No, no they most certainly were not.
“I am goin’ to give ye a choice, lass. A choice on whether or not ye wish to marry Black Richard MacCullough.”
For the first time in hours, if not years, she began to feel a glimmer of hope.
“A choice?” she asked, trying to hide the hope bubbling up from her stomach.
“Aye,” David replied. “A choice.”
Had she ever been given a choice in any matter other than what color dress to wear — other than today, of course. “And if I choose not to marry him? What would happen to my family?”
“They will be allowed to retain their titles and lands. At least for now.”
It seemed too good to be true.
’Twas too important a decision to make lightly. She understood all too well what was at stake. Regardless of whether or not she married the MacCullough, her family’s future was precarious at best. How long would they be able to hold on to their lands? In her heart she knew her father would make no attempt to stop the feuding. Unless, of course, his hands were tied by a marriage betwixt the two clans.
But to make such a life altering decision without first meeting the man in question, seemed foolish. She might not be able to look Black Richard MacCullough in the eyes, but she could at least listen for sincerity or duplicity in his voice.
“I should like to speak with the MacCullough first, before makin’ a decision,” she said, then held her breath while she waited for his reply.
“Verra well,” David said. She listened as he stood and walked toward the door and opened it. David spoke in hushed tones to the guard.
“I should warn ye,” he said as he retook his seat. “Betimes, Black Richard can seem a gruff man.”
“I would imagine he is more ‘gruff’ this day, considerin’ he is on MacRay lands, and bein’ forced to marry a woman he has never met, and the daughter of his sworn enemy to boot,” she replied, hoping to lighten the somber mood.
David laughed at her jest. “Aye, yer assumption would be correct.”
“Pray tell me, yer grace, just how ‘gruff’ is he?” She wasn’t certain she wanted the answer.
David did not try to soften the truth. “As happy as yer father was with the news.”
He must have seen her grow pale, for he quickly added, “But I find that Black Richard is far more open-minded than yer da.”
A cat-o’-mountain with mange was more open minded than her father. David’s words did little to soothe her worries.
“I ken yer family has undoubtedly told ye many stories of Black Richard MacCullough that do not hold him in a good light,” he said.
Aeschene could not deny it. “Aye, I have heard stories.”
“While there might be a grain of truth to every story or rumor, ’tis often that the truth is twisted to the benefit of the storyteller.”
There was no time to ask him what he meant for a moment later, the door opened and she felt Black Richard MacCullough as he thundered into the room.
She was beautiful.
Breathtakingly so.
’Twas infuriating.
He had been preparing his heart and mind to meet a homely, wart covered, toothless woman. A woman he would have to be drunk in order to bed. A woman he’d have no compunction in sending away to live alone in a cottage far from his keep.
But sitting in front of the hearth was by far the most beautiful woman he had ever seen.
It had to be some mistake. He glanced at David. The bloody cur was looking like a house cat who had just had his fill of cream. Happy, content, and amused.
Silently, he cursed David to hell and questioned God’s intentions.
Any previous desire to say his peace to Garrin MacRay and David fell away like a rock being tossed over a chasm. Saying his peace no longer mattered.
Gloriously rich, long hair, the color of chestnuts, framed a most exquisite face. Lips the color of pale pink roses were parted ever so slightly. But his undoing, the thing about her that nearly sent him to his knees, were her eyes.
Mesmerizingly blue they were. The color of the Highland sky after a heavy rain has passed. Brilliant, intense blue eyes. Not dark like the sea, nor were they pale like ice. A blue in between, unlike any shade he’d ever seen before this moment.
Blue eyes that, thankfully, could not see his mangled face. Nor the way he stared at her with mouth agape.
“Black Richard MacCullough,” David said by way of introduction. “I would like ye to meet Aeschene MacRay. She would like to have a moment or two of yer time.”
Clenching his jaw, his eyes naught but slits, Black Richard glowered as his King walked past. David muttered something as he stepped out into the gathering room. A moment later, the inhabitants of the room exploded into loud protests.
Aeschene cringed when she heard her father declare, rather loudly, “If he lays so much as a finger on me daughter, I will kill him!” She knew, deep down, ’twas all bluster, for the man could not care less about her.
The door closed, but the sounds of angry voices could still be heard.
“I would like to apologize for my father’s poor behavior, m’laird,” Aeschene said. Her voice was soft with a slight quiver of fear in it. Undoubtedly, the fear was brought on by his mere presence. Who could blame her for being afraid?
For inexplicable reasons, he did not like hearing the tremble in her voice. It saddened him. The emotion struck him as quite odd, for she was a MacRay. Still, he couldn’t escape it. “He is upset.”
“I fear he is always upset. Especially where it concerns me.”
He wasn’t sure what he should make of what she said, so he left it alone. Although she looked in his general direction, he knew she couldn’t truly see him. ’Twas a blessing, to be certain. For if she could, she would have gone screaming from the room by now. Why that thought hurt, he didn’t rightly know, but hurt it did.
Quietly, he took a step toward her. As he did, she sat taller, her hands gripping the arms of the chair until her knuckles turned white. He was left wondering what stories her family had told about him. Her breaths were quick, like a rabbit being chased by a hungry wolf.
The silence stretched on for an interminable length of time. Finally, she spoke again. “I would like to ask ye a few questions, m’laird, if ye do not mind.”
He didn’t, which he found just as irksome as her beauty. He gave her a nod before remembering she could not see. “I do not mind.”
Lifting her chin ever so slightly, she took in a deep breath. “As yer wife, if I were to displease ye, how would ye punish me?”
Punish? He thought it a rather odd question. “Ye punish criminals, and occasionally ill-mannered children, not wives.”
Her brow knotted with his reply. “Ye would not beat me?”
“Of course, nae!” he exclaimed, probably a bit too angrily.
She startled at his barking reply, touching her fingertips to her chest.
“Forgive me, lass. I did not mean to startle ye so.” ’Twas the first time in his life he ever apologized for his temper. “But I find the thought of beatin’ a woman disgustin’.”
Was that relief he saw reflected in eyes that could not see?
Swallowing once, then again, she went on with her questions. “If we marry and return to yer keep, will ye keep me locked away?”