Epilogue – Wedding Day
The exchange of vows was set for early evening a week later, after the men had put in a full day's work.
Freya flitted nervously from one thing to the other all morning, envying Merlin his busyness, in spite of Emma's dissatisfaction that he should be required to work on his wedding day. The afternoon went a little smoother, mainly because she was distracted by the preparations – all three women had to dress just so, and have their hair done just so, and Emma spent close to an hour arranging and re-arranging the sitting room by direction.
It'll only be us, Freya thought, but didn't interrupt her cousin's planning and excitement. Nor did she bother to point out it would not likely be a traditional marriage. The reasons for their vows did not include overwhelming mutual love or even a satisfactory social contract, beneficial for both parties. But it was much better than her first experience.
"You look so pretty!" Vivian gushed, standing beside Freya at her own three-mirrored dressing table.
Freya had to admit, she'd never worn such a lovely gown, a soft light blue-gray, with simple embroidery at the round neckline and the elbow-length bell-shaped sleeves. Holding a simple pair of white lilies tied with a ribbon, Freya wondered what Merlin's expression would be when he saw her. Had he made a similar effort with his own attire? Or would he simply come from the Palais or wherever he'd been all day, wash his hands and face, and be ready?
"It's just because you've only seen me in black," she said, though Vivian disagreed.
Vivian was still in her under-things, dithering over a last-minute change in her selection of dress, when Betsey knocked to announce the men's arrival.
"I'll go down," Freya volunteered. "You take your time; we won't start til you're there." Her heart jumped and fluttered, imagining the moment when she and Merlin would stand before the agent and begin the short ceremony joining their lives forever.
It all seemed so unreal.
She crept down the stairs slowly, clutching at the rail; at every step her legs threatened to keep bending and plump her down on her seat. She could hear Arthur and Randall chatting casually over the day's events, but Merlin, if he was in the sitting room with the others, was silent. Was he nervous, too? Having second thoughts?
"I think Gregor is going to be a fine reeve," Arthur was saying. "With the council's help, he's already replaced half of the deputies, and today he started to deal with some of the dishonesty among the toll collectors. No matter what decision the council reaches by the end of the week, at least the tolls will be exactly what they were set to be, with no more additions by greedy collectors."
"I heard that the council was going to accept flat-rate passes, also, for some of the people who live and work in different districts, or those whose jobs take them between those borders," Randall added, and Arthur concurred with a murmur.
The heeled boots that Vivian had insisted Freya wear with a lighter-colored dress clicked on the stone of the entryway, warning the men of her approach. Randall stepped to meet her, taking her hand and kissing her cheek, complimenting her with a gruff kindness and a warm smile, "You look lovely, cousin."
Arthur gave her an appreciative once-over and nodded his approbation with a polite, "Miss Freya."
Merlin stood at the front window with his back to the others, much as she'd found him the day they'd discussed her mistake with Padlow. He wore the same charcoal-gray trousers, but a light blue silk vest adorned with wavy lines of brocade, and a white shirt starched within an inch of its life – and a crisp cravat topping the first button of the vest, she saw as he turned.
His hair gleamed damp in the candlelight Emma had arranged, and he was clean-shaven. He stood looking at her a moment, as though the other men weren't there, and she found herself feeling young and shy. She tried to remind herself of the true difference of their ages, but could not for the life of her see a boy by any definition of the word. Maybe he didn't look as old as he'd seemed when he first walked into Percival's tavern, but there was mature acceptance in his eyes, as if he'd grown up a little more even in the week since he'd proposed and she'd accepted.
Then he smiled that slow, sideways smile, and stepped to her side. Unselfconsciously he offered his elbow, and led her to the sofa under the window. "Your cousins aren't quite ready?"
"Takes them hours," Randall remarked to Arthur. "When did they start?" He turned back to his conversation with the agent, not really expecting Freya to answer.
She was acutely aware of the fabric of her skirt brushing against Merlin's trouser leg. He sat loosely, relaxed, but she found it harder to breathe, as though she was being squeezed in a vise.
Marriage was such a big step, such a huge commitment; she wasn't sure what to expect, or what the future might hold. People changed, all the time; she had waited for Padlow to change for the better – would she worry and fear that Merlin would change for the worse?
They hadn't discussed the more intimate side of marriage, and while she was fully prepared for him to demand his rights as often as he liked, and to submit to the pain and humiliation, even try to do it as cheerfully as possible, she had no idea what to expect from him. They'd touched, of course, and often, but never with any hint of romance – or even desire, from him. Would it hurt even more if he simply ignored her physically, if he didn't desire her at all?
Freya jumped when his hand slid over hers in her lap, but didn't raise her eyes to his, just looked at his hand – clean, nails neat, one knuckle split open and scabbed over.
"You were fighting today?" she said, then bit her tongue.
"Reeve Gregor requested a reckoning from each toll collector," he replied without offense. "Some who were using their position to cheat extra coin when they could get away with it were inclined to resist."
There was something in his tone that made her look at him then, and she realized - though it wasn't a new revelation - that he was a man that much preferred decisive action to all the discussion and repetitive argument of the council. He liked making a difference, she thought, knowing he'd accomplished something good for the day. She felt her heart lean toward him a little more.
Merlin drew back, taking the kerchief she'd been mangling between her fingers. She watched him fold it clumsily, then reach to stuff it in her wrist-purse.
"Calm down," he told her, and took her hand in his own once again. "Nothing is going to change."
Looking into the clear blue depths of his eyes, she saw that he truly expected that to be true. She said nothing, but knew he was wrong.
Everything was going to change.
A/N: So this was a really short 'chapter'. Therefore I also uploaded the next one, which will begin part 3: The Reeve... You're welcome!