Total pages in book: 65
Estimated words: 59320 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 297(@200wpm)___ 237(@250wpm)___ 198(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 59320 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 297(@200wpm)___ 237(@250wpm)___ 198(@300wpm)
They rode down the lane, first in silence, enjoying the soft hoofbeats of the horse, the whisper of the wind as it scraped against the white branches, the pensive quality of the dark clouds. Then, they began to talk. Not about Rolf, not about the Vikings or the manor or the horrific scenes they had to endure. No, they talked about the sweet smell of grass in the springtime and the fresh fish off the Norwegian coast. They talked of first kisses and favorite words, of different tastes of wine and beautiful sounds.
They talked about lovely things and only lovely things, so by the time they had circled a meadow and watched a pair of bucks bound across the patchy snow, it was hard to imagine that their lives—for the most part—had been anything but lovely.
So, it was extra surprising when Cherine stared longingly at the deer as they leaped into the frosted evergreens and said, “All I want to do is be free like they are, to just run away and not look back.”
Erik tensed. Did she have any idea what he was planning?
Before he could ask, she suddenly dismounted, nearly kicking him in the face, and she was running across the snow. Whether she was chasing after the deer or running away from him, it was hard to tell. Either way, she was on the move, and Erik couldn’t let that happen.
He jumped off his horse, hoping he’d stay put and not gallop back to the manor, and he started jogging after Cherine. She had fallen a few times in the snow, white powder flying up in her wake and coating her fur-trimmed coat. But each time, she pushed herself back up and continued running again.
Erik, however, was taller and faster. He covered ground easily and, in no time, he was at her. He leaped forward and brought her down into the snow. She struggled to get up, but he pushed down on her shoulders.
“Please, calm down,” he pleaded, struggling to keep her in place without hurting her. When she relaxed slightly, he flipped her over. She wasn’t crying, but her face was scrunched up in anguish, rubbed pink and red from the snow.
“Cherine, you can’t run,” he said softly, brushing the snow off her cheeks and hair. It made him feel guilty to know he could. But wherever she went, Rolf would follow. Besides, he knew there was no way she’d give up being a duchess in her own country for becoming a poor man’s wife in frigid Norway, no matter how badly she wanted to get away. He wouldn’t even let himself dwell on such a ridiculous idea.
“I just want to run,” she whispered, her eyes strangely blank, like she was retreating internally.
He pulled her so she was sitting and put his hands on either side of her face. It was so small, so precious, so cold between them. He was finding it hard to take air in.
“Listen to me,” he said, searching her eyes for the life in them he loved so much. “I know you want to run. I know you’ve never been able to. But for now, you can’t. You belong to Rolf and no one else.”
“But what if I don’t want to belong to him?” she asked, and her eyes finally focused on him, sparkling with clarity.
He shook his head and began dusting the snow off her shoulders. “Right now, it doesn’t matter. This is the path you’re on. It’s much better than any life that has you running off into the woods and freezing to death. Is death worse than being a duchess? Is it worse than having the things you’ve always wanted, the things you’ve always dreamed of?”
“But what of love?”
He swallowed hard and looked down. “Do you not love him?”
“What do you think? Do you think I’d run away from love?”
No. Yet, that’s exactly what he was doing.
And before he could even chastise himself for it, she leaned forward and kissed him. It tasted sweeter, purer in the new snow, and his pulse began to throb wildly in his throat.
“Tell me you still want me,” she murmured, her lips trailing in a hot line from his mouth to the corners of his eyes. Her warm touch was like a tonic, heating his bones from head to toe.
“I still want you,” he whispered back.
“Tell me you love me,” She planted a long, soft kiss on his cheekbone.
And with that, his pride was gone. He stepped over the edge and into the abyss.
“I love you.”
“Tell me there’s another path for me. Tell me what it is, and I’ll follow it. I’ll follow you.”
His breath hitched, swelling in his lungs at the immensity of the moment. Melted snowflakes were beginning to run down both their faces.
“Your path is the one you deserve,” he answered, hating himself for every word he was saying. “You were born to be more than you were. I couldn’t imagine a better duchess than you.”