Page 19 of The Forbidden Love of an Officer
She glanced at him. The colour of her eyes engaging with the last bluish light of the day. She was magnificent; he’d never seen a woman as beautiful as she. Every man in his regiment would envy him, and when he went into battle, he would have this beauty to come back to, to refresh his battered soul.
He held her hand again as they travelled the last few yards in silence, in the freezing cold carriage.
A few moments more and they would be safe. Married.
The carriage slowed and pulled up, sliding a little, and Paul braced his hand on the side, holding himself steady.
The forge was a squat, whitewashed building, only little bigger than a stable, with a thatched roof.
‘Stay here,’ he said as he let go of her hand.
He opened the door, climbed out and shut the door behind him, leaving Ellen inside until the arrangements were made. As he walked about the carriage, the blacksmith came out, wiping his hands on a rag. The man’s face and hands were stained with dark smut, and he wore a tarnished leather apron.
‘Ye looking to get y’urself hitched?’ The question was bluntly put, implying this man had done the deed a thousand times.
‘Yes. Will you bear witness?’
‘For a price… What will ye give me?’
What Paul offered first the man rejected. Paul’s uniform marked him as an officer, and Paul would guess the man assumed he had enough to pay more. But unwilling to throw money away, Paul haggled until they reached a price he was prepared to agree.
‘Bring your woman,’ the blacksmith said as they shook hands, ‘and let’s get it done.’
After handing over the payment, Paul turned to the carriage. Ellen watched from the open window. His heart jolted and a tight sensation clasped his chest – elation. He smiled. Her smile rose like sunshine in answer, cutting through the dusk. She was not only externally beautiful, her beauty shone from inside her too. She was like a brook of bubbling joy that spilled over into a refreshing pool he wished to bathe in. It was like slipping away from the army camp on the edge of war to swim naked in a cool river, to feel clean when you had been dirty for days.
The horses stamped at the ground and shook out their manes, rattling their harness and tack, restless from their hard ride. They whinnied into the cold air as Paul moved to help Ellen from the carriage.
The spare rider, already on the ground, had lowered the step, and now he opened the door for her.
‘Wait.’ Paul stopped the man with a hand on his shoulder to move him aside, then he lifted that hand to Ellen. ‘Will you marry me?’
Her smile shone in her eyes. If she had been unsure when they had left, she was not any more.
‘Oh, yes.’
‘Come then. Let me make you my wife.’
She laughed, holding his hand, then looking down to watch her step.
The snow crunched underfoot as he walked her to the forge, holding her hand as he might if they were parading about a ballroom. Of course they had never done that; she was not officially out. He had snatched her from the nest, as it were.
‘Stand here,’ the blacksmith called from within. The man had not washed his hands, or his face, and it meant he was absorbed in the shadows inside the forge. He stepped into the orange glow emanating from the fire. ‘There.’ He directed them to stand on the opposite side of an anvil.
Paul held Ellen’s hand more firmly, his fingers weaving between hers, uniting them before the words were even said.
‘Have you a ring then?’
Yes, he had; where were his wits? Letting go of her hand, he took off his gloves, as she removed hers. He took the ring from the inside pocket of his coat. It was a simple band of gold, nothing special.
A plump woman came into the smithy through a door at the back, and as he and Ellen turned, she smiled. ‘Another couple come to exchange vows then.’ Two young children followed her. A girl who was probably eight or nine, and a boy of about five.
‘Aye,’ the blacksmith answered in a gruff voice. The children hovered near their mother, watching as she came closer.
‘Margaret can bear ye witness too,’ the blacksmith said, calling Paul’s attention back. ‘Say y’ur piece and I’ll pronounce ye man and wife.’ The cold dispassionate words turned Paul’s stomach. He needed this to feel a little more than something rash and hurried. He wanted it to be a moment Ellen would look back on with fondness. He wished to make a memory they could treasure their entire lives.
He faced her, searching for the right words. Words that would profess all he felt, but he had never been a poet. ‘I love you, Ellen.’ Her eyes searched his, shining orange in the low light of the smithy, and her lips pressed together, slightly curved. A few strands of her hair had fallen about her face, the ebony curls caressing her jaw and neck. His chest filled with a warm sensation. Her beauty could steal his breath away.
‘I promise to protect you. I swear I shall cherish you every day of my life. You may trust me, you may rely on me. I am yours. I wish to give myself to you – my life to you. Will you be my wife? Will you marry me?’
