Free Carla Kelly by The Wedding Journey Page A

happened to both of you!”
    He turned then to whisk the cross and altar cloth off the packing crate, open it, and stow them inside, along with his prayer book. In another moment he had stripped off his stole and chasuble, folded them with an efficiency that told Jess he had been a long time with the army, and arranged them in their appointed places.
    Jess came closer. “You’re sure that was entirely legal?” he asked, his voice low.
    The chaplain beamed at him. “Oh, you Catholics! Just because we are not awash in incense, dizzy with Latin, and weary with hours and hours on our feet doesn’t mean it won’t take!”
    “Well, I…” Jess came closer. “I know there were no banns, and there is no special license.”
    “Hush, lad,” the chaplain said. “There are certain expediencies available to members of the clergy engaged in the pursuit of war.”
    “Oh?” Jess asked. He didn’t mean it to sound skeptical.
    “Ye of little faith,” Faircloth scolded. “I think it’s good for forty or fifty years at least.” He winked at Jess. “After that, I’m not sure. Good luck to you both.” He turned to Nell. “My dear, make sure he does what you say.” He shook Jess’s hand. “This may be the smartest single act you ever committed.” Faircloth gave him a push toward Nell. “Give her a better kiss than that beggarly peck, Captain. She’ll think you’re not serious.”
    Jess was serious. He was equally aware that to express himself in words was impossible. Even if, in his supreme shyness, he stammered out his love for her, considering the speed of the wedding, he knew she would not believe him. But there she was, her cheeks wiped clean of tears, but her beautiful eyes still brimming with emotion. He had stood close to her before, but not this close. He couldn’t trust himself to say anything, but he put his arms around her and kissed her.
    He didn’t know what he expected. He knew his own distrust of strong emotion in front of others, something trained into him at Milan, and through years of war and his own shyness. None of it mattered right then as he enjoyed the softness of her lips, and the small sighing sound that escaped her lips as her arms went around him.
    He wished the moment could have lasted longer, but Nell leaped away from him in surprise when the side of the dead tent came down with a rush of canvas. The chaplain uttered a most unclerical expression heard commonly enough in the army, but probably not in a typical Anglican parish. “You soldiers have no sense of aesthetics!” the man exclaimed, which only brought laughter from the laborers.
    Jess took Nell’s hand then and led her from the tent. He couldn’t think of a single thing to say, but the matter was taken from him by a shout for help from the direction of the quartermaster’s compound. He only stood still a moment in surprise as Colonel Mumford, quartermaster general of Picton’s Division, waved to him frantically. “I say, Randall! Hurry over here! We have a bit of a problem! Oh, do hurry! I think I shall faint!”
    Hippocrates, I will wager that you never had to deal with a man milliner like our dear quartermaster, he thought. He tugged Nell along with him toward the quartermaster, whostood wringing his pudgy hands. His face was alarmingly red, but Jess had heard from Sheffield of the enormous quantity of brandy the QM always seemed to have in stock, even when no other officer could find a bottle. Drunkards are devotedly to be ignored, he thought, even though his training took over and he ran toward the man.
    What lay before them in front of the quartermaster made Nell gasp, and Jess to recoil briefly, before he went down on his knees beside the prostrate man lying on his side. The soldier’s hands were clutched around a knife in his stomach. Jess carefully moved him onto his back, then sat back on his heels in amazement as he stared at Private Wilkie, he who had gone missing earlier in the day.
    As the quartermaster moaned,