A WEDDING IS DONE
Rubina wanted to cry as the maid lifted the veil over her head. She bit her lip and looked out of the window, focusing on the scene of trees and long grass.
This was her wedding day. She looked down at her hands, long and pale, clasped over the cerise velvet skirt with its slashed front of white finely-wrought lace.
Her maid sniffed. “You look so beautiful, milady.” Greere had been Rubina's maid since she was a young girl. Rubina felt her heart twist painfully as she wished she could participate in the girl's innocent delight.
“Thank you,” she said hollowly.
“There, now. And don't forget these.” She passed her a bouquet of pink-edged plum flowers.
Rubina drew in a long, shuddering breath. It was her wedding and it was so, so different to how she would have imagined it. It wasn't the groom – he was as dear to her as anyone could be. It was herself. Her own stone-cold sadness.
I don't think I can do this.
The wedding was at Buccleigh, a small wedding to which only family and friends – Marguerite and her cousin Ettie, who happened to be coming to court – were invited.
It was shame that weighed on her. Her heart told her that her father had arranged this marriage simply to save her. She would have been disgraced without it. Now, she could stay at court, live the same life she always would have done.
I'm sure he's relieved.
She didn't want to let such horrible thoughts occupy her mind, but she couldn't help it. It seemed so obvious that this was the only reason Camden would agree to wed her.
“Thank you, Greere,” she said as the woman stood aside for her. She paused briefly in front of the mirror. The woman reflected in it was coolly groomed and looked just right. Long dusty red gown, the front slashed to show a lace underskirt, the bodice meeting it in a “v” shape. The sleeves were long and lapped over her hands, the dress tight and with a low neckline that showed her pale skin. Her hair was loose around her shoulders, a defiance. It was a sign of purity, chastity. She wore it like a challenge.
Let any of you question me about that, if you dare.
Her anger was a candle, warming her where she was cold.
“Let's go down, she said hollowly to Greere.
Her mother met her in the hallway. She looked lovely, in a dress of blue velvet and white brocade. Rubina smiled at her uncertainly. She still had no idea what her mother actually thought about her now.
“My daughter,” her mother sighed. “You look...stunning.”
Rubina smiled faintly. “Thank you,” she said. It felt as if her feelings all came at her through a cloak – they were the impression of feeling, only, not the true, easy emotion she'd once felt.
“Daughter.”
She looked at her father, bulky and regal in his cloak. Anger warred with fondness in her chest. This was his doing.
“Father,” she said tightly. “Let's go, yes?”
If he was hurt, she didn't look at him long enough to see it.
They headed into the hallway and out toward the chapel.
Rubina looked down the aisle toward the altar. Her heart throbbed. There he was. His hair caught the light shining down from the high, high clerestory windows. His back was straight under the plain green tunic. She loved him so much in that moment.
I love you. I wish you wanted me for who I am.
She blinked fiercely, defiantly. Stood beside him at the altar.
“Camden Alexander McInvering, vis accípere Rubina Joanna Invermore, hic præséntern in tuum legítimum uxorem iuxta ritum sanctæ matris Ecclésiæ?”
“Volo.” I do.
Rubina shuddered. Only a few more words now. A few more Latin phrases before she was bound in a place so full of love, but now redolent of cold indifference.
The priest turned to her, said similar Latin words and she swallowed, agreeing.
More Latin. Then, suddenly, abruptly, she was facing Camden. Through the veil, she could see his eyes widen with uncertainty. She sighed. He could kiss her, she wasn't going to break.
He kissed her. A small, chaste kiss, gentle and comforting, on the lips.
Then they were heading back down through the crowds toward the great hall.
* * *
Camden walked beside Rubina, trying to still his racing, aching heart. The world was full of her. He felt as if he walked on a current that flowed his every sense into her, making his body ache and his soul sing. He wanted her so much!
Her long red hair was loose and silken round her pale shoulders. Her dress showed the beauty of her cleavage and long throat. Her lips and eyes were red-brown, shades of that fiery hair. He wanted her to desperation.
She's hurt. She's scared. Go slowly.
“My lord?”
Camden blinked. They had reached the dais and he hadn't even noticed. He reached out a hand to help her up onto the platform. He wanted to groan as his hand touched her soft, scented palm.
“Thank you,” she said.
She didn't even look at him as they walked together along the platform and toward the seats set out for them. Two large, straight-backed seats of dark oak wood, facing out into the room. Camden stood beside her, feeling at once regal, blessed and agonized as the room acclaimed the newly wedded pair.
He saw Rubina's eyes tense in the corners and thought she must be in agony right now, if for a different reason.
She's scared of me.
He sat stiffly beside her, looking out over the hall. He could see Sean and Marguerite, sitting at the long bench. There were two tables – one for noble guests, one for the servants. A small wedding, but nevertheless the bride was clearly well loved.
Camden felt her shift beside him on the chair and realized that she must be fairly tense. He was. He couldn't stop thinking about the bedding ceremony.
