The Librarian's Spell Patricia Rice (top 100 novels .txt) 📖

have children with her. And he would protect them just as he’d protected his dolt of a cousin, because that’s who Max was—a defender. A knight of her own.

She could easily forget about medieval harridans, testers, crumbling tunnels, and lawsuits as long as she thought about Max.

“Photograph!” Azmin demanded when the last frill and furbelow was in place.

“With my ladies-in-waiting, please.” Lydia gestured for her gorgeously garbed friends to surround her. They’d all dressed as they’d pleased and made a colorful peacock display to offset Lydia’s plain vanilla attire. Her only color was her lovely sapphire necklace and blue hydrangea bouquet.

Azmin glittered with gold jewelry and wore a gauzy sari in iridescent blue, green, and gold. Phoebe had attempted fashion in a raspberry-and-cream striped gown with a dark blue bodice to stay with the wedding’s blue theme. Olivia looked her usual lovely blond self in a sedate gown of soft blue silk that disguised the signs that she was increasing.

Lydia’s mother and sister fought back tears of joy. Azmin joined the group, then squeezed the bulb to flash her camera light and capture the moment.

“These are dry plates,” Azmin said, as if that meant anything to anyone. She pulled a plate from the camera, popped it into a wooden box, and produced another from her bag. “Let me take one more of just the bride, in case the chemicals weren’t laid correctly. I do wish they’d hurry and develop the color solution. This would be so gorgeous! I’ll have to touch up the final with paint.”

After the portrait was done, Lydia’s mother and sister hurried downstairs to warn everyone the bridal party was on its way. Her ladies lifted her train so Lydia could navigate the stone stairs. At the bottom, the servants respectfully lined the corridor, holding a flowered arch for Lydia to walk under. Tears welled as she smiled and thanked each individual.

This was her day. If she never knew another happy moment, Lydia would remember this one forever. For the first time in her life, people noticed her, instead of the other way around. She didn’t particularly like attention, but for this one moment, she felt lovely and important. She lifted her chin in pride and let all her other problems subside. Today, she married Max, a man who loved her just as she was.

With the servants trailing behind her like an honor guard, Lydia walked through the towering, paneled great hall, down the art-studded long corridor on the far side, and into the chapel where her guests waited. Lady Agatha had insisted on potted rowans at the altar.

Admiring the trees, Lydia didn’t worry so much about heads turning to watch her. She wanted to acknowledge each and every guest, but her gaze fixed on the amazing man in elegant tailed coat and slightly crooked cravat waiting at the altar, dwarfing his tailored, aristocratic grooms. Max’s gaze fastened on her as if she were the only person in existence, and excitement danced in his eyes.

Her heart nearly pounded through her chest, and her smile brightened.

His bride’s smile illuminated the chapel better than light through the stained glass. Max basked in the glory of her happiness. He hadn’t protected Lydia from aggravation, but she still smiled at him as if he had saved the day. How could he not love a woman that understanding?

For Lydia, he would climb a mountain or swim an ocean. Surely he could manage a few minutes in front of the kind of gathering that had once made him quake in terror.

Tenser than he’d been while buried in an oubliette, Max had waited until the last minute to walk out in front of dozens of guests, half of them female. He deliberately gazed over the heads of the audience, watching the entrance, hoping his disinterest would fend off any magnetic reactions. If any female looked his way, he didn’t notice. He didn’t notice. Usually, he knew instantly when the magnetism kicked in. Did this mean his magnetic field didn’t work in a church?

Or because he loved Lydia? And she loved him. Did that mean they were bonded? He didn’t think he’d ever known love before. Disapproval, yes. Disappointment. Resignation. But unconditional love? Never. Women liked to show him off. His mother was proud of him occasionally. But that wasn’t quite the same thing as what he felt in Lydia. The connection between them was strong and true. He prayed that meant she’d never have to worry about his faithfulness.

Once his lace-bedecked bride entered the chapel, she didn’t hesitate. With her glorious red-gold hair shimmering in the stained-glass light, Lydia strode down the aisle, her joyful smile solely for him. Max thought he might burst his buttons with love and pride. She was the most gorgeous creature he’d ever laid eyes on. The quality of her soul shone from her eyes. The beauty of her character danced on her lips. And if he looked any lower, to that splendidly revealed bosom, he’d cripple himself. He contented himself with imagining removing all that lace.

He held out his callused hand, the one he’d spent soap and time scrubbing as clean as a civilized gentleman’s, even though he wore gloves now. She clasped his palm eagerly.

Around them, the women had arranged potted trees. Max knew this symbolized the Malcolm Druidic heritage, so the eccentricity barely registered. He simply prayed nothing stopped this ceremony. He’d never meant to be anchored to one woman or one place, but this felt right. He could relax here, as he had never been able to elsewhere.

All he had to do was conquer all the challenges waiting for him. Building bridges was easier.

The preacher spoke the Malcolm vows of love and equality, and Max repeated them without hesitation. He had wanted to order a fancy wedding ring for his bride, but Lydia had wanted them to both wear rings to signify their commitment. So they had chosen plain bands from the village silversmith. Jewelry got tangled in equipment and Max never wore it,