Page 20 of Papa's Captive
She gazed around, her mouth open in a small O of astonishment. “I have never been so far from home,” she gasped.
“Uh-uh, this is home now. Or it is for the next month.”
“Papa, wherever you are, will be home to me.”
He hugged her to his side, the dearest, sweetest woman in the world who was about to become his bride. He tucked her arm in his and they proceeded toward the center of town. He had heard tales of couples rushing to Gretna Green, the first town after crossing the border into Scotland, where the marriage laws were not so strict as they were in England, but this was his first time seeing it for himself. It truly was a spectacle.
As they approached the crowd around the blacksmith shop, he felt Rosie tense. Glancing down he saw that the wonder she had displayed moments before had vanished. She had gone pale and her beautiful, kissable lips were drawn into a straight line.
“Are you unwell, my Rosie?”
“Oh, no, of course not, Papa,” she replied, putting on a brave face. “I am simply a nervous bride.” She smiled up at him and his heart melted. Soon, she would be his. Forever.
“Why are there so many people at the Smithy’s?” she asked, confused.
“People in Gretna Green often get married over the anvil.” When she gave him another confused look, he explained further. “As long as there are two witnesses to the vows, a marriage can be performed by anyone in Scotland. The Smithy tends to be the most popular place.”
“Oh,” she said, disappointed. She glanced around the town and then pointed toward a steeple. “I have always hoped to be married in a church, Papa. ‘Twould make me feel like a real bride.”
William paused and studied his little Rosie. He wondered if he had done the wrong thing, dragging her away for a secretive marriage. Surely no little girl had ever dreamed of being married by a blacksmith. His Rosie deserved the best—his best—and he vowed to never forget that for the rest of his life. “Of course, my darling. Would that I had thought of it myself.”
They skirted around the throngs and down a side street to the vicarage and knocked upon the door.
* * *
For about thehundredth time during the carriage ride from Gretna Green to Papa’s castle, Rosie glanced down at the slim gold band circling her finger. She was married! Lady Caldwell, to be precise. A shiver of excitement trickled down her spine.
She looked up to see Lord Caldwell, her papa, studying her, a gentle smile on his lips. “I know your band is rather plain,” he said, “once we reach the castle I shall retrieve my mother’s jewels from the safe and you may have your pick of a more suitable ring.”
“I thank you, Papa, for the generous offer,” she said, “but I cannot imagine liking any ring better than this one. It is the one you put on my finger as we said our vows. Nothing can replace it, not diamonds or rubies or pearls.”
“Nothing can replace you, my sweet little bride.” Papa, drew her to him and lowered his mouth to cover hers. Though this was far from the first time Papa had kissed her since they had left Talcott House in a rush, the contact still sent a delicious thrill through her body. She imagined it always would. In Papa’s arms where she belonged.
Dared she to hope their happiness would last forever?
Before she could delve into that thought any further, Papa deepened the kiss, his tongue sending spirals of warmth through her body and directly to her private parts. Rosie squirmed in her seat, trying not to think too much about the dampness forming there. What would Papa say if he knew about her shameful wetness?
Whenever Papa kissed her, especially the long kisses where his tongue explored her mouth, an ache moved through her body and sometimes she felt like she could almost relieve it. There was a buildup as her heart raced and her pulse thundered, as though she was almost on the edge of an explosion that would satisfy the achy need, and allow her some relief, but she never quite got there.
It was most exasperating. She wished to ask her papa about it, because he obviously knew a great deal about the world and many things which were foreign to her, but she was not sure she even had the words, let alone the courage, to attempt to talk about such a mysterious and shameful thing.
Ever since she had met Papa, her body had been doing and feeling strange things, the longing for more lingering just below the surface.
The carriage came to a halt and Papa reluctantly ended the kiss. “We are home, my darling,” he whispered against her mouth.
Home. The word sent a new and different thrill down her spine.
They alighted from the carriage and Rosie got her first look at Craigmul Castle. Though it was the middle of the night, the windows shone with the golden light of what must have been a thousand candles, giving it an ethereal glow like a mystical fairyland rising in the middle of the darkness.
“Oh, Papa.” She gaped up at the turrets dotting the exterior. The aroma of fires burning wafted through the air as smoke emanated from several chimneys and floated toward the full moon.
Papa slipped his arm around her waist. “Do you like it?”
“Yes, Papa, I love it.” She turned to face him, her hands resting on his chest. “I have never been so happy. Thank you.”
