I Carry Your Heart - Chapter 16

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~ Anticipation

From this dream Catherine did not mind waking. It was a wonderful dream, complete with poetry and candlelight and a vague image of a ride on a rearing, golden carousel horse. But to wake to Vincent’s gentle touch, to his soft voice speaking her name ... that was Paradise.

“Are you awake?”

“Are you really here?”

“I’m here.” He smiled at her, fully clothed, sitting on the edge of the bed.

“What time is it, do you think?”

“I’m not sure I can think,” he replied, “but I’m guessing it's either quite late or very early. The pipes are still and the tunnels are dark.”

“Vincent ... I, ummm ... where’s the ...”

“Facilities?”

“Umm, uh huh.”

“I’ll show you. Come. Don’t worry. It's close by,” he said, still smiling, showing the white tips of his teeth.

She crawled from the deep bed, reluctantly but necessarily, padding in her sock feet beside a changed man. His step was light and long and a sweetly dazed expression replaced the glower and gloom of yesterday. She wasn’t sure, but she thought she heard a low humming tune in the air between them.

Vincent led her out into the atrium and across it, through another archway, a turn to the left down a dim hallway, past two darkened rooms. She was ready to complain about the measure of tunnel distance when they came to a wooden door. It was a fairy-tale door – tall, arched, banded with metal strips and faceted nail heads and latched by a massive lever with a twisted iron handle. How it was set into the stone was yet another mystery.

She pushed inside and turned to question him, her eyes wide with surprise, but he'd retreated to the hallway, already hurrying around the corner. She wanted to call to him, yet necessity propelled her forward, and in an arched, ancient alcove, she found the facility soon enough.

In the antechamber, a long, narrow, black stone sink ran the length of one wall. The basin was carved so that water swirled over scalloped cuts in a cascade. Pipes laddered the stone.

“Warm water?” She shook her head in wonder as she opened the metal gates.

There was a ledge of rock above the sink where she found her toiletries from the guest chamber and a fascinating assortment of his things through which she pawed with giddy enthusiasm. She learned he was partial to French-milled sandalwood soap, for there was a large ivory-colored cake of it open at the sink and two more still in brown paper wrappings and tied with thin string. There was an aromatic conditioner made with Acacia honey and a shampoo combining aloe vera with Black Mud from the Dead Sea. The toothpaste he used was a homemade recipe. She twisted the top from the jar to discover what looked like baking soda mixed with gelatin. She tried a little on her brush. It was gritty, a little salty and flavored with cloves.

One of the helpers must have quite the shop.

She turned from the sink, spying a narrow, seductive opening in the far wall.

Oh ...

The room was lit with candles that lined stair-stepped ledges on one side. Rougher cut but carved from the same black stone as the sink, three steps descended into an obsidian pool. At its farthest reach was another alcove curtained by a waterfall that steamed and streamed over a shelf above. A water-worn hollow formed an intimate bench, above it a deep niche where she discovered an array of sponges and brushes and a strange, wide-toothed comb.

At the water’s edge, Vincent had stacked a dozen towels and there was a large basket filled with garments from her chamber bureau and wardrobe. Her breath a rushing exhalation, she reached down. So warm!  She slipped out of her clothes and into the pool. Closing her eyes, she allowed herself to dream.

After the soak and the shower, after an invigorating experience with the black mud shampoo, she picked through her clothing, choosing the layers carefully. She had the fleeting vision of Vincent folding her lingerie.

“Whoo!” She fanned herself, imagining. And then her stomach rumbled. “Uh oh.”

She emerged from the bathing chamber and retraced the hallway. Two rooms stood empty, but were clearly closets. Shelves were cut into the stone and long poles spanned each space. Across the empty foyer was a high-arching room, its walls lined with shelves jammed with books; at its center, a broad pedestal table on a faded flowered rug. She would demand a tour, right after breakfast or a late supper, whichever applied.

Vincent stood near the base of the curving stair and she couldn’t resist. She ran – as fast as she could – and threw herself into his arms. This kiss, at first playful and easy, deepened with desire … and ended in laughter.

“What is this place?”

“Do you like these rooms, Catherine?”

“I love these rooms!”

“They are ... ours, then.”

“Will you show me everything? Tell me everything?” Her stomach rumbled again. “Right after we eat? I’m starving!”

He led her back to the mirror room to a small table flanked by the low stool and a second armless chair. There were crockery bowls and silverware, a large thermos, a stack of homemade rusks and beaded glasses of cold cider.

“You can read my mind!”

“No. I’ll admit I was thinking of myself.” He poured a rich chowder from the container. “This was William's supper last night. There’s no breakfast cooking yet, but I think it must be close to dawn.”

“Time doesn’t really matter now."

“No, except will I cherish every moment of it with you.”

"We have so much to talk about," she said.

"Yes."

"Most of it can wait."

"Yes."

They ate with hearty appetites, but Catherine more than Vincent.

“Did you have a snack in the kitchen?”

“How did you know that?” Behind his napkin, she was sure he hid a smile.

“Because I’ve eaten maybe twice what you have? I’m going to be embarrassed if I'm the trencherman in this family.”

With his thumb, he pushed the plate of rusks across the table. “I woke Father and told him we married ourselves last night."

"I'd like to have been there for that! What did he say?"

"He grumbled that we would not get by with just an announcement, that he would not be denied performing some sort of ceremony. He's up, right this minute, pouring over dusty texts for just the right words."

"That should keep him busy."

"Yes, the old fart. Who knows what he will devise."

Catherine laughed. "He told you?"

"No, Pascal did. I passed him coming back with our food." Vincent chuckled, then paused. "I brought your things down for you.”

“I found them. Thank you.”

“I brought all of them.” He ducked his head and shifted his gaze over her shoulder.

Her nightdress was draped across the footboard of the bed. She turned back to him with a mischievous expression.

“You said that was for a wedding night.”

He blushed, a deep, bronzed rose. “I did.”

“It’s morning.”

“Yes.” He looked a little puzzled.

“Do we have to wait ... all day?”

“Let's not,” he said, as he closed his beautiful hands over hers, his hands that absolutely could, absolutely would, give her exquisite love.

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sequel to this story is Marriage Morning, a story for adults (17+)

If you'd prefer to skip the adults-only story, you can go directly to A Great and Thorough Good without losing too much story line (though the tour of the hidden rooms occurs at the beginning of Marriage Morning).