Page 35 of Never Kiss a Scot
Lang spoke more loudly. “For as much as this man and this woman have consented to go together by giving and receiving a ring, I, therefore, declare them to be man and wife before God and these witnesses, in the name of the father, son, and Holy Ghost, amen.”
Brock’s smile grew into a wide grin, and he leaned over the anvil, pressing his lips to hers. A sudden clang startled them both, and they jumped apart as much as their bound hands would allow. Lang chuckled and put away his heavy blacksmith hammer.
“We just need to complete your certificate, and then you are free to leave.” Lang motioned the two witnesses over, and they signed after Brock and Joanna. Lang rolled a sheet of blank paper over the wet ink on their certificate to help it dry, then bound the certificate with a black ribbon and handed it to Brock.
“Congratulations, my lord. I suggest you rent a room at the Queen’s Head Inn, have your horses seen to, and then…your bride seen to.” He winked at Brock, who chuckled. When Joanna and Brock left the blacksmith shop, she paused.
“What did he mean when he said I needed seeing to?”
Her husband—how strange and exciting it was to think of him like that—laughed and swept her into his arms, kissing her.
“He means the consummation, lass. We have a long night ahead, but don’t worry, I will be a good and caring husband.”
Before she could respond, he was tugging her along, their bound hands still clasped together as they took their horses to the stables next to the inn. Brock handed the waiting groom a handful of coins, and once they left the horses, they walked around to the front of the inn.
The Queen’s Head was a large inn, and the common room was bustling. Joanna expected to be stared at because of their newly married state, but the crowd dining there must have been well acquainted with the sight of new couples because they were practically ignored. Brock rented a room and ordered some food to be sent up. He hurried Joanna upstairs and she ran into Brock’s back when they halted at the door to their room. He opened the door and ushered her inside, and she swallowed hard as she tried to stay calm.
“I’ll have our bags brought up from the stables and a hot bath readied for you,” Brock said. “I know you’ve worn the same dress for three days.”
Joanna blushed with mortification. She must look and smell dreadful by now. She’d been so focused on racing to Gretna Green that she had been able to think of little else.
“Thank you. I would like that.”
He reached between them, gently pulling at the bonds of the pink satin ribbon until it loosened, then released its hold over their bound wrists. Blood smeared both of their palms, and Brock examined her hand.
“When I return, I’ll see to your hand.” He brought it to his lips, kissing her knuckles tenderly. “My brave bonnie lass.” He quickly exited the room to see to their bags.
Joanna stood in the center of the room, trembling despite the warm weather.
I am married. It is done.
Ashton had not reached them in time. She hadn’t wanted him to, but she felt a twinge of guilt knowing he would soon be here, and he would be furious when he found them.
While Brock was gone, she removed her cloak and examined her appearance in the small mirror on the washstand. Her hair was a tangled mess. With a sigh, she began removing pins and combing her fingers through the strands. She was still plucking pins from her hair when Brock returned and set their leather bags on the floor. He knelt by Joanna, and she recognized the bag he dug through as hers. He found her silver-and-pearl-handled hairbrush and held it out to her.
“Thank you.” She took the brush, holding it against her chest for a moment, feeling shy now that she was alone in a bedroom with him.
“A lad is on the way up with buckets of hot water for the bath.” He pointed toward a copper tub in the corner. He then stood and came over to the washstand and poured water into the porcelain basin. “Let me see to your hand.”
Joanna held out her injured palm, and he carefully washed the blood away. Then he pulled a small flask from his coat pocket and looked at her.
“This will sting a wee bit,” he warned before he poured whiskey over the cut. Joanna bit her lip hard, but she refused to make a noise. Then he dabbed the cut and returned to his bag, where he retrieved a small black glass jar. He opened it and dipped a finger into the white substance and rubbed it over the cut.
“This will help you heal.” Then he ripped up a bit of a white handkerchief from his pocket and bound it tight around her palm.
“What about you?” She caught the wrist of his own injured hand.
He shrugged. “I’ll tend to it later.”
“No, please, let me help you. I’m your wife now. We did pledge to care for each other, didn’t we?” Her heart pounded hard as she waited for him to respond.
Brock’s lips curved in a teasing smile. “Aye, we did.” He extended his cut palm over the basin. She cleansed his wound, poured whiskey over it, dried it, and rubbed the cut with his salve, and then she wrapped it securely with the remainder of the handkerchief. She held his hand in her own injured palm, a further bond between them. She met his gaze, and she saw an invitation in the burning depths of his eyes.
“Joanna,” he whispered, the single word betraying his ardor, and she trembled as he reached for her.
Someone knocked on the door. With a curse, Brock stepped back and opened the door. Three lads came in, each carrying a pair of buckets. They poured the water into the tub and exited after Brock slipped them some coins.
“Bathe now, and I’ll see that we have a fire lit so you willna catch cold.”
