Black Richard's Heart (The MacCulloughs #1) - Suzan Tisdale Page 0,48

chamber and listened intently.

A flutter of excitement tickled her stomach when she learned he would escort her to the evenin’ meal. To her way of thinking, ’twas as good a start as any. Ever hopeful they could put these last few days — and especially the events of the afternoon behind them — she went to her trunk. “Which dress should I wear?” she asked.

Happy to see her friend in much better spirits, Marisse was eager to help. “I think the burgundy. It truly brings out the blue of yer eyes.”

“Och! I dunnae think I want any attention drawn to me eyes,” Aeschene told her as she riffled through her trunk.

Marisse thought her awfully foolish and told her so. “The burgundy,” she insisted once again. “’Tis by far yer prettiest dress, save for the one ye were married in.”

Because she trusted her friend’s judgment implicitly, Aeschene acquiesced. “Verra well,” she said. “But I tell ye, it matters not what dress I wear. I will still be the plain, blind wife he married.”

“Would ye stop?” Marisse bit out frustratedly causing Aeschene to pause.

“Stop what?” she asked, awash in uncertainty.

“Stop bein’ so cruel about yerself,” Marisse replied.

Relaxing her shoulders, Aeschene shook her head with indifference. “’Tis not cruel if it be the truth.” She never understood why Marisse was bothered by something as simple as the truth.

Before she knew it, Marisse was grabbing her by the shoulders. “’Tis not the truth!” she exclaimed. “Ye are a beautiful woman, inside and out. And I curse yer father for ever tellin’ ye otherwise!”

Stunned, Aeschene fell mute.

“I ken ye dunnae believe me,” Marisse said, lowering her voice, the frustration rapidly fading. “But I speak only the truth. I pray that someday, ye will see what I and everyone else sees in ye.”

Aeschene placed her palms on the backs of Marisse’s hands and drew her forward. Forehead to forehead, she smiled. “I be verra happy ye are my friend,” she whispered. Knowing Marisse was being sincere, that she truly believed she was telling her the truth, she did not argue. Now, that is not to say she agreed. Oh, mayhap there was a grain or two of truth in what Marisse believed. Still, she would never be able to match the beauty and elegance her mother possessed.

She knew she wasn’t some wart covered, blemished, toothless woman. But neither was she the beauty Marisse claimed her to be. Somewhere in between, she supposed.

“I will always speak plainly and with honesty to ye,” Marisse told her. “Ye are the closest thing to a sister that I have. I will not have ye speaking poorly about yerself again.

“Ye are a sister to me as well,” Aeschene replied. “I promise to do better in the future.”

“Good,” Marisse said before stepping away. “Now, let us get ye into the Burgundy gown.”

Would she ever not steal his breath away?

Black Richard stood in the doorway to his wife’s chambers. She looked positively regal in a gown of Burgundy wool. Around her waist, was the same silver belt she wore the day they were married. Her soft, chestnut colored hair fair sparkled in the candlelight. Braided elegantly around the top of her head, another braid cascaded down her back. His heart skipped a few beats. It came roaring back to life the moment she smiled at him.

“Good eve,” she said as she curtsied gracefully.

His own voice was lodged like a giant apple in his throat. He had to clear it twice before he could reply. “Good eve.”

Tearing his eyes away from her, he finally noticed Marisse standing next to the bed. She was smiling as well, but ’twas altogether different. More bemused and knowing than happy. He gave a nod to her and bid her good evening as well.

“’Tis the truth I be a bit nervous,” Aeschene admitted to him.

“Nervous?” he asked, turning his attention back to her.

“About meetin’ yer family,” she told him. “I dunnae want to make a bad impression upon them.”

There was no way he could lie and say his family would take to her immediately. At least not as easily as he had. “Ye will be meetin’ me two younger brothers this night. Raibeart and Colyne. I must warn ye, they be heathens.”

Aeschene giggled slightly. “I have four brothers. I believe me mum used heathens to describe them nearly every day.”

While he was positive her mother used the term most affectionately, the same could not be said in this instance. Raibeart and Colyne were heathens of the highest order. When