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CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

“ H ow did I… um… end up back in my own chambers last night?” Teresa asked the following morning where she was, indeed, joined by her husband at the breakfast table.

There were faint dark circles underneath his eyes, though she had no idea if he had slept well. All she knew was that she had not been woken up by any screams, which was likely a good sign that his nightmares had not returned.

He glanced up from the papers, folding a corner down to look at her. “I carried you.”

He said it so casually, yet the words were a blow to her stomach, knocking the wind out of her lungs.

He had carried her from his chamber to hers, and she had slept through it all!

The sort of romantic moment she had dreamed about her entire life, and her foolish self had decided that was the perfect time to be oblivious, deep in the land of such dreams.

“I… uh… apologize for the inconvenience,” she mumbled, cursing herself.

“It was no inconvenience,” he replied evenly. “You are not heavy, and I am not weak.”

She remembered the chapter she had been reading to him, the heat in her face rising exponentially. It was a travesty, really, that she had fallen asleep while reading such an exciting tale. Either she must have been very tired or very comfortable; she could not recall which.

“Do you have my pages?” she asked, her heart performing anxious somersaults in her chest.

“I have not pried ahead to the ending,” he said, with a sly hint of a smile. “They are in my chambers. I will give them back to you this evening.”

She frowned, not entirely convinced she was truly awake. What does he mean? Does he want me to come to his chambers again this evening? The very thought of asking outright closed her throat, and no amount of sips from her teacup could make it open wide enough for words again.

Surely, she was misinterpreting his meaning. He likely just meant that he would hand them back at dinner or something. It would not serve her well to get excited, falling into the pitfalls of her romantic ideals. After all, he had not exactly wanted her there the previous evening.

Should I ask about his nightmares or pretend it did not happen?

Recalling his sorrowful lament of “I do not want to die,” she decided on the latter.

Evidently, whatever had caused the nightmare would be too painful to relive in the stark daylight, though she had a few notions as to what his nightmare had been about.

“That is… satisfactory,” she replied, quietly wishing she was having her breakfast alone, instead of facing such a barrage of surprises. It was far too early for revelations.

Cyrus set down the morning papers. “Actually, I wondered if you might like to accompany me into town this morning. I have some errands, but we have another ball to attend soon, and I thought you could choose some gowns.”

“Town?” Teresa thought of the world outside Darnley Castle, reminding herself not to forget that it existed. “I should be delighted. I do not have a talent for fashion, but perhaps you could choose me a gown or two. The one at your friend’s ball was, after all, a great success.”

He gave a swift nod. “We shall leave around eleven o’clock.”

“I… shall be waiting,” she replied, pinching her thigh under the table, just to be extra certain that she was not still in her bed, fast asleep, in the land of dreams.

The carriage rattled through the most magnificent countryside: a landscape of lush greenery and quaint farmhouses with gently smoking chimneys that Teresa had not properly noticed on her journey to Darnley Castle, seeing as she had been in such a grim mood.

Sheep grazed across rolling hills that her limbs longed to climb, the pretty hedgerows alive with blackbirds, robins, and finches of all kinds.

Blackberries gleamed, ripe with juice, so close to the carriage windows that Teresa could have picked them if she wanted.

And she did, but thought her husband might disapprove.

So, it astounded her when Cyrus himself pulled down the small sash window and gathered a hasty handful.

“They are particularly sweet here,” he said, offering out his full palm to her. “Best with cream, but I cannot snatch that through the window. The cows would surely take offence.”

She frowned at him… and promptly burst into laughter that could not be held back, amusement sweeping through her like a warm summer breeze. This time, she knew he had made a joke; there could be no mistaking it, despite his straight-faced delivery.

With merry tears in her ears that trickled down onto her cheeks, she thought she saw him smirk. Almost a true smile. But it was gone by the time she cleared the happy blur from her vision.

“You cannot be funny, Cyrus,” she said, grinning. “I will not know what to do with you if you are funny as well as…”

She coughed, realizing what she had been about to say. Her mind was getting carried away again, filled to the brim with romantic notions after the revelation she had received at breakfast. Not to mention the revelations she had experienced for herself last night, when she was awake.

