Grateful she had the decency to blush, he turned to Gavin next. “Gavin, you’ve done well in my absence.” Greylen placed his hand on his first-in-command’s shoulder. “But from now on, I’ll see to Gwendolyn. Understood?”

“And he won’t lie about the brandy,” Gwen muttered.

He and Gavin both shook their heads. “Good luck,” Gavin remarked, pulling him into a quick embrace. “You’ll need it.”

Greylen acknowledged his words, knowing the truth of them, then turned back to Gwen. “Are you ready?” he asked.

“Ready? For what?”

“To be my wife.”

“Now?” She asked it as if he’d gone witless.

“Aye, now,” he answered in the same tone. “I’ll not wait longer.” When she seemed to dig her heels into the spot where she stood, he took her hand. “Come.” It took no more than a small tug before they were walking toward the chapel.

As the line of soldiers parted, revealing the chapel and Father Michael waiting in front of its entrance, she gasped. Flowers all but spilled from the windows and steps. He was pleased to see Gwendolyn did not miss the effort of everyone’s labors as they made their way inside.

Once situated, Father Michael gave a warm smile and began the ceremony immediately. “Dearly beloved, we are gathered together here in the sight of God to join together…”

Greylen stood to Father Michael’s right and Gwen to his left. Somehow Gavin was now between them, obviously torn between following his commander’s direct orders to leave Gwendolyn to him or to protect his mistress, who chanted under her breath “ohmygod, ohmygod, ohmygod” again and again. Then Gavin had the nerve to reach for her hand.

“Release her hand, Gavin. Now,” Greylen bit out. He fixed Father Michael a look while motioning with his hand…on with it, man!

Father Michael cleared his throat and moved right to the vows. “Wilt thou have this woman to be thy wedded wife, to live togeth—”

“I will.” Greylen’s sharp command cut off the priest’s words as his eyes implored him to continue. It took the priest a moment to register the alteration, then he pulled himself together and looked to Gwendolyn. Her lips still moved, though now, in silent litany while her hands visibly shook.

Father Michael began the vows again, this time to Greylen’s bride. “Wilt thou have this man to be thy wedded husband, to live together after God’s ordinance…”

Gwendolyn continued to look at Father Michael, her lips slightly parted, his words seemingly meaningless. Father Michael finally stopped speaking and cleared his throat. He gave Gwendolyn a warm, beseeching smile, then did it again, as if ’twould somehow pull her out of her reverie. Then he did it again!

“Your words, Lady Gwendolyn,” the priest finally prompted.

“My words?” she asked.

“The vows, mistress—wilt thou…”