“Yes, but then you came up with a lot of silly excuses and foolish reasons why we shouldn’t, or why we should delay. But now that you’re talking about children, I can be assured that you’ll turn up on the date, at the time we choose, and pledge your troth to me in front of the priest.” Smiling down at her, Brandth began to lean down. “I love you… almost wife.”
“Don’t.” Not that Perri moved or did anything to stop him. “It’s in poor taste to kiss during a funeral procession.”
“Pish posh, I say we start a new tradition. Every widow will follow your lead. Out with the old husband and welcome in the next.”
“You’re positively dreadful.”
“I am. But it’s too late to change your mind now.”
“Yes, I fear you’re right. Someone must step up and take you in hand, for the sake and protection of all other womankind.”
“Ohh, yes, please, sweet harridan, take me in hand…” He planted a lingering soft kiss upon Perri’s lips. “Just one thing about the wedding.”
“I have said yes, and agreed to a time, a place, and even let you organise my dress, what more could there possibly be to discuss?”
“Just one more thing. Your attire for the day… I do not care what you wear, not really. Come in your healer’s garb if you will, but promise me this, no more veils… ever. Your face is like the sun to me, Perri, and if I do not see it daily, I fear I shall wither and die. No more veils.”
“No more veils.”
Perri couldn’t help but smile, she couldn’t remember ever feeling this happy and… hopeful. Even on her first wedding day to Regal, she’d been a mass of nerves. Praying that she wouldn’t spill anything on her wedding dress, or stumble and fall on her way to the altar. Two things that Regal had been jokingly harping on about for several weeks as their wedding day approached.
But here she was now, saying yes to another man. And she felt nothing but… joy. Brandth wasn’t perfect, but nor did he seem to seek perfection from Perri, or want to change her in anyway. Except for his no more veils request. And that honestly, warmed her heart more than anything. That he wanted to see her face daily. That he was so casually able to tell her he loved her. And almost seemed driven to touch and caress her.
Perri had never thought she would be so very lucky, so very blessed. Brandth, her soon to be husband beside her, annoying and amusing her with every word he uttered. And Levi, her son. Gods, she even liked thinking those words: her son. Who never seemed to stray very far from her side. Easily calling her Mama. Every time she heard him refer to her that way, Perri wanted to whoop with sheer delight and burst into thankful tears. Resolutely biting her lip instead, pretending to act cool and serene.
Oh, was he leaning too far over the balcony trying to get a last glimpse of his father’s coffin?
“He’s fine.” Brandth squeezed her shoulders. “He’s still short and the railing is high.”
At that precise moment Levi’s head swivelled, a frown on his face for a split second before it transformed in to a smile when he found Perri was still standing exactly where he’d left her.
“He will make an excellent older brother.” Perri relaxed back against Brandth. “He has a natural, caring nature… I think he might make a good healer some day.”
“Really. Whereas I thought given his proficient skulking abilities that he had the makings of an excellent spy.”
“You can’t be serious. I will not allow any son of mine to enter into such a dangerous profession. I forbid it. Brandth, do you hear me? Forbid it. He’ll be a healer.” She would train him herself at the medical school she planned to build on the De’Luca family estate.
“Hhmmm, perhaps you’re right. If he’s anything like his mother, I’m sure he’ll make a first rate one… receiving invites into all the very best homes…” Brandth was grinning suddenly.
“… where you think he can skulk about and uncover everyone’s secrets? No. I told you, I forbid it.”
“I have very much missed that waspish tone of late.” Brandth turned his head, whispering into Perri’s ear. “For some reason I find it particularly arousing.”
“You… you’re incorrigible.” She hissed under her breadth, trying futilely to nudge him away.
“No, I am yours, fair Perri. And you are mine… until the end of our days. Now, the coffins are passed, the funeral procession is over, and we have a wedding to plan.”
“What do you mean plan? We have agreed upon the time, the location, and the gown is ordered. What can possibly be left up for discussion?”
“Post wedding attire.”
“Post wedding attire?”
“Yes. When we’re alone in our suite, the vows have been said, and we have danced and had our fill of mead and celebration, there is a question of what you will and won’t be wearing.”
“Honestly, some days I think we didn’t check your head for lumps thoroughly enough after you fell off that horse.”
“I took the liberty of ordering your designer friend to make a little nightwear confection for you. Would you like to hear what I instructed him to make?”
