Page 51 of The Virgin in the Rake's Bed
“As soon as possible,” Ian said, and the landlord nodded.
“Then get yerselves to the smithy soon, for if darkness falls the blacksmith will nae marry ye both,” he said.
Catherine and Ian wasted no time, thanking the landlord and hurrying toward the smithy. It felt very strange to Catherine, who had attended many society weddings and was used to seeing her friends wedded in church before a minister. To exchange her vows in such a place would be odd, but Catherine knew she was doing the right thing. A marriage was a marriage, and in her love for Ian there was no doubt. They had risked much for this moment, not only their reputations, but their ties to family and friends, too.
“It is strange to think we are to wed without friends nor family. What will your mother say when she discovers it?” Catherine said.
“You are certain you want this?” Ian asked, and Catherine nodded.
“I have never been more certain about anything, but I just marvel at what we are to do,” she replied.
Ian turned to her and smiled.
“My mother and I do not speak, I have few friends, and those I do have will understand. It is you I want, Catherine, you and you alone,” he said, and smiled, and nodded.
“And that is all I want, too,” she replied. as they peered nervously into the smithy.
It was not a typical blacksmith’s forge, the tradition of marriage – and the income it brought – having long since dampened the fires. But a man was sitting in front of an anvil, reading a book by the light of an oil lamp hanging above. He looked up and smiled, beckoning them inside.
“Ye have come to wed, have ye?” he asked, and Ian nodded, explaining their situation.
“And so we are both here of our free volition,” he said, and the blacksmith laughed.
“I daenae judge those who come here to marry. I can see ye are in love, tis all that matters. Come now, stand together in front of the anvil and ye shall make yer vows,” he said, rising to his feet.
The smithy was lit only by an oil lamp, the anvil smooth and polished. The floor was of cobbles, and the walls were of rough stone. It must have once been just what it was intended for – a smithy with roaring forge, resounding to the clang of metal. But now, it was a place of marriage, and Catherine knew she was but one of many to have passed through the doors and made her vows there. She joined hands with Ian, the two of them standing before the anvil, as the blacksmith cleared his throat.
“Do not be nervous,” Ian whispered, for Catherine’s hands were trembling.
The blacksmith had called for his assistant and a girl who was milking cows in a dairy across the street to be their witnesses, and now he cleared his throat, addressing them without a prayerbook or any other words in front of him.ν“What are yer names?” he asked, and they told him, “And do ye come here of yer own free will and accord?” – they nodded.
Catherine’s heart was beating fast, and she felt the tears rising in her eyes. It was not the wedding she had imagined for herself, but it was everything her heart desired. “Of my own accord,” she said, and the blacksmith smiled.
“And so, Ian Bennet, I ask ye dae ye take this woman to be yer lawful wedded wife, forsaking all others, kept to her as long as ye both shall live?” he asked.
“I do,” Ian replied, and the blacksmith asked Catherine the same question of Ian.
“I do,” she replied, glancing at Ian, and smiling.
Next came the exchange of a ring – a simple gold band which Ian had brought with him from London as a surprise – and further promises, before the blacksmith – known as the anvil-priest – pronounced them man and wife.
“And may that which is joined, be never put asunder,” he said, stepping back with his hands outstretched.
Ian turned to Catherine, taking her in his arms and kissing her. The two witnesses offered their congratulations before leaving the smith, evidently often called on to witness just such a ceremony.
“I love you,” whispered Catherine, and Ian kissed her.
“I love you, too, and you heard the words – nothing will lay asunder what we have,” he said, turning to the blacksmith and offering him a purse of coins.
“I hope ye will both be very happy together,” the blacksmith said, smiling at them both.
It felt strange to step out of the forge as man and wife. There were no clanging church bells, no thunder of an organ, no rice thrown in celebration. Just Catherine and Ian, walking hand in hand along the darkening street toward the inn. She could not have felt happier in that moment, married to the man she had come to love so unexpectedly and whom she could no longer imagine being without.
“I am sorry it was not the marriage you imagined it would be,” he said, but she shook her head.
“It was perfect, it was everything a marriage should be. I have attended society weddings, full of show and ceremony, but behind the façade, there was only unhappiness. It would have been my fate, too, if you and I had not met in that chance encounter. I would have been the bride forced to smile and make herself appear the happiest of women, when underneath I had nothing but sorrow in my heart. That was to be my fate, and you have released me from it,” she said, her arm slipped into his, her head resting on his shoulder.
“And now we must celebrate this happy day,” he said, as they paused outside the inn, and he turned to her and kissed her.
