Marriage For Sale. CAROL DEVINE

It is our law.” Desperation shadowed those extraordinary eyes.

      He pulled her aside, out of earshot of the others.

      “If I have to marry you to get you out of here, then we’ll do it. But I want an annulment as soon as we hit town.”

      Faced by his clear reluctance, Rachel shook her head. “It is unfair to hold you to traditions that were unknown to you at the time of the auction.”

      “That isn’t what I asked you. Do you want to marry me or not?”

      Rachel didn’t have to check the curious expressions of those witnessing to know that she, too, wished to understand what made him bid for her in the first place. That was what she wanted. “Of course I want to marry you.”

      “Good.” To shut up the rude naysayers, he sealed the bargain with a sudden kiss.

      Surprise dropped Rachel’s mouth. Amused, he brushed the hair off her forehead and flashed his first smile, brilliant white in the sun. “Everybody is watching us, but I don’t think they’re convinced of my sincerity. Why don’t we give them a show?”

      He then kissed her with far more intent. He shaped her mouth, parting her lips, causing tingles to shoot down her legs. Caught off-balance, she clutched at his arms. The tip of his tongue teased her and all sense of equilibrium fled. Wrapping her arms around his neck, she clung to him.

      He ended the kiss abruptly, searching her expression. The wariness in his gaze made her instinctively hold her breath, and she wondered what he might do next. Hunger underscored his wariness, hunger far sharper and raw than what she had witnessed earlier. And she had aroused it, Rachel realized.

      The arousal went both ways. The heady yearning she felt must have been transparent, for his wariness flared into warning. “The deal is,” he said softly so only she could hear him, “marriage, then annulment. Don’t expect anything more.”

      He faced the murmuring onlookers, giving her no time to argue. But she wouldn’t argue in front of these people. She’d been singled out and ridiculed at one time or another by most of them, and she had no intention of giving anyone reason to talk about her now.

      As a young child, it was her supposedly albino hair they commented on. Positively ghostly, they’d said. When her parents replied that she was simply light blond, the focus shifted to the uncanny color of her eyes. Even her father declared them unreal. Once she started school, she didn’t know how to defend herself when other kids called her “spooky” for seeming to look right through them.

      Contributing to the problem was her habit of staring out the windows, daydreaming. Many times she was forced to sit in front of the class with horse blinders on, big black square ones that kept her focused straight ahead. She supposed the punishment was intended to teach her a lesson. It simply gave the other children more reason to call her names.

      After she’d grown up and left school, she learned to forget her old hurts by roaming the range lands for hours at a time. When questioned by her parents about what she was doing out there, she described a band of wild horses roaming the hills. Her plan to tame some of those horses and sell them at auction did not go over well. To her family, it was an impossible task because her help was needed at home on the farm. Even the few friends she’d managed to make said she needed to improve her dismaying lack of cooking skills and learn a trade rather than waste her time running around the countryside. After all, as an adult member of The Community, she was expected to do her share of the work.

      But Rachel believed deep in her heart that she was doing her share. Horses had a language all their own, a language she had learned to speak. Surely that was more valuable than anything else she could possibly do.

      Her claim to be able to speak to horses turned out to be the biggest mistake she’d ever made. Even Granny Isaacs took her aside and told Rachel she was far too old for such fantasies.

      Admittedly, “speak” may not have been the best word to use when describing what she did. Listening to horses would have been more accurate. But in the end, she definitely got the message. No one wanted to listen to her. And Linc was proving to be no exception.

      He packed her under his arm and looked over their audience. “Make no mistake about it. I wanted Rachel from the moment I saw her,” he announced. “You want me to prove it by seeing us married? Then do it now or forever hold your peace.”

      Two

      “Granny Isaacs,” Rachel said, taking solace in the wise old eyes of her mentor, who didn’t seem perturbed at all by Linc’s intimidation. “Will you perform the ceremony?”

      “Of course.” With her cane she pointed to a nearby grassy area and Rachel obeyed by leading Linc there.

      “Don’t tell me she’s a minister, too?” He snorted.

      “The eldest of the elders. The elders advise and minister to us. Do you object to my choice?”

      “Just get on with it.”

      Granny Isaacs nodded in agreement. “Indeed we shall. Stand side by side, please, and hold each other’s hands.”

      Rachel ignored the head shaking of her neighbors and other members of The Community. They’d had much the same reaction when she announced her intention to be sold at the auction. She had heard more than one whisper that she was likely to draw the lowest price ever recorded, that the reason no one wanted to take her in was because of her peculiar opinions and strange ways. Few in The Community were willing to buck the collective wisdom of the many.

      Granny Isaacs clasped their hands together with her cool veined and gnarled fingers. “The bonding of man and woman is a sacred event,” she began. “Do both of you understand the meaning of this?”

      “Yes,” Rachel said.

      “Yes,” Linc echoed, mystified by the unorthodox start to the ceremony. But then, everything these people did was unorthodox.

      Linc pushed the incongruous smell of new clover, sight of the clapboard barn and whispers of the onlookers from his mind. The age-old words of the traditional ceremony, however, spoken in Granny Isaacs grave and gravelly voice, weighed on his conscience. He figured if she wasn’t worried about the fact that he was lying through his teeth, he shouldn’t be. But Rachel recited her vows with equal gravity, her blue gaze locked with his, and the resentment he felt at being put in this position pushed him into rushing through his vows without regard to anybody’s feelings save his own.

      He waved at Granny Isaacs to skip over the exchange of rings. “No, wait,” Rachel said.

      She reached under the collar of her gown and withdrew a braided chain necklace, anchored by two rings. They clinked as she slipped them off the chain, and she offered Linc the smaller of the two. “These wedding bands belonged to my late parents. I’d like you to use my mother’s ring as my wedding band.”

      Plain gold, the ring was scratched in many places. Linc sensed it had been worn for a very long time by hands that had done a great deal of work. Still warm from her body heat, the ring clearly had enormous sentimental value to Rachel. He felt awkward taking it. The fact that the bride was providing her own wedding ring proved how surreal this whole situation was.

      Rachel held out her hand with graceful expectancy. Slipping the ring onto her finger was an exercise in self will. Linc tried to shake the feeling that her mother must be spinning in her grave.

      He realized his choice of ring fingers was incorrect when it was Rachel’s turn. She slipped her father’s ring onto the third finger of his left hand. Her smile reassured him that the mistake didn’t matter. Linc didn’t care to be reassured. What difference did it make if he put the ring on her second finger or her third?

      The minute Granny Isaacs pronounced them husband and wife, he said, “Come on, Rachel. We’re leaving.”

      He stalked through the gathering who’d witnessed the ceremony, towing Rachel by the hand. She had to have the coldest hands in the history of the universe.