Innocence Enslaved (32 page)

“With the suddenness of these vows,” the priest intoned. “I ask the gathering to think hard and speak up, if any present knows of any reason why this couple should not wed.” When no one spoke up, he focused on Corbet and Emilia. “I ask both of you, coming to God in this joining, if there are any reasons prohibiting this marriage.”

“No, sir,” she stated confidently.

“I am a widower several years passed and free to wed, father,” Corbet affirmed.

“So be it,” the man of God said with a nod. “Corbet Mills, wilt though have this woman to thy wedded wife, will you love her, honor and keep her, guard her in times of health and sickness as a husband should his wife, forsaking all other on account of her, keeping unto her only, as long as you both shall live?”

His eyes, gleaming with the golden color that gave them their glowing warmth, met hers and his strong voice rang out in the clearing for all to hear. “I shall.”

“Emilia Selkirk, wilt though have this man as your husband, will you love him, honor and obey him, support him in times of health and sickness as a wife should her husband, forsaking all others in his stead and keeping unto him only, as long as you both shall live?”

“I shall, and gladly.” Her voice broke on the last word and she heard sniffles from the audience, as all present were happy that the man they had called master, mentor, or friend had found joy after so much torment and sadness. Corbet, stoic in the face of his bride’s emotions and that of his witnesses, released one of her hands and withdrew a square of linen from his vest pocket.

“Continue, father,” he urged, his voice cracking a bit and revealing that he was as moved as the others.

The priests moved on to the exchange of rings. “Is there a ring?” he asked of Corbet who nodded and once again released her hands. This time it was to tug a small ring from his pinky, one Emilia had noticed he rarely took off. He took her hand and slipped it on her ring finger. “It was my mother’s.”

Through watery eyes she looked down at the simple ring, a cut ruby set in a swirl of gold. She gripped his hand as it settled snugly past her second knuckle. “I will cherish it, always,” she avowed, lifting her loving gaze to his.

The priest reached out and covered their joined hands with his own, saying a blessing of the rings and their union. Once done, they each pledged their troth and followed the robed emissary of the church into the small chapel where they knelt at the altar for another brief nuptial blessing.

And with that, she became Emilia Mills, bride of Corbet, formerly of Lancore, now a fugitive from the state and a runaway slave. She was also now a married woman, wedded in the eyes of the church and God. Once outside, her new husband took her into his arms and kissed her thoroughly, passionately, and inappropriately before the priest. He didn’t seem to mind, also caught up in the joyfulness of their joining, despite the precipitousness of the proceedings.

As they received congratulations from their friends, she felt Corbet stiffen beside her as Alice came up with her good tidings.

“You are free now, Alice,” he stated earnestly. “On this day, one of the first of our new life, whatever it may hold, put Lancore behind you and open your heart to your future.”

For a moment, she gazed up at her master of old, and then her eyes slid to the side. Everyone present waited with bated breath as she gazed up at Charles with all the love in her heart shining bright within her.

“You know I love you, lass,” Charles replied as though to an unspoken question. “Stop bein’ so stubborn and marry me.”

Staring at him through tear-filled eyes, she nodded, rushing into his arms.

A cheer went up amongst the others, whereupon Corbet turned to the priest and asked, “What say you, father? Do you have time for another?”

* * *

It was a happy group that continued on into Melbourne that afternoon, all except Emilia, who had become nervous, more than she’d been since leaving Lancore. Call it a sense of foreboding, or a premonition; either way, she felt a heavy dread that around the next bend in the road, something awful waited to destroy her newfound happiness—likely, Lord Ervin.

She had mounted her mare after a brief wedding lunch, and without Corbet’s constant presence to provide comfort, she became visibly agitated. Constantly peering into the trees as they passed, she searched for knights she was convinced were lying in wait. Every few minutes, she would look back expecting a troop of armored, mounted men to come charging up to arrest them and haul them back to Lancore for further torment. Corbet took all of this in, urging her several times to calm herself, but his insistence had little effect.

As they rounded a sharp curve in the road, the trees began to dwindle and they entered a lush green valley. It was then she became distressed for another reason.

