Boyett-Compo, Charlotte - WesternWind 01 - Wynd River by Sinner (Ellora's Cave)

beautiful woman in the remarkable dress to the
    black-clad warrior standing proudly at the foot of the stairs. Everyone there swore the uniform he wore
    was brand new, never worn. The silk shirt fit without a wrinkle. The black leather tie was the exact same
    shade as his uniform britches and boots. Though the gun belt was slung low on his waist, he appeared to
    be dressed formally and a perfect match for his bride-to-be dressed so elegantly in white.
    “How about suitable attire for me?” Father O’Malley complained, and as the Reaper turned to him, the
    old man felt the weight of a chasuble settle upon his shoulders. He looked down and was astonished at
    the finery he wore. With a grunt, he straightened his shoulders and lifted his head. “Show-off,” he
    mumbled.
    Cynyr turned his gaze back to his lady and he was struck anew with her beauty. He was as nervous as a
    green youth as he waited for her to join him. His every instinct yelled at him to rush the stairs, jerk her to
    him and scream at the holy man to pronounce the Joining. His palms were itching at wanting to touch her
    so badly his teeth hurt.
    “Stop looking at her like she’s your next meal,” Father O’Malley warned. “You’ll scare the gal!”
    Glancing at the priest, Cynyr wanted to ram his fist into the old man’s booze-reddened nose. He had
    little respect or love for priests—and with good reason—but he kept himself in check. It was essential his
    Joining with Aingeal be done the right and proper way. Why he felt such a thing was so important, he
    couldn’t explain even to himself.
    Aingeal put out her hand and her lover stepped forward to claim it. Her flesh was hot and it concerned
    him. He opened his mouth to berate her, but she put her fingers lightly across his lips.
    “I’ll go directly back to bed when the ceremony is done,” she said.
    “When he carries you up yon stairs,” the priest corrected her.
    “Aye,” Cynyr said, his heart beating wildly at the thought.
    “Is there anyone here who objects to this man taking this pretty gal as his wife?” O’Malley called out.
    No one would have objected even if they’d had the inclination to do so, for the Reaper’s fierce frown
    swung over each of them.
    “I didn’t think so,” the priest mumbled. He looked at Aingeal. “Are you free to marry, gal?”
    “My husband had our marriage annulled by the High Council, Your Grace,” she said. “I am free.”
    The priest looked as though he would be the one to object, but one glance at the Reaper changed his
    mind. “All right. Do you take her as your wife?”
    “I do.”
    “Do you take him as your husband?” O’Malley asked, then held up a hand before she answered. “Think
    now. If this ain’t what you want, all you need do is say so.”
    “It is my most fervent wish, Father,” she said in a soft, gentle voice.
    O’Malley sighed loudly. “Then by the authority vested in me by the Holy Church and the High
    Council—”
    “Hold on!” someone shouted, and everyone gasped, turning to look at an old woman who hobbled
    forward, bent nearly double over a wobbling cane. “Can’t pronounce them yet, ye old fool!”
    Cynyr’s face showed his consternation, but as soon as the old lady reached them, she stood as straight
    as her crippled frame could and with one arthritic hand tugged at a ring on her other hand.
    “It was me Joining ring,” the old woman said as she pulled the golden band from her left hand. “Ain’t
    taken it off since the day it was put on me finger. Ain’t no need to take it to me grave, though.” She
    extended the ring to Cynyr. “You know what this is, don’t you, son?”
    The Reaper let go of Aingeal’s hand. “Aye,” Cynyr said softly as the old lady placed the ring in his palm.
    He knew the symbol well and looked down at the woman. “Are you sure you want to part with this,
    grandmother?”
    “Wouldn’t have given it to ye if I wasn’t,” she stated. Her eyes twinkled. “May ye know