Page 21 of Beyond Dreams

Stepping quietly into the room, Duncan closed the door behind him and approached the tall and broad bed, in which she seemed lost being as she was on her side with her entire body folded into itself. And mayhap the chill wrought by the day’s gloom had affected her that she was buried so deeply under the blankets.

To stare at this face, so devoid of angst and fear, so bewitching for its perfection, one could not imagine that she could be a willing and effective player in any game of treachery. She was—or appeared, at least, certainly in repose—too angelic either to have conspired in bad faith or to have the capacity to pull off any deceit. And yet, he would discount nothing yet, it being too soon to know the character of his bride. While begging respite of him earlier appeared not to have been a ploy to get away from him but to actually sleep, it was too soon to tell if his other suspicions about her would prove true, that she was chock full of secrets, her own or others.

When he was sure he knew every inch of her face, every curve and hollow and feature, Duncan turned and went to the hearth, where he struck flint to steel and lit a fire for her. The flames had just begun to lick at the peat and kindling inside the shallow fire box when her voice came to him.

“I’m still here.”

In a score of years, he thought he might never again hear so much desolation and despair in a person’s voice.

Rising to his feet, Duncan laid the fire starter on the crown of the mantel and turned to face her, his scowl wholly unconscious now, simply a reaction to her glaring disappointment.

She had sat up, likely woken by his actions or the fire itself.

“I didn’t mean to sleep so long,” she said next, her voice small.

“I suppose you were as exhausted as you claimed,” he said blandly. Likely, in the shadows of this chamber, and with his back to the light of the fire, she could not see what held the attention of his ardent gaze. The blankets had fallen away, draped and twisted around her waist, leaving her bountiful bosom, still encased in the taunting wedding gown, on full display before him, since her long and loose hair was all pulled back over her slender shoulders.

Ceri tilted her head to one side, peering into the shadows at him. “You thought I was lying,” she guessed.

“I dinna ken you well enough to ken otherwise,” he replied.

She breathed out a small and humorless chuckle, rather filled with resignation. “So you just assumed the worst about me.”

“Have you nae about me?”

Her head moved, tilting in the opposite direction with her surprise. “Honestly—and I’m pleasantly surprised to say this—you haven’t given me too much reason to think the worst of you.”

“But some,” he supposed, reading into her statement.

“Well, I wouldn’t call you the warm and fuzzy type,” she said next, “and as shocked as I was about seeing you, you only seemed filled with so much...rage. I can’t help but imagine that’s either because you were displeased with your bride at first meeting or not a fan of marrying anyone at all, like maybe you’d been forced into it.”

“Do you nae ken the particulars—the why—of our union?” He asked next, his voice tight, filled with a returned suspicion.

She sighed heavily and untangled the covers, swinging her legs gracefully over the side of the bed, revealing a bit of delicately turned ankles and slim calves, all deliciously bare, before she stood, and the skirts of her gowns fell into place. “They didn’t tell me too much,” she said as she rose from the bed and padded on bare feet across the chamber, “not anything more than that I was to wed.” She went to the short cupboard, her back to him, and splashed cool water on her face. When she turned and faced him again, she was using the square cloth of cotton to pat her face and neck dry.

“You dinna care so much for your kin, your brothers,” he deduced. He planted his feet at shoulder width and dug his thumbs into his belt.

“They are idiots,” she said without hesitation, “one bigger than the other. Let me tell you, I won’t shed a tear if I never see any of them again—well, except for Sidheag.”

Reminded of all that was odd about their meeting and their wedding, Duncan asked what had puzzled him most since first they’d met. “Does that then explain your curious gratification at meeting me? You said,thank God it’s you.”

“Oh,” she breathed, holding the cotton cloth over her chest, obstructing his view of her breasts on display.

Likely a good thing, if he meant to keep his head during their conversation.

“Well...I...the thing is—”

“Dinna lie to me,” he clipped, sensing she was angling in that direction.

She didn’t like the directive. Her shoulders squared and she dropped the cloth to her side, lifting her chin as she asked, “Had you ever met me before today?”

Duncan’s brows crooked over his narrowed eyes. “You ken I have nae.”

“Well, you were familiar to me. I mean, we hadn’t met, not really, but—and this is going to sound crazy, but it’s the truth, I...um, I’ve been—that is, you’ve been coming to me in dreams.” She gulped down a swallow after this fanciful pronouncement and meekly added, “For quite a while. Like, for years.”

Irritation warred with shock. What game did she play?

“I’m not lying,” she insisted, possibly reading his darkening mien. “It’s true. I’ve had dozens of dreams of you. Well, not since I’ve come here but before that, as recently as last week. I—”

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