Page 102 of The Miracle of Love
“Come on, love. Let’s get you settled at the inn.”
They had stopped in Penrith, a lively market town not too far from their destination. Since Deklan seemed to be familiar with every town in England, she was not surprised when he secured a room for them at one of the finest lodgings to be found in Penrith. Nor was she surprised when the innkeeper hurried forward to greet him. “Mr. Quinton, good to see you again.”
Deklan then introduced her as his wife.
She was not certain the innkeeper believed him, but the man said nothing. Since they had gotten off the mail coach and were not far from the Scottish border, it was not a stretch for him to recognize they were en route to be married tomorrow.
But not married yet.
Deklan sighed as the man hurried off to summon a maid. “Grace, he is not thinking of us at all beyond the nice fee he will make from me. I’ve asked for his best guest chamber, ordered our meals sent up, and ordered baths for each of us. He is already counting the coins that will shortly be jingling in his pockets. As for me, I can hardly breathe for all the pounds of dust on me.”
She nodded. “I dare not pat my gown for the ball of dust certain to rise from it. But–”
“No fretting, love. I could have brought along a goat instead of you and he would not have asked a single question.”
“Deklan! That is ridiculous.”
He tweaked her chin. “My point is, you are the only one feeling the burden of our situation. Grace, I promise you. We shall be married by tomorrow.” He then finished signing them in as husband and wife. “I’m sorry it will not be a finer wedding. You deserve the best, but in this instance, I dare not wait before making you mine.”
“Nor do I. The first blacksmith’s shop we find upon crossing into Scotland is perfect.” She reached up and kissed him on the cheek. “It will be the best ceremony ever performed. I do not care if we are caked in mud and smell like a pig farm…but thank you for ordering baths. I might choke on this dust if I do not get it off me soon.”
She could not deny it felt good to retire to bed having been scrubbed clean and her hair thoroughly washed. An added touch was the scented soaps, and although her favorite was a Farthingale strawberry scent, the lemon one provided for her was also nice.
Deklan’s had a bay rum scent that had her silently wishing the inn’s helpful staff would disappear so she could ravage his body, which she would have done had she not fallen asleep before her head hit the pillow.
She must have been more tired than she realized.
No doubt the excitement of their journey had worn her out.
She spent the night dreaming of Deklan.
She awoke the next morning to his kisses and playful nudging. “Good morning, my sleepy love. Still want to marry me?”
“Good morning.” She kissed him and wasted no time in tossing off her covers to ready herself for the day ahead. “Oh, Deklan, can you believe it? This is our wedding day. I am going to hold my breath until the ceremony is over.”
“Worried that some bounder like the Duke of Wooton might interfere with our plans?”
“Do you think he would?”
“No, love.”
To her relief, no one did.
By early afternoon they crossed into Scotland and their carriage stopped in front of a blacksmith shop in Gretna Green.
A light mist fell and the day was gray and dreary.
To Grace, it was the most beautiful day they’d had all year.
They entered the blacksmith’s shop and could take no more than two steps in because of the other couples ahead of them.
These ceremonies moved fast and it was soon their turn.
This was not the wedding Grace had ever planned on, but she had not a single complaint because she was about to become Deklan’s wife.
“I do,” she said in response to the blacksmith’s question and breathlessly awaited Deklan’s turn.
He took her hand and cast her an appealingly tender smile.
