With This Kiss

place.
    He rose without another word, and escorted them into the church.
    After he donned his tippet and cross, he called them to the altar, summoning his churchwarden and housekeeper to act as witnesses. The couple came before him still holding hands.
    For a reason he hardly understood, he chose a different Bible verse from that which he generally read in the performance of the sacrament.
    “And Ruth said, ‘Entreat me not to leave thee, or to return from following after thee: for whither thou goest, I will go; and where thou lodgest, I will lodge: thy people shall be my people, and thy God my God: Where thou diest, will I die, and there will I be buried.’ ”
    Reverend Dobson never forgot this particular wedding. It restored some deep part of his soul that had grown hungry, and small, and come near to being cynical.
    When he finally pronounced the words, “I declare thee man and wife,” the joy in Mr. and Mrs. Barry’s faces was enough to bring tears to his eyes.
    He kept the memory of that marriage in his mind. It wasn’t often that he saw two people whom he considered to be blessed by their love for each other. It was a salutary reminder of God’s gifts on earth. In his more fanciful moments, he even thought that the name of the bride was a message in itself.
    “God resisteth the proud,” he would tell himself, thinking of the soldier’s dark, haunted eyes, “but giveth grace unto the humble.”

 
    Five
    A rbor House was completely empty, since the Barrys were still abroad, and the servants had been sent home for a holiday. Colin told his coachman to put the horses snug in the stables and then find lodging in the village and be back in the morning.
    They woke in the big, silent house and ate porridge for breakfast—ably cooked by Colin, who had learned such things at sea—after which Grace retreated to the summerhouse to paint, and Colin walked to the village to find help.
    Winkle was small, with only a few streets, graced by names such as Dew Street and the unforgettable Cockermouth Lane. Colin strolled down High Street, enjoying the sunshine warm on his shoulders. This was what he missed by being at sea… that sense of lasting peace one found in an English village, where life moved slowly and at a—
    “Dang blast it!” a voice screeched from a narrow street that ran to the left of the baker’s shop. “If you ain’t the nastiest beast I ever saw, then I’m not fit to be a— You blasted whoreson, don’t you kick me again, or I’ll slice off your berries with a rusty knife!”
    At the first harsh syllable, Colin’s entire body slammed into alert and he flung himself into the shelter of a wall. His heart was pounding and he was flooded with a feeling of rage and fear.
    Bloody hell.
    The street remained quiet, but a stream of vitriol continued to pour from the darkish alley. Slowly Colin forced himself to relax, toe by toe and then finger by finger. He wasn’t at sea. There was no danger here, merely a foul mouthed, abusive Englishman.
    Finally he took a deep breath. He felt nauseated, and his forehead was covered with beads of sweat. Still, the man raged on.
    When his heartbeat was more or less back to normal, Colin straightened and moved away toward the street. He felt like a damned fool, but thankfully, no one had seen him hurtling himself against the wall like a five-year-old frightened by a clap of thunder.
    He made himself walk toward the shouting. He could hear the sound of blows now, along with curses. He pulled himself together: he didn’t care what sort of man or beast was being visited with this abuse, he wouldn’t stand for it.
    It was a horse, a huge, gaunt chestnut.
    As Colin entered the alley, the horse tried to wheel and kick the man holding his reins, undaunted by the blows landing on his back. With utter disgust, Colin realized that the man was wielding a thick wooden club, striking the horse on the shoulders when he could, dragging the reins back to the ground by hanging on them, so he could hit the animal again.
    In a moment, Colin had skirted the horse and jerked the reins away while he simultaneously leveled a kick at the man’s crotch.
    Direct hit.
    The man dropped in mid-curse, his eyes rolling into his head as he clutched his genitals and curled into a ball.
    Then Colin looked up the horse, which had taken advantage of the situation to rear again, his hooves flailing the air as he tried to escape.
    But Colin’s arm was pure muscle after years at sea. He gave