My Dangerous Duke (48 page)

The blacksmith eyed them warily and set aside his hammer. “Ye two have aught to do with that sea battle out yonder?” he asked, nodding toward the coast.

“What sea battle?” Rohan echoed with an innocent lift of his eyebrows.

The big Scot snorted, but they soon convinced him to do the honors. Since their gold had been left behind along with most of their supplies in the Tomb’s collapse, Rohan had to barter with what few items he carried on his person. He offered the blacksmith his favorite dagger in exchange for his services as wedding officiate.

Kate’s eyes shone with eagerness as the blacksmith tested the dagger, examining it with a skeptical eye. At length, he nodded to Rohan, accepting the trade.

“Ye must ’ave two witnesses.”

Rohan turned around and surveyed the crowd of onlookers who had gathered around the opening of the forge to watch the proceedings of these odd-looking outsiders. “You. And you there. Would you do us the honor of being our witnesses?”

“Me?” a scruffy shepherd asked, brightening.

Kate fought laughter, exchanging a twinkling look with Rohan as the two country fellows joined them.

Rohan put them in place on either side of them while a village child fed a carrot to the pony.

An old lady shuffled over and handed Kate a tiny purple flower of some sort. “There you are, dearie.”

“How kind, thank you!”

“Have ye got the ring for ye bonny lass? ’Tis a requirement,” the blacksmith rumbled with a great Scottish rolling of his r’s.

“Oh, right. I, ah, don’t suppose there’s a jeweler’s around here,” Rohan mumbled with an awkward glance at Kate.

She brightly offered him the flower. “You could tie the stem into a knot!”

“Ach, we can do a wee bit better than that.” The blacksmith shot her unprepared fiancé a disapproving look, but she sensed his amusement. A festival atmosphere was coming over the growing crowd. To be sure, this was the most excitement the tiny town had seen in months.

The blacksmith reached into one of his rugged, dusty containers, took out a long, thin nail, and showed it to them. “Consider it me weddin’ present to the lass. Let’s hope she knows what she’s doin,’ ” he added dryly.

Rohan scowled, but Kate laughed as the blacksmith carried the nail over to his forge. Taking it between long black pincers, he held it in the fire until it glowed red.

When he pulled it out again and brought it over to the anvil, Rohan joined him. “May I? I’ve got a bit of a knack for this, as it happens.”

“Oh, do ye, now?” the blacksmith asked in amusement, but he let him try his hand.

Rohan picked up the hammer and whacked the little nail flat with a few well-aimed blows. She watched him in startled delight as he quickly changed to a smaller tool and began shaping the flattened scrap of metal into a circle.

The man never ceased to amaze her.

When he had joined the two ends of it, the blacksmith took over to refine Rohan’s work, smoothing the edges into a neat little ring. He let it cool in a vat of water, but within a quarter hour, they had the necessary wedding band.

“This is only temporary,” Rohan assured her as he came to stand beside her, showing it to her.

“Nonsense. I adore it.” Her heart danced.

“It’s a nail, darling.”

“It’s my wedding ring!” she protested mildly. “I don’t care that it’s not gold. My husband made it for me. I shall treasure it always.” She took his arm and stood beside him, beaming.

“If everyone is ready!” the blacksmith bellowed sternly, coming to the edge of the forge.

“I am,” Rohan said at once.

“Me, too.”

“Me, three,” their shepherd witness chimed in.

The other nodded with an eager smile.

“All right, then.”

The quick and tidy ceremony ensued.

Kate narrowed her eyes, listening for all she was worth. She had to strain her ears to understand the blacksmith’s speedy, mumbled words with his Scottish burr. In fact, she was not entirely sure just what she was agreeing to, but as long as it meant that Rohan would be with her forever, she was all in. She loved him with all she had, and joining her life to his this way, in this adorable place at the edge of the world couldn’t have been more perfect for, well—the way it was with them.

“And do ye pledge yer troth to be married for a year and a day?”

“No!” they both exclaimed at once.

The crowd hurrahed.

“Year and a day, my foot,” the bride huffed in playful indignation.

