The Irish Devil

by Diane Whiteside

  When he finally lifted his head and she regained her wits, she found the crowd cheering. She blushed, but nodded and smiled.

  “Viola,” Hal hissed. She glanced at William, then followed her brother to the boardwalk, away from the commotion in the middle of the street.

  Hal took her hands in his big paws.

  “You don’t have to do this, Viola. You can come home. I swear I’ll never tell the family what happened here.”

  “Hal, I don’t care what they think. I hope you’ll accept me as your sister. But even if you don’t, I’ll stay with William, where my heart is.”

  “If it’s money…” Hal hesitated.

  “It’s not that—I know about Grandmother Lindsay’s money. Please understand. I love him.”

  Hal nodded slowly. “He risked his life down there, so maybe he’s worthy of you. But if he ever hurts you, you just let me know. I’ll be glad to take care of him.”

  Viola threw her head back and laughed. Then she kissed her surprised brother on the cheek.

  “Viola?” William asked from behind her.

  “William.” She turned. Thanks to the boardwalk, she nearly reached his shoulder. She walked her fingers up his chest and he watched her hands with a very bemused expression.

  “Mr. Donovan, what would you say to a church wedding? Padre Francisco could marry us after the men return from Fort McMillan.”

  “A Catholic wedding? Do you understand what that means? There’s no need for you to do that.”

  “Your sons need to be as Catholic as you are, Mr. Donovan.” She drew out the syllables of his surname. “I intend to do my best to be a good mother to them, which means being part of your church.”

  William hugged her, shaking.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Viola waited patiently in the courtyard as Sarah fussed over her dress, while Abraham watched the time. It was a magnificent creation and she had no idea how the Chinese tailors had finished it so quickly. The gown was extremely fashionable, with its tight bodice and bustle above a sweeping skirt. More to the point, its white silk brocade and her crown and bouquet of yellow and white roses were the perfect reminder of William’s faerie queen, as she’d requested.

  She could hardly wait to see his reaction.

  Church bells rang steadily from the Catholic church across the street, summoning the faithful. They’d invited everyone in Rio Piedras to the wedding, of course. Most of them wouldn’t fit in the tiny building, but it should be a well-attended ceremony.

  Lennox had been buried yesterday, after his body was finally uncovered. She hoped he found some peace in the afterlife.

  Hal ran a finger around his collar yet again. Viola smiled privately. He’d been shocked at how well Abraham and his helpers had done his laundry and cleaned his effects. He’d even gone so far as to say he couldn’t find better service in New York. Now he looked every inch the first-class riverboat pilot setting out to impress the world.

  He’d restored to her the mourning brooch for the Commodore, which was now pinned at her waist. Around her throat hung the pearls he’d recovered in Colorado.

  She wasn’t optimistic enough to think Father and Mother would accept her marriage so easily. But frankly, she didn’t much care what they thought, given how they’d hurt Hal. Mother’s treason had risked Hal’s life more than once. And she needed no contact with any man who’d caned his son as hard and as often as Father had.

  Today, and for always, William was more important. She prayed again she’d be a good wife to him. Padre Francisco had been a great help during the past week, explaining in his careful English the details of marrying and raising a family in William’s faith.

  “Just think, Hal,” she teased. “One day, you may be dressing for your own wedding.”

  He grimaced. “Never. There are more than enough Lindsays now, without my contributions. Father will simply have to look to his nephews for the next generation.”

  Viola raised an eyebrow. Sarah stopped straightening folds in the wedding dress’s silk.

  Hal had kept his aversion to doing anything that Father planned? Even children? “You might fall in love with someone and want to spend the rest of your life with her,” she suggested mildly.

  Hal snorted. “I’ll never give Father the satisfaction of seeing me leg-shackled and breeding grandsons for him. Nothing’s worth that.”

  “Be careful what you say. You might have to eat crow.”

  He shook his head. “No, not a chance.”

  “It’s time, Mrs. Ross,” Abraham announced, snapping his pocket watch shut. A rush of joy welled up in Viola’s veins.