“We’re almost there,” she exclaimed, urging her horse up alongside his. “The lane to our farm is about a mile ahead.”

She was so excited, she couldn’t sit still, her agitation transferring to her horse, who began to fret.

“You need to settle before you set your mare off and she bolts.”

“I can’t help it,” she answered, right as her mare, sensing her tension, tossed its head and high-stepped to the side. Emilia reacted by tugging sharply on the reins, which only made things worse. Clearly having had enough, Corbet reined in beside her and plucked her out of her saddle.

Once she was planted securely in front of him, with his arms curled around her, she did as he advised and settled. She didn’t realize what a state she’d worked herself into until his strength and composure surrounded her. Feeling comforted at once, she wound her arms around his waist and pressed her face into his chest, absorbing all the calmness he exuded.

“We should ride double always. It would save you from constantly having to drag me off my horse and onto yours.”

“You’ll hear no complaints from me.”

She laughed as he echoed her words from the day before. He lifted a hand to signal to one of the men and tossed him Buttercup’s laces as he came alongside them. It was Simon, one of Corbet’s apprentices. He had two such leather smiths in training, both stout young men in their early twenties. They were loyal to him without question, and hadn’t hesitated to make the journey with them, relocating their families in the process.

By this time, they’d arrived at the lane that led to her family farm. “Turn here,” she directed at the last moment.

After entering the long winding lane, they rode for what seemed to be an eternity to Emilia. Corbet noticed it too and commented.

“The land seems extensive, what crops does your father grow?”

“Crops?” she echoed back, tilting her head back in confusion. “No crops, other than grain for the livestock. Mama tends a small garden for household use. The rest we buy at the market. Why?”

“What sort of livestock?”

“He breeds Spanish chargers, the finest in the kingdom. Indeed, the king is so pleased, he is one of only four esteemed breeders of destriers for King Nordman’s palace guard.”

Corbet whistled. “I thought you were an everyday farm girl, not the daughter of an esteemed warhorse breeder for Nordman’s troops. He must have great wealth.”

“I suppose. His holdings and house are on par with your own, sir.”

“Why on earth didn’t your captors ransom you back rather than sell you as a slave? Surely your father would have paid more than three thousand in silver.”

She frowned. “I wasn’t dressed as a gentry maid on the day I was captured.”

“There is a story here, isn’t there?”

Embarrassed to share how childishly she’d acted the day of her capture, she averted her gaze, taking a sudden interest in the wildflowers that lined the lane.

“Emilia.” Her name, said in his low, stern tone, brooked no disobedience.

“I’m ashamed to tell it.”

“Do it anyway.”

“Fine. Bert and Alard made me so mad, I stormed out of the house in an old dress I used when I painted. It was a pastime of mine. Anyway, I stomped down the lane in a fit of temper and was picked up on the main road by the slavers who happened to be passing.”

“Mercy, you must have given your father a head of gray hair as a girl.”

“If you had two brothers as insufferable as mine, you’d understand,” she grumbled in a huff. Then she tilted her head as she asked, “Are you upset that my father has wealth? Does it matter? You’re a well-bred member of the gentry as well, aren’t you?”

“Yes, but what you’ve gone through at the slaver’s hands, and God’s teeth, what I’ve done with you without benefit of vows. He’ll have my head.”

“We won’t tell him about what you did, other than that you were my white knight who swooped in to save me from the ugly ogre.”

“Sweetling, this isn’t one of your fairytales.”

“To me it is, and you, my love, are my hero.”

Their conversation ended as they rode out of the sparse wood that lined the lane and into a busy yard. Emilia gaped as she took it all in. It was as though they took the wrong road and somehow arrived in town on festival day. There were several large carriages parked in front of the house, some bearing noble crests. At least two dozen horses were saddled and at the ready while chain-wearing knights milled about the yard making preparations to ride.

“What is going on?” she wondered aloud. “I’ve never seen such bustle.”

Corbet slowed his mount to a halt, having no other choice with the yard so crowded.

“There is my brother Alard.” She lifted her hand and waved, trying to get his attention. He was speaking to one of the knights and was soon joined by her older brother Bertrand. Emilia marveled, as she always did when she saw them together, how much they resembled one another, often mistaken for twins. Bert glanced around and spotted her. He nudged Alard with an elbow. When he got his attention, he nodded her way.

