Marion Lennox: Prescription-One Husband

The second book in the Prescription: Love series, 1996

A BRIDE’S thoughts on her wedding day…

That she looked perfectly ridiculous!

Dr Fern Rycroft smoothed her cloud of white satin and took three deep breaths. Uncle Al was waiting. Sam was waiting. Indeed, it seemed that the whole island was waiting for Fern to do the right thing.

The sensible thing. Many Sam Hubert…

Well, if only they’d be content with this, Fern thought wryly. Fat chance! There were two things that Fern should do to prove herself worthy of the islanders’ regard. One was to marry Sam. The other was to come home to stay.

She and Sam both.

Well, they’d be waiting a long time! Fern’s green eyes grew bleak behind the veil. Live on Barega again? Never!

‘Ready, Fern?’

Uncle Al was fidgeting by his niece’s side, worry etched on his kindly face.

Fern could guess what he was thinking. Fern Rycroft might be twenty-eight and a trained doctor of medicine but, with her huge green eyes, close-cropped, flamecoloured curls and smattering of freckles, she looked very much the same as the tear-stained orphan that Uncle Al had carried home thirteen years ago. Her uncle worried about her as if she was still a child.

But Fern couldn’t guess her uncle’s deeper worry. Albert Rycroft dredged up a reassuring smile for the lovely girl by his side but he saw the same desolation in Fern that had been with his niece through all the years since her family were killed. The same sense of helplessness behind the laughter and the same belief that life was not to be trusted…

Fern’s infectious chuckle, her cheerfulness and bright smile had endeared her to the islanders from the moment Albert Rycroft had brought his niece home. ‘Our Tonic’, the islanders called her, and when Fern had announced her intention of studying medicine they’d joked,

‘Well, you won’t need medicine with your smile, dear. You’re a tonic all by yourself.’

Only Uncle Al saw the misery behind the laughter-the distrust of a world that had snatched her family in one awful night.

‘Uncle Al…’

‘Now, there’s no need for talking, Fern,’ the elderly farmer said hastily. Even at this late stage he wouldn’t be surprised to see his niece turn and run. ‘They’re all here. You can’t disappoint them now, love.’

Fern looked up at his worried expression and her impish face broke into a smile. ‘Oh, Uncle…’ She hugged him hard, crushing her gown in the process. ‘As if I would. Sam and I have made the right decision.’

‘Of course you have,’ he told her roundly. ‘And all that nonsense between Sam and Lizzy Hurst was long ago.’

‘Lizzy’s part of the island,’ Fern agreed, taking her uncle’s big hand in hers. ‘And Sam and I are no longer islanders. We’ll be back for visits-but we’ve moved on.’ She tucked her arm through his and looked firmly ahead. ‘Now, are you taking me in to marry Sam, or will you have a spinster niece on your hands for the rest of your days?’

Albert chuckled and squeezed her hand. ‘Your aunt and I would have no objection. We’ve loved having you, Fern-you know that. But you’re right. It’s time for you to marry.’

Time for Fern to be safe…

In the choir-stalls, the trumpeter had been waiting for the signal. The tiny church was crowded and there were people out on the headland craning to see. The farming community was stricken by drought and this was a glorious opportunity to thrust worry aside. Faces turned eagerly toward Fern as the magnificent ‘Trumpet Voluntary’ sounded forth.

The bride stood for one long moment at the church door, looking down the aisle at her future.

Then, finally, Fern let her train fall behind her and started forward.

‘What a lovely, lovely bride,’ the islanders whispered to each other, escaping from harsh reality into misty romance, but they were seeing Aunt Maudie’s gorgeously worked dress and veil and they were seeing Fern’s tremulous smile behind her veil.

They weren’t seeing the real Fern.

The real Fern was somewhere else.

Fern certainly wasn’t this vision in white. Someone else was keeping careful step with her uncle and smiling at wedding guests to either side.

The real Fern was numb.

When medical texts had been too heavy to handle Fern had read her share of romantic novels. She knew a bride should glide down the aisle in a haze of emotion. She should see her beloved turn toward her from the altar and she should catch her breath at the sheer sight of him…

How could Fern catch her breath when it was just Sam-the boy she’d known for ever? When it was just the sensible thing to do to marry Sam. The right thing…

Well, she should at least look at him.

Fern forced herself to look toward the altar. At the end of the aisle Sam was definitely turned towards her-and his eyes were almost as anxious as Uncle Al’s.

That was odd…

Sam was the sure one. It was Sam who had badgered Fern for years to take this step. What was he doing being anxious now?

Weddings did funny things to people, Fern guessed. She made a huge effort and gave him a wide, reassuring smile.

Uncle Al had been directed by his wife to walk slowly and he was doing just that. It was taking an age to get to the altar. Time seemed to stand still.

Maybe Lizzy was here…That might unsettle Sam.

Fern turned to search the crowd-and caught the eyes of a man standing almost right beside her…

Who on earth…?

This was a man Fern had never seen before. Immaculately dressed in a deep black dinner suit, the stranger stood out from the similarly dressed wedding guests as a man apart.

Why?

There was nothing so different about him, Fern thought, but her eyes were still caught. There was nothing extraordinary. Was there?

He was not overly tall-maybe five feet ten or so-with a strongly built body and broad, muscular shoulders.

Most of the islanders were fishermen or farmers so there was nothing unusual in a good physique.

The man’s thick, gold hair, crinkled and in need of a cut, was bleached blond with weather and sun and his skin was burnt brown-but most islanders were similar so there was nothing remarkable in that, either.

But Fern knew every man on this island and she didn’t know this one.

The man was in his early thirties, she guessed, mentally flicking through the wedding guest list in her head and ticking people off.

How romantic! She should be thinking of Sam.

So why was she still staring at the stranger?

It was his eyes…

The stranger’s eyes were the most direct, mocking eyes she had ever seen. They met hers and somehow locked her to him and it was as if there was some magnetic force holding her in thrall. The stranger’s taunting eyes challenged her with mocking laughter- as if he knew that the real Fern wasn’t some vision in white satin but really a child dressed up in play clothes, playing a part.

He could see who she really was…

For heaven’s sake…Even if Fern was playing a part, she’d better get on with it.

With a small, indignant gasp, Fern tugged Uncle Al forward, sweeping past the unknown guest and turning her eyes from his disconcerting gaze.

She had things to do.

She had Sam to marry…

Sam…

There was something wrong. Sam’s look of anxiety had deepened.

Fern’s waiting bridegroom looked agonised!

Sam…

Fern stopped about four feet from her future husband, her face puckering into concern under her misty veil. ‘Sam, what’s wrong?’ she whispered.