Page 36 of The Autumn Wife (King’s Girls #3)
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Aprisoner in the morning, a bride by evening.
Cecile bolted off the porch of the Girard cabin, sweeping up the skirts of the silk brocade dress Marie had lent her, with its looped overskirt and pretty yellow ribbons.
She raced toward Theo, standing amid guests by a cooking fire, wearing the attire of a free man, with brass buttons on his cloak and buttery boots on his feet.
Her footsteps pounded on the grass and her skirts flew in the breeze of her passing, but she couldn’t reach him fast enough.
Under a thinning canopy of blazing autumn leaves, the sun spit out just enough gentle warmth to melt a thin layer of snow.
She raced past the trestle table set with pewter dishes waiting to be plated with venison now roasting on a spit.
Pumpkin fritters cooled in bowls, rustic bread had been thickly sliced, and bottles of wine gleamed in the dappled light.
Such a post-wedding feast, cobbled together by Genny’s woodland skill, Marie’s swift planning, and Marietta’s boundless generosity.
The gathered sisters of the congregation giggled as they witnessed Cecile hurling herself toward her lover.
Sister Martha raised a cup.
Etienne, leaning against the trunk of an oak with the baby porcupine in his arms, laughed even as he lowered his head in mortification.
To think, only hours ago, she had been wearing a wrinkled, dirty dress, her hair tangled, her wrists bearing the marks of shackles, while speaking vows before a priest and witnesses.
Everyone who’d been at the court had joined the wedding—following Talon, who’d purposefully led everyone to the fort chapel himself, to ensure her and Theo’s vows were consecrated.
After, everybody had gone to the tavern to toast the marriage. Several of the coureur de bois witnesses had graciously stood them a drink. How funny it had been to see the nuns gathered amid a clutch of woods runners and Huron traders, shooting back wine in a smoky public house.
And now, finally, they’d all made their way to the Girard house in a flotilla of woods runners’ canoes. With Marie’s help, Cecile had changed into better clothes. Now she fought her hampering skirts to run as fast as she could toward her husband.
He flung his arms wide as she approached, caught her with a laugh, and swung her in a circle so wide that her dress flew in an arc around them.
She felt his breath against her ear. “My darling Ceci.”
Her feet hit the ground but he did not release her.
She touched his jaw, his cheek, the flaring crinkles on either side of his eyes, hardly believing he was real. That this was real.
“The first time I saw you, you were racing—just like this—to save Etienne.” He tightened his grip. “That’s when I fell in love with you.”
She laughed, loving the words even if they were beautiful nonsense.
“It’s true,” he countered, playfully pinching her chin. “Though I didn’t know it then. I thought I’d been knocked senseless or something.”
His mouth claimed hers, swallowing another rippling laugh.
She shoved her fingers into his hair, mussing tendrils free of the leather tie that held it back, not caring that whistles and gasps and throaty laughter erupted around them. They were married. They would make love tonight, and she could barely wait and she didn’t care who knew.
Her heart lifted like a song.
“Enough of that—for now,” Marie announced, tugging on Cecile’s arm. “We’re all starving. It’s time to feast!”
With a cheer, the crowd gathered around the trestle table. Marie led Cecile to the head, while Sister Martha pulled Theo away to the foot. Cecile dug in her heels to follow him, but Marie held her fast.
“You are not sitting together.” Marie raised her brows like Cecile had seen her do while scolding her toddler son. “If you do, you’ll kiss and kiss, and you won’t eat a bite. You’ll need strength for the evening to come, Ceci, and it’s my job to see you’re properly fed.”
This is what it is to be loved.
Overflowing with feeling, Cecile squeezed her friend’s hand and slipped into a hard-back chair draped in a garland of red, gold, and russet leaves. Everyone else kicked a leg over the benches on either side of the trestle table. Wine had already been poured in tankards.
Etienne set the porcupine in the protection of the nearby woods and then jogged toward an empty seat on her left. Rather than sitting as the rest of the crowd already had, he seized his tankard and raised it.
“A toast,” Etienne said, in a too-manly voice. “For my mother on her wedding day. And for the man she has chosen to marry.” He swung his tankard toward the other end of the table. “The man for whom, from this day forward, I will call Father.”
Delighted gasps rose up amid the crowd as Cecile struggled not to drown in an ocean of happy tears. She blinked and blinked, but Etienne’s flushed and flexing features went blurry in her sight.
