In Oporto

Maggie barely heard the last part of his speech. She was too relieved and happy because of the first. She gave Cotton's hand a squeeze. "Thank you, sir!" she laughed.

Cotton was already red, and was uncharacteristically looking down at the floorboards shyly. "We was... we was hopin' to do it tomorrow, sir," he muttered. "Y'know, sir. Just the broomstick. No need to bother a priest with it." He squeezed Maggie's hand back.

Maggie jabbed him with her elbow.

Vickery chuckled, seeing the nudge. "I think a priest would far rather be 'bothered', as you phrase it, with a wedding than with a funeral, Cotton," he said, though he was aware that Cotton was far more nervous of him than usual.

Maggie looked up at Cotton and spoke eagerly. "I think he means just it's all right if a priest can't be got in such a hurry. For us. Sir."

He flushed a deeper red and nodded. "We... we can jump the broomstick tomorrow, sir, an' do it all official-like, with a priest, when there's more time, sir."

Maggie nodded helpfully.

"So, it's just a quiet wedding, then?" Vickery asked, and got up. He offered his hand to Cotton, who looked at it, bemused.

"Congratulations, Gabriel," he said as Cotton shook it, feeling confused.

He turned to Maggie. "Congratulations, Miss Evans," he said, taking her hand and kissing it.

Maggie caught her breath in a gasp and then forced herself to release it and to smile at the captain. "Thank you, sir."

Cotton grinned at her, still feeling horribly shy, and trying to remember if there was anything else they needed to ask the Captain. His brain didn't seem to be working right, though, and he just glanced at Maggie and grinned.

She noticed and grinned back at him, now forgetting the captain's presence almost entirely.

Vickery grinned at them. "Go on, you've got a wedding to plan," he said genially, sitting down again.

Now was a time to offer another curtsey. "Thank you, sir," Maggie said again, beaming.

Cotton gave a salute, though it wasn't the smartest salute he'd ever given. "Oh, thank you, sir," he said, and took Maggie's hand. "C'mon, we've got to work out what we want to do, Maggie, an' who's goin' to be there."

Maggie laughed as she ran down the stairs just ahead of him.

He slipped out and closed the door quietly. "Hey, Maggie, wait for me!" he said, following her, laughing quietly for sheer happiness.

She waited until she was at the bottom of the stairs to let out a great whoop.

"Hush, Maggie. Folks'll hear you. Mebbe even the Captain will," Cotton said, scandalised, though his eyes were sparkling.

"Any idea where we can find a decent broomstick, then?" he asked, looking around.

"I don't care!" she laughed and kissed him. "Broomstick. I haven't had to sweep up anything in a long time. No idea. Gabe, we're going to get married tomorrow!"

He picked her up and spun her round. "I hope you've got a nice dress to wear," he said, laughing. "I'm just goin' to have to wear this old jacket, though. Hope you don't mind."

"Course I don't mind! You know what dresses I have though. It'll probably have to be this." She looked down at her blue dress. "Wish I had something nicer to wear. But never mind. I'll get some cloth in town tomorrow and make it up for later, when we do it with the priest and all."

She dug through her pack, again trying to find any embellishments. Her heart was light and joyous. The confirmations from Martha and the surgeon had lifted a great burden from her mind, and so too had the meeting with Padstowe for all that it had distressed her. It was a great relief simply knowing that someone unattached, impartial and powerful believed her story, sympathized with her experience, shared her fury, and promised justice. It was freeing. There was not only the captain but Lieutenant Sharpe also. The burden was in their hands now, not hers and not Cotton's. Officers might make her generally nervous, but she trusted them with childlike faith. Padstowe and Sharpe would take care of it now. Her bruises would fade, and soon it would be as if the whole terrifying ordeal had never happened.

Her bruises! "Gabe, are my bruises still very bad?" Being married in an old dress was one thing, but being married covered in ugly bruises was another. The marks on her arms were dirty yellow, but she had not seen her face. Captain Padstowe had noticed the bruises though.

He looked at her thoughtfully. They were starting to fade to yellow now, but were still recognisable for what they were.

"They'm gettin' better, they ain't so bad as they was," he ventured, and turned to dig in his pack again, bringing out a small, wooden-framed mirror. "Here, see what you think, lass," he said gently, handing it to her.

She peered into the mirror skeptically. At least her eyes were no longer red. She had seen her reflection only once since the attack, and she had been startled by the appearance of her eyes. The bruises were still noticeable, but as her mother always used to say, a man on a galloping horse would never notice. Not that she was marrying a man on a galloping horse.

"Better than they were," she said, handing the mirror back to him. "Listen, Gabe, I forgot to tell you. I met Captain Padstowe, the man with the watch. He noticed the bruises - that's what made me think of it now."

He took the mirror and put it away again. "You met Captain Padstowe?" Suddenly, he had visions of being sent back to the triangle to get the hundred and fifty lashes he'd escaped the first time. "How... Did he say anythin' about it, and... and how his watch got pinched?

"Oh he knew it wasn't you," she said quickly, sensing the uneasy change in his mood. "He and Mister Sharpe - Lieutenant Sharpe was there too, right before he brought us here, me and Martha - they said it was Sergeant Hakeswill that done it. That they know it was him only they can't prove it." She looked at him with a quiet stillness. "So I told him about me."