Page 35 of Beyond Dreams

“Duncan,” she called again before he might have closed the door between them.

Wearily, he lifted his gaze to her. Honestly, he’d not thought he’d be forced to extend so much time and effort to his marriage, only a day old.

“Please don’t leave me,” she said, so much vulnerability heard in her small voice. She cleared her throat. “I-I’m not ready to...you know, but I’m...I really don’t want to be alone now.”

He sighed internally but showed no reaction save a nod. He stepped back within the chamber and closed the door behind him. Her unease was authentic enough that he knew he did have to give some weight to her charge, that she’d been purposefully trapped in the crypt. Pretty quickly, while doffing his boots and tunic and breeches, he determined that no one had any reason to harm her, that none would risk his wrath, and that in the hysteria of the moment, she must have indeed imagined there was someone to blame other than herself.

He slid into the bed moments after she did, once again sharing a bed with the wife he’d yet to touch, wondering if sleep might favor him now, wondering if she would avail herself to another good cry.

Her voice came to him in the darkness. “Duncan?”

“Aye?”

“Will you...do you think tomorrow you might be able to spend some time with me?”

He still didn’t know what to make of her, with her changeable moods and outlandish accusations of people meaning to harm her. But there was something to be said for how she trusted him and looked to him for protection against the monsters of the night. What it said, though, and how it made him feel was another matter, one he did not examine with any precision, only enough to know it somehow made him uncomfortable. In an effort to hide this and because consummating was not far from his mind, not when she was so bonny and presently so close, needing him, he chuckled briefly and teased her, “You are in a hurry then, to ken me?”

A soft laugh sounded next to him. It was a moment before she answered though, her voice small. “I don’t like being afraid, Duncan.”

***

Duncan escorted Hollydirectly from the hall and the morning meal to the stables, where he instructed Awlay to saddle a mare for his wife. Upon waking, wondering how he might actually get out of spending time with her, he decided it might only be short-lived, any outing he undertook. He entertained some hopeful notion that he might appease her in quick order with a brisk morning ride. No doubt she would cry exhaustion and mention a lingering trauma, a want of her bed no sooner had he taken her out. So be it.

Awlay eyed Holly covertly and not with any fond curiosity, it seemed. “You want the chestnut mare, laird? Or mayhap the dun—”

“Oh, excuse me,” Holly interrupted, stepping closer to Duncan and Awlay. “Sorry, but I...well, I don’t ride.”

Duncan’s hand fisted. “What?”

“I’ve never ridden a horse,” she confessed, a wee sheepishly. “I thought we would take the carriage.”

“Take the bluidy carriage round the—?” he began and then clamped his lips. The saints preserve him. “How do you nae ken how to ride a horse?” He asked in a more level tone.

“I’ve just never learned,” she admitted, speaking to both Duncan and a gape jawed Awlay. “I never had the chance to do so.”

“But you live miles from the next—” Once more he caught himself. “You dinna ride,” he repeated, digesting this. And a carriage over the rough terrain of Thallane was ill-advised. There was only the one main road to and from the castle, and then only a few more, tiny narrow lanes, twisting round in the village. ’Twould be a short tour, and oh, how he was tempted. He would wonder for quite some time what stayed his hand in this regard. He might have hauled out and rigged up the carriage, might have taken her out in the vehicle and been back in under thirty minutes, could have wiped his hands free and clear of his bride for the day.

Instead, and for reasons unknown and presently uninvestigated, he heard himself say, “You’ll ride with me.” To Awlay, he directed, “Just the destrier then.” And stepping out of the stables, rather forcing Holly to do the same while they waited, he asked, “Have you nae ever been on a horse?”

“I don’t think so.”

“You dinna ken?”

“Well, maybe I was when I was little,” she allowed. “I think my grandfather had horses at one point.”

Duncan’s confusion only increased. “Had? At one point? Did he lose them? Were they stolen?” And then, perplexed by his own nonsensical queries, he waved them off, focusing on the greater and more relevant truth. “Hewgill House is known for its quality horseflesh. Thirty to fifty at any given time fill their stables.”

“Yes, but recall, I haven’t been there in years,” she reminded him, flashing those animated brown eyes at him.

Sharply, and with a wee sneer, he advised, “You’ll have to learn, lass. You canna live here at Thallane, so isolated, and nae ken how to ride. The carriage is rarely used.”

“Fine,” she conceded with a shrug of her shoulders. The motion accentuated her collarbone, beckoning his gaze to sit there for a moment, upon the silken skin there. “But it doesn’t have to be today,” she continued. “So you’ll have to put up with me in the saddle with you, however that works, for today at least.”

With this, the newest evidence of his wife’s unsuitability, Duncan’s mood was further soured. He turned and looked into the shadows of the stables, wondering how much longer Awlay would be. As he did, he watched Holly surreptitiously, supposing this annoyance with his bride might be with him for days yet. Bluidy hell, but imagine a grown woman unable to ride, not recalling if she ever had.

Honest to Christ, if she weren’t so bonny and didn’t bring with her the promise of peace, she’d not have much to recommend her, by his estimation. Thus far, she’d done nothing but speak too much of those infuriating English sounds, had denied him his rights as a husband and then proceeded to subject him to a prolonged and decidedly awkward outburst of crying, had gotten herself lost inside the bloody crypt, and now revealed that she could not of her own accord ride a horse. He was tempted to question what shecoulddo.

Watching her out of the corner of his eye while she gazed with curiosity around the yard, Duncan was reminded that she was indeed bonny—beyond that. Though the sun did not shine, Holly MacHeth certainly did. In the bright light of day, sunless though it was, he saw that her light brown hair was streaked with gold and blonde, streams of sunshine crowning her head. When she’d flashed her eyes at him, they’d been filled with an innocence that belied her years—she was older than he’d thought, more than a score of years by his reckoning. At the same time, the chestnut hue of her eyes reflected a defiance he’d already met and assumed now he would have to contend with for many years. He could not fault this, supposing some fierceness in her was preferable to a simpering and weeping lass.

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