  Sarah moved away from Viola and smiled at her. “Good luck, Mrs. Ross.”

  “Thank you, Sarah.” She hugged her friend, then took Hal’s arm. “Ready?”

  “I’ve been ready for hours,” Hal growled, and marched her off.

  She smiled contentedly when they reached the little church, aglow with candles and roses now like an island of happiness. Our Lady of Guadalupe and St. Francis of Assisi seemed to smile from their niches. The Mexican band’s trumpets, violins, and guitars struck up an excellent rendition of Mendelssohn’s “Wedding March” as she started forward.

  Every pew was filled to capacity, with guests standing along the walls and in the back. Mr. and Mrs. Graham watched from the first pew, while Mrs. Smith’s best hat bobbed in the back beside Lily Mae’s bonnet. Carson and Lowell sat next to the McBride brothers, and cavalry officers made a brave show in their blue uniforms. William’s men had returned earlier than expected from Fort McMillan, without the loss of a single man or mule. Still more people gathered outside.

  She saw William the moment she entered, gorgeous in a superb black suit, not withstanding his fading black eye. His eyes blazed and he smiled at her tenderly.

  She had never bothered to ask either Hal or William where they had each gained those black eyes. It was enough that they respected each other. And what a relief for William to have Evans standing by his side.

  Abraham and Sarah slipped in from the side door, Abraham moving better and better on his sprained ankle.

  This wedding was so utterly different from her first, conducted by a justice of the peace—and drinking buddy of Edward’s—in his front parlor.

  Her heart lit with joy at the sight of William. She tugged Hal down the aisle, moving faster and faster until she was almost running by the time she reached her lover. Soft laughter rippled across the church and even Padre Francisco seemed amused. She didn’t care what they thought, not if William was happy.

  Hal gave her hand to William after a single exchange of very masculine glances. She’d eavesdropped on their conversation the night before about what Hal would and would not tolerate in Viola’s husband. Since William intended to fulfill all of his expectations, and more, the two men had actually found themselves in agreement, something that was occurring more and more often.

  She was quite content the two men had settled their differences themselves, without her involvement. She might have been driven to mention how much fun she and William shared in private, especially since she’d flatly refused William’s nonsensical suggestion that they sleep apart before the wedding.

  William accepted Viola’s hand and turned to face the altar. Padre Francisco began the ceremony as William and Viola sank to their knees. Viola said a quick prayer privately, of thanks for finding William and hope that she’d be a good wife to him.

  The Latin words wrapped their magic around both of them. Viola tried hard to follow along, grateful for sharing Hal’s Latin lessons long ago.

  They both made their responses loudly, William’s voice a little hoarse but steady as his blue eyes glowed. Viola’s voice was loud and clear and her eyes only a little blurred by tears of joy.

  Her happiness burned through every cell in her body when he placed the heavy gold band on her finger. In sheer joy, she caressed his fingers quickly after sliding the matching ring on his hand. He caught her hand in a quick, loving grip an
d they smiled at each other.

  Padre Francisco said a few more words, and William kissed her reverently as she lightly caressed his shoulder.

  Finally the nuptial mass ended with Padre Francisco’s benediction, using the Irish blessing William had requested. They rose to face their friends and neighbors, both of them grinning like idiots.

  Lowell shouted, “Isn’t somebody going to really kiss the bride?”

  Viola laughed and turned to William. He tilted her chin up and kissed her sweetly, which seemed a fair start for their life together. She threw her arms up around his neck and melted against him. He immediately crushed her close and kissed the breath out of her, his cock swelling against her in promise.

  She was flushed and sparkling when he finally released her. She could have flown like one of the angels over the altar, now that she was married to him. Their audience filled the air with whoops and cheers as he ran her down the aisle and outside.

  They made their way down to the depot, followed by their guests, and settled in for a huge celebration. William had provided all the food and drink, plus the excellent local Mexican band. He’d offered up a season’s supplies for the depot, including some popular—and rare—hams, plus all of the Oriental’s wines and liquors.

