by Sahara Kelly
All the candles were lit, so it was a bit dazzling, but Ariadne found that hands had removed her cloak and she stared around at the small congregation. She couldn’t see the altar, but there were more than a few heads, lots of lovely hats, and great cascades of holly, ivy and fir decorating the old stone walls.
It was lovely; it smelled of incense and people and old wood; a fragrance that varied little from church to church and probably century to century.
All these things dived into Ariadne’s consciousness as she looked around, only to be jerked from her contemplation by someone putting something into her hands.
“You need this,” said Letitia.
“With our love,” said Rosaline, patting her hands.
Ariadne looked down to find herself holding a beautiful branch of mistletoe around which someone had tied several silver ribbons.
The aisle cleared and suddenly Edmund was beside her, holding out his arm. Numb, she took it without thinking, and found he was walking her down the aisle to…
Oh my God.
She was getting married.
*~~*~~*
Michael knew the instant she grasped the meaning of this whole arrangement.
Her eyes darted to his, her cheeks paled and she risked a quick glance at Edmund, who looked down at her and smiled reassuringly.
Her throat moved as she swallowed, and Michael guessed she felt much the same as he did. Scared, excited and so filled with love and joy he wanted to burst with it. He couldn’t keep his own smile from breaking out as she came to his side, released into his care by his new stepbrother.
He took one moment to nod at Edmund. “Thank you,” he whispered.
“Be happy,” Edmund whispered back.
Simon, in his clerical vestments, took over, and the service began with a brief introduction, letting those present know that a relative, Mr Michael Wynstanley, was to wed today and the happy couple would become part of the Ridlington family.
Simon phrased it so well, so beautifully, that he wanted to murmur in delight along with the congregation. He felt a shiver pass through Ariadne’s arm, and he squeezed it with his, leaning to her and bending close to her ear. “I love you.”
Once again her throat moved and she looked up at him, her eyes filled with emotion.
Then Simon spoke, the words handed down for many generations, and the ceremony began.
By the time he was directed to “kiss the bride”, Michael’s heart rate had lessened and he had found his feet once more. He was exactly where he wanted to be, surrounded by a new family and holding the hand of his new bride.
He followed directions most precisely, giving his bride as romantic and passionate a kiss as he could manage. The attendees approved with a rumbling cheer.
“Oh my God, we’re married,” she stuttered as he drew back. “How? I don’t understand any of this.”
“Hush, Mrs Wynstanley. I’ll explain it all later. Or rather, Simon will. There are a lot of legal bits I don’t understand myself yet.” He leaned toward her ear. “I think some of it has to do with smudging the register in a few places. The rain, you know.”
“What rain?”
“Never mind.”
Since there was still a short Christmas service to come, Michael and Ariadne took the places assigned to them as newlyweds, front and centre of the Ridlington pew. The carols were familiar, the prayers joyous and uplifting. And when Simon gave the final blessing, Michael was surprised by the applause that rang through the church along with the cheers of “Merry Christmas”.
He couldn’t let go of Ariadne’s hand, he realised. He’d been holding it since they’d wed, and although he’d had to substitute a simple ring hastily borrowed from Rosaline’s jewel box, the mere sensation of “his” ring on her hand had thrilled him beyond measure.
“Let’s go, love.”
The occupants of the pew rose en masse, and filed out according to custom, picking up their cloaks before leaving. Simon was outside, wishing everyone good cheer, and promised to get back to the Chase as soon as he could.
“Don’t start the party without me,” he called after Edmund.
“We’ll wait. But not too long,” his brother grinned.
Luckily Simon was done quickly, and in less than an hour everyone was in the Ridlington dining room, around a table laden with the foods of the season.
A large fruit cake sat high above the dishes, and mistletoe was definitely the theme, since there were green icing leaves and lots of brown icing branches decorating it, along with silver ribbons and white bonbons.
“It’s lovely,” stuttered Ariadne, her eyes wide. She clung to Michael, her fingers tightly intertwined with his. “I’m…I’m in shock, I think.”