“Let’s dismount and walk the rest of the way,” Corbet suggested. He swung his leg over and held up his hands for her, gripped her around the waist, and set her down on her feet.

“No need,” she advised excitedly, “they’re coming our way.”

She made a move toward them as a knight was mounting nearby. Emilia noticed at the last moment, freezing as his stallion, agitated from all the activity, whinnied loudly and kicked up on his hind legs. Corbet’s muscled arm wrapped around her middle and hauled her swiftly back. He did it none too gently, yet if he hadn’t, she could have very well been trampled and crushed beneath its hooves.

“You there!” She recognized Alard’s shout, frowning at his rude greeting. “Get your filthy, spur-galled, Lancorian hands off my sister.” His anger was clearly stated.

“No, Alard!” she objected, ready to explain.

“Look at her neck, Bert,” he roared as he drew near. “You’ve bruised her, you hell-hated bastard.”

Corbet pushed her behind him the next second, though not before she saw them advancing.

“No,” she repeated, trying to make herself heard from behind his broad back, but they were busily, and quite loudly, disparaging Corbet. That wouldn’t stand. She needed to explain.

All at once, Alard was upon him. “I’m going to kill you, swine of Lancore.” Corbet’s body suddenly jerked forward. Had he grabbed him, or worse, struck him?

“Stop,” she called out desperately as she made her way around him. While she moved to his left, Corbet dodged right. Pain, searing hot, slammed through her temple as flashes of light exploded before her eyes. Her legs flew out from under her and the next thing she knew, she landed with a jolt on her behind in the dirt.

“God’s blood, man. You’ve hit her,” Corbet called angrily as he bent, reaching for her.

His hands didn’t touch her as Bertrand pulled him back. “Stay away from her, you ill-bred, hedge-born coxcomb!”

She pressed her fingers to her temples, trying to ease the ache and clear her vision as she heard the sound of bones crunching and flesh pounding flesh. “Bert, Alard,” she shouted as she pushed unsteadily to her feet. “Have you gone mad?” She made it, which was a feat in itself because when she stood she staggered from dizziness. “He’s my husband,” she cried, blinking to clear her blurry vision. “Don’t hurt him.”

Hands caught her shoulders and steadied her. “Daughter, are you all right?”

Although there were three of him, she leaned into the chest in the middle. “Please, papa, stop them.” She strained to focus as she peered up at the tall, forceful man who had always, until recently, been her source of protection. “I love him, papa. We’re married.”

“I’ll be damned,” was his answer.

She was passed into another’s arms, softer, yet equally as comforting. “Hush, Emmy dear,” her mother sobbed as she hugged her tight. “You’re home safe and that’s all that matters.”

“They’re two versus one, mama.”

“Stop fretting, your young man is making a good showing. Besides, your papa will put an end to this soon, so we can sort everything out.”

The grunts, crunches, and moans ceased a moment later. Able to see clearer now, despite there being two of everything, she still questioned if they hadn’t knocked something loose. There was a pair of Berts being held back by two of her father, while twin Corbets stood breathing hard with fists clenched over a duo of Alards, who were on the ground holding their jaws. She shook her head as Corbet came to her, both of him did, and stepped over her brother coming toward her.

Emilia swayed on her feet as she tried to meet him halfway, but another wave of dizziness swept over her. This time, it was too much and she crumpled in her mother’s arms.

Chapter Twenty-One

A jumble of noises drummed in her aching head and brought her out of her dark slumber. Squinting against the light, she put a hand to her throbbing temple, wincing and moaning as she brushed a tender spot.

“Come back to us, love,” a man beckoned warmly.

“Corbet?” she whispered.

“No, Emmy, it’s papa. Can you open your eyes?”

She did, looking up into the same green as her own.

“Papa,” she exclaimed with a broken cry. “I’ve missed you so.” She sat up and threw her arms around his neck, welcoming his strong embrace. Then memories flooded back. “Corbet. Bertrand punched him. Where is he? Is he all right?”