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CHAPTER NINE:
‘Hey Nigel, anyone sitting here?’ ‘No, not at all,’ replied Nigel cheerily. He was munching his breakfast, and currently pronging a large, ketchup-drenched sausage with his fork. ‘Sydney just left to go and pick the dreaded wedding dress!’ Karen, a bowl of healthy fruit salad in her hand, pulled up the seat next to Nigel at a large, round table in the plush, mirror-lined dining room. It was still quiet: most of Sydney and Nigel's friends and family had had a very late night and were correspondingly late down to breakfast. ‘So she's gone to Claudia's room, huh?’ mused Karen. 'I'm not sure she'll find her there. Last thing I saw, Claudia was walking in the garden with your brother.' ‘With Preston!’ spluttered Nigel, nearly choking on his banger. ‘I thought that was all over!’ ‘Thought or hoped?' asked Karen, arching a perceptive eyebrow. ‘I'm afraid it's all on again.’ ‘I do hope you didn't encourage her,' moaned Nigel, pushing away his plate in disgust. 'It will end in disaster, you know?' 'I don't think it will. Claudia and I chatted for hours, not just about guys, but about life, the universe and everything, and you know what we decided?’ ‘I hate to think,’ muttered Nigel. ‘We decided that Syd is right,’ smiled Karen. 'With love you just have to ‘go with the flow’, see what turns up and turns out. If its meant to happen, love will find a way…’ ‘Lovely,' said Nigel, curling his lip sarcastically. 'And how did my brother worm his way back through this tide of banalities?’ Karen's lips went very thin, as Nigel cursed himself. ‘Sorry,’ he grimaced, rubbing his fingers across his forehead. 'I'm just tired, I guess - I just can't get used to the idea of Preston and Claudia together. It makes my skin crawl.' ‘Rats, spiders and skeletons, Nigel, they make your skin crawl. Two people you care about in love - that should make you happy.’ ‘I know, I know,’ groaned Nigel. ‘But last night Claudia was convinced that the love potion would bind her to François forever. What went wrong, err, I mean right.' Karen smiled knowingly. ‘Well, about 6 a.m. there was this hideous noise outside the window - a scream and a crash. For a moment, we both thought it was the haunting again, but it just didn't sound right. And when we looked out, there was your brother, lying on his back in the bushes below the window, howling in pain. It seemed that he tried to climb up the drainpipe, a single rose between his lips, in order to demonstrate to Claudia just how much he loved her.’ ‘Good God, was he alright?’ Nigel sounded genuinely concerned, although a part of him was desperate to laugh. ‘Oh, yes, he was fine. Well, he whined about his back a bit, but not much more than he had earlier. Then Claudia accepted his rose - and I departed for a couple of hours sleep, leaving them to it. The rest, as they say, is…’ ‘…history,’ finished Nigel, unable to conceal his despondency. ‘Oh well, I guess it proves that the love potion doesn't work, at least. I'll try not to let it spoil the day - for Sydney's sake.’ ‘That would be nice,' said Karen slowly, and Nigel suddenly noticed that her large, blue eyes had grown particularly bright, sparkly - and mournful. ‘You're not the only one who is going to find this day a bit difficult…’ Nigel frowned kindly. 'What is it? Why is today sad for you?’ He slipped his hand over hers. 'Please tell me, I am your friend.’ ‘Yeah,’ choked Karen, a narrow smile smothering her tears. 'You’re my friend. And so is Sydney – my best friends. You always were a little blind, Nigel Bailey.’ ‘Oh,’ was all that he could manage. He didn't remove his hand from hers, but she felt it tense. 'I never… I never realised. I mean, I knew we, err, flirted, and there was that time we kissed, but…’ Karen shook her head, her expression lightening. ‘No, I know you never realised. And I'm glad - it wouldn’t have made any difference. I figured out pretty early on that you belong to Sydney, and she belongs to you. It didn't make it any easier, though.’ ‘Karen…I…I…’ ‘It's okay,’ she whispered, leaning across and kissing him on the cheek. His instinctive blush both warmed her and saddened her. ‘I'll find somebody else, one day. You're not the only cute guy in this world, Nigel - but you are a rather special one. Syd’s a lucky lady.’ She broke the tension, removing her hand and spooning a large portion of grapefruit into her mouth. She couldn't help giggling, as Nigel stared at her guiltily: ‘Come on, finish your breakfast,’ she chided. ‘You've got less than an hour to turn into a handsome prince, and you've not even used a razor this morning…’ ………………………….. Sydney puffed out her cheeks and expelled a long, withering breath. She’d tried on just half a dozen gowns and she hated all of them: Claudia’s selection of blushing-bride wedding dresses, whether puffy meringue-style chiffon, or sleek, figure-hugging silk, were simply not her ‘style’. On the other hand, the chique, simple haut-couture she had ordered herself, while stylish enough for an evening out, just didn't seem 'right' for the big occasion. But she had to pick something. Claudia would be up any minute and she’d have a fashion emergency freak-out if she saw Sydney still dressed in her black leggings, figure-hugging vest and calf-high suede boots. ‘Damn,’ muttered Sydney as she heard the knock on the door. ‘Okay, Claudia, I’m coming.' When she opened the door, however, it was not the petite blonde. Instead, it was the dumpy, dour figure of Braingain. ‘Uh, hullo,’ stuttered Sydney. ‘I wondered if we'd see you again!' The elderly woman slipped past her into the room and, to Sydney’s surprise, smiled at the array of dresses. ‘Not quite the garments of a great adventuress!’ ‘Err, no, it's not quite me, is it?' said Sydney, slightly bewildered. ‘Uh, we found the love potion, if that's what you're interested in.' ‘I know,' said Braingain, stony-faced again. ‘And you finally slew the evil Morholt and identified Tristan’s sword. You did well, but your work is not yet finished. ’ ‘Not finished? Well, I'm afraid it's going to have to be, at least for this morning. I've got to get married in the Great Hall in, uh,’ Sydney glanced up at the clock, 'about half an hour!’ 'Then time is plentiful! You did not finish the job – you found the potions, you did not find the rings!' ‘Well you never exactly told me there were any to find!' retorted Sydney, now slightly exasperated as well as intrigued - she remembered Braingain’s previous hint on the topic. ‘So Tristan and Iseult were married?’ The smile returned: 'They married before they left Ireland, before Iseult was summoned to Cornwall as King Mark’s bride, before the lady’s silly maid servant accidentally put the potion in their wine, although she did her best to make amends…’ ‘The legend tells she took her mistress's place in King Mark’s bed on their wedding night,' interjected Sydney thoughtfully. 'That is quite a sacrifice for a friend to make…’ ‘… and it meant that Tristan and Iseult’s marriage was never annulled, neither in their bodies and hearts, or in the eyes of God.’ ‘Quite a sacrifice…and the rings would be quite a find,' murmured Sydney, her adrenalin already pumping for the hunt. 'But I've got to pick a darned wedding dress.' Braingain shrugged. 'What would thrill your husband more? A dress that makes you uncomfortable or the wedding rings of Tristan and Iseult as a present on his special day?’ Sydney didn't even need to answer; she made straight for the door. 'Where do I begin?’ ‘Make the lovebirds sing,' came the husky answer. But when Sydney looked over her shoulder to respond, the old woman was nowhere to be seen. …………………………………………………… 'So,' began Nigel, peering over his cup of coffee at Karen, still rather awkward. 'If I may be so bold, you did appear to be getting on rather well with Derek last night…’ ‘Ha, yeah, we had a laugh, fooling around,' she replied, rolling her eyes. 'He said he'd like to see more of me, but we'll see. I know Syd doesn't trust him…’ ‘Derek’s a good fellow - when you get past all the macho posturing. Syd’s a little hard on him. I know I'm in danger of sounding like my future spouse, but maybe you should 'go with the flow' on that one.’ ‘I kind of liked the macho posturing,' purred Karen. ‘But don't expect to see us running down the aisle any time soon.’ ‘Goodness,’ exclaimed Nigel, slamming down his cup. 'That reminds me. My friend Joel still isn't here and I haven't asked anybody else to be my Best Man. Do you think Derek might make it back in time?’ ‘Nope,’ negated Karen. 'He sent his apologies, but he said there's no way he'll make it for the ceremony. François needed a lot of interrogating, apparently.' 'Poor Francois!’ Despite his dislike of the Frenchman, Nigel emphasised a little. 'Derek is a great man to have in your corner, but you don't want to get on his wrong side, particularly when he’s got you in his custody. Believe me, I should know…’ ‘Yeah? He kidnapped you once, didn't he? Well, all the more reason to treat the guy with caution.’ Nigel shrugged. ‘There were a few misunderstandings, but we’ve been mates ever since. I would've liked him to be Best Man, but never mind. There'll be plenty of other people down soon, friends who go back a long way. I'll ask one of them.’ There was a silence as Nigel glanced hopefully around the room, and then Karen uttered the fateful words: 'Nigel, you should ask your brother.' ‘Excuse me?' blurted Nigel. 