Heart of Honor (32 page)

“There she be, gov’nor.”

Unconsciously, Leif reached for the amulet around his neck. Silently, he prayed that the gods would grant him this one last wish and he would get to the house in time.

I
t was a dismal, dreary day, with flat gray clouds hanging over the landscape. Wind rattled the trees, causing barren branches to scrape against the glass panes of the copper-roofed conservatory. Inside, lush green foliage formed the backdrop for the wedding about to take place.

Krista had to admit Aunt Abby and the earl had done an amazing job of making the greenhouse look like a welcoming garden. Along with the plants and miniature orange trees there were huge white urns overflowing with camellias and gardenias. A white latticework arbor decorated with the same pink and white flowers had been set up at one end, and rows of white garden chairs flanked it, each row trimmed with a large bow made of pale blue ribbon.

Krista was dressed in a gown of the same pale blue, the bodice fashioned of lace, the waist cut into a deep vee in front. The full gathered skirt was of lace as well, with a shorter, silver-shot overskirt, and her feet were encased in pale blue satin slippers.

The music of an organ began and she took a breath.

“Are you ready, my dear?” her father asked.

Krista simply nodded. She would never be ready, but she could hardly tell him that. Her hand trembled as she took his arm and they made their way down the aisle between the rows of garden chairs toward the altar in front of the arbor. Organ music accompanied the march, the notes drifting above the plants and flowers in the conservatory.

Matthew waited for her at the altar. Tall and attractive, he was dressed immaculately in black and gray, his trousers, jacket and silver waistcoat fitting perfectly. He wore his thick, light brown hair short and parted stylishly in the middle.

His family was there—his father, the Earl of Lisemore; his brother, Phillip, Baron Argyle; and Phillip’s plump little wife, Gretchen. Several of Matthew’s friends, some Krista didn’t yet know, were among the small gathering, and she recognized Lord and Lady Wimby.

On Krista’s side of the aisle, Coralee looked oddly stoic, sitting next to her parents, Lord and Lady Selkirk. A number of Krista’s grandfather’s friends were present, including the Marquess and Marchioness of Lindorf, Lord and Lady Paisley. The archbishop was a close friend of the family, and though he wasn’t conducting the ceremony, he sat among the guests, in the front row next to the earl.

Aunt Abby sat to the earl’s left. Looking elegant and attractive in a gown of lavender silk, she occasionally dabbed a handkerchief discreetly beneath her eyes. In the last row sat
Heart to Heart
’s small staff: Bessie Briggs, Gerald Bonner and young Freddie Wilkes. Standing at the back of the conservatory, Krista’s maid, Priscilla Dobbs, and several of the upper staff watched as she made her way down the aisle.

Most of Krista’s friends were there, all but Thor, Jamie and little Alfinn, who waited back at the town house. They wished her well, she knew, and though she prayed it would be so, her heart did not believe it.

When she reached Matthew’s side, his smile was soft and warm and yet did nothing to reassure her. She tried to return the smile as her father gave her into Matthew’s care and the two of them turned toward the vicar, a small man with silver hair and wise, kindly eyes.

Vicar Jensen surveyed the crowd, then began the ceremony, glancing only briefly at the white, leather-bound bible resting open on the altar in front of him.

“Dearly beloved. We are gathered together today, in the sight of God and these witnesses, to join this man and this woman in the bonds of holy matrimony according to the ordinance of God.”

Krista took a breath, fighting to control the trembling inside her.

“Marriage is an honorable and holy estate instituted by God and is, therefore, not to be entered into lightly, but thoughtfully and reverently, and in the fear of God. Therefore, if any man can show cause why these two people should not be lawfully wed, let him speak now or forever hold his peace.”

A long silence ensued. Krista found herself praying that someone would speakup, shout from the rafters that this wedding was a travesty and that it should be stopped before it was too late.

But no sound came.

Her chest felt leaden. Her insides were quaking as the vicar began speaking again, intoning the words that would make her Matthew’s wife.