She reached for his hand. “I’m so—” Hiccup “I’m so proud of you, Etienne.”
Etienne’s tankard hit the table. He swooped down for a hug, burying his face in her hair.
She wrapped her arms around him—they didn’t quite reach anymore.
She told herself it was the awkward angle, because she was seated and he bent over her.
But she knew better. A thousand memories flooded through her.
Etienne as a boy sitting on her lap, smelling of mud and grass.
Etienne chasing grasshoppers in a field of hay, the sunlight shining on his head.
Etienne’s high-pitched voice when he called her Mom for the first time.
Though her heart squeezed at thoughts of the boy now gone, she felt doors opening inside her, a wave of acceptance for something that had always been inevitable. Her sweet child had grown into a strong and honest man.
“Son.”
Theo’s voice, from just above them.
Etienne peeled away from her and loomed up, his fathomless black eyes uncertain as he looked at Theo.
Theo opened his arms.
A spasm crumpled Etienne’s features, right before her son stepped into the embrace. Gasps and sniffs and sobs echoed up and down the table, followed by applause.
“Blessings to all of you,” Marie said from mid-table as the intensity of the moment shimmered. “Sister Martha, if you could lead the prayer?”
Theo headed back to the other end of the table, clearing his throat more than once before sitting.
Etienne swung a leg over the bench, swiping his eyes as a grin lit his face anew.
How bright fate shone down upon them all—Cecile could hardly believe her good fortune.
After the blessing, Marie cried out, “Let’s eat!” and Cecile startled as the person to her right slipped a slice of venison onto her plate.
“Red meat for you,” Genny said, winking. “There’s more of that coming.”
Cecile slid a hand over Genny’s deerskin sleeve and squeezed. They’d managed to talk a little at the tavern, but Cecile had wasted too much time scolding Genny for taking such a great risk by going into the fort courtroom.
Genny had just shrugged and joined in the tavern singing.
In the long separation, Cecile had almost forgotten how lively Genny was, so full of humor and confidence and life.
“No more dodging questions.” Cecile released her friend and picked up a knife to dig into the meat. “How did you get involved in all of this?”
Genny shrugged, took a bite of a pumpkin fritter, and spoke around it.
“André and I arrived a few days ago to pick up trading supplies.” Genny dropped her knife and accepted the bread basket as it came around, taking a piece for herself and tossing a second slice on Cecile’s plate.
“Our plan had been to get our business done in Montreal quietly—and we’d done that.
But since the captain’s place is remote enough to be safe, I insisted on visiting Marie before heading west.”
“Ah.” Cecile glanced down the table to where Marie and Lucas bent their heads toward each other. “Marie arranged everything, didn’t she?”
“She helped, yes, but she didn’t lead the charge.
” Genny’s eyes danced as she tilted her head toward the other end of the table.
“Your Theo planned everything, and Etienne spread the word as far as Quebec. If the gathering of supporters hadn’t set you free at the courtroom, Theo would have abducted you from the fort. With our help.”
Genny gestured to André beside her. The two of them looked every lean inch like lifelong woods runners, fearless and up for any caper.
“To be honest,” Genny said, “I was hoping we’d get to break you out. Then we would have led you and Theo into the wild to live with us in Chequamegon Bay. I miss you, Cecile.”
“I miss you, too.” As much as she’d live anywhere with Theo, Cecile was glad the plan had gone differently. Unlike Genny, she didn’t think she would make a very good deep-wilderness wife. “The captain has offered us some land next to his. I think I’m better suited here.”
“And I’m thrilled you’ve found a place to call home. That’s what is most important, right?” With a wink, Genny deposited fried pumpkin fritters beside the bread and meat on Cecile’s plate. “Eat up, now. That’s a big man you’ve fallen in love with.”
“My goodness.” Cecile slid a glance Etienne’s way, but her son only ducked his head to hide his grin. “You and Marie, you’re both shameless.”
Genny tilted back her face, bronzed and freckled, and laughed with her mouth open. How stunning her friend was. And how happy, too, she realized, as Genny glanced back to check on her babe, snugly strapped on a cradleboard propped up against a tree.
All three King’s Girls, Cecile thought, were a thousand times blessed.
Feeling like a big floating fluffy cloud of joy, Cecile dug into the feast before her, chatting with Genny and André, noticing out of the corner of her eye how Etienne’s gaze kept shifting down the table toward a raven-haired girl about his age.
Inevitably, her own attention was drawn to Theo at the far end of the table, where it stayed.