  Teamsters and miners, shopkeepers and Mexicans mixed freely as they celebrated. Sheriff Lloyd, of course, ate and drank a great deal. But Carson and the McBride brothers had formed a corps of “honorary sheriffs” to keep the peace tonight.

  William and Viola confined themselves to drinking lemonade, while the others enjoyed champagne and beer. Viola blinked when she saw two full tables of teamsters drinking lemonade. “William, did your men take a temperance pledge?”

  He followed her gaze and chuckled. “No, not them. They haven’t done their time as sentries yet. They’ll make up for lost time after they’ve done their two-hour tour.”

  “Good. I want everyone to have fun tonight.”

  William growled softly at her words, eyes alight with carnal intent. He tilted her chin up with a single finger and kissed her, heedless of their audience.

  She grinned like a fool when he stopped and rested her hand on his thigh, enjoying his heat and strength.

  She wasn’t bold enough to caress his cock at a public gathering, even under the table. Perhaps someday, after they’d been married for a few years.

  As the light began to fade, Chinese lanterns were lit. Ah Lum and his friends performed a lion dance, accompanied by the loud clanging of drums, cymbals, and gongs.

  Then the Mexican band appeared and European-style dancing began. William led Viola out for their first dance together, a waltz. He gazed down at her as if she were a goddess to be mounted on a pedestal.

  “Don’t look at me like that,” she whispered, “or I’ll beg you to take me home, just to show you I’m not made of glass.”

  “Wait fifteen minutes, until after the fireworks.”

  China Mary had promised a magnificent display as her present. It was every bit of that and more, but still far too long for Viola’s taste.

  She was more than eager by the time they slipped up the stairs to the compound an hour later. The central courtyard was quiet now except for the fountain’s murmur and some sleepy clucking by the hens.

  Viola wrapped her arms around William and hugged him. He kissed the top of her head and she clung closer, savoring the feel of him in her arms. Her man, her lover, her husband.

  “Let’s go to bed, Mrs. Donovan,” he murmured.

  “Oh yes, please.”

  He swept her up in his arms and kissed her patiently, then kicked open the door to their bedroom. William stopped cold, just shy of crossing the threshold.

  “What the devil? This is not what I ordered,” he growled.

  She blinked at the condition of his bedroom. It now contained only a small iron bed, Evans’s bed, most likely. No chair, no chest, no rug, just the one bed. It could probably accommodate William, but hardly the two of them together.

  Then a strange noise caught her attention from the street beyond the compound: shouting, whistles, and discordant banging. “What the hell?” he murmured, and turned toward the door.

  A shivaree? Viola listened for a moment longer and heard Hal’s deep voice mixed with the others. Oh yes, definitely a community gathering. She whooped softly, happily, and pulled free of William’s arms to run into the bedroom. She bounced onto the bed, still fully dressed and holding her bouquet.

  William stared at her, speechless for once.

  “They’re giving us a true shivaree, William. Quick, get in the bed. Oh, William, I always wanted a big celebration for my wedding. And a shivaree will be wonderful.”

  William shook his head to clear it from shock. Then he sat down and wrapped his arm around her. He’d seen shivarees but never thought to be the subject of one, since the match had to be so well accepted by the townsfolk. It was one thing to eat and drink what he had provided, but something totally different for his neighbors to publicly display their affection and approval.

  Sure enough, the noise grew and focused on the compound. It streamed into the courtyard until William could barely hear himself think. Old kettles were banged, while the band’s trumpets bellowed loudly in an attempt at “The Yellow Rose of Texas.”

  Then Morgan and Hal appeared at the door, with Carson and Lowell behind them. Remarkably steady despite the champagne he’d consumed, Hal bowed low and announced, “My dear brother and sister, you must come out to greet your friends.”

  Viola giggled and put her hand over her mouth. William laughed and hugged her closer. “Brothers, do your worst.”