“Me too,” he answered. “But it’s what I wanted for us, my love. And I hope it’s what you wanted too.”
She smiled at him. “How could it not be? A real wedding, such happiness, a family…” she took a breath. “I have to stop. I’ll cry otherwise.”
“No tears today, my darlings.” Rosaline came up to them in time to hear Ariadne’s comment. “Love and happiness to you both. Now.” She glanced at the door. “Will you come and speak to Sir Arthur? He’s better today. Much better, I’m happy to say, and Edmund told him of your plans. I think he’d like to hear them from you.”
“He’s not the only one,” said Ariadne, flashing Michael a quick look. “We have plans?”
“Wonderful plans, Mrs Wynstanley. You’ll love them. Let’s go and tell Sir Cathbad.” He laughed as he drew her toward where the old man had taken a seat.
Hours later, after food, laughter, and the first Christmas he could remember being so filled with joy, Michael finally got to be alone with his wife. “Are you satisfied?” He struggled out of his jacket in front of the fire in Ariadne’s room which had become theirs.
She watched him and smiled. “Not yet.” Her tone was wickedly enticing.
“I meant with the living arrangements.” He slowly pulled his cravat loose, his eyes looking her up and down.
“Oh yes,” she nodded, undoing the buttons at her wrists. “I think it’s magnificently perfect. And Joshua will adore being the eldest of the cousins.”
“Will he like me, do you think?” He asked the question that had been at the back of his mind all day. “I have married his mama, and am now his papa, and he hasn’t even met me.”
“It will take some time,” she answered honestly. “But Joshua is a six-year-old boy who needs a good and loving father. You know what a good father should do and be, because you didn’t have one. I think the two of you will be fine.”
“There is work to be done at Scandal Manor,” Michael unbuttoned his waistcoat and slid out of it. “And our Sir Cathbad to care for.”
Ariadne pulled pins from her hair, letting the curls fall free. “Joshua also needs a grandfather, Michael. I can’t think of anyone better suited for the job than that lovely gentle man. And neither of us is afraid of hard work.”
He unfastened his shirt and tugged it from his breeches, watching her as he reached down to pull it over his head and toss it away. “And how do you feel about living there with me for a husband?” He undid his breeches.
“I can’t really answer at this moment.” She turned around, raised her arms and lifted her hair away from her shoulders. “I might be able to assess the situation with more accuracy if you’d be kind enough to unlace my gown. I think the snug fit is impairing my thinking…”
“If it’s a snug fit you’re complaining about, let me refer you to my breeches…” he muttered, fingers busy on the ties and buttons at the back of her gown.
“Then perhaps you should remove them, sir. I’d not wish for you to be uncomfortable…”
That was all it took.
Less than a minute later, Michael held his naked wife in his arms and tumbled with her onto the bed. “God, Ariadne, I feel as if I’ve waited a lifetime for this…” He ran his hands over her curves and made her shiver with desire.
&
nbsp; “Touch me—everywhere,” she urged, taking her own advice and stroking whatever skin she could reach.
The heat between them billowed and flared, their kisses inflamed them, their caresses stoking the blaze.
And when the new Mr and Mrs Wynstanley were united in the most magnificent of ways, Michael paused, closing his eyes and sinking as deep into the moment as he was into his wife.
“Ariadne. This is…where I belong.”
She caught her breath beneath him, her hands on his buttocks keeping him buried within her. “Michael, you fill all my empty spaces, not just this one.” She let her body clasp him tightly.
“Jesus,” he whispered, his hair falling over his face. “Do that again…”
Promising herself that she would be an obedient wife, Ariadne obeyed. Several times.
The results were most satisfying for both of them.
A while later, Michael disentangled himself from his wife and the bedding, both of which had become rather tumbled during their marital explorations of each other.
Ariadne chuckled. “Tired, husband?”
“Exhausted.” He put another log on the fire. “I may never recover.”
“Then come back to bed and let me hold you in my arms. If you’re going to expire, you might as well do it in comfort.”
