Trapped at the Altar

“I stand corrected,” Ivor murmured, laying the gown back on the table.

His eye was caught by a flimsy mound of cambric, silk, and lace. Petticoats, shifts, chemises, stockings. Rolf was generally known as something of a skinflint, but he clearly did not deserve the sobriquet on this occasion.

“Well, I’ve a mind to go fishing, so if you’ve a mind to join me when you can escape, Ari, I’ll be trying the deep water beyond the bridge. There’s a big pike in that water, and he’s defeated me time and time again, but I’m in the mood for battle.”

? ? ?

“Oh, help me out of these clothes,” Ari said impatiently as the door closed behind Ivor. “If I have to stand still another minute, I shall scream.” She tugged at the braided fastenings on the jacket of the habit.

“Oh, let me do it, miss.” One of the dressmakers pushed her hands aside. “If you tear the braid, it’ll take hours to repair.”

“Forgive me, Daisy.” Ari was instantly contrite and stood still as a post while the woman delicately divested her of the riding habit and the white ruffled shirt. Stripped to her chemise, she rolled her shoulders with a sigh of relief and grabbed up the woolen homespun gown she’d been wearing before. She slipped it on, fastening the laces of the bodice with quick fingers, and gave another sigh of relief.

“That’s better. Now, where are my shoes?”

“By the door,” Tilly informed her, heating a flat iron on the range. “I’ll finish pressing this linen now, and then I’ll be along to make your supper.”

Ari left the women to their work and went out with a jaunty wave, picking up her skirts to run along the riverbank towards the bridge. No one paid her any attention. They were accustomed to her headlong progress through the village, and she didn’t notice her uncle standing in the doorway of the Council house, tankard in hand, watching her with a disagreeable frown on his brow.

She found Ivor where he’d said he’d be, in the water, just up from the bridge, his britches rolled up to his knees, casting his rod into a deep pool formed by a curve in the bank. Ari didn’t speak, afraid a sound would scare off the pike. She sat down and took off her shoes, hitching her skirts up above her knees with an expert twist of material at her waist, securing the folds with her hair ribbon. The dark curly locks tumbled around her face, and she tucked them behind her ears with impatient fingers.

“You do look a regular urchin,” Ivor remarked softly as she slid down the bank into the water, barely disturbing the surface.

“May as well make the most of the freedom while I have it,” she responded in a whisper. “Where is he?” She peered at the dark, weedy water of the pool.

“Under a stone about five feet away.” Ivor withdrew his rod, checked the bait, and cast again, letting the weighted hook sink below the surface. “He’s a crafty bugger. I can’t count the number of times he’s led me on, sometimes just takes the bait right off the hook and then vanishes somewhere into the bank. This is my last shot at him.”

“Will you miss the valley?” Despite her earlier protestations, Ari had wondered herself if she would miss the only life she’d known. She wouldn’t miss Rolf and the elders in the least, but there was no denying that the freedom from social constraints would be hard to give up.

“Some of it,” Ivor said. His line jerked suddenly. He leaned back, his rod bowing as he began to reel it in.

“You’ve got him,” Ari said excitedly. “Ivor, you’ve got him.”

“Perhaps. Sweet heaven, he’s a fighter. Get the net, Ari.” His line was jerking madly, the rod deeply bowed. The fish was trying to drag him into the pool as it fought to escape, and he set his feet more firmly into the mud of the riverbed, leaning his weight back against the fish, his arms straight as he played the line.

Ariadne scrambled up the bank and grabbed the net. She slid back into the water, took a step towards Ivor, and her foot disappeared into an unexpectedly deep drop in the riverbed. She lost her balance and slipped, the water closing over her head. She fought her way up and then realized her foot was caught in the weeds at the bottom, and she couldn’t get her head out of the water.

Ivor swore and dropped the rod, splashing to where Ari had disappeared. He could see her hair floating just below the surface and realized what had happened. The weeds were treacherous in this part of the river, which was what made it such a treasure trove for the secretive pike. He took a breath and ducked beneath the surface, grabbing Ari around the waist. He pulled hard, and they both came up, breaking the surface in a fountain of spray.

Ari gasped for breath, blinking water out of her eyes. “That was scary. I couldn’t free my foot.”

“No, I realized.”

“You dropped your rod?” She wrung water out of her hair between her hands.

“Yes,” he agreed, watching its rapid disappearance up the river as the pike took off with it. “I hope he gets rid of the hook. He deserves better than that.”

“I’m sorry.” She looked regretfully at the vanishing rod.

“Hardly your fault.” Ivor looked at her closely. She was rather pale, and her eyes were still frightened. He could only imagine the panic one would feel trapped beneath the water like that, even for such a short time. “Let’s get you onto dry land.” He lifted her easily out of the water and set her on the bank, jumping up beside her.

“I was so frightened,” Ari said, almost in wonder. She didn’t think she’d ever been really scared before. “What would have happened if you hadn’t been here?”

“You wouldn’t have been in the water in the first place,” he pointed out in a rallying tone. “You’re shivering.” He took her hands, chafing them, and then he wrapped his arms around her. He was as wet as Ari was, but he thought only of imparting some of his body warmth to her. She clung to him, and without thought he tilted her chin with one finger, and as she turned her dark, wide-eyed gaze up to him, he kissed her. It took him by surprise, and yet as soon as their lips met, he realized how much he had been longing to do just this.

Ariadne couldn’t think. She was too numb to think. She felt his mouth on hers, soft, pliant, yet firm and warm. She didn’t move, just stood still against him, her arms clinging around his waist as if to a lifeline, and when his tongue demanded entrance, she parted her lips for him, tasting the sweet essence of his mouth, feeling a rush of warmth pulse through her blood, making her heart beat faster, bringing a flush to her cheeks.

Ivor raised his head finally and looked down at her from his greater height, a slightly surprised look in his eyes. “Well, now,” he murmured. “I’ve been wanting to do that for a very long time, but somehow I didn’t think my first marital kiss would be like embracing a half-drowned kitten.”

Ari just shook her head. Why hadn’t she pushed him away? She had told herself she was resigned to the fact of their marriage, to acceptance of its consummation, but her heart was not involved in this arrangement. And yet, instead of pushing him away, she had clung to him, parted her lips for him, invited him to deepen the kiss. Had she yielded simply through surprise and the shock of her immersion in the river?

Of course, that was all it had been. It was best forgotten, considered nothing more than an aberration. She declared, “I am not remotely like a kitten, half-drowned or not.”