Black Richard's Heart (The MacCulloughs #1) - Suzan Tisdale Page 0,63

as she swiped her hands back and forth across it. Soon, her bladder began to complain.

Her search was fruitless. The only things she found was dust and one lonely woolen. Bringing it close to her eyes, she could see ’twas her husband’s.

Wiping the dust from her hands, she pushed herself to her feet. Aye, she was going to have to have a long talk with her husband about tossing her garments hither and yon.

Going back to the bed, she retrieved the fur and wrapped herself in it. She would simply have to make her way across the hall and wake Marisse.

Walking cautiously, sliding her feet slowly so as not to bump into anything she couldn’t see, she felt for the door. ’Twas then she caught a blurry glimpse of clothing hanging on a peg. Keeping a tight hold on the fur, she poked one hand out to feel the fabric. If anything, she thought to use one of Richard’s tunics just long enough to get to Marisse’s room. She let out a sigh of relief when she realized ’twas her robe she was feeling. Under it, her night dress. Apparently, her husband had hung them up for her before he left. While ’twas a kind gesture, they would still need to discuss the matter of leaving her alone.

As quickly as she could, she pulled on her night dress and shoved her hands into her robe. Retuning the fur to the bed, she giggled at her own folly. “you may be a woman now,” she said. “But ye are still as blind as always.”

The short trek across the semi-dark hall and to Marisse’s chamber was met with no difficulties. The room was much brighter than the one she’d just left, but far colder. The fire in the hearth had to have burned hours ago. “Marisse,” she called out as she made her way to the bed.

The chamber was just as empty as the bed.

“Good lord!” she exclaimed. “How long did I sleep?”

Knowing her friend as she did, it had to be close to the noonin’ hour, for Marisse was not keen about early mornings.

“Bloody hell!” she whispered. “I have missed my meeting with Hattie!”

As quickly as she was able, she tended to her morning ablutions, washed her hands, face, and teeth, and dressed. She chose her simple green wool, pulled on warm woolens and her boots.

She’d never been good at braiding or styling her own hair. Even when she had possessed the gift of perfect vision. Leaving it down, she combed the tangles and knots until she felt it was as smooth and presentable as she could manage.

Now she was faced with the most difficult part; getting below stairs without breaking her own neck.

Black Richard had slept on a pallet in his private study. He woke, with a crick in his neck and his sword arm tingling from sleeping on it. The room, cold and damp, was a stark contrast to the warm bed and inviting woman he’d left the night before.

He had waited until she had fallen asleep before slipping away. There were only two reasons why he had stolen away like a thief in the predawn morn; his nightmares and the ease in which he found joining with her.

The nightmares, as common an occurrence as rain in the Highlands, were not to be taken lightly. Nearly every night, they tormented him. Some nights were worse than others. He would wake, soaked in sweat, thrashing about and hitting anything he came in contact with. Often times, it would take a long, long while before his muddled mind would realize what was happening. He didn’t wish to risk injuring Aeschene any more than to have her witness his wretchedness.

Their loving? Loving had been as easy as breathing and as comforting as whisky.

Which was more dangerous to him, the nightmares or the ease in which he loved his wife, he simply didn’t know. She had come to him willingly, albeit with an innocence he found as delightful as it was intriguing. There had been no need to coax her into responding to his touch. And respond she had, with a vigor he hadn’t expected.

Afterward, he realized he’d been foolish in believing she was too frail, too tiny, too weak to do much of anything, let alone join with him. She possessed a vitality and strength that belied her small stature.

’Twas when he began to think of their future — one in which they cared for one another deeply — that sent fissures