He returned, sorting out the quilts and linens and tucking them both together into a snug cocoon of warmth. “What a Christmas,” he mused.
“The best ever,” she agreed.
“So many changes. And all because I took shelter in a tent and saw you in that mirror.”
“Oh my God.” Ariadne sat up, heedless of her nakedness. “Winnie and Rodney. What on earth do you think they’ll have to say about all this?”
Michael, confronted by the luscious sight of his new wife’s breasts, full and firm and just begging for attention, followed his instincts. He lifted himself up, turned her to him, and proceeded to pepper her with teasing kisses.
“Well, we won’t know until we tell them, will we?” He suckled a nipple, murmuring his delight.
“Ooh…no, I suppose…not…” Ariadne forgot about everything except the man in her arms.
Meanwhile, many miles away…
“Get the bags out, Rodney.” Winnie yelled down the hall as her husband came running.
“What? What’s wrong?”
“Nothin’, me darlin’. Not a damn thing.” She looked up from her crystal ball, and the image of naked lovers faded into nothingness. “Jes’ get yerself ready ter travel. We got a new ‘ome.” She glanced at the mistletoe on the little table beside the crystal. “Yer worked yer magic, didn’t yer? I knew yer would…I jes’ knew it…”
Epilogue
The Summer Solstice - 1818 - Scandal Manor, near Tilton Pond, Southern England
“Where’s your grandfather, Joshua?” Young Hugh Ridlington ran after his cousin, waving his rowan wand wildly in the air and yelling at the top of his lungs. “Oh, I see him. Wait for me…”
The two boys headed to a shaded corner of the field where an elderly man sat in state, a wreath of green leaves around his white hair and his matching beard tumbling softly down over a simple robe. He was smiling, his cheeks bright, his hand waving as his adopted grandchildren ran toward him and beside him sat an older woman with a similar wreath wrapped around her head.
“Sir Cathbad is relishing the day,” observed Mrs Ariadne Wynstanley to her sister-in-law Mrs Hecate Ridlington Casey. “And it would appear that Winnie is, too. I truly never imagined she and Rodney would become so attached to him.”
“He’s such a gentle soul. The children could not have a better example of good grand parenting.” She chuckled and then watched her daughter managing a few steps all by herself as she chased a butterfly. She dropped, her tumble softened by the green grass. Her giggle made both women smile.
“She’s a lovely magic child,” said Ariadne.
“I’m afraid she might be,” said Hecate wryly.
“If the magic’s there, it’s there, no point in fighting it.” said Ariadne. “We both know that better than most.”
Hecate nodded. “And at least I know how to help her manage it.” She glanced at Ariadne. “Do you think your future addition will have a little magic of their own?” Her gaze dropped to Ariadne’s still flat belly.
“How did you…” Ariadne’s eyes widened, then she burst out laughing. “Just don’t say anything yet please? It’s too early.”
“You have my word.” Hecate looked smug. “But all will be well, let me just assure you of that.” She reached out and picked up Ariadne’s hand, squeezing it reassuringly.
In concert, the two of them turned to observe the assembled gathering, all celebrating what everyone else would call Midsummer’s day. Here at Scandal Hall, however, it was the Summer Solstice, as proclaimed by their very own Arch-Druid…none other than Sir Cathbad.
The games, the fun and the food were basically the same, but there were rowan sticks for magic wands, lots of flower garlands for the ladies—which they all enjoyed, regardless of age—and an interesting ceremony at noon, when Sir Cathbad made an impassioned plea to the sun, at the peak of its power, to bless them all for the next twelve months.
Everyone endorsed the sentiment and cheered lustily, although many were privately wondering what the old man was blabbering on about. However, since he was a well-loved member of the little community, all were happy to go along with his antics. Besides, there was a keg of Chillendale ale to enjoy. Much could be forgiven if there was to be Chillendale ale.
“Yer girls keepin’ an eye on the little ones, then, are ye?”
Ariadne rolled her eyes. “Yes, dear worrywart. They’re having a lot of fun and quite safe.”
