Black Diaries

66. How to Prevent Fornication and get Many Babies

"Well, then what does it mean?" I demanded. If someone was going to imply something about the state of my pants at my wedding, I was damn well going to know what it meant!

Leaning over, Lord Farleigh whispered into my ear: "Sexual restraint—that's what it means, my dear Miss McKinney." His lips brushed my ear, and I shivered involuntarily. "He's saying I'm marrying you because I can't keep my hands off you. And do you know what? He's right."

Oh.

His lips brushed my ear again, his hot breath tickling my earlobe. Suddenly, I wasn't so outraged at the Book of Common Prayer anymore. It might actually have a very good point.

"... and keep themselves undefiled members of Christ's body. Thirdly, It was ordained for the mutual society, help, and comfort, that the one ought to have of the other, both in prosperity and adversity. Into which holy estate these two persons present come now to be joined. Therefore if any man can shew any just cause, why they may not lawfully be joined together, let him now speak, or else hereafter forever hold his peace."

For one moment, I was afraid someone would pull a Jane Eyre on me. Holy hell, this was England, after all, and Barrington Hall was more than large enough to stash a few crazy wives up in the attic. When no one shouted "Hey, that arse is already married!" I breathed an intense sigh of relief, and we proceeded to the vows. Luckily, I had steadfastly insisted on writing those together with my prospective husband. Nothing about peeing in your pants and having lots of babies in there, thank you very much!

The venerable bishop turned to Lord Farleigh, a slightly pained expression on his face. With reluctance, he began to speak the outrageously untraditional words the two of us had concocted. "Will you take this woman as your wife, give her your heart, soul and hand, promise to love her, care for and comfort her, to always be truthful, kind and not too much of... ehem... too much of an ass to her until death do you part?"

Just so you know, I had insisted on that last part. It's always wise to prepare.

His Lordship nodded solemnly. "I do."

Still with a pained expression on his face, the bishop turned to me. "It's not too late my dear," he whispered. "Are you sure you'd not rather use the vow from the Book of Common Prayer? It's traditional, and—"

"Does it still have the stuff about serving and obeying in there?"

"Um, yes, but—"

"Then forget it!"

The bishop sighed, resigned to his fate. "As you wish. Taking into account who your groom is, you might actually be making a wise choice in omitting that part."

Clearing his throat, he asked, more loudly: "Cassidy McKinney, Will you take this man as your husband, give him your heart, soul and hand, promise to love him, care for and comfort him, to always be truthful and kind and not to knock him over the head with a lead pipe, no matter how much he might get on your nerves, until death do you part?"

"I do."

The bishop nodded at us and, reaching into his pocket, pulled out a beautiful silver and sapphire ring—my ring, and slipped it onto my finger. His molten steel-blue eyes burned into mine.

"With this ring I take thee for my wife. With my Body I will worship thee, and with all my worldly Goods I thee endow."

I had trouble taking another breath. The metal around my finger was just a tiny speck of matter, and yet, it seemed to hold every part of me. And through it, he held me. Forever after.

Taking a ring from the only pocket of my wedding dress, I slipped it onto his finger. "I don't have many worldly goods," I whispered. "But that body-worshiping? I'm definitely on board with that!"