Sweet Saturday: Confession

When Jaime woke to Elias kissing her she was certain she was dreaming still. After the long months of searching she finally found him.

But what kind of man had he become? A pirate, who only hours ago, she had despised — who only a week ago had murdered every man aboard her vessel and had sunk the ship to the bottom of the ocean.

Yet he held her like Elias. He kissed her like her husband — perhaps more desperately, as the long absence would have dictated. Was he still the gentle peace-loving man she had married?

She gingerly brushed a black curl behind his ear. His eyes opened groggily, not from sleep, which she suspected he hadn't done in a week, but from the lack of it. He smiled and propped himself up on an elbow.

“What troubles you mi amor?” he asked, lacing his fingers with hers.

“You are alive and in my arms. What could trouble me?”

“Yet your brow is knit in worry.” He smoothed her forehead with his thumb. “Tell me, love, what causes you so much concern?”

Jaime allowed her gaze to wander to her hand, interwoven with his. After all this time he could still read her like a book. But he had changed. She wanted to know how much but couldn't bring herself to voice the question.

“May I venture a guess?”

Jaime nodded.

“It is my beard.” A teasing glint lit his dark eyes. “I will cut it off immediately.” He rose as if to leave their bed.

“It is your beard,” Jaime replied. “And all you have become. You killed Amin. How many others?”

Elias froze and stared at his hands, as though he could see the blood dripping from them in that moment.

“Amin,” he repeated and returned his gaze to hers. “I am sorry for him.”

“You offer no explanation? No reason for such a life?”

“It is not the life I would have chosen. But here I am. And I am responsible for these men and our actions. No explanation will relieve me of the guilt.”

“Perhaps a confession then,” she said. “To ease your conscience.” She lifted her hand to caress his rough face. He was still the man she had married. A man not willing to make excuses. A man who stood for truth, even if truth condemned him.

“Yes. Most certainly I will confess to you. I would tell you first, however, now that I have found you, we will leave this life behind. Return to our daughter and live out the lives we intended for ourselves.”

Emotion choked her. That was all she ever wanted. Life with Elias and Elisabeth, in peace, safe from her father's interference.

~Pirate's Ransom (in progress)

Sweet Saturday: Gypsy Wedding

“Gypsies?” Jaime’s eyes lit up with excitement. “Oh, let’s hurry!”

“Are you certain? There won’t be a priest. Or a church. We will be out of doors.”

Her smile was bewitching. She rested her hand on his forearm and lowered her eyelids seductively. “As you said before, it is our only alternative.”

Elias swallowed at the dry knot in his throat. “Then we should be going. They are expecting us.”

He took her hand and led her down the path to the edge of town. The flickering light from the campfires betrayed the location of the camp, and they made their way swiftly across the field to the outer boundary of the woods where the gypsy sentries waited to guide them in.

Elias could feel their dark gazes assessing Jaime. He stepped between the two men and his bride and tightened his grip on her arm possessively. A low murmur from the taller of the two gypsies brought a peal of laughter from the shorter man. Jaime tensed beneath Elias’s grasp.

“Kako Nicu, the Moroccan and his… woman.” The last word came out with an ironic cast. The old bandolier looked up from his place near the fire. It was too dark to make out his expression, and the flicker of the flames played tricks on Elias’s eyes.

“What is this?” he asked in his low gravelly voice. One of the sentinels escorting them answered in a stream of Hungarian, something Elias understood but had no intention of repeating for Jaime’s ears.

“You didn’t tell me your woman was French.”

“Why does it matter?”

“From the look of her a noblewoman. We don’t want trouble here.”

Elias pulled her closer, hesitating only a moment before lapsing into the Hungarian language to explain. “This is the daughter of Seigneur Pepiot. He promised her to another, a man older than himself, a drunkard and a pig. The lady escaped his tyranny without his knowledge and has elected to marry instead, a servant of the sultan’s brother. It is dangerous for all of us. But for none so much as me. And I vow to keep your family’s part in this affair a secret.”

Nicu, the old bandolier, held his peace a moment, considering Elias’s petition and assurances. Then a solemn nod. “We will hear your vows, Moroccan,” he answered in French and gestured for them to join him by the fire.