Blaze Wyndham (47 page)

“When have you decided upon the wedding ceremony?”

“We’ll have a formal betrothal ceremony in a few days, for the Irish enjoy the pomp and pageant of such things. The wedding will take place in late summer before the autumn storms make a crossing of the sea between England and Ireland an impossible thing. Lord O’Brian will have to return to Ireland after the betrothal, but he will be back in August.”

“I only hope Delight will be happy, Rob,” fretted Lady Morgan.

“She will have to make her own happiness, my dear,” he said, “but Lord O’Brian is much taken with her. If she will only stop fighting him, there is a very good chance that she should be not just happy, but content.”

At the moment, however, Delight was neither happy nor content. She had seen Lord O’Brian coming from the house and into the orchard, and now she attempted to hide from him amid the falling blossoms of the fragrant trees. He did not call to her, but he seemed to be walking straight toward her. Suddenly she lost sight of him, and forced from her hiding place behind a large tree, she peered about to see where he had gotten to, for he was simply nowhere to be found. Suddenly a pair of strong arms imprisoned her, turning her about, and Delight shrieked, only to have her mouth stopped by his.

She had never been kissed, and this was certainly not what she had expected at all. He totally possessed and overwhelmed her in a way she wasn’t certain that she even liked. On the other hand, she found that she did not dislike it either. His hard mouth bore down on her soft lips, almost burning them, and setting her pulses to racing in a manner that she had never known. She was suddenly afire, and unable to help herself, she wrapped her arms about him as she kissed him back.

Finally, when it became clear that neither of them would be able to breathe if they did not part, he pulled his head away from hers, but he kept his arms about her. “By all that’s holy, wench, you are my match, and that is for certain,” he growled at her. “I came here expecting some milk-and-water pale English rose. I even considered telling your father that since Desmond was dead there could be no uniting of our families, but the voice within warned me not to, and so I listened as I have always listened. And what have I found, eh, wench? A hot-tempered, hot-blooded vixen with an improbable name who, from the looks of her, will breed me up strong Celtic sons for Ireland. It took only a moment, but I knew I wanted you!”

In his passion Lord O’Brian had let his grip upon the girl loosen, and pulling away from him suddenly, Delight hit him a blow that might have staggered a lesser man.

“What the hell was that for, wench?” demanded the Irishman.

“
You kissed me!
”

“You kissed me back,” he said.

“I didn’t!” she denied.

“You did, wench,” he teased. “You kissed me with a passion that you are too innocent to even understand, and I’ll wager your pulses were racing when you did.” He laughed at her guilty flush and continued. “I kissed you, wench, and I intend to keep on kissing you, and in time I’ll be doing other things to you. Things that will make you weak with pleasure, and leave you begging me for more even as I will want more of you. I want to kiss your lovely body, and caress your pretty breasts. I want to teach you how to touch a man and make him content even as my touching of you will make you content.” His arms snaked out, and he pulled her back against him. Delight attempted to struggle, but his grip tightened until she thought she would faint, and so she ceased her futile resistance. “I want to fill you full of me, Delight Morgan, and give you my sons and daughters.” His lips brushed tantalizingly against hers. “I want to love you even as you want to love me.”

“I don’t want to love you!” Delight protested. “I do not even know you, my lord!”

“Cormac, wench! My name is Cormac. Aye, you know me! You know me well. I am the faceless man who has haunted your dreams since you grew old enough to have such dreams. I am the one who has caused you to awaken in the night aching with a feeling you have never understood until now. I am yours, wench, and you are O’Brian’s Delight. Thus it was always meant to be, and it will be!”

She couldn’t move. She was simply mesmerized by the beautiful voice that said such outrageous things to her, and the green eyes that glittered so dangerously as they devoured her. She did not quite understand what was happening to her. Up until a month ago she had thought herself in love with Anthony Wyndham. She had been in love with him since she had first seen him when she was only thirteen. She had just begun to accept the fact that Tony was Blaze’s and would never be hers. Yet suddenly this wild man was sweeping into her life, saying incredible things to her, words that were touching her as no man’s words had ever touched her. How could he have known of the faceless man in her dreams whom even she had dared not acknowledge aloud to herself?

