did she truly know about the mysterious Michael? Uncle accused him of blackmail, of using her as a hostage to extract money. And if, as Lance claimed, he had once murdered a man, was it so far-fetched to assume he would sheet to win, when marrying her meant gaining the Willows? She must face the facts. For all she knew about the man, Michael could be cable of most anything, and she has yet to prove she could keep her wits when she was around him.
“Will you lead the tame, predictable life here,” Michael pressed, holding her gaze, “or will you take a chance with me?
Magic? Or security? Wasn’t that her ultimate choice?
Feeling Lance’s hands, so cold
and clammy as if clasped her own, she tried not to think of his kiss in the stable. It was time to be sensible, to think rationally. She cannot abandon her childhood aspirations, are about to love Lance forever. Lance was the known and familiar; didn’t logic demands that he be the one in whom she trusted her future?
After all, being loved and protected was all she had ever wanted.
As if she had voiced the decision allowed, Michael’s expression went suddenly cold. Just before he closed himself off, Gwen caught a glimpse of the boy he’d once been, saw his yearning and hurt and eventual disappointment.
Something twisted inside her as he strained his shoulders and pointedly looked away.
Releasing her hands, Lance planted both feet and folded his arms over his chest. “I think you should go now, Michael. You have upset the lady more than enough today.”
Michael gave a short bark of a laughter. “She seems to be doing just fine. You’re not her watchdog, Lance. Like it or not, until the courts declare otherwise, the lady is still my wife.”
“Oh, the courts will decide in our favor.” Uncle smiled coldly. “But, in the meantime, we will not have you pestering my niece. We are prepared to overlook your cheating, if you get yourself and that’s black beast off our land. You have approximately ten minutes, Michael, before we summon the law I’m certain you have no wish to be paying a call to our jail.”
Michael’s fists clenched at his side. “You people are incredible.” His gaze went to Gwen; she felt the chill of it down into her bones. “You would think I had learned my lesson by now, but I keep deluding myself into thinking you were different. That somewhere deep inside you there is truly a lady.”
“How dare you” Lance yelled. “I demand satisfaction in Gwen’s name.”
Rafe smiled with the same lack of emotion. “How many times must weep eat this pathetic ritual, before admitting the inevitable? I can defeat you a hundred times, and it won’t make the slightest difference. Nothing has changed, has it my lady? When or lose, right or wrong, you will always stroll off with Lancelot.”
The Willows Page 14
