Black Richard's Heart (The MacCulloughs #1) - Suzan Tisdale Page 0,44
his laird’s tale as he tried to focus on stitching up the man’s forehead. “God’s teeth,” he said with a whistle of astonishment. “I fear I would have dropped dead from a heart seizure were it me wife in such a predicament!”
“I nearly did,” Black Richard admitted. The image of his wife standing precariously on the plank, then falling away, brought back his anger. “And the bloody beam I hit my head on did not help matters any!” he growled.
Donald chuckled slightly. “Women, they can be exasperatin,’ aye?”
“Would ye hurry up?” Black Richard told him.
“‘Twould go faster if ye sat still,” Donald replied.
Crossing his arms over his chest, Black Richard sat as still as he could. He had an intense urge to get to the training fields where he could take his anger and frustration out on his men. The image, of Aeschene falling surged back to life. Undoubtedly, he was going to be spending a lot of time on the training fields.
“And ye say she be not blind?” Donald asked as he pushed the bone needle through Black Richard’s skin.
Another bone of contention; the fact that she was not completely blind. While he would not wish a life of darkness on anyone, save mayhap for his worst enemies, Aeschene’s semi-blindness still bothered him. What if, by some chance, she were to catch a glimpse of him? What then? He need not ask how she would respond. ‘Twould undoubtedly the same way as every other woman had these past few years: With abject mortification.
As Donald continued to ramble on about women, Black Richard made a decision. He would never give his wife a chance to see his face. He’d remain in the shadows. He wouldn’t light candles in her presence. He’d also avoid being out of doors with her, in bright sunlight. He would never remove his cowl and would only spend time with her after sunset. The risk of her actually seeing him made his heart thunder against his chest with a blend of anger and despondency.
“Did ye hear me?” Donald asked as he stood back to look at his handy work.
Black Richard glowered at him. “I rarely listen to ye,” he told him pointedly. “Ye usually ramble on like an auld woman.”
Nonplussed by his laird’s response, Donald tossed the bone needle into a bowl. “And ye be as stubborn as a mule. I was tellin’ ye about a friend I have in Italy.”
“And why would I care about a friend of yers in Italy?” Black Richard asked as he got to his feet.
Frustrated, Donald repeated what he’d told him only moments ago. “Because that friend makes spectacles.”
Confused, Black Richard raised a brow. “Of himself or others?” he asked sarcastically.
“Nae a spectacle, ye eejit,” Donald said. “Spectacles. Little round bits of glass that help a person with poor vision to see. Akin to a magnifying glass, but there be two and they sit on the bridge of yer nose.”
Black Richard immediately stopped, his hand resting on the latch of the door. Confusion and curiosity blended together.
“Aye,” Donald smiled knowingly. “A magnificent invention if ye ask me.”
The devil’s work if ye ask me, Black Richard thought. A wife with good vision? The thought unnerved him.
“I can write to him and ask him to visit,” Donald said. “We could get that bonny wife of yers to see!”
Richard thundered toward him. “Are ye mad?” he asked cynically. “The last thing I need is a wife who can see me.”
Donald took a step back. “I have not met her yet,” he admitted. “Be she the kind of woman who would be distressed by yer scar?”
In truth, Black Richard didn’t know. He had spent so little time with her since they were married. Even less since coming home a few days ago. “It matters nae,” Black Richard replied angrily. “Fer we will never find out.”
There was no further discussion on the matter for Black Richard stormed out of the room, heading straight for the training fields.
Spectacles. Black Richard not only balked at the idea, he cursed it to hades. And he very nearly sent his sparring partner, Rory, to hell right along with it.
On the training field, covered in sweat and grime, he took his frustrations out on anyone brave enough to spar with him. He bloodied one opponent after another. At the end of an hour, there were but a few men left standing. And none of them were stupid enough to challenge him.
Marisse, upon seeing Richard storm from his room, rushed in