Black Richard's Heart (The MacCulloughs #1) - Suzan Tisdale Page 0,54

She didn’t go screaming like a banshee and calling for heads to roll. Neither did she go crying like a wounded lass. Nay, she handled the entire thing with quiet aplomb and dignity. In her own quiet way, she let Loreen, as well as the rest of the kitchen staff know that she would not cower or beg for their approval. She was demanding their respect, but in a most positive way.

He himself had been fully prepared to storm off to the kitchens and demand apologies from whoever was responsible. But Aeschene had gotten up from the table and left, without so much as a by your leave. Worried she would either make a fool of herself or him, he had followed behind.

But she had done neither of those things. The only one who was left looking like a fool was Loreen. It surprised him to learn she was the culprit in this little affair. He’d known her for decades, had even been betrothed to her, not once, but twice. Later, he would have a private discussion with her, to find out why she had insulted Aeschene by mushing up her food.

The rest of the meal was relatively uneventful. Raibeart and Colyne were eerily quiet, as Black Richard had ordered them to be. Rory, Lachlan, and Daniel sat at the opposite end of the table, having their nightly conversation regaling their finesse and awesomeness on the battlefield or with the lasses. There were times he wasn’t sure which subject they were speaking of, for they were just as passionate about the lasses as they were with fighting.

Imperceptibly, he studied his wife as she ate. Occasionally, she would give a nod to whatever Marisse said, or whispered. Her unseeing eyes did look toward the different voices. More than once, her cheeks turned a most endearing shade of red, due to Daniel’s boasts about some of the women he’d bed over the years. Daniel was speaking low enough that Richard was having a difficult time hearing everything. But apparently ’twas enough to make his wife blush, and draw her lips inward to stave off a smile.

“Richard,” Colyne said after finishing his second helping of venison. “Will ye tell us a story this night?”

Aeschene glanced up at her husband, her brows drawn inward with surprise. “Ye be a story teller?” she asked.

“On verra rare occasions,” Black Richard replied. “But me thinks the hour grows late.” He was lying on both accounts. On a near nightly basis, after the evening meal, he would sit by the fire, surrounded by his brothers and men. The adults would settle in with a fine flagon of whisky and Richard would regale them with stories, either by request or one that might tickle his fancy.

Silence filled the air, and it said much. Aeschene looked at the people around the table uncertainty plainly evidenced in her eyes.

“Colyne, if yer brother does not wish to tell ye a story, I would be honored to.”

Intrigued, Black Richard raised his brows in surprise. His hope had been that she would take her leave, allowing him to take a walk around the keep, in order to think. And he had much to think about. First and foremost in his mind was what the bloody hell to do with her. They had yet to consummate the marriage. While he was physically drawn to her, with a deep seeded need he hadn’t felt in many years, he was as yet uncertain how to act upon it. Mayhap they should discuss the matter first. She was, after all, an innocent young woman. The last thing he wanted was to go at her like a raging bull.

“Ye?” Colyne asked, his face scrunched up in disbelief. “But ye’re a girl.”

Aeschene smiled at him. “’Tis good of ye to notice,” she quipped. “But aye, I can tell ye a tale.”

Colyne rolled his eyes. “It probably be some story about kissin’ and stuff.”

Marisse and Aeschene giggled in unison. “Nay,” Aeschene said. “’Tis a story my grandsire told me when I was a little girl. ’Tis about Dagda, the good god and all father.”

Even Raibeart’s interest was piqued. “Dagda? He was one of the old gods, aye?”

“Aye, he was,” Aeschene replied, looking pleased that he had heard of him. “A giant of a god he was. He walked the earth, carryin’ his long club in one hand, his harp in another.”

It did not take long for everyone to be drawn into her story. Having heard no objection from Black Richard, Aeschene