Black Richard's Heart (The MacCulloughs #1) - Suzan Tisdale Page 0,82
sincere which only made his guilt intensify. Still, he refused to apologize for being so short with her. At least that had been his plan. “I be sorry for yelling’.”
Lachlan and Rory were stunned. Richard never apologized for anything.
Colyne and Raibeart came bounding down the stairs, unaware of the conversation that had just taken place.
“I be awful hungry,” Raibeart said as he slid onto the bench.
“Nae as hungry as I,” Colyne challenged.
Thankfully, no argument ensued about who was hungrier which was a feat unto itself.
This morn, the lads were pulling weeds from a garden. Aeschene and Marisse sat on a blanket, not far away. Marisse kept a watchful eye on the two boys, while Aeschene used her good sense of hearing.
“Why on earth do ye keep doin’ that?” Marisse asked, sounding rather exacerbated.
“Doin’ what?” Aeschene replied as she one again was absentmindedly rubbing her chest.
“That,” Marisse said with a roll of her eyes. “Yer chest. Ye keep rubbin’ it as if it pains ye.”
“It doesn’t pain me in the least.” ’Twasn’t necessarily a lie. It didn’t hurt so much as it burned.
Marisse wouldn’t relent in her inquisition. Finally, Aeschene confessed her dilemma. ’Twas an embarrassing predicament to be in.
“He does not remove his clothin’?” Marisse exclaimed, far too loudly for Aeschene’s liking.
“Wheest!” She admonished. “He removes all but his tunic. I believe he thinks his scars will offend me.”
Marisse let out an exasperated sigh. “I have no words,” she finally admitted. “I dunnae ken a man who does not remove his clothin’ during loving.”
“I thought ye had no words?” Aeschene quipped.
When Aeschene continued to tug at the bodice of her dress and occasionally wave her hands to cool her braided skin, Marisse insisted she see the healer. Aeschene argued against it.
“Me thinks that bothers ye more than ye want to admit,” Marisse whispered.
Aeschene immediately realized she had winced again. “Lord, it is a simple irritation, Marisse. I am not ill.” Changing the subject, she said, “Are the lads doing a good job?”
Colyne and Raibeart were pulling weeds from Mrs. Randalf’s garden. The woman was as old as dirt in Marisse’s estimation. White thinning hair covered by a kertch, knobby and gnarled hands that held onto a walking stick. Marisse wasn’t sure if it was meant to help her keep her balance or if she might use it as a weapon should either of the boys inadvertently pull a plant instead of a weed.
“The lads are fine,” Marisse told her. “Now, about the healer.”
“I have no need of a healer,” Aeschene said, growing exasperated with the topic. “Again, I am not ill. ’Tis just an irritation.”
“If ye do not see the healer then I will be forced to tell Richard.”
Startled by Marisse’s threat, Aeschene’s mouth fell open. “Ye would nae dare!”
“Ye should know by now, Aeschene, that I do not make idle threats.”
Aeschene was thoroughly annoyed. They argued back and forth in harsh whispers, not realizing Mrs. Randalf had approached.
“If ye do not wish to see Donald, then mayhap I can help ye m’lady.”
Surprised right out of their argument, both women looked at her in stunned silence.
“I could nae help but overhear what ye were talkin’ about.”
The auld woman was missing half her teeth, her skin so lined with wrinkles one could barely see her eyes. Marisse had made the mistake of assuming someone as old as Mrs. Randalf would be as deaf as Aeschene was blind.
“Some of the women folk like to come to me with their ailments, instead of Donald,” she added.
“Truly, I do appreciate yer thoughtfulness,” Aeschene began. “But I am not ill. ’Tis just a minor irritation.”
The woman cackled heartily. “I was four and ten when I married my Herbert. I considered him naught more than a minor irritation. He ended up bein’ a boil on my backside before we were married a year.”
Aeschene really didn’t grasp the inference and told her so.
She cackled again and shook her head. “An irritation can grow and worsen, ye ken? Now, tell me what ails ye?”
’Twas Marisse who explained her friend’s problem, for Aeschene was too embarrassed, if not too stubborn, to discuss it. With complete understanding, the woman disappeared into her cottage.
“Really, Marisse!” Aeschene exclaimed. “I truly wish ye had nae made such a fuss.”
“If I do not fuss over ye, who will?”
Marisse had been her dearest and only friend these past few years and Aeschene was sincerely grateful for her. But there were times, like now, when she believed her fussing and worrying were sorely misplaced.