Her Beguiling Bride by Paisley Smith Read Free Book Online

doing to convince him to marry us inside the church after canonical hours.” Grinning proudly, Alice put her topper back on and took Belle’s hands in hers. “I want to spend the rest of my days with you, Belle Holloway.”
    Belle blinked at the sudden surge of tears dampening her eyes.
    “I can think of no better way to celebrate St. Patrick’s Day than making you mine,” Alice continued. “I love you, and I always will.”
    At the moment, Belle couldn’t think of any words deep enough to say. Love brimmed and overflowed to the point she feared she wouldn’t be able to contain it.
    “What do you say?” Alice asked. “Will you marry me?”
    “A thousand times, yes,” Belle whispered.
    Alice offered her arm. “Then we’d best hurry while he’s still in a mood to perform the ceremony. He’s got a St. Patrick’s Day mass tomorrow at noon.”
    Belle followed Alice into the church. Dimly light and cool inside, the sanctuary bore the scars of the war. Belle recognized the oft-scrubbed dark stains on the floor that indicated the church, like every other such building, had once housed wounded and dying soldiers.
    Two ancient women dressed in robes and yawning mightily stood at the end of one of the worn wooden pews which was festooned with green wreaths and bunting. Plaster flaked from the walls and the faded painted ceiling.
    This old church had seen better days.
    But tonight was not a night to reflect on the past. Belle breathed in the musty scent of lemon-oiled wood and candles. Her gaze lifted to a statue of the Virgin. This would be the place where she and Alice would vow to cherish each other for the rest of their lives.
    Even though she’d come to terms with her unusual relationship, Belle had thought she might feel a twinge of doubt at solidifying their commitment in a church, but she did not.
    This was right. It felt right.
    She slid her hand down and laced her fingers with Alice’s. Alice squeezed her hand.
    “Father O’Neill,” she called to the robed man lighting a candle at the altar.
    He turned slowly, his tired expression betraying his impatience at being dragged out of bed. “Ah, Mr. O’Malley.” He managed a smile at Belle. “You’ll have to forgive our…state of shabbiness. We’re starting construction on a new cathedral soon, but I assure you many happy brides have stood at this very altar.”
    Alice trailed her fingers up and down Belle’s spine in a show of encouragement. The priest was none the wiser that he was about to marry two women.
    “Shall we?” Father O’Neill asked as he donned a bright green stole.
    Alice blew out a deep breath. “I can’t marry this woman fast enough.”
    Father O’Neill chuckled and took up his book. “You here,” he said, positioning Alice. “And the bride on this side.”
    Belle stepped next to Alice. Even though she wanted this more than anything, her hands trembled uncontrollably. A glance at Alice’s revealed that she was shaking too.
    “Now,” the priest said, “Sister Bertha, Sister Mary Martha, would you mind witnessing this wedding between these two lovebirds?”
    “Pardon?” one of the ladies said, brandishing a tin ear trumpet.
    “Witness a wedding!” Father O’Neill boomed. “That’s why you’re here!”
    The little old nun giggled. “I’d be honored.”
    She and the other sister took seats on the second pew.
    “Dearly beloved…” the priest began, but the words faded.
    Belle could only drink in the sight of her love. All they’d shared played through her thoughts: the first time she saw her, wounded and sitting in her bed, Alice’s arrest, subsequent escape, and the struggle against the bushwhackers that had nearly resulted in both their deaths. Most of all, Belle recalled how perfect it felt to lie in Alice’s arms, to give and receive pleasure. Love.
    “Do you, Al O’Malley, take this woman to be your wife?”
    Alice smiled at Belle. “I do.”
    “And do you…your name, dear?”
    “Belle. Belle