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.
With a good deal of indignation, she straightened her clothing and glowered at him.
“Again, I asked ye how yer skin came to be bruised and irritated.”
“Very well,” she replied with a good deal of frustration. “If ye must know, ’tis yer fault.”
Unable to look at him, even if she couldn’t truly see him, Aeschene turned her gaze to the floor. Her voice was so soft, he could barely hear her.
“At night, when we join, ye do not take off yer tunic. The leather ties scrape and dig against me skin.”
Richard felt ten kinds a fool and twenty times a cruel bastard. He was glad she could not see his own face burning with shame.
Aeschene took a deep breath before daring to look back at him again. ‘I did not say anythin’, because I feared ye would stop, well, ye ken.”
Aye, he did. And she was right. He would have stopped joining with her and not only just until she healed, but stop altogether. His own shamed burned deep and bright.
Sensing his distress, she said, “Richard, I do not care about yer scars. I have a few of my own.” To prove it, she lifted her robe and chemise almost to her hip. Turning, she showed him her leg. “See? Ghastly is it nae?”
The vision of her bare thigh was enough to make his heart skip a few beats. Without thinking, he went to her for a closer inspection. The ghastly scar to which she referred, was no more than three inches in length and only a hair’s breadth in width. Barely noticeable.
“Ghastly?” He asked, shaking his head.
“Aye, I thought so,” she said, dismissing his sarcastic tone. “I got it several years ago, before I lost my vision. We were invaded by a horde of marauders, ye ken.” She let lose her hold on her garments and with wide eyed excitement, she told him the story. “Och! There were thousands of them. A swarthy lot, they were, dark hair, and eyes as black as the night. They carried golden swords which were curved at the end. Sliced through one soldier after another until the ground flowed red with blood.”
Soon, she was acting out the event, one which Richard was quite certain did not hold a grain of truth to it.
“I stood bravely, on the parapet, and pulled out my trusty bow. My quiver, thanks be to God, never went empty.” She took the stance of an archer, pulling back on an invisible string, pretending to let loose one arrow after another. “As the marauders climbed the walls, I picked them off, one by one. And one by one, they fell. Thousands of arrows I let loose that day, until the sky grew dark. One of the attackers came from behind. I heard the whistle of his sword slicing through the air and jumped!” She jumped to the side and spun around. “I was almost too late. The golden blade sliced through my skin. But I held firm, and shot him right between his eyes with my arrow.”
She spun back around, still pretending to let loose those invisible arrows. Richard was enchanted by her tale and found himself smiling at her.
“All alone I was, on that parapet, as one after another they climbed the wall. But I never stopped. Night fell, the sky black and ominous. A stillness rent the air and ’twas then, as I stood covered in sweat and the blood of my enemies, that I realized I was victorious!” She shoved a hand into the air, her smile growing. “There was nary a one left. Thousands of marauders lay spread on the ground, as far as the eye could see.”
She smiled then, a bright, beaming, and mischievous smile. “And that is how I got the ghastly scar. To the bone it cut.” She nodded once and tilted her head ever so slightly. “It only bothers me when it rains.”
Lord, he could not help himself. Richard laughed a good, deep belly laugh. ’Twas something he had not done in years. “Now tell me, how much of that story is true?”
“Nary a word,” she quipped. “But, I do love the tellin’ of it. Besides, ’tis much more excitin’ than admitted I tripped over me own two feet and landed in a thorn bush.”
He laughed until tears rolled down his cheeks.
Once Aeschene heard Richard’s hearty laughter, she could not help but join in. Oh, she felt quite victorious in that moment. For she had made her husband laugh, and not at her own expense. After she was able to regain her composure, she smiled warmly and reached out for his hand. “I do not wish for ye to be appalled with my scars.” She winked as she gave his hand a gentle squeeze. “Richard, ’tis the God’s honest truth that yer scars, no matter where they be, do not offend me.”
The sincerity in her voice made his chest feel tight. He believed her.
“So, from now on, when we join, I will not remove my clothes. I shall remain dressed,” she said, trying to sound most serious, “to save yer tender heart and sensibilities from havin’ to see such.”
“Like hell ye will.”
Aeschene heard the bolt slide across the door. A rapid heartbeat or two later, Richard was divesting her of her robe and chemise.
His kisses were hot and filled with so much passion it made her legs feel as strong as jam left in the sun. Gently, he placed a soft kiss on her chest above the abrasion. “Aeschene, ye must ken my scars are far more ghastly than yers.”
“I dunnae care,” she told him breathlessly. “Especially when ye kiss me like ye do.”
Tenderly, he pressed a kiss on her bare shoulder as he caressed her arm. “Ye like my kisses then?” He asked playfully.
“Ye cannae not tell?” She asked as she sucked in a deep breath.
He chuckled victoriously as he continued to nibble her shoulder and the slender column of her neck.
Before she knew it, Richard had divested her of all clothing and was himself half dressed. He led her to the hearth where he promptly took a seat and pulled her onto his lap. Everything after that was a blur of passionate kisses, tongues, and roaming hands.
He all but tossed her onto the bed. Oh, how she wished she could see him; all of him. To look into his eyes to see desire and passion. To study every square inch of his body. By touch alone she knew he had to be a most magnificent man to look upon, with all his hard, rippling muscles. But to see it would have been glorious.
The bed sank considerably when he climbed into it. A moment later, he was over her, skin to skin, save for that blasted tunic. Disappointment settled in over her heart. She wanted to plead with him to remove it but worried he’d become too upset and stop. Mayhap ‘twould be best to broach the subject at another time.