Black Richard's Heart (The MacCulloughs #1) - Suzan Tisdale Page 0,84
hear Richard return.
“What are ye doin’ now?”
Startled, she jumped, hitting her head on the side of the window. “Bull feathers!” she cried as she rubbed the bump on her head.
“Is that yer version of cursin’?” Richard asked.
She noted a bit of sarcasm in his tone. “I have never known a man as quiet as ye!” she said. “Ye really must start announcin’ yerself. Or wearing’ a bell around yer neck.”
She thought she heard him chuckle as he crossed the floor to the second window. “God’s teeth, that stinks,” he said as he tied back the second fur.
A moment later, he was examining her head.
“Stop that,” she told him, batting his hands away. “Get me out of this room, for the smell is death itself.”
He chuckled again. “Would ye like to dress first?” He asked as he touched her bare shoulder.
Appalled at forgetting she was wearing only her chemise, she quickly pulled the material over her chest in a feckless attempt to cover herself.
“I have seen ye with less clothing before, lass.”
“But ’twas dark then!” She cried. “Get me out of here.”
He took her hand and grabbed her robe as he pulled her out of the room.
Richard shoved Aeschene into Marisse’s chamber and called for Raibeart. The lad came running at once. As he drew nearer to Richard’s chamber, his face grew pinched. “What on earth is that smell? Did somethin’ die?”
“Close,” Richard replied drolly. “Ask Hattie to send up someone to air out my chamber.”
“What happened?” Raibeart said, holding his nose.
Richard shook his head. “I dunnae ken, but I am about to find out.”
He closed the door on Raibeart and turned to look at his wife. Thankfully, Marisse was not within. Patiently, he had waited for his wife to slip into the robe before he began his interrogation.
“Would ye mind tellin’ me why ye were in possession of one of Mrs. Randalf’s salves?”
Aeschene’s eyes grew wide with astonishment. “How do ye ken it was one of her salves?”
“Because everyone here kens ye never go to Mrs. Randalf for a salve,” he replied dryly.
“But she said she often helps the women who do not want to go too Donald.”
“She has been sayin’ that for a good thirty years. I do not ken anyone in this clan who has ever really used one of her concoctions,” he replied. “Nae only do they stink, they rarely, if ever, work.”
Aeschene tried to hide her embarrassment.
He leaned against the door, crossed his arms over his chest, and asked for her to explain herself.
She took in a deep breath. “The lads were weedin’ Mrs. Randalf’s garden. Marisse kept badgering’ me about seeing the healer. I did try to tell her I was not ill, but she would not listen.”
Richard tried to remain patient as she told him how Mrs. Randalf overheard their conversation and her offer of help.
“So ye see, I did not seek her out,” Aeschene said. She intentionally left out the part about why Marisse was so adamant she see Donald. Silently, she prayed he wouldn’t ask about that.
“But why did Marisse think ye needed the healer?”
Bull feathers! “’Tis not important,” she lied.
He took note of the fact that she pulled her robe a little tighter, as if she were trying to hide something. Richard was many things, but he was no fool.
“That salve,” he began. “’Tis for a skin irritation.”
Aeschene winced, realizing - and not for the first time in her life — that she was a poor liar. “Aye.”
Tired of trying to pry the information from her slowly, he finally demanded it. “Where is this irritation and do I need to worry about it being contagious?” He watched as a deep blush crept up her neck.
“Nay, ’tis not contagious.”
“We shall let Donald be the judge of that.”
Horrified, she walked toward him. “Nay! We do not need to involve Donald!”
Her distress was also quite telling. His imagination ran rampant with curiosity. If it were a simple rash on her arm, she wouldn’t be so distressed.
“Tell me now, or I will fetch Donald to examine ye, whether ye like it or not.” He wouldn’t have forced an examination on her, but the threat did as he intended.
“Fine!” she said, her tone biting and frustrated. She grabbed her robe and chemise in her fists, and exposed part of her chest to him. “It is a minor irritation. Nothin’ more.”
With his brow furrowed, he took a good look at her exposed skin. ’Twas red, abraded, and bruised. “How did this happen?” he asked her.