Page 76 of To Love

As Alden finished the vow, he added a silent prayer that death would not do them part for many, many years. Despite the conflict. Despite the dangers they put themselves in.

As Elara repeated the vow, their conversation in the secret garden came back to him.

“I have spoken to Sir Eamon of your recruitment.”

“I assume you do as much with all recruits?”

“Nay. I do not.”

It was his first hint that Elara felt something for him. But never could he have imagined that day the two would be wed.

Alden told her as much later when they were seated together in the hall. Music floated through the open space, one of the recruits playing a fiddle nearby. They could not bring outside musicians to Blackwood, but the simplicity of their wedding feast suited Alden and he hoped it suited Elara as well.

“When I think back,” he said to his wife, “to our conversation in your garden—”

“Our garden,” she corrected. The space was one they used frequently to steal moments together.

“Our garden. I knew you liked me.”

“You deduced as much, aye?”

He could see her smile from behind the wine goblet.

“I am very clever,” he teased. “At least, I am so now after attending Strategies. Its instructor is quite good. I will admit to initially thinking such knowledge would not be necessary.”

“Didn’t expect to be required to uncover a traitor in our midst?”

“Nay,” he said, Alden’s gaze moving to Sir Corwin, who was similarly watching his wife serve ale.

“They will be fully together someday,” Elara said.

“I still believe he should confess. It will become apparent soon enough, she is with child.”

“’Tis their decision, not ours.” Elara fed him a bite of sugared nuts, a treat Amalia had arranged through one of her contacts in the village.

Alden had spoken to Corwin about it, but he insisted revealing the truth was too risky for his position here, though Alden did not agree. Roland had married Amalia, though a lady’s maid and a kitchen maid, as Corwin reminded him, were not the same. No matter how much Alden had tried to convince him, Corwin remained steadfast.

“Indeed,” he said, in awe, as he’d been since Alden first spied her at the chapel. “There’s never been a bride more beautiful than you, Elara. Thank you.”

“For?” she asked, picking up her wine goblet.

“For agreeing to become my wife. For loving me, despite my lack of title and lands. For risking so much, and gaining . . .” He would not say “so little.” Alden valued himself more than that. Even so, he was still a blacksmith’s son, and their future was uncertain. Instead, he finished, whispering, “And gaining the promise of pleasure every single eve we are together.”

“First,” she said, placing her goblet back onto the table. “You have a title, lest you forget.”

It was not what he had meant, and his wife knew as much.

“Second, what need do I have of land? My path has never been to sit upon a dais, welcoming guests and entertaining other nobles. Our future, whatever it holds for us after Blackwood, will be as unique as the story of our courtship.”

She gestured for him to come closer, so he did.

“As to that last part,” she whispered. “I will hold you to it, husband.”

Alden’s laugh earned the attention of those around them. He was about to offer a retort but paused as Darien strode purposefully toward the dais. Standing below it, he looked up, his expression filled with concern.

“What is it?” Alden asked, immediately alarmed.

“Naught to ruin your wedding night,” Darien said. “But I did not wish to leave without a quick word of parting.”