Black Richard's Heart (The MacCulloughs #1) - Suzan Tisdale Page 0,119
me to know ye, to know yer heart or yer mind. Ye will nae allow me to be honest, to tell ye how I truly feel about anything.”
’Twas nothing but the truth she spoke. Guilt filled his heart once again.
“’Tis as if ye are constantly seeking out things that are nae there. Like a wolf, lying in wait for its prey. Except ye are looking for signs of deceit and betrayal.”
More harsh truths he couldn’t deny.
She took a step closer and reached for his hand. Reluctantly, he laced his fingers through hers. “I had to put my complete trust in ye, Richard.”
“Had to?” he asked dubiously.
“I am unable to look anyone in the eye in search of duplicity or insincerity or treachery. Ye gave me yer word, back at my father’s keep, that ye would nae beat me or lock me away and would allow me to walk freely whenever I wished. I detected no deceit in yer tone of voice, but the fact that I couldn’t look into yer eyes to see what yer voice might hide, was a bit terrifying. I had to believe ye. I needed to believe to save myself from a lifetime of loneliness and despair. I chose to put my faith and trust in ye,” she choked on a sob. “Unfortunately, ye have chosen to find fault and guilt where there is none. Ye have chosen to shut me out, to keep me at arm’s length, to deny me even the chance to prove my fealty to ye, no matter what I do.”
Pulling her hand from his, she turned away. He watched as her shoulders sagged in defeat.
“Ye gave me back my hope, Richard. Hope that I wasn’t resigned to living the rest of my life alone and feeling so unworthy of anyone’s esteem or regard. I carried that hope over the miles, right to the door of yer keep. I held on to that hope for days and days. But I fear that hope has been crushed into dust and carried away on the spring breeze.”
’Twas time for him to be just as honest with her. “I feel guilty,” he admitted. “Every time I hold ye, I feel guilt. Every time ye make me smile, I feel guilt.”
Turning to face him, she asked, “Guilt? But why?”
“I should have died with my father and brothers. It shouldn’t be me who is chief and laird, but my brother Cullum.”
Confusion creased her brow. “Ye feel guilty for surviving?”
His throat constricted. “Aye, I do.”
She went to him with an outstretch hand. “Richard! Nay! Please, do nae feel guilty for living.”
“I cannae help it lass,” he voice caught, his mouth suddenly dry. “Why did I live when they all died? My father, my brothers? They were far more worthy to live than I.”
“Nay!” she cried as she took his hand and held it to her chest.
“And when I find myself enjoying yer company, when I find myself liking ye? The guilt is all the more worse.”
’Twas clear by her scrunched brow that she didn’t understand.
He let loose a heavy sigh. “I feel as though I am being disrespectful of my father and brothers. I feel as though I am betraying their memories, betraying what they fought for.”
Crestfallen, she said, “Because of my father’s treachery and because I was born a MacRay.”
“Aye, lass.”
A lonely tear fell down her cheek as the enormity of the situation draped over her shoulders like a heavy mantle. Dejected and forlorn, she swallowed back tears.
“Then there is no hope for us,” she murmured sorrowfully as she tried to step away.
Richard refused to let her go. Reaching for her other hand, he pulled them to his lips, tenderly kissing her knuckles. “That is what I thought, Aeschene. But no longer.”
She couldn’t look at him, even if she were able. He let go of her hands and lifted her chin with an index finger. “Lass, I no longer believe that.”
“Ye dunnae?” she asked woefully.
Shaking his head, he said, “Nay, lass. I have finally realized that I am dishonoring their memory more by nae moving forward, by living in the past. I ken they would want me to be happy.”
’Twas the truth that he hadn’t thought of that until moments ago when he swore he heard his mother’s wicked laughter on the breeze. ’Twas as if she were telling him I told ye so. Were he to ever share his thoughts on the matter with anyone, they’d certainly think he’d lost his mind. Whether ’twas his mind