Page 102 of Bargaining with the Devil

She laughed. “I’ll not tire of you, Quinn. Not in a year and a day, not in a lifetime.”

His heart thumped. ’Twas more than he’d expected her to say, but everything he could have hoped.

And then, just as Mam and his sisters were preparing to surround them, he said the last part: “When we marry in church, ’twill be at a time when her sister’s family can join us.”

Lucy’s eyes widened slightly before her smile grew.

After a flurry of hugs and kisses, for Lucy and himself both, he was ready to take her off for more private covenants, but before he did, ’twas best to clear up any confusion on the matter of their future living arrangements.

“We’ll be living together,” he told his family. “’Twill perhaps take a little while to secure a place of our own, but we’ll live as husband and wife.”

“And until ye do, ye’ll be stayin’ with me in the meantime, Ciarán a mhic,” Mam said decisively, slipping her arm through his and patting his cheek. “I’ll be gettin’ to know me new daughter, thank ye, before ye take her to live away somewhere.”

“Aye. Not tonight though.”

Even in the dusky firelight, the blush on Lucy’s cheeks showed. ’Twas grand, making her turn that color. Thinking about going to bed with him, was she? He was thinking about it himself, but ’twasn’t quite the time for that yet.

He was looking forward to having her in bed, sure, more than he could say, but ’twas an old tradition, trial marriage at Lughnasadh. ’Twas both pagan and Christian. The Church of Ireland had always been a bit of both. And while he’d not been living back in the Dark Ages, they’d do this proper by every measure. He wasn’t taking chances, not with Lucy.

He kissed Mam on the cheek and slipped free of her arm to take Lucy’s hand. “Will you walk with me, a mhuirnín?”

“Yes.” She put her hand in his. With well-wishes—and a few bawdy comments—ringing in their ears, he led her away from the bustle of the celebration.

“Where are we going?” she asked.

“’Tis a place not far from here, a small copse. ’Tis no church, but I’m thinking ’twill serve for our vows.”

“Is this where I get to say the rest of my grand speech?” she asked. ’Twas in her voice, the smile.

“Aye, if you’ve one planned.”

“I don’t, but perhaps I’ll compose something along the way.”

“Needn’t do that for me, a mhuirnín. I’ll just be saying what I feel in the moment.”

“I can well believe that,” she said, “for that’s no different from any other day.”

“Hush, a stór. ’Tis unkind to tease the man about to lay his heart at your feet.”

She laughed, sparkling, and let him lead her onwards.

When they reached the copse, he brought her to the center where the late-summer moon slipped its light through the tree branches. He stood, facing her, to grasp her hands in his. “Tá mo chroí istigh ionat,” and in case the Gaeilge was too different from her Gaelic, he repeated it in English, squeezing her hands: “My heart is within you, Lucinda Muir, grá geal mo chroí.”

The bright love of my heart.

She squeezed his hands in return and said, “Tha gaol agam ort. I love you, Ciarán Ó Cuinn, a ghràidh.”

His heart was filled with light now. “Kiss me then, a ghrá, before I take you back to the inn. Where, to be clear, I’ll be staying the night with you.”

“I wouldn’t have it any other way,” she said. And wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him down for a very thorough kiss.

She lost sense of the normal passage of time. It wasn’t much of a walk at all back to the inn, but it seemed a mile. Then the trip up the stairs and into her small room happened in a rush. Touches, kisses, clothes coming off . . . It took an eternity and lasted but a minute.

When he carried her to the bed, she couldn’t help laughing.

“’Tisn’t generally polite, laughing at a naked man, has you in his arms.” He dropped her on the mattress, following her down.

“Sage advice, I’m sure.” She took his face in hers to kiss him.