Page 9 of The Duchess’s Absolutely Delightful Dream (The Notorious Briarwoods #14)

E llie was going to do murder to whoever was thrashing through the heather.

The sun had come up not long ago, and she was in her usual perch in a little cove by the loch, watching the birds soar in and the seals play on the rocks. The place was perfect to avoid others, as it was fairly hidden. Or so she’d thought.

There was something about it which always gave her a sense of peace and set her up for a day that was worth having. So often, days could be fraught with grief and pain and loss, and a general feeling that the world was ill at ease and aching.

But here, as the sun came up, danced over the land, and kissed the smooth surface of the water, she could be at peace.

The birds’ songs and the splash of the loch as the animals played?

It reminded her that this life was not one great slog, but an ever-continuing melody of perfection that did not need the dramas of humans to carry on.

As a matter of fact, she had a very strong suspicion that the seals and the birds overhead would do quite well without her.

Still, whoever was making such a racket was ruining her perfect morning.

It was an expected move by an ignorant human to go blundering into nature and disturb everything. So she shoved herself up from the heather, looked about for the culprit, and was ready to hiss at them.

But the sight that caught her eyes stole away her castigation and left her feeling quite bemused.

Octavian was making his way, boots loud through the grass, over the ground as if he was marching across the Continent. She grinned.

She could not castigate the ignorant Englishman who was likely far more used to making military campaigns than sitting down and integrating with nature.

And so she let out a low whistle and then another.

He stopped, looking about. Clearly, her whistle was not birdsong.

The sound was an indication that another human was in the area, and given his senses from years of battle, he caught it immediately.

His gaze scanned the horizon.

Oh, hell’s bells, his gaze was heaven, as was his dark hair, which was teased by the golden light. He looked like a young god, kissed with fire, suddenly standing here in the Highland dawn.

From awkward invader to a sudden king, it was quite a transformation as he stood in his linen shirt, open at the throat. His hair was shaggy over his forehead without a touch of pomade, and his tight breeches hugged his strong legs.

There wasn’t a hint of polish to his boots. No, he looked rugged. And though he had blundered, he now somehow looked like he could belong.

She waved, and he spotted her.

His eyes flared, and then his lips turned in a smile, as if he was both confused and pleased to spot her. She waved him over.

He looked back over his shoulder towards the castle with its turrets winding up towards the sky, as if he was contemplating whether or not he should seek her out, since they would be alone.

It was a moment in which she felt the weight of his decision. Much like when he had decided to cross the threshold of her room. When he had done that? She’d known she was going to be kissed.

Now? If he came towards her, surely her life would truly change?

She could not draw breath as she waited. Would he go or would he come to her?

His chest expanded as he took his own deep breath. And as his shoulders expanded, it was a marvel of male perfection at work, the way every part of him moved.

Hells’ bells, that movement convinced her that the genius of the human form was nothing to sneer at. Oh no, it was to be lauded.

And then… At last, he turned his gaze back to her, and there was a look in those eyes that sent a shiver through her body, for she knew that he was making some sort of commitment to cross to her, to not go back.

No, he was going to come forward. And then Octavian strode across the heather, picking his way through the purple flowers until he at last stood beside her.

She rested on her elbows, turning onto her back, glanced up at him as her hair danced against her shoulders in the morning breeze. “You are up early.”

“Men in the military often don’t sleep well,” he said. “I’m usually up at dawn. It’s the way of things,” he said easily.

“I never thought I would say that I had anything in common with a military man,” she marveled.

“But it seems that I do. I cannot sleep past when the first golden rays touch my window.” She frowned.

“Actually, when the first blue hints of dawn tease at the sill, I find myself awake, alert, and completely ready to meet the day. And the songs of the birds call me to come outside.”

“You remind me a little bit of my Aunt Perdita in this.”

“Oh?” she said. “Does she like birdsong?”

“Perdita likes all animals. She would be well-suited to living in a place like Scotland. If she had lived in another time, people would’ve accused her of witchcraft.”

She shuddered. “Don’t say such a thing. Even here now, many people do believe in witches, you see? The story of magic runs through all the streams and valleys and sky.”

