LITMIR.BIZ

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at her, trying to reassure her, though he doubted he succeeded, he did not feel assured himself.

       Hurry up.

      They could not be far from the border, but night had begun to creep across the sky, turning the vista eerie and he was not sure they’d find a witness if they crossed after dark. Would anyone rise from their bed at night to perform the favour, and confirm the ceremony? For enough money, maybe; but he would be spending the precious funds he needed to cloth Ellen. Heaven knew he had spent enough years penniless during the Peninsular War. He’d only received his accrued arrears of wages a few weeks back. He’d also had a small inheritance from a deceased aunt. Still he was not rich.

       Come on.

      The sky became darker and bleak; they’d passed Carlisle hours ago. In the deep blue light of sundown, he recognised his first sight of the sea on the horizon, and then the inlet of a river mouth; the estuary which marked the Scottish border. He looked at Ellen, the tension inside him spinning in a sudden eddy, disorientation tumbling over him for a moment. Ellen leaned across him and looked out the window on his side.

      The driver slid the hatch open. “We’ve crossed the border, Captain.”

      Thank God. “Hurry then. Stop at the first place you think we will find a witness."

      Anyone could bear witness to a wedding under Scottish law. As long as the bride was older than five and ten. If he and Ellen stood before a Scotsman and said they wished to marry, then the deed was done, and English law had to recognise it. They had no need for parental consent or a priest. That was why they’d come.

      The carriage hurried on, travelling past the estuary, where a few small boats rested on the sand, left stranded by the low tide.

      Paul let go of Ellen’s hand and drew the window down, to look ahead. They passed over the bridge beneath which the river ran out to sea. He saw nothing as the chill night air rushed into the carriage.

      Behind him, he heard Ellen slide down the opposite window. A harsh cold draft swirled through the carriage penetrating his clothing.

      Come on. He leaned out the window and looked back along the track, but no carriage, or horses, pursued them.

      “I see something!” Ellen called. “A little forge beside the road.”

      He looked ahead and saw nothing on his side. Looking up at the box he yelled, “Driver. We will stop at the forge!”

      Slipping back into the carriage he turned to Ellen.

      She smiled broadly, her fingers gripping the sill of the open window as the breeze swept a few loose strands of hair off her face. She’d taken her bonnet off. It rested on the carriage seat opposite.

      She glanced at him, her pale blue eyes engaging with the last eerie blue light of early evening. She was magnificent; he’d never seen a woman as beautiful as she. Every man in his regiment would envy him, and when he went into battle he would have this beauty to come back to, to refresh his battered soul.

      He gripped her hand again as they travelled the last few yards in silence, in the freezing cold carriage.

      A few moments only and they would be safe. Married.

      The carriage slowed and pulled up, sliding a little, and Paul braced his hand on the side, holding himself steady. It was a squat, whitewashed building, little bigger than a stable, with a thatched roof. “Stay here,” he said as he let go of her hand, and moved to open the door.

      He climbed out onto the road but shut the door, leaving Ellen inside until the arrangements were made. As he walked about the carriage, the blacksmith came out, wiping his hands on a rag. His face and hands were dirt stained, dusted with dark smut, and he wore an old leather apron.

      “Ye looking to get y’urself hitched?” The question was bluntly put, implying this man had done the deed a thousand times.

      “Yes. Will you bear witness?”

      “For a price… What will ye give me?”

      What Paul offered first the man rejected. Paul’s uniform marked him as an officer, and the man assumed he’d pay more. But unwilling to throw money away Paul haggled until they reached a price he was prepared to agree.

      “Bring your woman,” the blacksmith said as they shook hands, “and let’s get it done.”

      After handing over the payment, Paul turned to the carriage. His heart jolted and a tight sensation gripped in his chest. She watched from the open window. He smiled. Her smile rose like sunshine in answer, cutting through the dusk. She was not only beautiful on the outside, but on the inside too; life brimmed inside her, like a brook bubbling and spilling over the top of a pool. A refreshing pool he wished to bathe in. It was like slipping away from the army camp on the edge of war to swim naked in a cold river – exhilarating sensations tumbled through him.

      The horses stamped at the ground and shook out their manes, rattling their harness and tack, restless from their hard ride. They whinnied into the cold air as Paul moved to help Ellen from the carriage.

      The spare rider, already on the ground, had lowered the step, and now he opened the door for her.

      “Wait.” Paul stopped the man with a hand on his shoulder to move him aside, then he lifted that hand to Ellen. “Will you marry me?”

      Her smile shone in her eyes. If she’d been unsure when they’d left, she was not anymore. “Oh, yes.”

      “Come then. Let me make you my wife.”

      She laughed, gripping his fingers and then looking down to watch her step.

      The snow crunched underfoot as he walked her to the forge, holding her hand as he might to parade about a ballroom. Of course they had never done that; she was not officially out. He’d snatched her from the nest, as it were.

      “Stand here,” the blacksmith called from within. The man had not even washed his hands, or his face. He’d become absorbed in the shadows, cast by the orange glow emanating from the fire of the forge. “There.” He directed them to stand before an anvil, on the opposite side to himself.

      Paul changed his grip on Ellen’s hand, weaving his fingers between hers, uniting them before the words were even said.

      “Have you a ring then?”

      Yes, he had; where were his wits? Letting go of her hand, he took off his gloves, as she removed hers. He took the ring out of the inside pocket of his coat. It was a simple band of gold, nothing special.

      A plump woman came into the smithy through a door at the back, and as he and Ellen turned, she smiled. “Another couple come to exchange vows then.” Two young children followed her. A girl who was probably eight or nine, and a boy of about five.

      “Aye,” the blacksmith answered in a gruff voice. The children hovered near their mother watching as she came closer.

      “Margaret can bear ye witness too.” The blacksmith said, calling Paul’s attention back. “Say y’ur piece and I’ll pronounce ye man and wife.” The cold dispassionate words turned Paul’s stomach. He needed this to feel a little more than something rash and hurried. He wished it to be a moment Ellen would look back on with fondness. He wished to make a memory they could treasure their entire lives.

      He faced her, searching for the right words. Words that would profess all he felt, but he had never been a poet. “I love you, Ellen.” Her eyes searched his, the pale blue shining even in the low light of the smithy, and her lips pressed together, slightly curved. His chest filled with a warm sensation. “I promise to protect you. I swear I shall cherish you every day of my life. You may trust me, you may rely on me. I am yours. I wish to give myself to you – my life to you. Will you be my wife? Will you marry me?”

      Her lips parted in a smile.

      A few strands of hair had fallen about her face, the ebony curls cupped her jaw, caressing her neck. She stole his breath away.

      “Yes,”

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