The blacksmith glanced from Kate to Rohan with a flicker of surprise in his bright blue eyes; it was only then he seemed to realize that they were actually serious. This was no trial marriage or some juvenile game, as Scottish elopements frequently were.

“Aye, then. For as long as love may last?” he ventured, another common pledge.

“No.” Rohan looked at Kate. “I pledge my troth to you, Miss Katherine Fox, forever.”

“Well, then,” the blacksmith murmured. “And you, young lady, do ye pledge ye troth to ’im?”

“Forever, yes, I do!” Kate said breathlessly.

“Then, I now pronounce ye man and wife!”

Their witnesses and whole country crowd cheered as Rohan drew Kate into his arms and planted a big, dusty kiss on her lips. She returned it, giggling, and wrapped her arms around him. Joy tingled along her nerve endings as he lifted her off her feet in his embrace and twirled her around in a circle, holding her up like she was his greatest prize. His pale eyes shone with his utter adoration of her as he set her down gently on her feet again.

Tucked under his ever-protective arm, she kept her own around his waist as someone produced a bottle of the local malt. Shot glasses appeared; Kate, dizzy with happiness, barely noticed as one of the cups was pressed into her hand. One sip made it apparent how these hardy folk descended from the Vikings kept warm in winter at this latitude.

Then the toasts began, the villagers showering them with blessings for their health, and shouting well-wishes of long life and many children.

Somehow, the drab day in that remote village, with its thatched roofs and single muddy road, became the warmest and brightest day of Kate Kilburn’s twenty-two years.

At length, Rohan asked if the village had an inn.

The whole crowd laughed knowingly, a thunder of merry innuendo. The scarlet blush that rose in Kate’s cheeks was due to more than the cold northern air and the few celebratory sips of whiskey.

Rohan put his arm around her and pressed a kiss to her temple with a manly laugh. They thanked the blacksmith again, then the whole band of their new Orkadian friends escorted them to the local inn at the other end of the village.

Kate and Rohan bid the crowd adieu and ducked inside, where the landlord, unaware of the impromptu festivities outside, furrowed his brow and puzzled over them.

The landlady nearly had an apoplectic fit at the dust they trailed in, thrusting them back outside to have their sealskin coats shaken out.

Only then were they allowed back into the establishment, though the innkeeper looked perplexed by Kate’s footman costume, even more so when Rohan asked if he’d be willing to barter.

Before long, he had traded two of his finest pistols for a night’s stay, some food, and tickets for the morning stagecoach. “We’ll need a bath sent up,” he added.

“Ye think so?” the landlord answered dryly as he handed them a room key.

Within an hour, they were both lounging in the large bathing tub, a bit cramped, but enjoying sharing the warm steaming water after half a ton of dirt had rained down on them in the Tomb’s collapse.

The bath was set near the fireplace in their quaint little bedchamber on the inn’s second floor. A stack of fresh towels waited nearby, along with a cozy tea service and a plate of bannocks and cheese.

“I think I’ll take a break from adventuring for a while when all this is over,” Kate mused aloud, leaning her wet head back against the rim of the tub.

“To concentrate on being a duchess?” He watched her with a lazy smile as he ran the soap up one gorgeously muscled arm.

“It may take some study,” she admitted. “I do hope one can
learn
how to be a proper duchess.”

“Kate. The Fibonacci sequence? Backwards Greek translation? Decoding rhyming couplets out of the bloody chart of elements? Trust me, you will have no trouble with the occasional charity ball and a ladies’ tea. And if you do, just ask Daphne, Rotherstone’s lady.”

“Was she one of the women in the carriage when we were leaving London?”

“Yes, and she happens to be a reigning expert on all things ton.”

She was silent for a moment. “Your friends are in the Order, aren’t they?”

“A fact that I must ask you to forget, my darling.”

“Of course,” she murmured. “Will it be like that much, do you suppose? That you’ll have to keep secrets from me about your work? I trust you, you know. I will understand.”

“I do trust you, completely,” he answered, gazing at her with gratitude. “I prefer to be open with you, but it might not always be possible. I’m glad you understand.”

“I’m proud of you,” she said earnestly. “But what do you think the Order will do when they find out you’ve married a woman with Promethean bloodlines?”

