Free Bound to Be a Bride by Megan Mulry

wind plays with your hair. You were an angel in the throes of your desires, your deepest dreams.” He kept staring at her—into her—as he spoke. “And I wanted to be the one who brought that brief, heavenly pleasure to your lips, to your heart.”
    “You did,” she whispered.
    He narrowed his eyes, encouraging her to continue.
    “It was you in my dreams, your hands untying the ropes, your… you… some part of you… in my mouth.”
    He pulled her into a fierce embrace, nearly crushing her.
    She spoke into the fabric of his jacket as she rubbed the fine silk of his lapel nervously between her thumb and fingers. “My body loved you first.”
    “Oh, Isabella. Trust that body of yours. Promise me.”
    She looked up at him, confused. “What do you mean?”
    “I mean…” He looked up to the sky, noting the angle of the sun and their rapidly narrowing window of time to do what needed to be done in Aveiro. He looked back into her eyes. “I mean, I want to do things to you, strange and wonderful things, that your body will adore, that you will find great pleasure in, but if you think too hard about what other people—what the nuns or your lady’s maid or your mother or anyone else—might say or think, you will lose. They will have won.”
    “I believe you, Javi. I do. But please don’t mock me or belittle my fears or superstitions. A few weeks ago, I was led to believe those beliefs were the bedrock of human civilization. And now you appear in a small copse in the forest and I am supposed to let it all flow through my open fingers like water?”
    Javier set her slightly away from him so he could hold both of her hands in his. “You want to be free, Isabella. This is the cost. You cannot take those judgments with you. This will be our life. Yours and mine, to be lived as we see fit. To honor one another and, if we are blessed, to celebrate an abundance of children and a life of productivity and generosity. Not a parsimonious withholding of joy.”
    She stared at him, loved him anew. “How was it you came to be in that forest”—she caught herself before she said “my father’s forest”—“on that particular day?”
    “I was traveling from the east, to get here in time to board this ship.” He had learned to speak the approximate truth after several years of spending time with the rebel troops. Moving in and out of aristocratic and peasant circles from one day to the next had taught him to stick close to the facts whenever possible. No point in lying when some version of the truth would serve.
    “I’m glad you were,” Isabella said. “It’s as though we were meant to meet that night.”
    “If you like.” He caressed her cheek with one finger. “I am not a believer in the hand of fate, but if it delights you to feel a guiding hand, then I will delight in your delight.”
    “Fair enough. I shan’t be one of those tedious women always trying to find meaningful connections where, perhaps, none exist. You need not share my belief in the long reach of Providence. It either is or it is not, and neither your skepticism nor my faith will change it.”
    He kissed her again, briefly, then guided her back out to the street and into the sweetshop. They bought four sweets to enjoy when they were at sea; anything more would have been too much of an extravagance. Javier carried the small brown paper parcel in his left hand and offered his right arm to Isabella.
    “Where next?” Javier asked. “The crone who sells old clothes is just there, and the jeweler is across the street, just there.” He gestured with his chin.
    “First, I’d very much like to see what I could find to replace this hideous dress. I have my money from the sale of my mare—”
    “There need be no talk of your money, Isabella. What’s mine—what little nothingness is mine, I should add—is yours. As soon as we are at sea, the captain can marry us and all will be official in the eyes of man.” He paused, seeing her shock. “And in