'That's absolutely impossible. You know how I feel about him!’ ‘Yeah. And that's all the more reason you should ask him. He's desperate to do it, you know that.’ 'I don't care if he's crawled trouserless over the Alps and back just for the privilege! He's never done anything for me! Nothing good, at any rate: he’s stolen my girlfriends, snaffled my dream job at the British Museum from under my nose, forced me to stay a boarding school I hated - among many other offences - and he's a snobbish, condescending, self-absorbed twit. No! I won’t do it!’ ‘Oh Nigel,' sighed Karen, sounding so alarmingly like Sydney that she instantly commanded his attention. ‘I think he’s sorry, in his way - but you have to see it from his perspective. He is so obviously jealous of you - you're younger than him, cleverer than him, everyone adores you and you've achieved so much…’ ‘He's achieved enough,’ spat Nigel bitterly. ‘As if he'd let anyone forget it!' ‘Yeah, he’s a pain. But he cares for you really, deep down in his own, repressed kind of way. I think that's why he's so keen to be Best Man - he wants everything to be right between you.’ ‘Then why doesn't he apologise?’ 'Because he can't, you know he can't. It's one of his weaknesses - some people just can't say sorry, even when guilt is tearing them apart. So it’s up to you to be the strong one, Nigel.’ She leaned in and whispered in his ear. 'There he is, coming into the dining room with Claudia now. Be a hero, Nigel, ask him. It would mean so much to him, to Claudia… and, for some reason, to me.’ ‘I never wanted to be a hero,' stated Nigel, heartfelt. 'All I ever wanted was a nice little teaching job.’ He kissed her once, lightly on the cheek, and rose to his feet. He never sensed her melt with long-subdued desire; he just saw the trusting, smiling facade. ‘You’re a very special girl, Karen,’ he winked. ‘One day, you’re going to make a good man very happy. And now, if I really must, I’m going to have a little word with my brother...’ …………………………………. ‘Make the lovebirds sing,' repeated Sydney to herself as she sprinted down the corridor back to the old castle. ‘She must have been talking about the lovebirds on the bed-head. I'd better head back to Queen Tara's bower.’ Sydney kept running – time was of the essence - until she reached the bedchamber, and leapt straight onto the bed. She examined the lovebirds closely again, this time tapping the bulbous wood-carving: she detected a slightly hollow ring to it, but still no sign of how to get anything open. Sydney returned to Brangain's clue: ‘Birds sing to attract a mate,’ she wondered to herself. 'But these two are already together. They also sing to defend their territory and to warn of danger. Danger… what would cause them danger?' She turned her attention away from the lovebirds themselves to the carvings on the rest of the bed. However, the domestic donkeys and cattle displayed in the mediaeval scenes were of little threat to either bird or man, and the peasants themselves looked harmless enough, their expressions as vacant as their beasts of burden’s. In frustration, Sydney left the bed and began to examine the faded tapestries which, too, appeared to portray little threat: Adam and Eve, cavorting naked in the Garden of Eden - or was it Tristan and Iseult, she wondered, alone in their woodland paradise? Soon enough, however, she found the chink of evil in the paradise she was seeking: the long-tongued snake, the green of its scaly skin faded to yellow, coiled around a gnarled, old apple tree. Her gut twinging, Sydney hauled aside the heavy tapestry to examine the stone flagged wall underneath. She revealed a crude painting of a distinctive, red-bearded warrior: Morholt. Sydney took a sharp breath, anticipation mingled with abhorrence. He was enough to scare both bird and man! But not Sydney Fox. 'You're going to help me this time,' she hissed. 'I'm not going to be late for my wedding on your account. Now what are you hiding?' The ugly painting was in the middle of a stone slab, which protruded from the wall slightly. Sydney pushed it to no avail then, with some effort, she tried twisting it slightly. This time, she jumped at the sound of a loud, grinding and turned to discover that the whole of the back of the bed-head had swung inwards like a door. It revealed the entrance to a steep, down-sloping secret passage. 'So that's what you were keeping from me!’ Excitement building, Sydney took her torch from her satchel, climbed through the opening, and clambered down the slope. It was then that the real fun began… ……………………………………… ‘But where is she?' wailed Claudia. Her makeup was perfect, her hair tumbled in exquisite ringlets, and her pink, puffball bridesmaid dress shimmered regally in the light like a chiffon marshmallow. 