Page 9 of The Forbidden Love of an Officer (The Marlow Family #7)

She laughed even more as he brushed the snow away, and some clung to his eyelashes and brows. A look of retribution slipped across his face, although his blue eyes glinted with laughter and a smile hovered at the corners of his mouth.

His smile parting his lips, he gripped her shoulders and tumbled her backwards so she fell onto the snow. He fell with her, on top of her, though he did not crush her.

All the air left her lungs as her gaze caught his.

Laughter no longer lingered in his eyes, but something else shone in them, something deep, warm and heartfelt.

Her laughter died too, a moment before his lips pressed to hers.

It was unlike any kiss they had shared in the carriage.

They lay on a green before the inn, with several cottages about them.

He just pressed his lips over hers for a moment.

But the pressure of his body, the knowledge that last night he had killed a man and knowing that in a few hours they would be married, fought a battle to dominate her emotions. Her heartbeat drummed.

He rolled away, knelt, then stood. He offered her his hand. She accepted it and he pulled her onto her feet, then dusted the snowflakes from her cloak.

It had been good to laugh. She had needed laughter, and perhaps he had known.

Perhaps he had needed laughter too. Her beautiful, elemental, warrior was not invincible.

He did feel pain over the loss of life, which meant he must be weighed down by memories.

She would protect him too, love him and comfort him, and she would make him happy.

‘We had better be on our way,’ he prompted, his voice implying the threat which still hung over them, of being caught by her father.

‘Things will be good between us, Ellen. I promise. I know last night was abhorrent to you. Death is a terrible thing, no matter that a man is your enemy and trying to kill you. I hope you will not have to face it often, and I will do everything I can to protect you. I love you.’

‘I know. I love you too.’

She could face living on the edge of a battlefield, as long as he endured fighting on one, and when he came back she would help him fight the ghosts.

‘You will withstand, Ellen, and we will be happy. I swear it.’

* * *

It had turned to dusk as the carriage dashed the last few miles towards Gretna.

Paul mentally willed the horses to gallop faster.

The carriage rolled far too slowly. There had been no more snow, thank God , and no thaw to make the roads turn to a quagmire of muddy slush, but even so the weather slowed their pace.

The tracks they travelled over were hard yet slippery, so they could not race at full tilt.

Hurry. Hurry . He still had no idea if her father followed. But they had lost time last night and it would be the worst thing to be caught just before Gretna.

Come on. Faster.

He wanted to jump out and pull the horses. Come on!

Ellen sat beside him, and his hand held hers, probably too tightly. He relaxed his grip. He knew she was anxious too. They both sat forward on the seat, looking from opposite windows, listening for the noise of a carriage or riders in pursuit.

Hurry up. Come on.

Ellen glanced at him. He smiled, trying to reassure her, though he doubted he succeeded, because he was not sure they would make the Scottish border.

Once they were across, they just needed to find another person to witness them pledging themselves to each other, and in Scotland that meant they were married.

Where they made their vow and before whom did not matter, it was a legal bond.

Anyone could bear witness to a wedding under Scottish law.

As long as the bride was older than five and ten.

So if he and Ellen stood before a Scotsman and said they wished to marry, then the deed was done.

They had no need for parental consent or a priest.

They had left Carlisle behind hours ago. They could not be far from Gretna, which was the first village in Scotland, the place where all runaways searched for a witness.

Come on.

Night had begun to creep across the sky, and he was not sure they would find a witness if they crossed after dark.

Would anyone rise from their bed at night to perform the favour, and confirm the ceremony?

For enough money, maybe; but he would be spending the precious funds he needed to clothe Ellen.

Heaven knew he had spent enough years penniless during the Peninsular War.

He had only received his accrued arrears of wages a few weeks back, along with a small inheritance from a deceased aunt. Still, he was not rich.

The sky turned darker and became a bleak half-light. He saw the slightly darker line of the sea against the sky on the horizon. As the carriage rolled on he saw the inlet of a river mouth; the estuary which marked the Scottish border.

He looked at Ellen, the tension inside him spinning in a sudden eddy, disorientation tumbling over him for a moment. Ellen leaned across him and looked through the window on his side.

The driver slid the hatch open. ‘We’ve crossed the border, Captain.’

Thank God. ‘Hurry then. Stop at the first place you think we will find a witness.’

The carriage hurried on, travelling past the estuary, where a few small boats rested on the sand, left stranded by the low tide.

Paul let go of Ellen’s hand and drew the window down, to look ahead. They passed over the bridge beneath which the river ran out to sea. He saw nothing as the chill night air rushed into the carriage.

He heard Ellen slide down the opposite window. A harsh cold draft swirled through the carriage penetrating his clothing.

Come on, he urged the horses. He leaned out of the window and looked back along the track. There were no carriages, or horses, pursuing them.

‘I see something!’ Ellen called. ‘A little forge beside the road.’

He looked ahead and saw nothing on his side. Looking up at the box, he yelled, ‘Driver. We will stop at the forge!’

Slipping back into the carriage, he turned to Ellen.

She smiled broadly, her fingers holding the sill of the open window as the breeze swept a few loose strands of hair off her face. She had taken off her bonnet. It rested on the carriage seat between them.

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.