Leif paid the cabbie, leaped out of the carriage before it rolled to a stop in front of the mansion, and raced for the massive front doors. He lifted the heavy brass knocker and began a furious pounding that didn’t stop until one of the doors swung open and a thin, black-clad butler appeared.

He studied Leif through a pair of silver-rimmed spectacles. “What the devil…?”

“We’re here for the wedding,” Leif said. “Where is it?”

The butler surveyed him head to toe, taking in his woolen tunic, heavy fur cloak and soft leather boots, his slightly long hair and week’s growth of beard. “I find that highly unlikely, sir.” He solidly slammed the door.

Leif swore foully and started pounding again, but the heavy door did not open.

“We will have to go around to the back,” Thor said, and both of them started moving toward the high stone wall that surrounded the estate. They scaled it without much effort and dropped down into the garden on the opposite side.

“We can go in through the servants’ entrance,” Leif said, heading in that direction, but Thor caught his arm.

“Do you hear that?”

Someone was singing a very solemn song accompanied by the music of an organ. Leif spun toward the sound, and a copper-roofed building at the back of the garden caught his eye. “In there,” he said.

As they hurried forward, through the tiny paned windows he could see a number of well-dressed people seated in rows inside.

And then he saw Krista.

“There she is!” Thor said excitedly.

Leif nodded. “We must hurry.” He began running toward the vision in blue who belonged to him and no other man, yanking open the door and racing inside. When he reached the entrance to the area where the wedding was being held, he stopped, terrified for a moment that he was too late.

Krista stood next to Matthew Carlton and a priest was speaking, saying the wedding vows, Leif knew. But all he could see was Krista and how pale she looked.

And how beautiful.

He strode down the aisle, unmindful of the gasps of the women and the outrage of the men who shot to their feet as he moved past, his eyes fixed on the woman who belonged to him, the woman he had come to claim at last.

The vicar began reciting the words that would bind her forever to Matthew. It was time to commit, time to repeat the vows that would make her Matthew’s wife.

“Do you, Krista Chapman Hart, take this man—”

It was her father shouting Leif’s name that stopped the vicar’s words and had her spinning toward the door of the conservatory, spotting the towering blond giant who strode toward her down the aisle.

Her breath caught. For an instant, she thought she must be dreaming. She blinked but he was still there, coming closer, his jaw set in a fierce, determined line. He was dressed as a Viking, and she imagined that he must have changed his mind and come to take her home with him to Draugr, after all.

If he had, she would go and gladly. She had no heart for this marriage, this life that stretched ahead of her. It was no longer important. Only Leif mattered. Only Leif.

Her eyes filled with tears as he strode the last few paces and stopped in front her, reached out and gently touched her cheek.

“Krista…”

Matthew stepped between them. “What the devil do you think you’re doing, Draugr?”

Leif straightened to his full height. “I have come for my woman. I intend to make her mine by English law as well as in the eyes of the gods who live in the place I come from.”

Matthew whirled toward the guests in the conservatory, who were staring in awe at the spectacle playing out before them. “I want his man thrown out of here! He has no right to be here! I want him out—now!”

Her grandfather was standing now, as astonished as the rest of the crowd. He hurriedly made his way to where the small group stood before the altar, his bushy eyebrows drawn nearly together.

“See here, young man—you are interrupting my granddaughter’s wedding!”

“She cannot marry this man,” Leif said. “Krista belongs to me and I am here to claim her.” For an instant, his eyes touched hers and there was so much love in them that fresh tears welled in her own.

“Take me with you, Leif. I don’t care where we go as long as we can be together.”

He turned to her grandfather. “Krista is mine. Ask her if you do not believe me.”

“This is ridiculous!” Matthew’s face turned red with rage.

“My son is right.” The Earl of Lisemore left his seat and started down the aisle. “Matthew is engaged to this woman. The marriage settlement has already been paid. Have this man removed, immediately!”