If her mother has half the sense I think she has, she'll ban it for tonight. The last thing the lass needed was the household servants in their bedchamber.
He glanced at Rubina. She was staring fixedly ahead. The servants poured claret into their drinking cup and Camden tensed as he raised it for Rubina to drink. She wet her lips. His loins ached looking at their moist redness. He wanted her so much,
Easy, Camden. Don't think about it. Focus on the surroundings. Breathe out.
He sat through the delicious meal – course after course of rare delicacies, the best the estate could muster. The guests were becoming louder and merrier, the band setting about a lively melody with pipes, flute and violin.
He glanced sideways at Rubina. She was sitting rigid beside him, staring ahead. Her eyes caught his. He was surprised by what was in their depths.
He had expected fear, or loathing. Cold indifference. However, her eyes looked into his with something intangible, some expression that confused him.
He cleared his throat and looked fixedly ahead.
Rubina turned to him.
“I feel faint,” she said. He reckoned that expression was fevered. He nodded.
“Should we go?” It was hot in the room, oppressively hot. It would likely suit them both to leave now.
If we leave now, then we can escape the ceremony.
His loins clenched at the thought and he felt a physical pain shoot through him. He was not going to force himself on Lady Rubina. He would be a gentleman. He would do exactly as she wanted.
She bit her lip. Nodded.
“Yes.”
Drawing a deep breath, Camden pushed back his chair. “Will you leave first?”
“Yes,” she whispered.
She smoothed her skirts and pushed back her chair. His whole body throbbed as he watched her get to her feet. “I feel faint,” she said to her mother. “I will take the air outside awhile. If you could please excuse me?”
Her mother nodded.
“Of course, Daughter.”
Rubina stood and, straight-backed, left the room.
Camden sat and waited. His whole body ached. He felt his hands lace through each other restlessly. He cleared his throat. When he could wait no longer, he turned to Lady Amabel. Her sapphire eyes shot him a look of inquiry.
“My lady?” he coughed.
“Yes, my son?”
“I...excuse me. I would like to go out for a moment?” he made his face look urgent without much effort, hoping she'd think he was in search of the privies.
“Of course, son. If you need the help of a servant to find something..?” she made it a question.
“N...no, Mother,” he said quickly. He pushed back his chair and hurried out.
In the courtyard, a breeze was blowing. It caught his cloak, cooled his skin, and rustled his dark-toned hair.
A torch burned in a bracket on the wall, cracking as the wind blurred it. He let out a strangled breath. Tried not to think of the fact that he was wed to the most beautiful woman he'd ever laid eyes on. Tried, even more, not to think of the fact that she had no interest in so much as touching him.
“Rubina,” he murmured.
In the almost silence of the courtyard, he heard something. A sob. Someone was crying. He turned and stared.
Over at the wall, the bridal veil just touching her flame-red hair, the red dress clinging to her body like a sheen of flame, Rubina stood in the light of the solitary fire of the torch. She was sobbing.
He couldn't help it. He went over to where she stood.
“Rubina,” he murmured. “Rubina. No...”
She jumped as he touched her shoulder and turned to stare up at him accusingly. Her big brown eyes were wild. He wanted to swear. How could he startle her like that?
“You...oh. Camden,” she murmured, her eyes focusing suddenly on his face. “Oh...take me inside. Please? Just take me in.”
Camden swallowed hard as she looped her arm through his, leaning against him. Together they walked slowly inside. This close, he could smell the sweet, floral, clinging scent of her and see the ruby tones of her hair. He held his breath, clenched his teeth, and told himself, over and over, that he would resist her.
He might be married to her, but he was not going to force himself on a woman who was afraid. Not now and not ever.
She walked slowly up the stairs and he felt the sweet warmth of her body slide against him and wished that he could melt into that sweetness. They went up and stopped.
“Here we are,” she said. Her voice was stiff and tense, every word forced through firm lips. He wished he could reassure her. They were outside the bridal chamber. The place was decked with greenery and he could smell the strewing-herbs they had thrown on the rushes to scent the place. It was beautiful. It must be terrifying, for her, to contemplate.
“Rubina,” he murmured. “We don't have to...you don't have to.”
She turned, then. Her eyes met his. They were defiant.
“I'm wed to you,” she said. “I'm doing it.”
Camden let out a long breath. Said nothing. Still, he let her lead him into the room.
* * *
Rubina bit her lip to stop crying. Why wouldn't he just touch her? Hold her? Every time he came near her, it seemed as if he was doing some horrible duty, something he couldn't quite bear. She wanted to weep. She straightened her back. She felt him shut the door behind her and turned round.
His eyes on hers were soft, and broken. Rubina wanted to laugh, a bitter laugh. She held it back between her teeth as he closed his eyes, bowing his head.
