He took a step back. Had he heard her correctly? “What did ye say?”
“I said I had to convince him that I wanted ye dead.”
“Nay, before that.” His heart was beating frantically against his chest.
Her brow knitted. “Which part?”
“The part where ye said ye had to make him believe ye dinnae love me.”
He saw a flicker of fear flash behind her brilliant blue eyes. A soft blush infused her cheeks.
“If ye were tryin’ to convince him ye dinnae love me, that can only mean one thing,” he was teasing her, taking pleasure in her distress. “Ye love me.”
Anger erupted in the blink of an eye. Putting her hands on her hips, her jaw set, her eyes piercing, she said, “For the life of me, I dunnae ken why! Ye are the most stubborn, pigheaded lout I have ever met.”
He grabbed her around her waist and pulled her to his chest. “But ye do in fact love me. Even if I am the most stubborn, pigheaded lout ye have ever met.”
He didn’t give her the chance to utter another word. Overcome with need and desire, he slanted his lips over hers and he pulled her more tightly against his chest. She melted against him, returning his kiss with the same intense passion and desire. Although he was stiff and sore, he found a resurgence of energy. He was soon divesting her of her dress as she tugged and pulled on his clothes.
Someone was knocking on the tent post. “Richard, I need to speak with ye,” Rory called out.
Richard ignored him.
“Richard, it be important. We are in need of a priest.”
Reluctantly, he pulled away and spoke to Rory over his shoulder. “Who is dyin’?”
“No one is dyin’,” Rory replied loudly. “Let me in.”
“Go away, Rory,” Richard called back to him.
“We need a priest, Richard. And we need one right quick.”
Aeschene was growing concerned until she heard Marisse giggling outside the tent. Richard heard her too. A wry smile came to his lips. “Are ye planning’ on doin’ to Marisse what I am about to do with my own wife?” he said, still refusing to release his hold on Aeschene.
“Aye, I do.”
Richard chuckled as Aeschene giggled. “Marisse, are ye planning’ on marrying’ Rory?”
“Aye, I am,” Marisse said. There was a happiness to her voice that Aeschene had never heard before.
“Call for a priest then,” Richard said. “And leave us alone.”
He waited until Rory and Marisse scurried away before turning his attention back to his wife. He pressed tender kisses to her cheeks and neck. “Aeschene, I need ye to ken what is in my heart,” he whispered against her ear. “I love ye lass. With all that I am. Ye make me want to be a better man. Ye had given me back something I thought lost long ago.”
“What did I give ye back?” her voice cracked on unshed tears.
“Hope, lass. Ye give me hope for the future.”
She rested her head against his chest, unable to hold back her tears. “I love ye, Black Richard MacCullough, with all that I am.”
Two lonely people who had been forced together through fate and circumstances held onto each other for dear life. Each of them giving the other the one thing they thought they would never have. Love.
Epilogue
March 1359
’Twas a foggy, cold and damp March morning. Aeschene MacCullough sat in a cushioned chair next to the hearth in her bedchamber. Her heart was filled with so much joy as she held her son in her arms. She liked these quiet moments, when ’twas just she and her babe and she could have him all to herself.
Her mum had left yesterday, after a lengthy visit. There were many late-night talks between she and her mum. Important talks which allowed Aeschene to set aside all the anger she had felt for more than three years.
Wrapped in a soft blue blanket, having just nursed, her wee son slept contentedly in her arms. Occasionally, he would let out the softest, sweetest sighs. Even if she couldn’t actually see him, she knew he was beautiful. Everyone told her so.
There came a soft wrap on her door and a moment later, Richard was walking in. She heard a second set of footfalls and assumed ’twas Marisse coming to steal another look or chance to hold him. She and Rory had announced last week that they were expecting their first babe. He or she would arrive in late July. Marisse could never resist the urge to hold Brody.
“Aeschene, love,” Richard said keeping is voice soft and low. “There is someone here I would like ye to meet.”
Pulling her gaze from her son, her brow knitted.
“Aeschene, this is Benasuto Abatangelo,” Richard said.
“’Tis a pleasure to make yer acquaintance, my lady.”
She took note of his thick Italian accent and the richness of his voice. But for the life of her, she couldn’t figure out why there was an Italian standing in her bedchamber.
Richard pulled up a stool and sat next to her. “Lass, have ye ever heard of spectacles?”
It took a week for the monk to get the lenses to her spectacles the proper thickness. Typically, the lenses were much thinner with a piece of thick wire holding the two pieces together. Typically, the spectacles sat on the wearer’s nose with little problem.
But Aeschene’s vision was so poor, it required the use of much thicker glass. Nearly an inch thick and quite heavy, they were too heavy to rest comfortably on her nose.
After several failed attempts, Brother Abatangelo sought out the clan’s blacksmith. Together, they were able to fashion heavy wire ear pieces that would wrap around Aeschene’s ears, helping to keep her spectacles in place.
Nearly a year to the day she married Black Richard MacCullough, she sat nervously in her cushioned chair by the fire, and waited for Brother Abatangelo to finish his final adjustments.
“I want the first person I see to be Richard,” she told him for the dozenth time.
“And as I have told ye, my lady, ye will see me first. I need to make certain the lenses are correct.”
“Fine,” she muttered. “But Richard next, aye?”
“Si, my lady. You will see your husband as soon as we know they are correct.”
Carefully, he placed the spectacles over her eyes, securing the wires behind her ears. Aeschene kept her eyes closed, still not quite believing these thick pieces of glass would finally allow her to see again.
“Open your eyes, my lady,” Brother Abatangelo said.
She took in a deep steadying breath and slowly opened her eyes.
It took a long moment before her eyes began to focus.
Brother Abatangelo was not at all how she had imagined him. Thick black hair covered his head. Brown eyes that sparked in the candlelight. He was a rather handsome fellow.
“I can see ye!” she exclaimed in sheer amazement.
He smiled down at her before standing upright. She saw him smile!
“Close your eyes, my lady, and I shall bring your husband in.”
She closed them at once as her heart filled with nervous anticipation. She didn’t realize she was gripping the arms of her chair so tightly until her fingers began to ache.
The footfalls coming toward her were undeniably Richard’s. She listened quietly as he sat on a stool in front of her. He took his hands in hers and pressed tender kisses to her knuckles. “Are ye certain ye want to see this auld, ugly face of mine?” he whispered.