Her grandfather drilled Krista with a glare. “I want an explanation, girl, and I want it now!”

She opened her mouth to reply, but Aunt Abby spoke up in her stead, carefully making her way toward them down the aisle. “I’ll explain it to you, Thomas,” she said. “This fellow is Leif Draugr. Mr. Draugr is the man Krista loves. He has come for her—and far past time, indeed—and it is clear she wishes to marry him.”

Krista silently thanked her aunt. “Grandfather, Leif is the man I told you about…the man I love. He is the only man I wish to marry.” She turned to her groom. “I’m sorry, Matthew. I never meant to hurt you in any way.”

Matthew’s face darkened, his mouth thinning into a bitter, ugly line. “Hurt me? You stupid bitch. I needed the money. It was always about the money. You’re costing me a bloody fortune!”

Leif’s powerful muscles tensed and his jaw went iron hard. Grabbing the lapel of Matthew’s immaculate black coat, he spun him around, doubled up a fist and punched him in the face. Several women screamed as Matthew crashed into the latticework arbor, tumbling it backward, sending camellias and gardenias flying into the air.

Matthew’s brother, Phillip, raced up, ready to enter the fray, and Krista saw Thor making his way down the aisle to his own brother’s side. Dressed in English clothes, Thor looked far more the gentleman than Leif, and yet she could feel the power, the warrior in the man that was so deeply a part of him.

It was Lord Lisemore who broke the tension, so thick it seemed to sizzle around them. “Enough of this! My son has made matters more than clear. I believe it is time for us to leave. Help me get your brother on his feet.”

Phillip looked shocked. “But, Father—”

“Your brother has an obsession with gambling,” the earl told his son. “He is deeply in debt, which I have pretended not to know. I thought marrying Miss Hart would help him straighten out his life.”

Matthew groaned just then, but made no move to rise from his place among the fallen flowers. His father and brother moved toward him, lifted him onto his feet and began to propel him unsteadily down the aisle toward the door.

“My word,” Vicar Jensen said as the men disappeared from view.

“Indeed,” said the professor, who had also joined the group.

Leif fixed his piercing blue eyes on the earl. “Krista says you need grandsons. My blood runs hot and strong and I will give her sturdy sons who will make you proud.”

The earl’s shrewd gaze traveled from the top of Leif’s blond head, over his muscular neck, powerful chest and shoulders. “Yes…I can see you have very good bloodlines.” He scratched his chin. “If you marry my granddaughter, will you agree to live here in England?”

“I once made a vow to my father that forced me to leave. But I am now free of that vow, and England is the home of my choice. I will stay, if Krista agrees to become my wife.”

The tears in Krista’s eyes spilled over onto her cheeks. Leif was staying. It was her heart’s greatest wish.

The earl looked at the professor, who was grinning in a way Krista had never seen him do. “Well, Paxton, what do you think?”

Her father looked at Leif and she could see the affection and relief in his eyes. “I think we shall have to postpone the wedding for a day or two, until we can obtain a special license.”

“Nonsense,” said the earl. Turning, he walked over to his friend the archbishop, a lean, elegant-looking, white-haired man who sat in what seemed an amused yet fascinated silence in the front row.

“What say you, William? We’ve a license here, but it appears to have been issued in the wrong name. Can you correct that error?”

The archbishop smiled and rose to his feet. “I believe I can. Though it is highly irregular and I imagine some…adjustments will have to be made once I return to Canterbury.” Moving along the row of seats, he joined the group in front of the altar. “Vicar Jensen, the license, if you please.”

“Of course, Your Grace.”

There was a brief flurry of activity as pen and ink were located and the necessary changes made. “As I said, this is highly irregular. I shall expect a sizable donation, Thomas, as a gesture of your good faith.”

“That goes without saying, Your Grace.” Her grandfather turned to Vicar Jensen. “I believe, sir, it is time we got on with the wedding.”