Black Richard's Heart (The MacCulloughs #1) - Suzan Tisdale Page 0,27
with the desire to spare her feelings, no matter the subject. They were honest to the point of causing her pain and heartache. But their intentions, she was convinced, were always for her own good. Her father would never allow her to believe in things that would never happen.
Ye best realize now that ye will die an auld maid, Aeschene, for ye are blind and homely. Do not get yer hopes up for anythin’ else in yer life.
Aeschene had to believe that he told her these things to keep her from a broken and disappointed heart. To keep her from dreaming of things that would never be.
Marisse, however, believed he said such things because he was naught more than a callous, mean-spirited, foolish man.
The two women could never agree on that matter.
There was a time, however, when she was younger, before her eyesight began to fade when her father wasn’t quite so harsh. Back then, he would often look upon her with a fond smile and tell her she would fetch a pretty bit of gold for him someday. She had been a pretty child, with such a light heart and gay spirit. Back then, she had made her father proud.
But she hadn’t grown into the beauty he had hoped for. Nay, she had grown into a sorry excuse for a daughter.
Truly, she felt guilty for it. It saddened her to think she had let him down. First, by losing her vision, and secondly, by never being quite as beautiful as her mum. Marisse thought her ridiculously naive the first time she had shared these feelings with her. If anyone should feel guilty, it should be yer family, Marisse had argued so many times that Aeschene had finally given up on the topic.
Tossing and turning most of the night from worry and self-doubt, ’twas nearly dawn before she finally fell asleep, only to be awakened a short time later by her husband.
Black Richard awoke at dawn in a mood to match his name. Dark and sour from a night spent out of doors sleeping on the cold, hard, and wet ground. All he wanted was to get to his keep as soon as possible so that he might put on dry clothing and enjoy a hot meal. And get as far away from his new wife as possible. Distance would be the only thing to keep him from losing his bloody mind over the pretty lass.
After poking his head into his wife’s tent, his ire grew. They — Aeschene and Marisse — were still fast asleep. While he wanted nothing more than to be on his way, he could not find the strength to wake them. Especially Aeschene; she looked so peaceful, lying on her side with her hands under her cheek. The fur had slipped, leaving one shoulder to the cold morning air. He wanted very much to crawl inside and slip under the furs with her. Marisse, however, might object to such an intrusion.
The inability to disturb her peaceful slumber angered him more than anything. More so than the cold damp that made his clothes cling to his skin. More than the fact he had not had a hot meal since leaving his keep two days ago.
What was happening to his cold, hard heart? How had this slip of a woman softened it so quickly? Were she any other woman, he was certain he would have shouted an order for her to wake and dress quickly.
Were she any other woman, he would not feel so weak in her presence, even though she was sound asleep.
Were she any other woman…
“How long will ye let them sleep?” ’Twas Lachlan asking that particular question. Black Richard let the flap of the tent fall closed. Lachlan looked just as cold and road weary as he.
Not wanting to appear anything less than his usual self, Black Richard glowered at his cousin. “I was just about to wake them.”
Something in Lachlan’s eyes said he didn’t believe a word Black Richard had just said.
With lips pursed and brow furrowed, Black Richard pulled open the tent flap once again. Bending low, he stuck his head inside. “Up,” he declared loudly. “We need to leave.”
Marisse grumbled something incoherent and pulled the fur over her head. Aeschene, however, shot up from the makeshift bed like an arrow from a bow. Rubbing sleep from her eyes as she looked towards the entrance of the tent in his general direction.