Trapped at the Altar by Jane Feather Page B

quizzical smile as she appeared. “You certainly brush up well, my dear.”
    â€œI could say the same of you,” she responded, laying her hand on his proffered sleeve. “I can’t remember when I last saw you dressed so elegantly.”
    He raised an eyebrow. “One must make an effort on occasion.”
    â€œIndeed.”
    He was referring to rather more than dress, she knew, and she accepted the truce. It was necessary for the moment. Nothing had changed since that acrimonious exchange a few hours ago, but since it seemed possible for them to slip into their old ways as if nothing had occurred to change them, she would be grateful for it.
    The path to the Council house was lit with sconced torches at regular intervals along the riverbank, and as they approached the house, the sounds of laughter and music burst from the open doors. A wake was a party, after all. A celebration of a life well lived. Old Lord Daunt would have wanted nothing less.
    It was clear as they stepped into the hubbub thateveryone was waiting for them. Slowly, the noise died down, and Rolf, Lord Daunt, came towards them, the crowd parting for him. “So, niece, and you, Ivor Chalfont, we meet over the body of my brother to fulfill his most treasured wish, that our two families unite in peace to retake our rightful place in the world. This was his will, and it is now mine.” He gestured over his shoulder, and a man in the cassock of a priest stepped forwards, one of Rolf’s brothers on either side of him. Whether they were holding him up or merely escorting him was hard to tell.
    Ivor felt sorry for the poor man, who looked ashen with terror, as well he might. There were no resident men of God in the valley, so presumably, he’d been carried off in the middle of the afternoon from his peaceful vicarage by a pair of armed ruffians and ordered to perform a wedding ceremony in the devil’s den.
    â€œI see nothing to be gained by waiting for seven days, so we will celebrate the marriage now, a culmination of all that my brother worked towards during his life. Step forward.”
    Ariadne felt Ivor’s hand tighten on hers, a hard, affirming grip, as he drew her forwards into the center of the room. She looked at him, her eyes filled with fury. Did he know? And she saw in his own dark gaze no surprise but just a flicker of something like apology. It was clear that he had known, that this outrage was with his full agreement. She pulled at her hand, but his grip was now a vise, and the crowd was forming a tight circle around them. They stood alone in the middle, the priest in front of them. Ari’s eyes darted to the dais at the end of the room, where her grandfather’s coffin sat, stark.
    Rolf had a reason for this extraordinary haste . . . did he suspect anything? She thought of Gabriel, and her heart went cold. Had they discovered him? Could Ivor have betrayed her? Or was it simply because of what she had said that morning, when she had refused to comply with her grandfather’s will? They wanted to make sure of her before she could do anything to prevent it. Her thoughts raced at frantic speed, but her eyes were blank, hiding her inner turmoil. If they suspected anything about Gabriel, then the best thing she could do was to get this wedding over with. Once she was married to Ivor, they would have no need to pursue their suspicions. If they had already found Gabriel and killed him, then what did it matter what happened now?
    Ivor felt Ari’s hand suddenly grow icy cold in his, the quick, panicked spasm as she tried to withdraw it from his grasp. Instinctively, he drew her close against his side, his fingers curling around hers, as he tried somehow to infuse her with his own bodily warmth. Slowly, he felt her rigidity soften with her gradual realization of the inevitability of this event. He glanced down at her. Her profile was hard and unmoving, the full curve of her mouth narrowed, her