Page 48 of Stay with Me

“I will.” The words spilled from him with no prodding.

“And Sybil, wilt thou have this man to be thy wedded husband, to live together after God’s ordinance in the holy estate of matrimony? Wilt thou obey him, and serve him, love, honor, and keep him, in sickness and in health; and forsaking all others, keep thee only unto him, so long as ye both shall live?”

She hesitated, drew in a breath, and then spoke. “I will.”

“Ye won’t regret it,” Father Fritz whispered, leaning in. “Ye can ask for no better man than our Nicholas.”

Nicholas prayed Father Fritz was right. He wanted to be a good husband, didn’t want her to have any regrets about her decision. And he wanted her to eventually care about him enough that she would want to stay with him forever.

The rest of the ceremony passed quickly. Within minutes Father Fritz was making the sign of the cross above them where they knelt in front of the chapel door. As they rose, Nicholas took hold of her arm and assisted her to her feet. How was she feeling? Relieved? Or was she already regretting so hasty a decision to marry him?

Father Fritz reached for their hands and placed them together, setting Nicholas’s on top of Sybil’s. For a moment, he worked at spacing Nicholas’s fingers evenly apart, as if the presentation was vitally important.

When satisfied with his work of art, he filled his lungs with air and called out in an overly loud voice: “For as much as Nicholas and Sybil have consented together in holy wedlock, and have witnessed the same before God and this company, and thereto have given and pledged their troth each to the other, and have declared the same by the giving and receiving of a ring—”

He paused, frowned, and then shook his head. “Never mind that. We don’t have the ring yet. Ye’ll be getting her a pretty little one, won’t ye now, Nicholas?”

“It’s alright.” She started to draw her hand out from under his, but he held her fast.

“I shall have one made.” As soon as ’twas relatively safe, he’d ride to the coast where he would commission a goldsmith friend.

“Fine then.” Father Fritz patted their hands. “By the joining of hands, I pronounce therefore that they be man and wife together, in the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost. Amen.”

Nicholas whispered an “Amen,” and as soon as he did, the villagers clapped and cheered and whistled.

He’d done it. Come what may. He was a married man.

Now he just prayed Eric could accept it, that they would both be able to move on with their lives without any regrets.

~ 19 ~

Sybil wasn’t used to being surrounded by women.But when tables and benches were pulled outside, she found herself segregated with Beatrice and the other females as they chattered with each other and prepared the meal—slicing rounds of cheese and bread and making a salad of leeks, parsley, and even primrose.

She felt terribly out of place, not only in the long tunic but also in trying to keep up her end of conversations. She’d never been good at small talk, especially with women, unless the discussions centered around their workouts and competitions.

She had no idea how to add to the talk about which geese were still broody, how to keep maggots from growing in the sheep’s hind parts, or the amount of crushed ale hoof that was required to treat a chill.

Instead, her attention drifted to the men who, after starting a fire and setting mutton to roast, moved to the edge of town for a knife-throwing contest. She easily put together the details—the few broken arrows lying about, the circular targets held up by mounds of earth, and the patches of worn grass—to know the villagers had created a shooting range.

Nicholas had explained during one of their discussions earlier in the day that archery laws had been in place in England for over a hundred years, requiring the training on weekdays. About twenty years ago, King Edward III had added to the law by commanding obligatory practice on Sundays and holidays for every man between fifteen and sixty.

She was fascinated to learn that most towns and villages took the law seriously and had established target practice areas known as the butts.

She would have preferred to watch the men practice their archery, but clearly a competition with bows and arrows was too boring, too commonplace. The knife throwing was apparently more festive.

Nicholas and Ralph were easily the best. As the rest of the men were eliminated, only the two remained. When Nicholas took his place at the edge of the field with a knife in hand, she could no longer hide her interest in their competition. She didn’t mean to turn her back on the women and stare at Nicholas, but she ended up that way.

He stood straight and tall, his entire body taut with intensity. His dark hair was loosely tied back, leaving his chiseled face free for admiring. And admire it she did. She couldn’t help it.

How was it possible this man was her husband?

The realization didn’t send fear racing through her the way she’d assumed it would. Instead, it filled her with a sense of wonder that of all the men, she’d ended up with one like Nicholas, who was as attractive on the inside as he was on the out.

Even though she’d already told herself that everything she was experiencing was too real to be merely a dream, she kept waiting to wake up at any moment.

“Can’t keep your eyes off him, can you?” said Gemma, one of the younger women standing beside her watching the competition. Eighteen, maybe nineteen, she was fair-haired, slender, and pretty.

The introductions after the wedding had been so rapid and to so many people that Sybil hadn’t been able to remember everyone. But she hadn’t been able to forget Gemma, mainlybecause of the longing in the girl’s eyes whenever she stared at Nicholas.

---