Page 36 of Beyond Dreams

Her lips, remarkable in shape for the way they curved as would a bow, and being pink and pouty, were her own personal weapon, gifted by God and likely meant to ensnare or enslave a man. Already, he’d spent entirely too many moments giving attention to them.

Duncan considered her preference for Holly, wondering if one or the other name suited her better.

She was both Ceri and Holly in his mind.

Supposing that a person’s name was the most important anchor to their self-identity and a familial link, Duncan wondered why she felt the need to use a different moniker. He couldn’t fathom that she simply did not care for the sound of Ceri, as he didn’t see how two syllables and the easy sound could be offensive. She was aCeri, which brought to mind a strong and capable woman, one who might ardently challenge her husband—or did he only suppose that once he’d met her? But then she was also creditably aHolly, the sound of that name softer and sweeter to his ear. And she was that, he supposed, soft, weak in some manner as evidenced by her fear and her tears but then possessing a smile beguiling and not without a certain effect that the sweet moniker fit her well.

Shaking himself away from such a pointless reverie, Duncan was relieved when Awlay finally led his big destrier from the stables. He stepped forward and took the reins from the old man, not blind to Awlay’s less than furtive glances aimed again at Holly.

“That’ll be all, Awlay,” he said crisply and walked the horse forward a bit, beckoning Holly to follow. “You dinna ride,” he said over his shoulder. “Should I then assume you canna mount a horse either?”

“That is correct, and I’ll save you all the assumptions,” she said pertly, likely a reaction to his coolness. “I know nothing about horses. Zero.”

And he had no intention of wasting time teaching her anything today. Wordlessly, he invited her closer to where he stood at the horse’s left and lifted her into the saddle with his hands at her narrow waist. A look of panic briefly arrested her features until Duncan swung up behind her, taking hold of both her and the reins and urging the destrier out through the gates.

“Beach first, please,” she said after a moment, when he’d been heading straight down the lane.

“Beach last,” he amended, and not only to be contrary. Whenever he did ride simply for leisure, he liked to finish down near the sea. Mayhap today, the sun would show itself by the time they got down there.

“You are irritable again today,” she remarked when he said nothing else for a full minute or so.

“Aye, I tend to be as much when forced to grovel to make my marriage true,” he said, latching onto the first thing that occurred to him, which quite honestly had not been far from his mind at all overnight or this morning. Certainly, with her in his arms now, soft and fragrant and warm, it was very near and dear to him.

She did not flinch at the sharpness of his tone, but shot back, “You don’t have to be such a di—so miserable.”

“You demand too much of me already,” he clipped. “’Tis nae how I envisioned my marriage. And be forewarned, ’tis nae how it will proceed.”

Growing frustration provoked Duncan to knee the horse into greater speed. The sooner this was done, the better. Her hair, loose again today, was swept out and away from her face and shoulders, striking softly against his chin and chest. When she realized this, she gathered the bulk of the soft tresses into her hands and held it at her shoulder in one long tail.

Despite the courtesy, she did not give up the argument.

“What are you afraid of? I’m not asking you for much, Duncan, just a few hours of your time. Does marriage—to me or anyone for that matter—mean so little to you that you can’t even give this? I mean if that’s the case, then send me home, I don’t want to be married to you.”

“You dinna have a choice,” he reminded her caustically.

“I’m going to tell you a little secret, Duncan,” she said, turning her face toward his chest, lifting it toward his. “I’m here, essentially, of my own free will—no matter my motives. If I want to leave, there isn’t anything you or anyone can do to stop me.”

“Bolting the door usually does the trick,” he said dryly without looking down at her.

Holly laughed at this, though the sound was more snickering than merry. “Ah, the gallant knight. How sweet. That’s a fine start to a marriage, I’m sure.”

“And what are your motives?”

“Well, basically, they were to get away from Hugh and Wedast and Hewgill House.”

“And how can you come into the union with expectations of me,” he ground out, wishing he’d remained silent from the start, “when your ascribed motives are selfish as well and have already been met?”

“Any expectations come with qualifiers,” she replied. “That was my main goal, to get away from them. Of lesser consideration, but important now, is how I mean to go forward. If I’m forced to stay, I won’t be a doormat.”

“That’s twice now you’ve said, if you’re forced to stay. But you come of your own volition, you’ve said as well. Make up your mind, Ceri—Holly—which is it? Are you here willingly—compliantly—or nae?”

“Obviously,” she answered, “marriage to some guy I’d never met—no offense—was not my intent or my choice. They didn’t ask me what I wanted, just told me what I would be doing. But, well, yes, I am here willingly.”

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