Black Richard's Heart (The MacCulloughs #1) - Suzan Tisdale Page 0,23

grand time, m’laird. I thank ye.”

Roughly three hours ago, she’d been pulled away from the only family and sense of safety she had ever known. Instead of behaving morose or sorrowful for being torn away, she was having a grand time. This was not the behavior he had expected. She was nothing at all as he had expected.

“Will we be jumpin’ again?” she asked, before quickly adding, “never mind. Dunnae tell me. I like the surprise.”

Was that giddiness he detected in her voice? Lord all mighty, she was as perplexing a woman as he’d ever met. He didn’t know what to make of her just yet and wasn’t sure he wanted to. ’Twas far too dangerous.

“I hear thunder,” she announced as they rode up another hill. “The rain will be upon us within an hour, I reckon.”

Black Richard hadn’t heard the thunder she mentioned but he could see the storm brewing ahead of them. If they did not increase their pace, they’d be sleeping on MacRay land this night. He’d be damned if he’d spend a moment longer than necessary on the land belonging to traitors.

Without warning, he kicked his horse to a full run, much to his new bride’s delight.

Aeschene’s prediction of rain was spot on. In less than an hour’s time, they reached the menacing gray sky and the clouds opened up. Gone now was the quiet, peaceful day, replaced with cracks of lightning and fearsome thunder. The rain came down in sheets, hard and stinging.

Black Richard steered his horse towards a small forest, the canopy of thick leaves helping to protect them from the onslaught, but only slightly. Moving to the safest place he could find, he dismounted before helping Aeschene down. “Stay here,” he commanded as he placed her hands on the stirrup of his saddle.

Without waiting to see she was safely secured to anything, he called for Marisse to come stand with his wife. Dutifully, the lass came running across the muddy ground and waited by her side.

He left them alone while he and his men went to the packhorse and began removing bundles.

“What are they doin’?” Aeschene asked Marisse.

“They are takin’ bundles off the pack horse,” she replied. “Och, it looks like they be settin’ up a tent.”

A wave of excitement coursed through Aeschene’s veins. This would be their wedding night, the tent, their wedding chamber. A wave of excitement coursed through her veins. She would be spending her wedding night tucked away with her husband in a tent inside a dense forest. Somehow it seemed romantic.

“What does he look like?” she whispered the question to Marisse.

Aeschene took note of her friend’s lengthy silence. “Marisse?”

“I’m thinkin’ on how to answer ye,” she replied with a bit of frustration.

“Just answer honestly,” Aeschene told her. “’Tis not like I’ll ever see him clearly.”

Marisse thought long and hard before answering. “He would be far more handsome if he did not glower all the time. I fear if he ever smiled, his face might crack.”

Aeschene giggled simply because she thought Marisse was exaggerating. She could almost hear Marisse rolling her eyes.

“I will tell ye that half of his face is scarred. Just as bad as yer da said it was.” The truth of the matter was that when Marisse had first seen the horrible, mangled face, she wanted to weep for her friend. So badly disfigured, she had been more than tempted to look away. But to do so would have made her look like a coward or vain woman and she was neither of those things.

Aeschene thought she sounded sad with having to admit to such.

“But the other half?” Marisse let out a low whistle. “I reckon many a woman have found that face quite handsome over the years. I would wager he never found it difficult to find a willing lass to warm his bed.”

Jealousy reared deep and ugly in Aeschene’s stomach. Oh, she was not so naive as to believe he’d never been with another woman. “That handsome?” she asked with a good measure of despair. A handsome husband would more likely than not be unable to overlook her own plainness.

“Aye. That handsome,” Marisse replied.

Pushing the worry aside, Aeschene made a promise then and there that she would be the last woman to ever warm his bed.

“But the constant glowerin’, the firm set of his jaw, it takes away from it,” Marisse pointed out.

“I think he has dark hair, aye?” Aeschene asked.

“Aye, that be right. Verra dark hair, with just a hint of gray near