'It's not just that she's got to pick, like, the most important dress she will ever wear, she’s totally running out of time to get her hair and make-up done!’ Claudia cringed apologetically at the grumpy looking expert croupier and makeup artist she'd flown in especially from Paris. 'I'm sorry. I guess my friend does not realise the seriousness of the situation. It might have to be an express job... you can do that, right?' 'Maybe the bride has had second thoughts?' offered the hairdresser with a malicious smile. 'It won’t be the first wedding I've been at where one of the ‘happy couple’ has bolted at the last minute, although it will be the first such failure I've been flown halfway round the world for!’ ‘No,’ snapped Claudia. 'No way! I’m going to go and look for her. Karen – you’d better check on the guys. Make sure they're looking suitably gorgeous and that they're waiting at that alter!’ ‘Will do,’ affirmed Karen. 'And I’ll make sure they're not killing each other, too,' she thought wryly to herself as she slinked off down the corridor in her shiny, figure hugging, silk gown. ………………………………. The guillotine-sharp axes of the booby trap swiped murderously across the tunnel. Sydney swayed to the side, leapt two foot in the air and then fell flat on her stomach, each time narrowly avoiding a fatal slice. She stilled the malicious contraption by jamming the torch-handle in its workings, a move that brought her a fraction of an inch away from a severed hand. ‘That was close,' she breathed. It was then she heard the rumbling. Jumping to her feet, Sydney tore off down the passageway, the large, stone rock, big enough to crush a horse, pounding on her heels like a juggernaut on the highway. …………………………………………………. Karen tapped lightly on the back of the door: 'Everything okay there, guys?' 'Yes,' came Nigel’s strained reply. 'Just peachy!’ She popped her head in to see that both Nigel and Preston were ready in their wedding attire. The colour scheme – light-grey jackets and trousers with wine-red waistcoats, and creamy cravats, had been chosen after a heated cross-Atlantic e-mail debate between her and Claudia - a debate which Claudia had predominantly won, as it was the scheme which matched her bridesmaid's dress best. It had been ‘okayed’ by a very tired Sydney and Nigel on their return from a hunt - they'd barely looked at the catalogue. Still, if anybody could pull it off, Nigel could. Neatly groomed, cleanly shaven, and with his hair lightly gelled back, he looked great. And, fortunately - in Karen’s opinion if not in Nigel's - Preston was about the same size as Joel and fitted perfectly the matching suit that had been ordered for the Best Man. Nevertheless, she perceived the tense atmosphere from the other side of the threshold. Before she even stepped in, Nigel seized her by the arm and pulled her out into the corridor. 'I can't go through with this,' he hissed. 'Not only is he irritating the hell out of me already with his preaching about good dressing and wedding etiquette, I completely forgot about the Best Man's speech! I can't possibly let him stand up and talk to a roomful of people about me. It equates to professional, social, and probably actual suicide!’ 'Oh,' said Karen, wincing apologetically. 'I guess that is a problem…but it's not like he's had much time to prepare. How good is he at impromptu speeches? " Nigel smirked. 'That's a good point. He's not a bad public speaker but we both stutter like hell without notes. It could be quite humiliating! Ha! Or maybe we could just cancel the speeches, or something...how’s Syd? I can't wait to see her, I bet she looks fantastic!’ Karen felt guilty again, especially as she realised that Nigel was talking particular fast. He was very nervous. 'Uh, I'm afraid I don’t know,’ she answered deliberately, straightening his cream-rose buttonhole before turning attention to his collar. 'She's kind of vanished.' He quickly thanked her for the adjustment, and then said: ‘Vanished? What do you mean?’ ‘Oh, I don't expect its anything serious,' dismissed Karen, taking a step back for a better view, assuring herself that Nigel looked suitably perfect. 'Claudia's gone to look for her. But, as far as we know, she still hasn't put her dress on.’ ‘Should I be worried?' pleaded Nigel. Karen smiled and shook her head confidently. 'No, you know as well as I that she'll be there - sooner or later. Now,’ she paused, and reached into a little pink purse, which was hanging from a chain of pearls in her hand. She brought out a familiar pouch. ‘I'd better give these rings to Preston before another of Sydney's exes turns up to steal them. Then we should all head down to the Great Hall and wait for Sydney to fit us into her busy schedule.’ ‘Let's do that,’ grinned Nigel, ‘and Karen…’ ‘Yeah?’ He took her hand, and caressed her white-gloved fingers affectionately. 'You look amazing.’ She pulled away her hand quickly, but smiled affectionately. 'Thanks. And Claudia looks a dream - but I'm pretty sure it's not going to be enough to upstage the star of the show - whatever she's wearing!’ ……………………………………………………. The pit in the floor was a godsend, and Sydney hurled herself into it seconds before the bolder, gravity on its side, ground her into the dust. She winced through racing breaths at the crunch of bones beneath her as she landed, almost grateful that her torch was left far behind her. She remembered only too well the sight of a crushed, distorted skeleton; the feel of the snapped and jagged bones, digging through the fabric of her leggings into her skin, was nearly as horrific. Even the great Sydney Fox, however, nearly screamed as she heard a scuffling noise and a soft, little body brushed against her thigh. Sydney sprang into the air, smothering her revulsion: she may be a relic hunter, but this was no time to be rolling about with the dead and the rats. She was getting married in fifteen minutes and she had a really cool wedding present to find… She heard a loud crash, as the bolder hit the end of the passage, some way off. ‘There can't be much in that direction, then,’ she murmured and headed back up the slope. Once she’d had retrieved her torch, she found what she wanted quickly: painted across the ceiling of the tunnel, was a crude depiction of a snakelike dragon – its colours still vibrant after many centuries in the darkness. ‘Its just like the one Tristan slew to win the hand of Iseult?’ murmured Sydney. ‘You'd make any birds sing. But how?' She racked her brain for the legend, wishing the she had Nigel's assistance. Fortunately, she recalled that when Tristan slew the malevolent beast, he cut out its poisonous tongue with his trusty sword, an act that nearly fatally poisoned him, but destroyed the beast for good. ‘I need the sword!' cried Sydney. 'But it's back in our bedroom now…damn, I'm going to cut this one fine…’ ………………………… Nigel stood at the altar in the chapel-come-mediaeval-Great-Hall, his face aching with an increasingly fixed grin. Practically everyone he knew - and more than a few people he didn't - were there, desperate to meet and congratulate him. Everyone from Trinity had made the trip, even the Dean, as had Sydney's hundreds of other friends and fans from other universities, and, of course, her numerous relic hunting allies. Even a few of her more likeable rivals had found their way in anyhow. Besides Stewie, Dallas was there. Still clad in his leather jacket and Indiana Jones-style headgear, he’d given Nigel a particular a heavy handshake and flashed him a toothy smile, telling him he was 'a very lucky boy.' Then there were the ‘exes’. Alan, Grey and numerous others were there, keen not to lose their friendship with Sydney, all ‘grinning and bearing it’. Nigel wondered whether they hated him and hoped none of them had hitherto undetected homicidal tendencies. He also couldn't help considering that one of them may have abducted Syd, or locked her up somewhere, explaining her absence. She wasn't totally infallible - he knew that only too well! Overall, he decided the only small mercy was that Reiner hadn’t been asked. Now that truly would have given him nightmare flashbacks… 'I can't wait to see my little Scootchie,' beamed Randall, patting Nigel so hard on the back that it nearly sent him flying. 'I'm just glad she's finally found the right guy to take care of her, make her a little bit less reckless. I was no good - I positively encouraged her!' ‘I don't think anything I say has much influence,' said Nigel honestly. 'Err, hadn't you better get to the door, sir? She’ll be here soon.' 'You think?’ said Randall. ‘On big occasions, my daughter always tends to be fashionably late!’ He gave Nigel another healthily bear-like pat on the shoulder, and wandered up the aisle nevertheless. ‘At least that's a comfort,’ thought Nigel, as he watched Randall go, wondering if he should have confided in the father that Sydney had sort of vanished. Well as he knew his future wife, he couldn't imagine quite what was going through her mind this morning, or what she might have become embroiled in to cause her absence. Her unpredictability was one of the things he loved about her but, this morning, it was just stressful. Randall’s taking his place at the door, apparently awaiting the imminent arrival of his daughter, was taken by most of the congregation on cue. Everyone took their seats. The happy chattering died down. The only people still in motion were Karen and Claudia, who Nigel could see hovering in the doorway, twitchy and anxious. They obviously hadn't found her. ‘She is cutting it a bit fine,’ observed Preston, tapping his watch officiously. 