Page 61 of Wild Hearts

His mind probed the words he had just read. There had been no mention of what had caused her death, and a frown deepened between his brows as he pondered Shannon's meaning. Most likely it had been the morphia that had killed her, and Mrs. Sinclair was practiced at administering it. He was relieved that it had happened while he was so far away, for as sure as night follows day, suspicion would have been laid at his doorstep, for he had never made a secret of the fact that there was no love lost between them. He stood up, shaking off the queer lethargy that had stolen over him. He must get back as quickly as possible. He was needed.

He went up on deck to check the tide and saw that it was time to haul up the anchor. He shouted the order, then took the letter out again to reread its contents. As he glanced down the page, the two words Alexandria had added stood out clearly. She had written, "Secure Tabrizia!"

In his deep, carrying voice, he rescinded the order he had shouted. "Lower the anchor again, quick, before the tide takes us. We'll wait for the next tide." He went below to bathe and change his clothes; then, resplendent in his finest, he left the ship, a glittering light of determination in his emerald green eyes.

Tabrizia was about to go down for the evening meal when the low knock came upon her chamber door. She took the note from Jasper, and as she read the message, her pulse quickened at the instructions.

My Love,

We must be wed tonight before the King imprisons me. Meet me in the chapel at ten.

P.

She traced the bold letter P with her finger and wondered if she had the courage to go through with it. The rumors of oppression and rape in the Orkneys had upset her, yet, she reasoned, Patrick had only ever treated her with tender concern. With this thought foremost in her mind, she decided to seize the moment and make it happen. She bathed and put on white silk undergarments, then she took the exquisite bridal gown from her trunk and laid it upon the bed while she brushed her hair until it crackled like wildfire. As the minutes sped past, she feared that she would not be ready in time. She finished putting all her toilet articles in the trunk along with her jewel casket and the notes she had received. She fastened the catches on the heavy lid, noticing that her hands had begun to tremble.

She slipped into the wedding gown and set the coronet upon her darkly glowing hair. The transformation was amazing. As she gazed into the small mirror, she saw that she looked like a queen. It would be cold down in the chapel, and later, on Patrick's ship. She pulled her black sable cloak around her shoulders and sat down to wait. In a very short time Jasper's low knock came. She bade him enter, and he lifted her trunk to one shoulder. "I'll give ye safe escort to the chapel, mistress."

"Thank you, Jasper," she said mistily, "you have guarded me well." She followed him silently down the backstairs for three flights, until the doors of the chapel were in view. She pulled her furs more tightly around her and turned to say good-bye, but he had already gone, leaving as silently as he had arrived.

The chapel seemed dark and sinister at this late hour, and the silence stretched out before her, magnifying the whisper of the gown with every movement of her body. A tall figure swiftly moved out from the shadows, and as the pale yellow candlelight touched his hair and beard, she saw that it was Rogue Cockburn.

She gasped. "Why are you here?"

His dark green eyes raked the bridal gown, and a mixture of love and misery gripped his heart. He'd never beheld such rare beauty before, but it was intended for another, and the thought was unbearable to him. He said evenly; "I'm here to be married. You received my note?"

Tabrizia thought her senses had gone astray, nothing made sense to her. "Your note? But I thought..." Then she realized the P had meant Paris, and she was caught in yet another one of his plots. "What of your wife?" she asked, raising bewildered eyes to his.

"Dead," he replied bluntly.

Her small hand flew to her throat. "Murdered?" she choked, her eyes mirroring the fear that gripped her.

He nearly went on his knees to swear before God he'd had no hand in it, then his pride rose up and would not let him be bested. His eyes narrowed dangerously as he reached out a brown hand and brought her close against him. "Does it matter?" he challenged coldly.

Tabrizia searched his harsh features, dreading the worst, then lowered her eyes at what she saw there. She could not bear to look at him. "I cannot... will not... marry you," she uttered.

He remembered that he had decided he wanted all or nothing, yet here he was willing to settle for anything he could get. If he could not have her love, then so be it, but he would have her at any cost. A derisive laugh escaped his lips, and his grip upon her arm tightened as he pushed her forward into the chapel. She felt so small and helpless as he towered above her, yet she was determined not to utter the words that would join them. Her feet moved one in front of the other against her will as she was slowly forced toward the altar.

When the chaplain approached, Paris let go of her arm and clasped her hand, which was icy cold against his warm, brown fingers. She raised pitiful eyes to the priest and begged, "Help me... this man—" Her words were stopped in her throat as Paris gripped her hand so tightly, she feared her small bones would be crushed.

Paris spoke up firmly. "We are here to wed, and our time is short."

The chaplain asked, "What are your names?"

"Paris Cockburn and Tabrizia Cockburn," he said steadily.

The priest raised an eyebrow. "There is no impediment?"

Tabrizia cried, "Yes!"

Paris Cockburn said loudly and firmly, "None! Get on with it."

The chaplain cut down on the prayers to get to the essential vows. He wanted to be rid of this couple as quickly as may be. He addressed Paris:

"Wilt thou, Paris Cockburn, take Tabrizia Cockburn to be thy lawful wedded wife?

In a harsh, steady voice Paris said, "I will," and pledged himself for the rest of their lives.

The priest turned to the lovely young bride. "Wilt thou, Tabrizia Cockburn, take Paris Cockburn to be thy lawful wedded husband?"

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