“Half-Promethean,” he reminded her, then he shrugged. “I suppose we’ll soon find out. I’ll just have to remind them that Count DuMarin paid the ultimate price for helping our side all those years ago. Surely he redeemed himself in their eyes. It’s not as if you’re Falkirk’s granddaughter. I’m sure they’ll want to ask you some questions to make sure they can trust you,” he added. “But you’re my wife. We’re a matched set now. If they want me, they take you, and there’s an end to it.”

She stared at him in wonder. “You’d give up the Order for me?”

“I’ve already lied to them for you. But don’t worry, I am fairly sure they’ll be appeased when we present them with the treasure trove of the Alchemist’s lost scrolls.”

“Which you say are in Westminster Abbey? I’ve never been in there.”

“Well, you’ll see it very soon. We leave for London on the stagecoach in the morning.”

The water rippled as she moved closer, draping her arms around his neck in steamy affection. “How ever shall we while away the hours until then, husband?”

He laughed softly, wickedly, but he soon carried her over to the bed. Moving under the covers, fully naked, their bodies still warm and damp from the bath, Rohan laid her down with endless kisses full of tender passion. As he made slow, deep, gentle love to her, he kept whispering, “I love you,” and it was so worth the wait to hear him say it at last.

Kate was in heaven, his strength covering her, his vulnerability safe in her hands. She yielded herself to him gladly, giving him all she was. As he urged her body toward completion, her heart was so full of helpless love for him that she wept with release.

They lay together afterwards, spoon fashion, in spent, glowing silence. Rohan was behind her, his arm draped over her waist, his palm resting on the mattress. She slid her hand atop his, idly comparing the size of their hands.

His was so much larger than hers, and yet, for all his power and strength, she knew he needed her in a way that was more than physical. She closed her eyes.

He nestled closer, nuzzling her neck, which he then kissed. “Happy?” he murmured.

“Oh, Rohan, yes. And you?”

“More than words could ever say, my precious wife. Get some sleep,” he whispered, leaning near to kiss her cheek.

“But it’s barely evening. How early do we leave?”

“It’s not that,” he chided in a whisper. “Rest up now, because I am going to want you again. Soon.”

She laughed and reached back to caress his face as the Beast bit her lightly on the shoulder.

 

The next morning, the stagecoach took them to the Orkney coast, where they caught the ferry to Aberdeen; they took passage the following day aboard a packet ship, which, in turn, brought them down to the port at Great Yarmouth.

Back on English soil, they hired a post chaise and traveled southwest, passing through the refined streets of Cambridge, and swiftly on to Town. They reached London after nightfall and went immediately to Westminster Abbey, where Rohan called on the Dean.

He had explained that since Westminster Abbey was classified as a Royal Peculiar, the Dean answered directly to the sovereign—as did the Order.

The Dean was a very powerful man. After all, it was he who would assist as second only to the Archbishop of Canterbury when the time came for the coronation of the Prince Regent. A very learned and well-connected man, he was, Rohan had told her, one of the few in London who was aware of the Order and its purpose.

For that reason, the Dean promptly dispatched an unsmiling verger to take them at once into the darkened cathedral and let them into the mysterious Pyx Chamber.

“So why do you believe the Prometheans hid the scrolls in here?” Kate whispered as the verger led them into the huge, silent, candlelit Abbey.

“It’s one of the most secure buildings in England,” Rohan murmured, “especially the Undercroft.”

Hurrying past the numerous gilded side chapels, one more ornate than the next, Kate gawked at the magnificent stained-glass windows, only feebly lit by the winter moon.

Countless monuments loomed eerily in the shadows, honoring the thousands of dead buried within the Abbey.

“The Pyx Chamber has been used as a treasury for centuries by the Crown and the Exchequer,” he continued, holding her hand and hurrying her along. “You’ll see how thick the walls are. Double-reinforced doors. It’s been solid since the eleventh century. Down here, watch your step.”

Rohan went down the stone stairs ahead of her into the oldest part of the Abbey. The verger crossed to a massive Gothic door, which he began unlocking.