leaned uncomfortably against the wall between the doorway and the cookstove where the remnants of the bishop’s supper still simmered on a low flame. He stared gloomily into a glass of brandy.
Hearing the approaching footsteps, they both looked up.
“Well?”
“Calm yourself, son,” he told Christopher gently. “I'll issue the license. I'll perform the wedding in the morning. Are you sure you want to do this? She'll be
years recovering if she ever does.”
“And if she dies because I did nothing? What then?” he asked fiercely.
“It's a terrible burden,” the bishop replied, his mouth set in a grim line. “I know exactly how terrible, but we can't save everyone. Laws must be changed first.”
“That will take years,” Christopher reminded him. “So, in the meanwhile, I
can save this woman. Will you let me?”
“Uncle,” James interjected, looking up from his bowl, “listen, I know this girl. I danced with her. I had no idea. I thought she was just shy. Christopher saw
right through it. I think there's something… special between them. Maybe he was always meant to be her savior.”
“Perhaps,” The Right Reverend Cary conceded as he retrieved a dish and
spoon. “He certainly wants to be.”
“Is she all right?” Christopher demanded.
“She's sleeping now. I've left her to it. I'm sure she needs the rest. I've said
I'll perform the wedding, and I will. Here, have something to eat.” He offered the
bowl.
Christopher waved it away. “I'm too upset to eat.”
“Yes, I imagine,” the bishop replied, ladling himself a serving. He took a seat
and regarded Christopher before adding, “You're heroic to try and help.”
The comment stuck Christopher as wrong, setting the pit of his stomach roiling
in disgust. Hero, ha. A real hero would have done something before this happened. “That's not what this is about.”
The Right Reverend Cary rose from the table and crossed the room to clap Christopher on the shoulder. “I know. I hope this fierce attraction and
protectiveness turns into a deep and mutual love someday.”
Christopher met his eyes, sure his anguish was far too visible for comfort. “I
have to believe it.”
The hand on his shoulder squeezed lightly. “Yes. Well if you're not going to
eat, put the brandy down. It will do you no good to be hungover for your wedding. Why don't you try to rest a little? I have a guest room made up.”
Christopher sighed deeply. “Very well.”
He rose and headed back through the house. He had visited this home often
enough, with Cary, and knew his way. First, he returned to the parlor, where, as
the bishop had said, Katerina lay asleep on the sofa.
He knelt in front of her. “I wish I had helped you sooner,” he told her as she
slept, “but I swear I'll never let him hurt you again.” Then he kissed her lips tenderly.
Her eyelids fluttered open. Warm brown eyes met his, and she smiled.
“Rest, love,” he told her, “tomorrow is your wedding day.”
Shy hope and gratitude dawned in her eyes. “Thank you, Christopher.”
Since she was awake, he kissed her once more and enjoyed her response.
Then he ran his hand soothingly over her forehead until her eyelids shut again.