He called me beautiful. How can I not have notions when he called me that? Those words of his “entirely beautiful, within and without” were painless thorns that could not be removed, and would cause her no injury as long as she did not try to push them deeper into her heart.

“As well as what?” Cyrus prompted, as he tried to offer her the blackberries again.

She took a few and popped them into her mouth, so she would have a reason not to reply. She chewed as slowly as she could, giving herself time to think of an answer before she swallowed.

“Goodness, they are sweet,” she gushed, meaning it.

They might have been the sweetest blackberries she had ever tasted, the juice as sugary as honey, the flesh a burst of saccharine deliciousness. And the faintly tart note that finished the berry provided the perfect balance.

He ate a few himself, leaving the last two for her.

“The very sweetest you can find are in the woods about four miles from the castle. It is an arduous journey to reach them, but the reward is unparalleled.” He nodded out of the window.

“There are wild strawberries there, too. And the sweetest apples, if you go at the right time.”

“You must show me!” Teresa urged, forgetting herself.

He looked at her strangely as he held out the last two berries for her to savor. “You cannot reach it by horse, Teresa. The trees are too close together.”

“I do not need a horse,” she replied, for she was exceptionally ungainly in the saddle.

His brow furrowed, his fingertip scratching the side of his face in thought. “Did I not say it was four miles?”

“You did.” Her frown deepened in response.

“I often walk much, much further in an afternoon, if I have nothing else to attend to. I have been known to walk to the village of Plockton and back on a Saturday, and that is a matter of some twenty miles—ten there, ten back. There is an inn there, you see, that has the most delicious stew.”

He stopped mid-chew, his beautiful eyes widening.

“I had no notion that you were such an avid wanderer.” He paused to swallow the mouthful of berries.

“Why have you not ventured out of the castle grounds? There are countless pathways that lead to very pleasant walks that would satisfy a roamer such as yourself.”

“I… did not think to ask,” she replied honestly.

He observed her as if seeing her for the first time.

“I suppose it might not be appropriate for a duchess to go wandering off by herself, but I have no complaint, if it is something that pleases you.” His eyes warmed just a touch, and her flame of hope warmed with them.

“I could ride alongside you or ahead of you, if it were to be deemed inappropriate.”

“I think that would please me very much,” she said shyly.

Already, she could imagine herself roaming the new terrain, mapping the countryside in her mind, finding favorite spots. She pictured herself clambering up crags and making easy work of steep hills, searching for her windswept husband on his mighty steed, always waiting ahead for her.

Perhaps, they could picnic somewhere along the way, feeding one another sweet fruits and…

You are doing it again! she scolded herself, swatting away the romantic thoughts. Clearly, he was offering to accompany her so that he would not lose his duchess, not because he wanted to picnic and share private, heart-fluttering moments together.

“We shall arrange such an outing for the coming week,” he said with a decisive nod, and sank back into the squabs, returning his attention to the pretty countryside that drifted by.

Half an hour of reasonably comfortable silence later, the carriage trundled into the market square of what appeared to be a rather busy town. It was not one that Teresa knew, but after seeing nothing but the castle, she was ready for a new adventure.

Cyrus got out first, extending his hand to help Teresa down from the carriage.

She took it gratefully, blinking into the bright sunlight, letting her ears adjust to the babble of noise.

Sellers were hawking their wares at the top of their lungs, while drunkards laughed outside a charming inn, and a group of ladies cackled over something one had said.

Rather a shock after so long in the quiet of Darnley Castle.

“The dressmaker is over there,” Cyrus said, gesturing down a street to where a green sign swung in the breeze, depicting a needle and a bobbin of thread. “I will not be long tending to my errands.”

Teresa pulled back on his hand. “You cannot leave me in a town I do not know, Cyrus. Perhaps I should join you in your errands and then we can visit the dressmaker.”

“If that is your preference,” he replied flatly, weaving her hand through the crook of his arm. “But do not complain if you are bored.”

She snorted. “It takes a great deal to bore me.”