He narrowed his gaze. “You don’t believe in magic, do you?”

“No, not really,” she said. “But it traverses my blood, the belief that there could be something more than that which we see. It’s the way of the Scots.

And it’s hard to shake that. Generations of people who have believed that there’s simply more to this life than cold, hard Newtonian facts are my ancestors. ”

He laughed softly, then lowered himself down beside her. “Are you a student of cold, hard Newtonian facts?”

She nodded. “Och, aye. I’m a student of all the silly Englishmen who tried to make sense of the world. Not just Englishmen,” she softened. “The French are quite bad too. But you know…” She waggled her brows. “One can read something without agreeing with it entirely.”

“Are you sure you are not a Briarwood somehow?” he asked.

“It’s possible,” she mused. “We should search our family histories. Perhaps somewhere far, far back, before the Romans, a Briarwood met one of us and they intertwined.”

He laughed softly. “Or perhaps there are simply certain people in this world who are ready to question everything.”

She gazed out at the sea loch. “Can you imagine going through your entire life without asking questions? How very terrible that would be,” she lamented.

“I don’t know. It might be rather peaceful.”

“Peaceful?” she echoed, horrified. “But think of how much you would deny yourself to never ask the whys and consider the possibilities?”

He peered at her, awed.

And she felt his admiration like a caress. She buried herself down a little bit more into the heather, which was scratchy but delightful. Feeling enveloped by her home, by the land, which had been like a cradle to her since she was a child.

“Look,” she said, pointing her finger. “There. There.” Running across the shadows on the other side of the loch was a young doe, who moved with grace after taking her morning bit of grass.

“Beautiful,” he murmured.

And for a long moment, she was certain he didn’t just mean the doe.

She cleared her throat. “I come out here to witness the wonder of nature,” she said.

“I suppose it’s the best thing to do when everything around one is completely at odds.”

“Och, aye,” she agreed. “It gives me hope when my fellow humans are acting mad. A return to nature reminds me that everything will be all right in the end.”

“Will it?” he asked softly, pain turning his voice into a bare whisper. “Be all right in the end?”

“It’s a difficult question,” she said honestly, “because I didn’t say it wouldn’t be without suffering or pain or grief.”

“You know that better than most,” he said.

“I do,” she affirmed without self-pity. “It would be very silly of me to deny it.” She paused, then said, “And so do you.”

“I’ve never had anyone I love, someone close to me, die,” he said.

“It doesn’t really matter,” she cut in. “We both know death, and that’s enough. It might be different, but we understand that something working out doesn’t mean a perfectly happy ending. It means that it’s going exactly as it should.”

He stared at her, then let his gaze travel out to the loch. “And you think all of this is going exactly as it should?”

As he asked that question, she tilted her chin, looked up towards the sky, and spotted an osprey flying overhead.

It then dashed down to the loch, swift and deadly and beautiful.

Its talons caressed the water, seizing a small fish. Then the bird flew up into the sky triumphantly. Elspeth’s breath caught in her throat.

She watched the osprey soar back into the sky, wheeling overhead, crying out joy at having caught its meal. It was a moment showing the nature of the cycle of life. For the osprey would feed today and live.

“Oh, yes, things are working out exactly as they should,” she whispered as astonishment washed over her.

She felt as if Hamish was reaching out to her, exactly as he said he would. Perhaps it was madness, perhaps it was ridiculous, and perhaps it was just coincidence. But she remembered that day when Hamish had promised that he would send her a great love.

And an osprey had soared across the sky that day.

And now, she looked up at Octavian, studying his face. “It feels right, doesn’t it?”

She trailed her hand over to his and dared to take it. He studied their fingers intertwined.

“What are you doing?” he asked softly.

“I think that it is best that we stop pretending.”

He cleared his throat. “What do you mean?”

“The moment we danced together, you knew and I knew that we weren’t going to be mere acquaintances. We went well together, like two notes in a chord. Do you not agree?”

He smiled at her softly. “I agree, but what about—”

“No, no,” she cut in quickly. “I will not hear protests, nor will I hear visions of dire futures and difficulty. Do any of those things exist right here in the heather overlooking the loch?”

He stared at her, stunned. “No, they don’t.”