“I will not be yours,” she whispered.

“Oh, aye, wench, you will be,” he promised her. “No one, even a stubborn little English girl, can fight the fate that’s been ordained for her.” He loosened his grip on her. “Now, run along, wench, and consider the things that I’ve said to you.”

Delight did not wait to hear any more. She fled him, his mocking laughter echoing in her ears. Were her parents mad, matching her with this wild Irishman? Surely they would not do it! Particularly when they saw him for what he really was, but to Delight’s great annoyance they didn’t. Cormac O’Brian charmed everyone at Ashby, from the lowliest to the highest. Her sisters were in love with him, including Larke and Linnette, who, for the first time in their young lives, got into an argument with one another over who would sit next to Lord O’Brian at the table. Since Delight had been placed at his right, there was but one other place available. Lady Morgan finally solved the problem by asking her eldest son, Gavin, to sit by her daughter’s husband-to-be.

With a smug and mischievous grin at his sisters, Gavin took the prized place. He had already told Delight that he thought the Irishman a grand fellow. Even the little children, three-year-old Hal and his twin brother, Tom, liked Lord O’Brian. He seemed able to sit for hours by the fire, the two small boys snuggled deep in his lap, telling them wonderful and outrageous tales of Ireland that left them wide-eyed and admiring.

In a rare moment of quiet shared with Cormac O’Brian, Delight asked him, “Why is it that no one else can see you as I do?”

“Because, wench, they are not afraid of me as you are,” he answered her.

“I am most certainly not afraid of you!” Delight told him emphatically. “Why should I be?”

“Because you are independent. Because you are a virgin, and virgins always believe that to be loved is to be possessed. You do not want anyone to possess you, but believe me, wench, when a man and a woman love one another, the possession is mutual. There is no winning in love, only sharing. You will understand that one day soon, and then you will not be afraid of me.”

His words left her thoughtful, even if she did not really totally understand him. Mad! The man was simply mad. Her parents were matching her with a madman, and there was nothing that she could do about it.

The day chosen for their betrothal was the twenty-first of June. Blaze and Tony sent their best wishes, but the Earl of Langford would not allow his wife to travel in her newly announced condition. Delight was secretly relieved, for she was not yet quite up to facing Blaze and her husband. Still, she smiled to think of Blaze’s outrage at being told she must remain at RiversEdge and miss the family event. Bliss, of course, was near her time. There was absolutely no question of her coming. She and Owen also sent gifts and good wishes to the couple.

Blythe, however, came with Nicholas and their children. “I could not let this happy day go by and not be with you, dearest,” the gentle Lady Kingsley declared as she hugged her sibling. “I know that Bliss and Blaze are very disappointed not to be able to be with you in this joyous moment.”

Cormac O’Brian’s eyes warmed at the sight of the fair and beautiful Blythe, her two elder children clinging to her skirts, baby Edmund in her arms.

“There are two like that?” he asked Lord Morgan.

Robert Morgan smiled. “Aye, her identical twin is the Countess of Marwood, but more fiery of temperament. Blythe is my lamb. I’ve no other like her.”

“I’d not complain of daughters if Delight gave me some like that,” Lord O’Brian said admiringly.

The bride-to-be wore a gown of pale cream-colored silk, its bodice decorated with tiny seed pearls and gold threads, as was the panel of its underskirt which showed. Her upper puffed sleeves were slashed to show pearl-dotted lace beneath, which fell into cuffs as they emerged from beneath the narrower lower sleeve of her gown. In her ears and about her neck were her pearls. Her loose dark hair was crowned with a wreath of daisies and ivy.

Cormac O’Brian was dressed in dark green velvets and silks. Though his clothes gave him the thin veneer of civilization, there was still a savagery about him that was both intriguing and fascinating. About his neck he wore a heavy gold chain from which hung a great round medallion upon which was the raised figure of a falcon in flight.

They stood side by side within the family chapel while Father John spoke the ancient words of the betrothal ceremony which, in effect, caused them to pledge themselves formally, one to the other, and to agree upon their intent to marry. Cormac O’Brian then pushed the betrothal ring upon Delight’s finger. She stared down at the beautiful circle of Irish red-gold which was carved all around with tiny forget-me-nots studded with tiny blue sapphires.

