“Ye gave me back my hope, Richard. Hope that I wasn’t resigned to living the rest of my life alone and feeling so unworthy of anyone’s esteem or regard. I carried that hope over the miles, right to the door of yer keep. I held on to that hope for days and days. But I fear that hope has been crushed into dust and carried away on the spring breeze.”
’Twas time for him to be just as honest with her. “I feel guilty,” he admitted. “Every time I hold ye, I feel guilt. Every time ye make me smile, I feel guilt.”
Turning to face him, she asked, “Guilt? But why?”
“I should have died with my father and brothers. It shouldn’t be me who is chief and laird, but my brother Cullum.”
Confusion creased her brow. “Ye feel guilty for surviving?”
His throat constricted. “Aye, I do.”
She went to him with an outstretch hand. “Richard! Nay! Please, do nae feel guilty for living.”
“I cannae help it lass,” he voice caught, his mouth suddenly dry. “Why did I live when they all died? My father, my brothers? They were far more worthy to live than I.”
“Nay!” she cried as she took his hand and held it to her chest.
“And when I find myself enjoying yer company, when I find myself liking ye? The guilt is all the more worse.”
’Twas clear by her scrunched brow that she didn’t understand.
He let loose a heavy sigh. “I feel as though I am being disrespectful of my father and brothers. I feel as though I am betraying their memories, betraying what they fought for.”
Crestfallen, she said, “Because of my father’s treachery and because I was born a MacRay.”
“Aye, lass.”
A lonely tear fell down her cheek as the enormity of the situation draped over her shoulders like a heavy mantle. Dejected and forlorn, she swallowed back tears.
“Then there is no hope for us,” she murmured sorrowfully as she tried to step away.
Richard refused to let her go. Reaching for her other hand, he pulled them to his lips, tenderly kissing her knuckles. “That is what I thought, Aeschene. But no longer.”
She couldn’t look at him, even if she were able. He let go of her hands and lifted her chin with an index finger. “Lass, I no longer believe that.”
“Ye dunnae?” she asked woefully.
Shaking his head, he said, “Nay, lass. I have finally realized that I am dishonoring their memory more by nae moving forward, by living in the past. I ken they would want me to be happy.”
’Twas the truth that he hadn’t thought of that until moments ago when he swore he heard his mother’s wicked laughter on the breeze. ’Twas as if she were telling him I told ye so. Were he to ever share his thoughts on the matter with anyone, they’d certainly think he’d lost his mind. Whether ’twas his mind playing tricks or something else far more forbidding, he didn’t know.
’Twas what his heart told him as he had bounded up the stairs that made him speak the truth: Yer father would want ye happy.
“Richard, had ye nae lived? I would still be a prisoner in my own home, living in the attics, locked away and forgotten.”
He grunted and shook his head. “I thought ye said yer hope had been ground to dust?”
A crimson blush crept up her neck. “Mayhap I was bein’ a bit over dramatic. Marisse is forever tellin’ me I let my imagination get the better of me.”
Richard pulled her to his chest and pressed a kiss on the top of her head. He was done running, done with hiding, and done living in the past. He enjoyed the way Aeschene felt in his arms, the way she snuggled her cheek against his chest. Squeezing her closer, he ran a palm up and down her back.
After a long moment, he loosened his hold, pushing her back just enough so that he could look at her.
Such delicate, feminine features on a most exquisite face. Lips he’d kissed before and knew them to be as soft as the petals on a rose. Creamy, silky skin that he wanted to caress. Those big blue eyes were filled with questions, but he wanted them filled with passion and desire.
Tenderly, he cupped her jaw as he pressed a soft kiss to her lips. Her sharp intake of breath was quickly followed by a sigh as she melted into his arms.
Pulling her closer, he lifted her against his chest, her feet no longer touching the floor. She wrapped her arms around his neck as the kiss deepened. Passion and desire coursed through his veins.
He traced his tongue across her lips, demanding entry. Their tongues met, circling, dancing, a silent plea for more.
“Yer mouth is ambrosia,” he whispered as he set her back on the floor.
Her lips were swollen, her eyes glassy with yearning. Her fingers trembled as she fumbled with the laces on her dress. Richard stilled her hands, gently pulling them away. “Nay,” he whispered huskily. She looked hurt, almost wounded. “Let me.”
As he untied the laces he whispered sweet words to her. “I have been wanting to do this for a very long while.”
“Ye wish to undress me?” she asked curiously.
He chuckled. “Aye, lass. ’Tis my most fervent wish,” he said as he slowly undid the laces.
“Who am I to deny ye such?” she asked cheekily.
He had never been given the opportunity to undress her himself, for she always left the evening meal before him. By the time he got to his room, she was in her nightdress waiting for him.
Ever so slowly, he pulled the dress over her shoulders and down her arms. The fabric fell to the floor in a soft swoosh, pooling at her feet. He pressed tender kisses along her neck, then next her shoulders as he slid his hands under the top of her chemise. Several tender kisses later, the chemise fell away.
Candlelight flickered, casting her skin in a golden glow. He stepped back, drinking in the vision of her beauty. She stood naked before him, her hair falling over her shoulders, chill bumps covering her skin. Her breaths were ragged with anticipation. “God’s teeth,” he whispered in wonder and awe. “Ye are the most beautiful creature I have ever seen.”
A light blush infused her cheeks. Nervously, she licked her lips. She had no idea just how seductive she looked, standing naked, her chestnut hair all but sparkling in the candlelight. Narrow waist, perfect breasts that had grown taught with her own desire. He had never wanted anyone as much as he wanted her in this moment.
He sat down on the chair by the hearth and pulled off his boots as quickly as he could, unable to take his eyes off his wife. His fingers trembled as he pulled off his trews. Taking a deep breath, he pulled his tunic over his head and tossed it away. No longer would he hide his scars as in shame. Shame had no place between husband and wife.
The moment his bare skin touched hers, ’twas all she could do not to weep with joy. Richard didn’t give her much time to think on the matter, for his mouth claimed hers.
Tentatively, she pressed her palms against his chest for the first time without any barriers between them. Hard muscles that seemed to ripple under her caress. His soft hairs tickled her palms as she explored every beautiful inch of his chest. She inhaled his scent deeply; he smelled of smoke and the out of doors.
A long, wide scar ran down the length of his torso, ending just at his hip. It mattered not to Aeschene, for in her mind, his body was perfection.