Page 33 of Beyond Dreams

And yet he didn’t feel real. Or, she no longer knew what was real and what was not.

“God’s bones, Ceri, what have you done?”

“I’m not Ceri,” she whispered.

Chapter Ten

Hours later, Duncanstared down at his wife as she lay sleeping in her bed. He’d only just returned, had only just been allowed entry, the household women, including Doirin and an anxious Moire having attended Ceri when she’d been found. Holly, he reminded himself for the umpteenth time.

Though she slept now, or still, having succumbed to a faint, he considered her present condition much improved. When he’d found her, her skin had been like ice. Her lips, in that brief moment he’d held the torch in front of her face when they’d discovered her, had been colorless. She’d quivered so, was so thoroughly overwhelmed by fright and cold, that her entire body had trembled violently in Duncan’s arms as he’d carried her out from the crypt.

He’d felt then, and to some degree still, a terrific anger at her for the uproar she’d caused to the keep, for the search that had gone on for hours, since she’d not appeared at supper. He felt something else, pity mayhap for her condition, and a sense of frustration possibly, for how ill-suited she was to be his wife.

Lost in her own bluidy keep, by all that was holy!

The strongly worded reprimand he would subject her to would have to wait, though. She was in such a state he wondered how long she’d been trapped in the crypt, and how quickly she’d succumbed to the hysterics she’d shown him when first he’d found her. That outburst of animal-like agitation, scurrying away from him as if she’d been caged and abused, coupled with how strange she’d been at their wedding had him seriously considering that the woman was not right in the head. He’d been saddled with a defective bride, he was beginning to suspect.

He told himself that any fear he’d known when she’d been both lost and subsequently found had simply been a matter of,God’s bones, but Thallane killed my new bride.

As he gazed down upon her, he realized how small and delicate—vulnerable, actually—she was, so utterly female. She could not be expected to harness so much courage. Being fragile and weak and unwittingly prone to incidents such as this might be what the future held for her, and thus him.

Duncan stood with his hands on his hips, his mouth tightened with plenty of disagreeability. She’d been a bloody mess when they’d found her, her gown and hands filthy, dirt and grime streaked everywhere. There had been flecks of dirt across her cheeks. He’d felt certain that if she had any idea how many cobwebs covered her hair, she’d have shrieked and fainted all over again. She’d since been bathed and garbed in a clean shift and for the moment slept peacefully.

He’d watched her sleep for a few minutes. Her clean hair, darkened by dampness, haloed her head on the pillow. The roaring fire he’d made earlier to chase the chill that had gripped her had since died down but cast enough heat and light yet that her cheeks were pink with a flush, her flawless skin quite lovely. Her full lips were parted softly, unmoving, beckoning much of his quiet, appraising gaze.

Just as Duncan wondered if he would find peace this night, her long lashes began to flutter.

His stance hardened, as if he needed to brace himself for her waking.

Her awakening was slow and silent, her wary brown eyes darting over him and around the room before she closed them and sighed.

“One of these times,” she said wistfully, “I’m going to open my eyes and....”

Duncan’s brows drew together, waiting for her to finish that thought, but she did not.

But she did open her eyes again and fixed them directly onto Duncan. “What time is it?”

---