'I wonder what's keeping her? Maybe she’s having second thoughts, eh?’ These words, accompanied by a nudge and a wink, were obviously meant in jest but they annoyed Nigel immensely, and aggravated his worry. He bit his tongue, and said nothing. …………………………………. Sydney flung herself through the entrance of the secret passage, sliding down the slope on her bottom for the sake of speed. With the shining sword in her hand, she faced the painted dragon. Then, with unique prowess, she looped it through the air, striking the very root of the dragon’s long, curling tongue. The sword clanged noisily against the stone, but its fading echo was mingled with the strangest of noises: a high-pitched, shimmering, twitter, like the song of birds… Sydney gasped. Two little golden rings rolled noisily down the slope - released from an apparently un-openable compartment within the little birds on the inward opening bedhead - and landed at her feet. 'The wedding rings of Tristan and Iseult!’ She scooped them up into the palm of her hand, and began to run. She knew the clock must be striking 10 o'clock - yeah, she’d cut this one very fine… ………………………………… The clock was now on two minutes past 10, and Nigel could feel the perspiration trickling down the back of his neck; his collar was starting to feel very tight. There was a buzz of anxious voices in the hall, although few believed Sydney would desert Nigel at the altar. Many were sitting back, smiles on their faces, expecting a suitably grandiose entrance. Nevertheless, the ‘exes’ were starting to exchange smug glances, and the two bridesmaids appeared distraught. There was now a distinct smudginess about Claudia's perfect eye makeup. Even Randall, beside them – the girls’ smallness of stature making him look more of a giant than ever - was starting to look slightly worried. A leaden gloom began to take possession of Nigel spirits when the priest tapped him on the shoulder: 'The lady was sure she wanted to through with this, was she?' Nigel opened his mouth and shut it again, much in the style of a goldfish. Of course she was sure! But he couldn't find the means to answer he man – suddenly all he could think was all the reasons that Morholt had told him he shouldn't marry her. The poltergeist may be gone, but maybe his reasons remained – he simply wasn't worthy of her! So François wasn't ‘the one’ either, but did that mean that he could give her everything she needed. He darted a desperately look across the room, and accidentally caught the eye of Grey - Sydney had once been so sure he was Mr Right. What gave him, Nigel, the right to bind himself to her, if he still wasn't sure he could make her the happiest? Maybe it would be better if she really didn't turn up… Nigel was snapped back to his senses by Preston's crowing voice: 'Please excuse my brother,’ he was telling the priest. 'He can be a little inarticulate at the strangest of moments. But we're quite sure, thank you. Sydney will come - no two people have ever been so in love. Everything is quite under control!’ Nigel gawped at his brother, who beamed back at him with confidence. ‘That's right, isn't it?’ ‘Uh, quite right,’ stammered Nigel. ‘Thanks…I think.’ At that moment, the expectant atmosphere was exploded by the sound of pounding footsteps, a squeal from Claudia, and then a collective gasp from the gathered well-wishers. Clad in her black relic hunting gear - her satchel over her shoulder and a shining silver sword in her hand - Sydney Fox was halfway up the aisle before she realised she’d pushed straight past her bridesmaids and father. They were staring at her, gobsmacked, from the door. ‘Uh, what are you waiting for, guys?’ She sprinted back to the start, slipped her arms through Randall’s and started over, as a somewhat confused string quartet began to play the 'Arrival of the Queen of Sheba.' A shower of delighted applause drowned them out. Sydney Fox’s friends knew she would deliver the goods and entertainment - even on her wedding day. ‘Wagner's ‘Ride of the Valkyries’ would have been more appropriate,' muttered Preston to Nigel, then added in an I-told-you-so voice: 'I knew she'd come.’ ‘So did I,’ smiled Nigel, turning and looking over his shoulder to watch his bride approach him. Covered in dust, cobwebs in her hair, and with the relic still in her hand, she was the most beautiful, ravishing sight he had ever laid eyes upon. As her dancing eyes met his, there wasn't a doubt in his mind. They'd be together, if not physically, then spiritually, through this life and the next.
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