helped her to her up.
“I be so sorry,” Aeschene stammered. “I be so verra sorry!”
Marisse expelled a frustrated breath. “Please, do not fash yerself over it, Aeschene. We’ll have the steps memorized in a few days.”
“Memorized?” Black Richard asked, curiously.
“Marisse helps me to memorize things,” Aeschene replied, still looking embarrassed. “Such as how many steps it is between things, how many stairs there be, and the like.”
He thought it an excellent solution. “How ingenious,” he replied. “Are ye certain ye are not hurt?” he asked once again, just to be certain.
“Only me pride,” Aeschene replied cheekily.
He found her sense of humor endearing but stopped himself before he could smile. The only way he could keep himself from being dangerously attracted to her was to remind himself who she was: A MacRay. A MacRay could not be trusted, not even pretty, funny, and blind MacRays.
“I will leave ye to it,” he said before spinning on his heels, racing down the stairs, and leaving the gathering room. Distance. That was what he needed to put between himself and Aeschene.
At the top of the stairs, they made a left turn. Aeschene counted every step with the hope that someday she could traverse these halls and stairs without help from anyone. She could make out the glow of torches that lined the hallway and felt much relieved for them. It stood to reason that where the torches ended, so did the halls.
Judging from how soon they stopped, her new bedchamber was more likely than not, the first on the right. She heard Loreen open the door and a moment later, Marisse was walking them inside. A spark of excitement traced down Aeschene’s spine. This is the room where I shall become woman and wife to Black Richard MacCullough.
“There be hooks on the wall to hang yer things,” Loreen said as she set the satchels on the floor. “The family sups at eight, in the gatherin’ room.” She was about to leave, when Aeschene stopped her. “Where be Marisse’s room?” she asked, hopeful that her friend would be in close proximity to her. “Be she close to ours?”
“Ours, m’lady?” Loreen asked, sounding confused.
“The laird’s chambers,” she replied, hoping to not sound as excited as she felt.
Heavy silence filled the air. Aeschene began to grow uncomfortable by it.
“’Tis a simple question,” Marisse said. “Take us to the Laird’s chamber so that we might get yer new mistress settled in.
Loreen stammered for a moment. “But the laird has given this room to ye. For the both of ye.”
Disappointment filled Aeschene’s stomach.
“What do ye mean—” Marisse began, her voice rising with incredulity.
Aeschene stopped her. Sleeping arrangements were not a topic she wished to discuss with a maid. “Please, will ye take me to my husband?”
“I will fetch him for ye,” she said before bobbing a curtsey and leaving the room.
“I be certain ’tis naught but a misunderstanding,” Marisse said reassuringly.
Aeschene prayed silently that her friend was right.
They went about unpacking Marisse’s belongings, hung up her clothes on the pegs, and set a nice fire in the hearth. “’Tis a grand room,” Marisse said more than once. “It be so bright and cheery.”
Aeschene was exceedingly happy that her friend liked the accommodations she’d been given.
“And so much room! It be twice, nay three times as big as our room back home,” she remarked happily.
Once they had her things unpacked, they sat at a small table near the hearth. While Marisse chatted endlessly about the room and the weather, Aeschene remained quiet, nervously anticipating seeing her husband.
At least a half an hour passed before Loreen returned with news that Richard had left the keep.
“Left?” Aeschene asked, more than just a little surprised and hurt.
“Aye,” Loreen replied. “There was a problem at Abel MacCullough’s place. He lives an hour away. I be certain the laird will be back before nightfall.”
’Twas good to know he wasn’t off on a week’s long journey somewhere, she supposed. Feeling some relief that he hadn’t fled to the northern parts of Scotia, she did her best to smile. “Thank ye, Loreen.”
Loreen was about to leave when Marisse stopped her. “Yer mistress and I would like to bathe,” she said.
“The baths be below stairs, off the kitchens. But ye must let them know at least an hour ahead of time so that they might heat the water.”
Aeschene could sense a tone of displeasure in Marisse’s voice. “Ye expect yer lady to bathe publicly?”
“We all bathe there. Even our laird.”
Not wanting to argue or appear ungrateful, Aeschene reached