Rebecca Read Free

her. With a half-sob, she placed it in his hand. He glanced from it to her, not knowing what to say. When she stood on tiptoe to kiss him one last time, she squeezed his arms convulsively.
    Only then did she turn to answer her brother. “I know him, Hart. He is my husband.”
    A shout came from someone to catch Aunt Dena as she swooned. All shreds of decorum disappeared. Reverend Poore closed his black book and placed it on the altar. It was clear there would be no wedding today.
    The dark-haired man reached up and took Rebecca’s hand and drew her down to stand next to him. As if he was the groom, he raised her veil to be able to see her face undistorted by its fine mesh. He bent slightly and kissed her cheek. “Hello, Rebecca.”
    She gazed up into his handsome face which was far above hers, for he was well over six feet tall. Knowing why he had seemed so familiar, she could not believe he was here. In her memory, he had been a faceless entity whose identity had been blurred by the passing of time. “I thought you were dead,” she repeated in a whisper. She was afraid that if she spoke aloud the vibration of her own voice would shatter her. “I thought you had been killed. I waited for a year to hear from you, but there was nothing. I could think only that you were dead.”
    He chuckled at a joke only he could share. Holding out his hand, he touched the soft skin of her cheek. The unmolded face of the child had matured into beauty. He had not been prepared for the change. In his mind, she had remained the youngster who had risked her life selflessly to save his. Only because he had learned that it was Rebecca North being married in this backwater village had he known that the bride was his wife.
    â€œI’m afraid I am very much alive. It was impossible to get mail out of the prison hulks which were my home for the last four years. I have been released with the end of the war. Now that I have found you, my dear wife, we must be on our way home. We have only time for you to pack what you want to take with you, if we want to meet our ship.”
    â€œShip?” she repeated. She knew she sounded moronic, but just now her mind was unable to function. All she could think of was that this man had come out of her distant past to interrupt her present. Until he had said he meant to take her with him, she had not considered that he would want her. “You are taking me away? Where do you live, Captain Wythe?”
    â€œNicholas, my dear. We are married, so it would be more normal for you to call me by my given name. Your new home is across the ocean in England. It’s called Foxbridge Cloister, and you, my dear Rebecca, are Lady Foxbridge.”
    Hart stepped forward and took his sister’s arm. He pulled her away from this man he had already decided he disliked intensely. “I have heard enough of this nonsense. You have disrupted my sister’s wedding, and you have so shocked our aunt that she has fainted. I think you have done quite enough. Sir, I ask you—no, I insist one final time that you leave.”
    â€œI am leaving,” he replied calmly. “Rebecca and I are leaving. I expected that I might not be believed, so I brought this with me to lay any of your fears to rest. I did not want you to think I was kidnapping this lovely lady from underneath your very noses.” He held out a paper which was stained with sweat and rusty discolorings that no one had to be told were blood. “Here is my copy of our marriage lines. Do you still have yours, Rebecca?”
    Hart took the page and scanned it. He recognized his sister’s signature at the bottom. This man was her husband. His hand shook as he handed the page to Keith. The rage on the groom’s face increased as he looked from the stranger to the document. When Wythe held out his hand, he reluctantly placed it back on his palm.
    Rebecca watched as the piece of paper that tied her to this unknown man