“Well, are you ready to get it over with?” she asked harshly. Slowly, deliberately, she drew off the veil. Threw it onto the seat by the fireplace. Lifted her hair and let the flame-bright streaks fall defiantly. She was a virgin bride. If he couldn't come near her, that was his cowardice. If he believed her tainted, fallen; let him face her with that belief.
I am not afraid.
Slowly, deliberately, she drew down the strap of her gown.
“Rubina,” he said, his voice broken. “Don't do it...”
“Why?” she laughed. “Don't you want to touch me? Did my parents bribe you, then, to wed me?”
He flinched as if she had slapped him. Looked up, hurt.
“No.”
She looked into his big, puzzled eyes. She was hurting him. Good.
Every moment of that wretched day she had hurt. Every moment, since he found her and brought her back to face shame and silent censure and then misunderstanding and sorrow. She had hurt, every day for two weeks, and now it was his turn.
She reached up and started undoing the buttons she could reach. It was hard to undress oneself, but she had some practice. She looked into his eyes as she did it. He was staring back, a kind of agony on his face.
“Rubina, no,” he murmured. “Stop. Not...not like this.”
She laughed.
“Why?” she asked. “Because I was a whore to someone, and now I am whoring for you? Is that it?” she spat. “You think you're so noble, to take me on at my parents' bidding? To rescue my reputation? Yes?” She lifted her chin and glared at him, daring him to answer her.
“No!” he shook his head. He looked desperately confused. “Rubina,” he murmured. “Please. I don't want to do this...like this. Not now. Not until you are ready.”
He stood with his hands clasped before him, a picture of supplication.
She whirled away, her red hair spinning round her shoulders as she did so. A pox on the wretched man! Was she so tainted, that he could stand there with his hands at his sides while she undressed for him? She caught sight of her reflection, all dark red velvet and bright red hair and big brown eyes.
She turned, slowly, to face him. Let the dress slide off her shoulders.
* * *
Camden stared at the loveliness in front of him. With her one shoulder bared, that sweet cleavage showing, spilling from her under-dress, her red hair a cloak of flame about her, she was unimaginably lovely. He felt his loins ache.
She was looking at him with those brown eyes lit with twin flames. He held his hands tense at his sides and wished he could touch her. How could he though? She deliberately let the dress drop from her shoulder. Her eyes were questioning as much as they were defiant. She lifted her hands to the fastening of the undergarment. He let out a sigh.
“Rubina, no,” he whispered. He couldn't let her do this. She was so angry with him. Why was she so angry with him? He reached out and gently took her hand, led her to the end of the bed.
“You don't understand,” she said softly. “You won't understand.”
Camden let out a long, explosive sigh. “I can try,” he said. In her big, sad eyes he could see tears, just trembling on the lids. He fought himself not to lean down and kiss her snow-soft skin.
She sighed. “No, you can't.” She sniffed. A big tear rolled down that precious skin toward her red lips.
Camden couldn't help himself. This was his bride, and she was sad. His heart wept for her. He leaned over and his lips met hers. Gently, so gently, he let his tongue taste her tears.
She sighed and for a moment, for the briefest instant, she leaned against him. Her lips parted and admitted his tongue to slide between them, tasting and exploring. Her soft body leaned against his, warm and comforting and like the sense of home. He held her close and knew he had never imagined happiness so big.
Then, just as abruptly, she leaned back. Her lips closed. She sniffed. Camden wanted to weep. He sat back and his eyes met hers.
“Goodnight,” she whispered. Her voice was tight and small, the voice of a small child. He wanted to weep. It was so sweet, so vulnerable, and so lovely.
He swallowed hard, swallowing his own tears.
“Goodnight,” he whispered.
She stood and, hastily, began to undress herself. When she was down to her under-shift, she moved to stand behind a screen. Then, while he stared at the outline of her, soft and curvaceous and silhouetted, she dressed in a shift and came out from behind the screen. It was soft linen, draping, down to her ankles. He still felt his whole body respond, seeing her sweet curves draped in such an informal dress. He caught her looking at his gaze and hastily dropped it away.
“Goodnight,” he said gruffly.
He waited until she was in bed before standing and going to the darkness at the other side of the room. He tugged off his clothes, shrugged on a clean linen shirt and then walked over to the bed.
She was curled up with her head on the pillow, back to him, her red hair a sheet of fire around her shoulders. He wanted to weep. Her form was so solid, so resolute, so sure in shutting him out.
“Goodnight,” he whispered quietly. His voice wept.
He wanted more than anything to reach out and lie beside her. Not to do anything else, necessarily, just to stroke her hair, comfort her, and let her know it was all going to be well. His own need was not as great as his need to comfort her.
He sat down, hearing the bed creak a little under his weight. It was soft and inviting, the sheets cool fine-spun linen. A fire burned in the grate, sending the scent of floral herbs about the room. He slid into bed and lay down on the pillow.
Feeling like a lead weight was in his chest, he closed his eyes and curled up tight. The bed must have been very comfortable because, despite the sadness and exhaustion, he soon found himself falling into a deep and oblivious sleep.