A formal betrothal ceremony was a serious and binding thing, which in many places was considered more important than the marriage ceremony itself. There was no going back now. The marriage agreement was then signed by the bride’s father, her intended husband, and the bride herself. Lord O’Brian was then instructed by the priest to give Delight the betrothal kiss, which he did, in a most chaste manner, thus finalizing the vows made between them, and ending the ceremony.

“Now,” said Lord Morgan, “let us celebrate this happy event!” and with his wife he led them all back to the Great Hall of Ashby, where a feast awaited them. They had scarcely sat down to table when a messenger wearing the Earl of Marwood’s badge rushed into the hall and ran up to Lord Morgan who waved his permission to the servant to speak.

“The young countess has gone into labor, my lord, and she begs that her mother and father attend her immediately. His lordship agrees with her ladyship, and also begs that you both come.”

“Trust Bliss to take the attention away from Delight at her own betrothal feast. She has always had a flair for the dramatic,” said Vanora primly.

“Vanora, have some charity for your sister,” scolded Lady Rosemary. “You do not know what it is like to give birth to a child.”

“Neither Blaze nor Blythe whined for you, Mama, when they first gave birth,” noted Vanora.

“Nevertheless, I was with them both. A woman in labor with her first child wants the company of the other, more experienced women in her family. You will too one day. Blythe is here with us, and Blaze cannot travel.” She arose from the table. “I must go to Bliss immediately, although it will be hours before she has her child. Still, she needs the reassurance of her family about her. Rob, see to the horses, for we will have to ride. The coach will take too long.”

“I am going with you, Mama,” said Blythe. “I cannot be away from Bliss at such a time. My lord,” she said, turning to her husband, “will you see the children safely home, and then join me?”

“Go along, sweetheart,” he told her. “Tell Owen I shall soon be with him, and we will all get drunk together.”

“Oh, Delight,” said Lady Morgan, “I am so sorry that your day has been spoilt, but you and Cormac must continue to host your feast.” She hugged her daughter, and then hurried off to seek her traveling-cloak.

Blythe went with her, and Lord Morgan, with a hurried apology to his daughter and Lord O’Brian, quickly followed. For a long moment the hall was silent in the wake of their departure, and then Vanora said, “When are you going to cut the betrothal cake, Delight? I am fair starved to taste it!”

“So am I,” replied Lord O’Brian, “but I think Delight’s lips are probably far sweeter.”

“My lord, behave yourself!” snapped Delight.

“Why, wench, if I behaved myself I should not be half the grand fellow that Gavin says I am,” Cormac O’Brian teased, and snatching up his goblet, he arose. “A toast, my lords and my ladies! A toast to the loveliest bride a man could ever have! A toast to O’Brian’s Delight!”

“A toast!” cried the remaining guests, rising and raising their own goblets while Delight blushed, half-irritated, half-pleased by his words.

And while the merriment continued in the Great Hall of Ashby, Lord Morgan’s little party rode out for Marwood Hall. It was a ride of several hours’ length, and sometimes they kept to the high road, but at other times they scorned it, riding cross-country, always taking the most direct route, until finally in the late afternoon they arrived. The women, almost falling from their horses, hurried on wobbly legs into the house, to be greeted by Owen FitzHugh, who was looking gaunt and haggard.

“I will never do this to her again,” he declared dramatically. “My God, how she is suffering!”

“When did her pains begin, Owen?” Lady Rosemary asked him.

“Not until midmorning,
belle-mère
,” he answered her.

“But your messenger arrived at Ashby at midmorning,” she answered, puzzled.

“Her waters broke at dawn,” he said, “and she insisted then and there that I send for you.”

“Ahhhh,” replied Lady Morgan understandingly. “Take me to her, Owen.”

He led them to Bliss’s apartments, where the expectant mother was found sitting up in her bed eating sugarplums and drinking wine. “Ohhhhh, Owen!” Bliss cried dramatically when she spied her husband, “I feel so dreadful!”