Chapter 4
They made their way back to the cottage, holding hands, finally, blessedly alone. He might have thought it slightly improper to grasp his wife's hand rather than thread her arm through his, but only slightly, and what did it matter now anyway? She was his wife now, and any manner in which he chose to show his affection had been sanctioned by God and the woman beside him.
He studied her face covertly; he was by no means an expert at reading his wife his wife, but he rather thought she was as anxious to be alone as he.
The wedding ceremony had been brief in comparison to the celebration that awaited them back at the Abbey. And while they'd both been touched, truly touched, by the genuine good wishes bestowed on them again and again from both their upstairs family and the down, they were both relieved when the final, formal goodbyes had been tended. Of course they promised to return and certainly they extended invitations for any who chose to visit, though certainly not today, and likely not tomorrow either.
She was wearing that new hat he found so charming; in fact, she'd been wed in the very same outfit she'd been wearing when he proposed to her kissed her. Tears had sprung to his eyes as she walked down the aisle, and he blinked them away as best he could. As she drew closer, he could see that she'd arranged her hair differently; she'd even put a bit of color on her lips, not that he thought she'd needed any adornment. She was quite simply the most captivating woman he'd ever known.
Soon their cottage was in view. As they drew near the door, he stopped her, pulled the key out of his pocket and held it out to her.
"I think you should do the honors, my dear."
Though she looked at him curiously, she accepted the key and turned to put it in the lock. Charles crept close behind her and put behind him the hamper full of food that Mrs. Patmore had insisted on packing for them. The jars of jam his favorite rattled noisily against one another and Elsie turned to look at him.
"Open the door, Elsie."
She turned the knob and he gathered her quickly, clumsily into his arms.
"What on earth? Charles Carson, put me down!"
"Not until we cross the threshold."
"But anyone could see?"
"Does it matter?"
"Do you want the whole village gossiping about us?"
"I find I don't care nearly as much as I did." He stepped across the threshold with his wife, his bride, quite pleased with himself. He had wondered whether he would be able to lift her, not because he thought her heavy, no, but he was certainly grateful for years of lifting crates of wine and carrying them down cellar. Her head tucked neatly beneath his chin and even in spite of her coat and dress, she felt soft and warm in his arms.
"Put me down, Charles," murmured Elsie.
"Must I?"
"I think you must, for now."
He set her down gently. He noticed a faint flush of color along her cheeks, but he said nothing, merely retrieved the hamper and closed the door behind him.
*CE*
He listened to the sounds of her unpacking the hamper in the kitchen. She'd asked him to start a fire; the evenings were a bit cool, and he hadn't wanted to leave the fire burning this morning. She told him she would put the kettle on for them. He sighed. He didn't want a cup of tea; he wanted her. Blast it, man. Control yourself! You're not some eager young buck! But gods he felt like one. He'd kissed her at the ceremony's end, very lightly, very chastely. He wouldn't embarrass her for the world. But now they were alone, and he wanted nothing more than to kiss her as he had done all those weeks ago, to hold her in his arms, to cross that final barrier with her. But he didn't want to frighten her, and he sensed her apprehension.
She bustled out of the kitchen with the tea and an assortment of biscuits on a tray which she set on the table near the settee.
"Come and have some tea, Charles."
"Alright," and he groaned as he stood, kneeling as he had been in front of the fireplace. "Oh, dear."
"Are you alright?"
"Perfectly well, my dear. Only my knees aren't accustomed to kneeling; they'll get used to it."
"Will you miss it?"
"Miss what?"
"Delegating tasks like lighting fires."
He smiled as he walked toward the settee. "I don't think I shall. Not now."
She smiled softly and ducked her chin. "Sit down, then. I'll fix your tea for you."
He sat obligingly and waited for her to turn to him once more. As she handed him the cup, he noticed her hands were trembling. He took the cup gently from her. He must proceed carefully. "Won't you sit down, Elsie?"
"I will, as soon as I've fixed my own tea."
Oh, no. She's gone all stiff and severe, he thought despondently. This will never do.
After what seemed an age, she finally sat near him on the settee.
"Thank you for the tea, my dear."
