Something in Lachlan’s eyes said he didn’t believe a word Black Richard had just said.
With lips pursed and brow furrowed, Black Richard pulled open the tent flap once again. Bending low, he stuck his head inside. “Up,” he declared loudly. “We need to leave.”
Marisse grumbled something incoherent and pulled the fur over her head. Aeschene, however, shot up from the makeshift bed like an arrow from a bow. Rubbing sleep from her eyes as she looked towards the entrance of the tent in his general direction.
In his heart, he knew she was as innocent as the day was long. However, as she sat up on the makeshift bed with tousled hair and sleepy eyes, she was the most seductive creature he had ever seen. His gut told him her hair would be as soft as any silk, had he possessed the strength to touch it. And her skin? Undoubtedly as smooth as a ripe peach.
“Good morn,” she said, her voice scratchy from sleep.
Frustrated with his physical reaction to her, he grunted by way of a response. “Do not dally.” He did not wait for a response as he stepped back outside and let the flap close once again. He quite literally bumped into Lachlan who had been right behind him, silently observing.
“Bloody hell,” Black Richard groused as he stepped around his cousin.
Lachlan shook his head as he fell in beside him. “’Twill be a verra long day, aye?”
In no mood to play riddles, Black Richard gave him a look of warning. “Say what ye mean and be done with it.”
Chuckling, Lachlan slapped Black Richard’s back with an open palm. “A long day of ridin’ home and waitin’ until ye have yer wife in yer bed.”
Black Richard felt his face grow warm with an odd blend of embarrassment and anger. “Ye watch yer tongue, Lachlan,” he warned as he stopped and poked Lachlan in his chest with the tip of his finger. “Or ye’ll be findin’ it shoved up yer arse.”
Aeschene was quite certain her new husband was in a foul mood. It took no great mental acumen to arrive at such a conclusion. His gruff tone said much.
More likely than not, Aeschene reasoned, her husband’s foul mood was due to the fact he had slept out of doors in the rain. It stood to reason he was tired, cold, and hungry. As she fought to gain her wits and dress as quickly as possible, she had to work hard to wake Marisse.
“I fear me husband be in a foul mood this morn,” Aeschene explained as she shoved Marisse’s shoulder. “I would not test him.”
“He be yer husband, not mine,” Marisse grumbled.
“But he is yer new laird,” she politely reminded her. “I worry if we dally long, he will have ye cleanin’ chamber pots for a month.”
“Och!” Marisse groused as she sat up. “Ye kept me up half the night with all yer worryin’, and now ye expect me to hurry so as not to make yer husband angry?”
When put that way, Aeschene did feel a good measure of guilt. “I be sorry, Marisse. I truly am.”
Appeased by her sincerity, Marisse tossed off her furs and searched for her dress. “It be lucky for ye that I be an amiable sort of lady,” she told her.
Aeschene bit her lip to keep from laughing aloud. “Aye, I be quite blessed in that regard.”
Situated atop a bluff overlooking a loch to the south and forests to the north and west, the MacCullough keep was an impressive sight. Or it might have been at one time. Dozens of cottages dotted the land to the east. Many of the cottages had fallen into disrepair after the first Chisolm attack. Only a handful remained occupied.
Marisse studied the landscape and surroundings as they traveled along a narrow, winding, and well-worn path that led up to the massive wall. Even though the sky was a brilliant blue, the grass a vivid green, she felt an inescapable air of despondency fall over her. ’Twas as if an invisible cloak of sadness had draped itself over the space, and in turn, her. There would have been no way for her to explain what she felt, were anyone ever to ask. But feel it she did. No matter how hard she tried to shake the feeling away, ’twas as if it clung to her with shadowy claws.
“What does it look like?” Aeschene asked in an excited whisper.
Marisse had no desire to lie to her friend, but neither did she wish to frighten her. And she most certainly did not wish to insult her new laird and his men. “’Tis a grand keep,” she replied quietly.
Aeschene turned to look straight ahead, her eyes filled with awe, wonder and excitement even if she couldn’t actually see anything. Just knowing ’twas a grand keep was good enough for her.
Marisse tried to judge the thoughts of the menfolk riding with them. Pride was reflected in each of their eyes. But for the life of her, she could not understand from where the feeling came. How could anyone feel pride over dilapidated buildings and a keep that looked as though it had been laid siege to only yesterday.
“What color be the stones?” Aeschene asked.
“Gray,” Marisse replied. “A light shade.”
Aeschene nodded, keeping her eyes straight ahead. “Is it a stone wall or wood?”
Black Richard answered, “It be stone, lass. A darker shade of gray.”
“How tall is it?” she asked him.
“The towers are four stories, the keep three,” he replied.
Marisse observed her new laird quietly. Aye, he was quite proud of this keep. And if her instincts were correct, he was also slightly smitten with his new wife. There was also no doubt that Aeschene was a bit smitten with him.
’Tis about time, she mused.
Now, if only Black Richard could admit his attraction to Aeschene. If he could — she was quite certain it would take some time for him to arrive at the same conclusion — then Marisse could move on with her own life.
Only time would tell.
Black Richard had made several changes to the keep in the last three years. The stone wall that ensconced the main building and its outbuildings for more than a century, had now been refortified and made much taller. So tall in fact, that from the outside looking in, one could only see the roof of the keep. A massive iron gate, that was lifted up with gears and the sweat of men, was their first line of defense set in that enormous stone wall. Battlements were the second, Machicolations were the third. Both lined the entire circumference of the crenelated wall, where men could defend whenever necessary, either with arrows or boiling oil.
The main keep itself had also gone through a major renovation. Gone was anything that made it seem opulent or even ‘home-like’. They had replaced the wide-open windows of the lower and upper floors with arrow slits. Bigger windows remained on the third floor — but they were few and far between. Also gone was the set of wide stone steps that led to the first floor. Black Richard decided it made for too easy an entry by marauders. Thus, they were replaced with narrow wooden stairs that left off at the two double doors on the second floor. The only other way in or out was on the opposite side of the structure, via another set of wooden stairs.
Now, the MacCullough keep was a formidable fortress. The only thing it lacked was more men.
Black Richard carefully led his wife up the wooden stairs as he explained to her the need for defense. Besides, ’twas the only thing he could think of to keep his mind off the fact that he wanted her in his bed.