Lisa Plumley - The Scoundrel

Belatedly, Daniel remembered how easily hurt Sarah could be when her various hopes and plans failed. How solemn she could be, in between jesting with him. How very earnest she was, and how everything she felt tended to show upon her face.

She’d never been able to so much as fib to him. Not even the time when he’d misguidedly grown a dandy’s mustache and waxed it to within an inch of its scraggly life. She’d told him it looked as though his chin hairs had migrated north and received a terrible fright in the process, most likely from finding themselves in the shadow of his oversize nose.

Daniel reckoned it had been true. But Sarah had been the only one who’d admitted as much to him—and the only one who’d urged him to his razor. He trusted her. And she, him.

Because of that trust, Daniel made himself a vow. No matter what happened, he would never hurt her. Sarah would never, he promised himself, have cause to regret marrying him.

He lifted his gaze to hers, determined to communicate his intentions to her. As the minister jabbered on, Sarah looked mistily back at him. She squeezed his hand reassuringly. Relieved, Daniel smiled. He was glad she understood.

She squeezed his hand again, harder this time. When he didn’t respond, she cast a wobbly smile toward their wedding guests. She did her best to crush his fingers in her fist.

Confused, Daniel looked around as well. He didn’t know what was wrong. For the moment at least, Eli seemed to have tired of causing trouble and had his head down studiously. That couldn’t be it. He glanced down. His suit coat was still buttoned on, slightly singed at the edges but otherwise fine. That couldn’t be it. The minister was…

…not talking anymore.

The silence felt somehow accusatory.

“Kiss me!” Sarah urged in a whisper.

Her command seemed nonsensical. Sarah was his friend. Sarah was reliable, schoolmarmish. She was not a woman to be kissed, especially by Daniel.

“You may now,” the minister intoned, “kiss your bride.”

A rustle swept through the church. Daniel had the sense this wasn’t the first time they’d heard that suggestion. People were waiting, wondering. In a minute, they’d be gossiping. He didn’t care about that, but he did care about Sarah.

Resolutely, he lifted his free hand. He cupped her chin, marveling briefly at the unexpected warmth of her skin. Then he lowered his head. A small kiss would do to seal their deal, to finalize their marriage and satisfy everyone gathered there. Most likely, Sarah dreaded this formality as much as he did. For her sake, he’d finish this kiss as quickly as possible.

His lips neared hers. An uncommon sensation seized him…something akin to anticipation but more muddled than that. His heart pounded. Sarah’s hand tautened in his. Quickly, quickly…

Something small and wet plinked his temple. Then his cheek. Then his temple again. Hastily, Daniel planted a kiss on Sarah’s waiting lips. That accomplished, he swung his face ’round to see what had struck him.

Eli sat, defiant and surly, with his fingers at his mouth to withdraw the next spitball.

“I’ll pound him,” Daniel growled.

“No, Daniel. Wait.” Sarah grabbed for him.

But she was too late. Daniel strode down the aisle after the miscreant boy. Widow Harrison took up a cheery tune at the piano. Everyone stood in their pews, looking confused. A scrabbling beneath one of the long wooden benches alerted Daniel to Eli’s position. Scowling fiercely, he hunkered down.

One long sweep of his arm retrieved Eli, squirming, from beneath the nearest pew. His small suit was covered in dust and torn bits of paper. His round face wore a mulish expression.

“I don’t care!” he said. “I got you fair and square.”

“Fair and square has nothing to do with this. I already told you, you had better beha—”

“You didn’t tell me anything!”

Sarah gave a startled sound. Daniel glanced at her, stranded beside the minister. Too late, he realized exactly what he’d done. Only two minutes married and already—one look at her face told him—he’d broken his promise to her. Judging by the narrowing of her eyes, she already had cause to regret their arrangement.

“Well,” Adam Crabtree said heartily, blundering into the awkward silence that followed, “I’d say congratulations are in order!”

As though his words were a signal, the other guests began milling around, talking. As Daniel attempted to glare Eli into behaving, Adam stepped nearer with the rest of his family in tow. Fiona and Molly dabbed their eyes with handkerchiefs. Even stoic Grace looked a bit red around the nose. Although, Daniel reasoned, that might have had more to do with her dire views of marriage than with sentimentality.

Jack Murphy stepped nearer. “Shall we all toast the bride and groom?” he asked.

“Err…” Daniel glanced to Sarah, his grasp still firm on Eli. An ale sounded heartily good to him. But something told him that admitting as much wouldn’t be wise. His demure new bride looked fit to throttle him. Or at the least, to dump a pint on his head.

“Yes, indeed!” she announced. “An ale sounds fine!”

Sarah hitched up her gown. Then, with a tilt of her head, she swept past everyone assembled, headed back to the Crabtrees’ residence for the wedding reception. ’Twas the very last tack he would have expected her to take.

It was also his very first inkling that things might not go as he’d planned.

Most likely, though, Daniel comforted himself as he followed her with Eli dragging behind, this would be the last surprise Sarah dealt him. Between turning up beautiful—even temporarily—and ordering him to kiss her, she must have used up her ration of surprises. For a year, at least. She couldn’t possibly have more held in store for him.

But if she did, he vowed, he’d be sure to be ready.

Next time.

J ust as Sarah was beginning to appreciate the fine qualities of a good ale, Daniel fisted his hand around her cup and took it away from her.

“I’d say you’ve had enough of that.”

Stupidly, she stared at the simple gold band adorning his hand. Although her brain commanded that she protest the loss of her ale, all she could do was stare. Stare at Daniel’s big, rough, wonderful hand, so familiar and yet so changed. It was hers now, in a sense. Just as he was.

They were married. Well and truly married. Or at least they were, provided Daniel’s hasty kiss had correctly sealed their union. Everyone had seemed to consider that meager peck to be adequate. Privately, Sarah had hoped for so much more.

“I have not had enough,” she informed him. “Of ale or of kissing.”

He arched a dark brow. Drat it. Had she said that aloud?

It didn’t matter. Daniel was her husband now. He deserved her uncensored opinions. In fact, her freethinking sister Grace would have encouraged as much. Aside from which, Sarah felt certain that kissing and ale must both hold pleasures she’d missed until now. From here on, she was determined to miss nothing more.

She shook off her reverie to reach, unsuccessfully, for her cup. “You’ve had four ales. That’s only my second cup. Next to you, I’m a paragon of sobriety.”

“That might be true. I am a scoundrel.” Cheerfully, Daniel admitted the truth. “A slightly drunk one, in honor of the occasion.”

He smiled at that, leaving her to wonder if he felt happy to be married or merely giddy at the prospect of not having to scrub behind Eli’s ears anymore. Probably the latter, Sarah mused. She frowned. Making a proper and loving husband of Daniel McCabe would prove a challenge, to be sure.

“But I’m not the one who’s been dancing, now, am I?” An unaccountable glimmer lit Daniel’s brown eyes as he settled on the divan beside her. “With arm waving and skirt swinging and…what did you call that thing you were doing?”