"You're quite welcome."
They sipped their tea in silence, each wondering how to break this awkward stalemate they found themselves in, when Charles had a sudden inspiration. He put his tea down and rose abruptly from the settee.
"Wherever are you going, Charles?"
"I'll only be a moment." Lady Mary, knowing Carson's fondness for music, had gifted them with a gramophone and a few recordings. He had placed it carefully in a cupboard, hoping to surprise Elsie with it. He brought it out into the parlor and began to set it up.
"What's all this?"
"It's a gramophone. From Lady Mary. I thought we might listen to some music."
She sniffed. Though she was fonder of the girl, having seen evidence of her loyalty to Anna, that did not mean she was in the mood to be reminded of her on her wedding night. Her wedding night! The thought made her flush to the roots of her hair. What must Mr. Carson Charles think of her? She had rebuffed every attempt of his to make her more comfortable and now he had resorted to music to soothe her. She resolved to put her nerves by as best she could and enjoy whatever activity he had in mind to her fullest.
She watched remove the cylinder from its sleeve and carefully place it on the gramophone. Then he gently wound the crank so that the music would play. She wondered what he had chosen. He placed the needle on the cylinder, then turned to her with a look so shy and hopeful that her heart lurched uncomfortably in her chest. She'd understood his regard for her, perhaps even passion, but today she had seen his love for her, unguarded and so very fragile, in the warmth of his eyes and his tentative, gentle touch. He reached a hand to her as the first strains of the music wafted through the horn.
"Shall we dance?"
She felt slow and stupid and graceless as she put her tea cup on the table and reached out for his hand. They had never danced before. He had never held her so closely in all the years they'd known each other. Even in the cemetery the day he'd proposed he'd been careful not to press himself too closely against her. He pulled her to her feet and effortlessly gathered her into his arms. She fancied herself a credible dancing partner; his annual dancing at the Servant's Ball was always so stilted and formal. She could never have guessed how fluidly he could move, how lightly and wonderfully well he guided her through their small parlor, how full of love she could feel for this man.
Through the years, he had imagined various scenarios in which he might persuade Mrs. Hughes to dance with him at the Servant's Ball, knowing how improper and inappropriate such an action would be. Nevertheless, he had often wondered what she might feel like in his arms, what it might be like to guide her confidently around the room in a swirling mass of music and light and color. But here, holding her now, dancing in their small parlor, he realized with pained delight at how very inadequate his fantasies had been. She was so light and graceful, she moved with him at the slightest provocation. It was as though she could read his thoughts before he had them. Well, and hadn't she been performing a sort of dance with him all these years? He wanted to crush her to him, to bury his face in her neck, explore every part of her that had heretofore been hidden from him, but he couldn't. Not now, not yet.
The music stopped abruptly. Damn. He hadn't turned the crank nearly enough. He made to release her, but she clutched his suit coat and stared hard at him for a moment before she kissed him.
*CE*
Later, he was never quite sure how they made it up the stairs unscathed. He hadn't wanted to release her, and she hadn't wanted to be released, so they clasped one another tightly, kissing and groping and holding up the stairs and along the corridor to the bedroom. She pulled away from him as she saw the bed.
"You didn't sleep here last night."
"I couldn't. Not yet. Not without you."
"You daft, precious man," she whispered and kissed him deeply.
*CE*
She'd had plans, of course. She'd bought that nightgown, for heaven's sake. But suddenly, a nightgown seemed unnecessary. She hadn't known that love and desire could be such a heady mix. She had cared for Joe, but she hadn't really loved him. Hadn't expected to, wouldn't have, even had they married. But this man, this man had stolen into her heart before she knew what was happening and resided their ever since. She had always loved him, but she hadn't always desired him. She felt it know though, felt it coursing through her veins, pumping through her heart. She loved him and she wanted him, come what may. He pulled away from her, a question in his eyes. She answered with a nod, and he began to unbutton her blouse.
