Page 39 of Once Upon a Reckless Rogue

“It is the same here. Imagine starting a marriage with such a secret. As for the color I suppose everyone does it differently.”

“She looks lovely, I was just shocked by the color.”

“In Spain we do things our way. We do not care if it is not how the rest of the world does it. We simply be ourselves.”

“It is similar in England. The difference in culture has never stood out as it has today. I wonder what other customs I will learn about as the afternoon wears on.”

“I think you will enjoy it, so there is no need to compare.”

“You are right.”

Following the ceremony, they all emerged into the afternoon shadows. The bride and groom made their way back to the square with the rest of the guests following. They congratulated the happy couple, who looked relieved to be out of the stuffy church.

The air was full of the aromas of roasted meat, seafood, and other delicacies. Wine was passed around, and everyone made their way to a seat. Thomas and Elena did not know anyone really, but some of the girls from the inn sat at their table, and once the wine came their way, their feeling of being somewhat intrusive soon faded.

The meal was sumptuous and plentiful, and Thomas soon patted his belly in satisfaction. The wine flowed like water, and soon everyone was merry with drink. Then the dancing started. At first, Thomas and Elena simply watched, but soon they were dragged in by the others at the table and followed along. Orange blossoms’ heavy scent floated on the air like a ribbon of perfume hovering above the wedding party. The ground shook as many shoes and boots slammed onto the cobbled square in dance. Laughter filled the air in the spaces between the music, and when the sun began to show above the horizon, the square fell into near silence. Only the snoring of those who had passed out could be heard, for the rest of the guests had left to find their beds.

Thomas and Elena climbed the stairs to their room and fell on the bed, too tired to remove their clothes. He smiled as he tucked a stray strand of hair out of Elena’s face and lay back against the pillows. His first Spanish wedding had been more fun than he could ever remember having, and he had shared it with Elena. It would be a memory he would keep with him always. Of how it felt to dance with her in his arms, to be drunk with her and to have laughed with her in pure happiness. How does one bottle up such a time in one’s mind and keep it there, unfiltered? Just as it was. That was not how memories worked, Elena would say. And she would be right. Memories faded no matter how much we wanted to keep them. This time with her was precious, and he knew the end was coming quickly. No matter what happened from now on, he would always cherish these last few days with her. As his eyes closed, he held Elena’s hand in his wishing he could take her with him back to England, all the while knowing it could never be.

*

Elena woke up with an awful headache. Too much wine last night, no doubt. She slipped out from under Tomas’s arm and went to the basin to drink some water. In the small mirror, she winced at the state of her hair and immediately picked up her brush to tame it. After an effort, she managed to comb it into a soft bun at the nape of her neck and changed her clothes. Tomas still snored softly behind her.

Downstairs, she was surprised to see some people milling around the tavern. Carlos saw her and frowned. What had she done wrong? He approached her and guided her to a small table in the corner.

“I’ll get you something to eat. You look very pale.”

“It’s nothing, just a headache from the wine last night.”

“Ah, of course. Where is Tomas?”

“He is still sleeping.”

“I have got you a new donkey. He is young but he should be able to carry your things to La Barossa.”

“How do you know we are going there?”

“The captain tells me what I need to know. Not why I need to know it. Do not worry, Elena. You are safe with him.”

“I’m not worried about being safe. I always feel safe with him. It is when he is gone that I worry,” she said fingering the lace of the tablecloth.

“Then do not let him leave you.”

“You know Tomas; I cannot make him do anything he does not wish to do.”

“Then go with him.”

“To England? No.”

“Why not? You love him, don’t you?”

“I would not fit in there. He has other women to take care of. His mother and sister and his girl the ward.”

“So? What is one more then?”

“I do not want to be one more to him. No. When I get to La Barossa I will let him go.”

“If that is what your heart tells you to do.”