Winnie strolled by, her wreath now a bit lopsided. “That’s good then.” She glanced at the two of them and shook her head. “I gotta say there’s power ‘ere ‘round yer. Both of yer. Dunno if’n I should be ‘appy or bloody terrified.” With a shrug she walked on.
Hecate and Ariadne stared at each other for a moment or two, then laughed.
Michael Wynstanley walked along the side of the field with a tall man who gazed over at his wife as he heard the sound of her laughter.
“Seems the Irish know how to pick ‘em, doesn’t it?”
“That it does, Finn. That it does.” Michael nodded. “And yours has a lot more in the way of gifts than mine.”
“Jealous?” Finn’s wicked grin filled his sea-blue eyes.
Michael took a breath. “Of her gifts? No. And not of anything else either. Hecate’s a wonderful, lovely lass, and she’s a great mother to boot.” His eyes drifted to Ariadne. “But my own woman’s possessed of more magic than I could ever have imagined. She’s given me a son to love like he was my own.” He turned to Finn. “And if you’ll keep the business to yourself, she’ll be giving us another child to love early next year.”
Finn’s face lit up and he punched Michael in the arm. “There ye are, boyo. That Irish spirit works every time. Congratulations.”
Michael’s fierce eyebrows shot up as the man grabbed him and hugged him hard.
“Well. Um…thank you.” He chuckled at Finn’s exuberance. “Remember. I’ve not told the family yet, so this is under your hat for now.”
“And there it’ll stay, even though I’ll get hell in spades from Hecate if she finds out I knew before she did.”
James FitzArden approached them. “Stop hugging. It’ll give everyone ideas.”
Both men burst out laughing at his laconic rebuke. “Jealous, are you then, Sir James?” Finn opened his arms in invitation.
He held up his hand. “No. Don’t even consider it.” Then he pulled something from his pocket. “Here you are, Michael. As promised. The matter’s done.”
“Really?” Michael gulped and opened the letter.
“Really,” smiled James. “I think my London lawyers rather overwhelmed your wife’s relatives. They have sold the house for an excellent price, which is now secreted
away in an account at Coutt’s bank, for Joshua and all future Wynstanleys.” He grinned. “Damned good interest rate too. It’ll be a grand nest egg when Joshua reaches his maturity.”
“James, I don’t know how to thank you.”
“No need, old lad. You’re family.”
“I am still trying to understand all that the word means, and you’ve added to it today. Thank you anyway.”
“More hugs?” inquired Finn hopefully.
James sighed as Michael laughed and the three men wandered on into the crowd of merrymakers trying to knock over a row of tankards with a wooden ball.
Edmund, Baron Ridlington, sat on a blanket beneath a tree with his arm around his wife. Baroness Ridlington was wearing a very comfortable floppy hat she’d borrowed from the baker’s wife and enjoying a crisply baked pastry filled with summer apples. Her husband took a bite. “That is one remarkably fine pie,” he observed, after chewing, moaning a little, and swallowing.
“Do you know you make that sort of sound when we’re in bed together?”
His eyebrows waggled. “You’re every bit as tasty, my love.”
Rosaline coloured, but rolled her eyes. “Smooth tongued devil.”
“Exactly.” He grinned. “And you love me for it.”
“Always have. Always will.”
Their eyes turned to the gathering before them. “This is a fun idea,” Rosaline remarked. “Midsummer Day. An important day for everyone hereabouts. I’m glad we’re celebrating, even though I’m disappointed you didn’t wear the robe Sir Cathbad had ready for you.”
“I might put it on later.” He looked innocent. “Of course I can’t wear anything beneath it.”
“Edmund, for a Baron you have an extremely naughty mind.”
“Rosaline, for a Baroness you have an amazing understanding of my extremely naughty mind.”
Rosaline leaned over, kissed her husband soundly, and then repeated herself. “Always have, always will.”
Edmund kissed her back and then sighed. “I think we’ve done well, don’t you? It’s been a long time since that day in the graveyard when we first met…”