  Each man took a corner of the bed. Hal chanted, “One, two, three, and up!”

  And the bed rose off the ground with only the slightest jerk. The four men somehow moved it outdoors where others crowded around, lifting the bed onto their shoulders like a maharaja’s palanquin. Cheers rose, and the music, if one could call it that, started again.

  They were carried onto Main Street while the crowd sang “She’ll Be Coming Round the Mountain.” The townsfolk happily paraded them up the street to the mine, then back down to the depot, all the while singing and banging on a strange mélange of instruments. Kettles, shovels, tongs, and spoons all played a part. Somewhere in the background, Mexican trumpets blared and Chinese whistles wailed.

  There were so many willing helpers that the bed usually seemed more of a flying carpet than an iron contraption. The greatest danger to Viola was being bounced off, as friends jostled each other in their eagerness to help.

  Hal and Morgan were gradually edged out, but returned with kettles to join the serenade.

  And Viola leaned against her husband and chuckled happily. William held her close, lest one of the bearers slip, and enjoyed his neighbors’ approval. He also glared at any man foolish enough to try to touch her.

  The mob finally returned them to the compound’s entrance and hesitated, wavering a bit.

  “Dear friends,” Viola shouted. “What shall I do with these flowers?”

  “Throw them!” “Here!” “To me!” “Over yonder!” were some of the cries that went up in response.

  The bed lurched, and William tightened his grip on his wife as some men tried to point to where they thought her bouquet should go. By general agreement, the bed was placed on the ground and the bearers moved away to see the toss.

  “Help me up, please,” Viola hissed.

  William’s eyebrows lifted in surprise, then he helped her stand up on the bed. She measured the crowd around them while still more suggestions arose. Then she threw the bouquet down the street, straight at the farthest unmarried woman.

  A roar went up. “Who’s going to marry her, boys?” someone shouted.

  “You lads can settle that. Who wants to dance?” Morgan shouted in answer.

  The crowd shouted its approval and surged toward the depot. William jumped off the bed, snatched Viola into his arms, and escaped into the compound before anyone could
change their minds about resuming the shivaree. Much as they’d both enjoyed that foolishness, he needed to be someplace private with his wife.

  A few laggards hooted their approval as he kicked his front door shut.

  Viola giggled and laid her head against his shoulder, the roses tickling his cheek. “Don’t you want to invite them?” she teased.

  “No, they can find their own women. Enough is enough, wife. Society’s approval is all well and good but, dammit, not always necessary.”

  He captured her mouth in a hard kiss. She sighed her agreement, her nipples urgent buds as she shifted to move closer.

  He shouldered his bedroom door open, a little uncertain as to what he might find. But this time the setting was perfect. His furniture stood where it should and candles blazed from every surface. The bed was covered in rose petals, with more scattered over the Persian rugs. Sheaves of corn decorated each post, in echo of the old Irish fertility custom.

  “Oh, William, it’s beautiful,” Viola breathed.

  “A bower for my beloved faerie queen. I swear I’ll do my utmost to make you happy.”

  “Just love me always, as I’ll love you, mo mhùirnìn,” Viola whispered.

  William’s heart stopped beating. She’d even reached out beyond the bounds of English for him. “You speak Gaelic now?”

  “Just a little. McBride translated a few words for me, such as darling.” She flushed adorably, her deep blue eyes enormous. “I enjoy hearing you speak that language and I hope you’ll say more if I encourage you. Perhaps one day we can share it with our sons.”

  “Mo bhean, my wife, you are too good for me.” He kissed her forehead gently, shaking a little. “I love you.”

  She caressed his cheek gently and traced his jawline. Her fingers slipped lower and stroked his throat, just above his stiff white collar. “Mo cridhe. You truly are my heart.”

  He kissed her again and set her down on the bed. He leaned over her and traced her face below her silver-gilt hair and crown of roses. Her enormous indigo-blue eyes, features as clear and pure as a faerie maiden’s, supple lips that so eagerly welcomed his mouth, or any other portion of his anatomy.