He laughed and smoothed her hair with his fingers. “Once we are wed, I promise to do my best to tire you, Sarah.” He stepped back when she would rush forward. “Go home. I will call on you tomorrow. Keep your father at home, for I will find it necessary to talk to him.”
“But there are people in the hall, Alaric. If they see me, how will we avert scandal? I think I should stay until morning, when it would be safe for me to leave.” She flickered her eyelashes as Mrs. Whitsun had so often despaired of teaching her.
He laughed again, but continued to hold himself in check. Sarah thought marriage would cure him of that and smiled in a new way. “Minx! You'll be safer if you go. There's a huge tree outside the window. Do you think you could ... what am I saying?”
“Of course I can. I used to love to climb taller trees than that. The boys couldn't. You won't go tomorrow morning, will you?”
“Only to deliver an apology. I was angry but a man of my years cannot accept a challenge from such a boy. Although Harcourt may challenge me again when he learns I've stolen you away.”
“I'll tell him it was all my fault.” Sarah climbed over the sill and backed out, her toes feeling for each forking branch. Then her head popped up once more. “Say it again.”
“I love you, Sarah. Go home. I'll see you in the morning.” He watched her go down, sometimes extending a hand involuntarily when it seemed certain she'd fall.
But her swift surefootedness brought her safely down. She caught at her hat and waved farewell. He stood by his window until she was out of sight, then, flinging on his coat, Alaric ran down to the taproom. The sleeping tapster awoke with a start as a seeming madman shook his shoulder, demanding pen and ink. Alaric was sorry to wake him, but he had an apology to write.
In the morning, he dressed with extreme care and walked quickly toward the water-meadow, not waiting for Harold to come and show him the way. Halfway there, a figure slipped out from among the trees and took his hand. “Sarah, what are you doing here?”
She shook her head and stopped, still holding his hand. Alaric halted to turn back. It was morning. He kept his eyes open as they kissed, for Sarah in the early light was a glory made of God. Old prayers came back to him, and it seemed he heard the distant music of bells.
A couple of young men on horses cantered by, and then pulled up to stop. “What am I to do now?” Harcourt asked the air.
His twin answered. “You can't fight now. It's ridiculous.”
“I knew, somehow, she'd never have me.”
“Just as well, really. She doesn't understand what it is to have a poetic soul.”
“Hell, neither do I.”
“Nor does she really comprehend hunting, shooting, or fishing.”
“That's true.” Harcourt stared a moment longer at the man and woman embracing in the open. Then he looked at his twin brother. “I hear bells,” he said, considerably puzzled. Then two identical pairs of eyes opened wide. “Harmonia's wedding! Sarah! Sarah, the wedding!” Spurring their steeds, they dashed up to the others.
Alaric looked up first and put her behind him for safekeeping. But the twins regarded him without animosity, and soon he understood what they'd shouted. Sarah clutched his arm and said, “I've got to be there. Harold, Harcourt, could you take us up behind you?”
“Certainly,” Harcourt said. “Er, take my horse, my lord. I'll ride double with my brother.”
“Thank you, Mr. Phelps.” When the younger man dismounted, Alaric offered his hand and his letter. Harcourt turned red and scuffed his boots in the dirt.
“Don't do that!” Harold said sternly. “Come on, if we don't hurry, we'll be late!”
Unclouded now by any fears, Sarah realized the extent of her happiness, jouncing along pillion-style, her arms right around Alaric's waist. She laughed aloud for joy and heard his laughter answering. The twins won the race, but both horses reached the church before the last peal had been rung. Standing at the rear of the church, watching her brother and friend become united, Sarah leaned against Alaric. His arm came about her and he whispered, “Soon.”
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A Lady in Love Page 24
