Free Carla Kelly by The Wedding Journey

little frightened.” He smiled. “As to that I am not sure which of you looks more frightened! Hang on to each other now. Since I have your attention, I always like to give a few words of advice.” His smile broadened, even as the rear of the tent dropped with a whoosh and Nell moved closer. “I’m certain you will not remember it, but perhaps Major Sheffield here will remind you later.”
    And so they were married. For all that the service was in English, and much shorter than weddings of his own faith, Jess Randall knew he would recall little of the contents, beyond his own quiet “yes,” and Nell’s, hers even quieter. He held his breath for the few seconds that she paused, then let it out with a rush when she agreed.
    He had no ring, so shook his head when Mr. Faircloth came to that portion of the ceremony. “It will have to wait for Portugal,” he said.
    “Not necessarily.”
    His chief surgeon came forward. He fumbled at the thin chain about his neck, pulling it out from his shirtfront, after loosening his neckcloth. “After all these years,” he began, his voice unsteady, “I have finally found an excellent use for this little thing.”
    Sheffield removed the ring that Jess knew had never been off his neck in the years he had known the chief surgeon. Sheffield had made few references to the wife who had not survived beyond the first year of his duty in India with the much younger, untried Wellington. “Oh, sir,” he began, but Sheffield silenced him with a look. Tears filled his eyes as his chief, with steady fingers, extracted the ring from the chain.
    “What say you, Millie?” Sheffield asked softly. “Did I find a good enough cause?” He smiled and handed the ring to Jess. “Put it on her finger, lad. When she wore it, Millie wasn’t any older than Nell is now. It might even fit. They are much the same size.” He turned to Nell, who was sobbing in good earnest. “Oh, hush now, my dear. You might even look back on this as a happy occasion.”
    Jess took the ring that his superior held out to him, willing his hand to be as rock steady. Without another word, he slid the ring onto Nell’s finger. Quickly he kissed her cheek and then nodded to Sheffield. “I think it almost fits.”
    The older man kissed Nell, too. He took her hand, and touched the ring as she sniffed back more tears. “We’ll wind a little string around the back. Jess can have it altered when you get to Lisbon.”
    The chaplain seemed to be having a problem with his nose that required his face be engulfed in a large handkerchief. “Drat this pollen,” he murmured.
    Jess didn’t think it was the time or the place to mentionthat the weed and grass season was long over in north Spain. “I could give you something for that, except that my medicines are all packed, Mr. Faircloth.”
    The chaplain blew his nose again more briskly, then shook his head. “It will pass.” He cleared his throat and consulted his well-worn book again. “Oh, my stars, I have not concluded.” He looked over his shoulder, where soldiers were rolling back the tent. “A little quiet back there, please!” When the men stopped working, and after a battery of light artillery passed, he took both of their hands in his. “Now I pronounce you husband and wife for the period of your mortal lives.”
    He said some more, but heavy artillery was passing. Unsure of himself again, and feeling more shy than a roomful of shy people, he merely watched as the chaplain signed his name to the marriage lines, and then held out the paper to Major Ipswich for a witness signature. It went next to Sheffield, who signed his name with a flourish.
    “That will do,” Sheffield said. He gave Nell another kiss, then turned and left the tent without another word.
    The chaplain waved the paper for a moment until the ink dried, then handed it to Nell. “Put it in a safe place,” he admonished. He kissed her cheek, too. “Cheer up, lass! This might be the best thing that ever