*CE*
The room was quiet, still. Even the birds had stopped twittering. He wanted to take his time, to burn every moment in his memory, but his fingers were racing ahead of him. Her chest was rising and falling with short, shallow breaths, and he risked a look at her face. Her eyes were closed and she was worrying her lower lip in that way of hers. He groaned aloud and her eyes flew open. He grabbed her shoulders and kissed her, hard at first, then he opened his mouth against hers, teased her lips open with his tongue and she gasped at the feeling of his tongue in her mouth. She stumbled a bit and he steadied her, then he lifted her in his arms again and carried her to their bed.
*CE*
In that first mad, frantic shuffle, he worked his suitcoat and tie off and her blouse and skirt. He rubbed his hands along the sure, stiff outline of her corset, kissed her neck and shoulders, the tops of her breasts, delighted by the moans and sighs he was eliciting. He wanted nothing more than to thrust himself inside her, but he disciplined himself to move slowly, carefully. He rose above her to unclasp the straps of her stockings, to pull at the ties of her corset, then unhooked each delicate eye, finally exposing her shift worn smooth and thin. He buried his face between the valley of her breasts and felt her hands tangle in his hair. He looked up at her and saw all the love and fear and desire he himself felt. He pulled himself up so that he could cradle her face in his hands, then he kissed her slowly: her forehead, her eyes, her cheeks, her mouth. He thought he might burst when he felt her hands against his trousers, loosening the buttons.
"Are you ready," he whispered hoarsely.
"Yes, mo chridhe, yes."
"Mo kree? What does that mean?"
She turned her face away from him as she mumbled. "It means my heart in the Gaelic."
He turned her face toward him gently and began to kiss her in earnest. "Mo kree. Mo kree. My heart. I love you. Do you know? Have you always known? I love you. I love you."
"I love you Charles. I do, my man. I love you."
He worked her shift up and over her body, while simultaneously shrugging out of his trousers and underpants. She helped him out of his vest, then he tugged gently at her knickers. She gasped as he touched her intimately, with such tenderness that she felt tears spring to her eyes.
He rose over her his powerful back and arms providing a shelter of sorts and he kissed her softly, once, twice, before guiding himself inside her very slowly and gently.
She knew to expect pain and her breath caught as she felt him push his way inside her.
"Are you alright?"
She nodded, and stroked his cheek. "I'm fine," she whispered. "Just…just go slowly, mo chridh."
He wanted to do anything but go slowly, but he took a deep breath and stilled himself inside her, pushing himself in slowly with one hand and caressing her with the other. He felt himself nearly there, and when she pushed herself up to meet him, he sank inside her warmth and let out a tremendous groan.
"Have I hurt you?"
He laughed in spite of himself. "No, my love, no. You haven't hurt me at all. How are you?"
She smiled in spite of herself and crushed herself against him. "I'm fine. I'm wonderful. I can't seem to get close enough to you."
Charles scooted them further down the bed, then guided her legs up and over his hips. He began to move, slowly at first, long slow strokes as he tangled his hands in her hair, buried his face in her neck. He wanted to hold on, wanted to please her as she pleased him, but he couldn't. Her sighs ruffled his hair and tickled his ear. He drew back to look at her face and it was full of love and wonder. When she smiled at him and squeezed her legs around him, he lost control completely and drove into her forcefully before giving a great bloody shout and expending himself inside her.
His face was wet with tears as he lay across her. She gathered him in her arms, stroking his back and crooning a lovely, lilting tune whose words he couldn't understand.
A Mhàiri bhàn òg 's tu 'n òigh th' air m'aire
Rim bheò bhith far am bithinn fhèin,
On fhuair mi ort còir cho mòr 's bu mhath leam
Le pòsadh ceangailt' on chlèir,
Le cùmhnanta teann 's le banntaibh daingeann
'S le snaidhm a dh'fhanas 's nach trèig:
'Se t'fhaotainn air làimh le gràdh gach caraid
Rinn slàinte mhaireann am chrè.
*A/N: Here is the English translation of the Gaelic song written by Duncan Ban Macintyre, who once lived and worked as game warden in Argyll!
Lovely Young Mary, you are the girl
I'll have by me while I still breathe
You're bound to me now, as fast as I wanted
By marriage, sealed and priested,
Promises pledged, the knot tied fast.
To marry in sight of the love of friends
Has made me man, hale and whole.