One April Night
The only light in the room came from the fire pit, flickering in the darkness then flaring up as the last piece of pine InuYasha tossed on it caught and began to flare.
Across the room, Kagome sat on the futon, surrounded in a pool of red silk. As InuYasha stood up, he looked at her, and how the light glowed warmly on her skin and on her hair and on the rich silk of the uchikake, as she sat there like a princess from a fairy tale, half wrapped in shadow. She looked up and he swallowed hard as her dark eyes met his and she smiled gently.
Silently, his tabi-covered feet walked across the room, the dark fabric of his wedding hakama swaying around his ankles with each step. It was an unusual sensation, the feeling of the fabric brushing against him that way, just like being separated from the feeling of the floor was with the thin fabric of the tabi he wore. But today had been a unique day, one he once never expected to experience, and one he hoped never to experience again. The clothes just marked how special it was.
Because Kaede had claimed Kagome both as her apprentice and her adopted granddaughter, the short and simple wedding ceremony had taken place in her hut. Rin, wearing a new and brightly colored kimono, had attended as witness for InuYasha’s family, and Sango, as close to Kagome as any sister, was there as witnesses for Kagome’s side, sitting with her daughters and baby son. With eyes only for each other, He and Kagome had shared a cup of sake in front of these witnesses and received Kaede’s blessing, and Miroku, as the only Buddhist priest nearby, had blessed them with a rosary. Afterwards, in a rich, sonorous voice, the monk had chanted the Heart Sutra to insure the blessing of the Buddha, then they shared dinner, and after too many jokes by Miroku, it was time to come home.
Carrying lamps, an irritated Sango and a laughing Miroku and a wistful Rin escorted the two of them back to their house. Miroku sang as they walked, certainly not appropriate for a priest of Buddha. Finally, when it finally dawned on him that another joke meant he would be sleeping with the statue of Kwannon in the chapel next to his house rather than in his own bed, he gave a deep bow, and said a final, blessedly short blessing and allowed Sango to drag him home.
And now here they were. For some reason, InuYasha’s heart beat fast as he looked down at his new bride. He sat down in front of Kagome, and took one of her hands in his. He looked at it for a moment, her fine and dainty hand lying in his much larger one, calloused from work, and sword and so much fighting, all the things he had to do to stay alive. He wrapped his hand around hers; in his mind his hand enclosing hers felt like a symbol of the promise he made in his heart to always protect her, to keep her safe, to be hers.
“Thank you, InuYasha,” she said, her eyes glittering in the firelight. Suddenly she dropped her head, looking at her hand wrapped in his. “This has been a beautiful day.” Her voice choked a little.
“Yeah,” he said. “The best. Even if Sango threatened to pull out Hiraikotsu and use it on Miroku.”
Kagome looked up and giggled. “You really think she would?”
“Probably not,” he replied.
They fell silent as he gazed deeply into her eyes. They looked dark and glittered in the firelight, full of emotion, and joy, and something else, warm and wild that reached out to him and wrapped itself around his heart. Still not letting her hand go, he lifted her chin up with his other. “If someone had told me nine days ago how quick everything in my life would change, and what I would be doing today, I would have thought they were crazy,” he said.
She met his gaze, and her face warmed with a smile, soft, seductive, that stirred something in him, deep and primal, something that was more than just desire.
“If someone had told me nine days ago I could be this happy, I would have laughed,” she said softly. “I didn’t know if I would ever really be happy again.” She pulled his hand to her cheek. “Husband,” she said, reaching out to him with her other arm.
His hand slipped around her waist and he pulled her close. “Wife. My wife,” he murmured resting his forehead against hers. Their lips met, softly and reverently touching, as if sealing the compact between their hearts.
Breaking the kiss, Kagome asked, “You sure Sango won’t get Hiraikotsu after Miroku?”
“Positive,” he said, nudging the red uchikake off her shoulders. “It’s locked up in a storeroom at the shrine. Lucky Miroku.” His lips brushed her cheek, then trailed to her neck.
She ran her fingers through his hair and reached for the tie of his jacket. “Lucky me,” she said, and kissed him again.