“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,muchfurther 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 itmightnot 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 itwereto 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 andthenwe 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.”
They began to walk across the market square, toward a wide street on the opposite side, where the signs were not as interesting as the one where the dressmaker could be found: bookkeepers, lawyers, cobblers, among others.
It could not have been more than ten paces from the carriage when Teresa noticed a stillness where before there had been bustle and noise.
Puzzled, she glanced to her right, spotting the women who had been laughing raucously. They were not laughing now. They were whispering behind their hands, hurrying to avert their gazes. It was the same among a group of men who appeared to be in the midst of their luncheon. A gaggle of children joined the pattern, though they stared outright, pointing and whispering until their mothers smacked their hands and instructed them to look away.
Teresa peered up at Cyrus, uncertain of whether or not he had noticed.
“Do not mind them,” he said, his gaze fixed ahead.
Imbued with a sudden desire to defend her husband, or at least shield him from those unkind looks and whispers, Teresa slipped her hand out of the loop of his arm.
Boldly, she took hold of his hand instead, turning his palm upward. Flashing a smile up at him, she drew a letter on his skin with her fingertip.
“Guess what I am saying,” she said, desperate to distract him.
He raised an eyebrow. “Is it a game?”
“If I say yes, will you make me stop?”
