Peggy Moreland - An Arranged Marriage

The magistrate slipped a small leather-bound book from the folds of his serape and began the ceremony. Clay focused his gaze on the crucifix, trying not to think about the promises he made, as at the magistrate’s prompting, he offered the appropriate “I do’s.”

“Usted puede besar a su esposa.”

Clay snapped his gaze to the magistrate, then stole a glance at Fiona, wondering if she understood enough Spanish to realize that the magistrate had just given Clay permission to kiss his bride. He didn’t have to wonder long. She seared Clay with a look that would have stopped a herd of stampeding cattle in their tracks, then pushed past the magistrate and snatched the papers from the table.

“Where do I sign?”

After indicating the place for her signature, the magistrate quickly moved out of her way. She scrawled her name, tossed down the pen, then marched from the room, slamming the door behind her.

Benito crossed himself, then looked at Clay, his brown eyes soft with sympathy. “May God be with you, my friend.”

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