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Back The Land Beneath Us Save as PDF
Chapters (62)
  1. Cover
  2. Endorsements
  3. Books by Sarah Sundin
  4. Title Page
  5. Copyright Page
  6. Presidential Radio Broadcast
  7. 1
  8. 2
  9. 3
  10. 4
  11. 5
  12. 6
  13. 7
  14. 8
  15. 9
  16. 10
  17. 11
  18. 12
  19. 13
  20. 14
  21. 15
  22. 16
  23. 17
  24. 18
  25. 19
  26. 20
  27. 21
  28. 22
  29. 23
  30. 24
  31. 25
  32. 26
  33. 27
  34. 28
  35. 29
  36. 30
  37. 31
  38. 32
  39. 33
  40. 34
  41. 35
  42. 36
  43. 37
  44. 38
  45. 39
  46. 40
  47. 41
  48. 42
  49. 43
  50. 44
  51. 45
  52. 46
  53. 47
  54. 48
  55. 49
  56. 50
  57. Epilogue
  58. Acknowledgments
  59. Discussion Questions
  60. About the Author
  61. Back Ads
  62. Back Cover

Not romantic love, but the kind of love in 1 Corinthians—long-suffering, kind, not seeking her own way, not easily provoked, not thinking evil of the other—“Beareth all things, believeth all things, hopeth all things, endureth all things. Charity never faileth.”

“Please face each other and repeat your vows.”

Leah handed Darlene her bouquet.

Clay wrapped his hands around Leah’s. His eyes were so warm, and he smelled good this close, of coffee and aftershave.

He spoke his vows with assurance, even though many of the words didn’t apply to them. They’d never have and hold each other as married couples did, but he would provide for her and give her a name and a future.

“Till death do us part.” Clay’s mouth twitched, as if that part of the vow amused him.

It didn’t amuse her. He’d only married her because he believed he wasn’t long for this earth. For his sake, she wanted to believe him. But also for his sake, she hoped he was very wrong.

Leah repeated her vows after the chaplain, her voice thready.

They exchanged rings. Hers was more delicate, but the rings matched, marking them as belonging to each other.

Her heart seized. She hadn’t belonged to anyone since she was four.

“I now pronounce you man and wife. You may kiss the bride.”

The kiss. Why hadn’t the chaplain skipped that part? Clay shouldn’t have to kiss a woman he didn’t love. On the other hand, a kiss would support the charade that they did love each other.

Clay lifted her veil over her hat. He wore a flat smile, his eyebrows drew together, and he leaned close, so all she smelled was coffee. “I want to do this right,” he whispered. “But I don’t want to hurt you.”

Because of the wolf. But the wolf had never kissed her. “You won’t hurt me.”

A slight lift of his eyebrows, as if asking her permission, and she nodded, just a tick of a nod, not breathing, not blinking, not believing.

Clay tilted his head. Was she supposed to do the same? She didn’t know what to do.

Then Clay’s lips settled on hers, and her lips knew what to do, molding to his as warmth and light bloomed inside. Oh, this was what the poets wrote about! The novelists and the composers and the lyricists writing for generations upon generations. Now Leah knew too.

Clay pulled away, breaking the connection. He gave her a jerky little smile and faced their beaming friends.

Leah turned too, clutching Clay’s arm. She hadn’t anticipated the joy and she hadn’t anticipated the danger—the danger of falling for a man destined to die.

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12

Clay scraped the last bit of fluffy white frosting off his plate. “Thank you for organizing this reception.”