Black Richard's Heart (The MacCulloughs #1) - Suzan Tisdale Page 0,140
began to whirl.
“The Chisolms.”
Aeschene wanted to weep. She felt as though the wind had been kicked right out of her lungs. “To what end?”
Marisse shook her head and swiped away a tear. “We dunnae ken yet.”
“Ransom,” Aeschene said. “’Tis the only thing that makes any sense.”
“Aye, but we have not received a ransom demand yet,” Marisse said. “We only know what Raibeart has told us. As he lay bleeding’, he heard a man discussing taking Richard and the others to the Chisolm holding.”
Dread draped over her heart like a heavy mantle. She had never met Randall Chisolm; wouldn’t know him if he came in and sat on her lap. But she felt confident in her assumption that he was as vile as he was cruel. Lord only knew the manner in which he was probably torturing his captors.
Marisse began to sob. “They are nae all right,” she said. “They have been taken as prisoners.”
Aeschene pulled her in and held her. They cried together, grief stricken and consumed with worry. What will I do if this is the end for him? Her mind raced with many possible scenarios. Would the clan allow her to stay? Would they blame her, considering her father’s relationship with the Chisolm?
She felt it then, for the very first time; a tiny flutter from her babe. Her hands went to her stomach, the sheer and utter joy of knowing the babe was real made her cry all the more. But this time, she wept tears of joy. ’Twas as if her babe was telling her not to give up, to have faith in herself and in her husband.
A new sense of resolution filled her to her marrow.
“What is it?” Marisse asked reluctantly. “Is all well?” She was staring intently at Aeschene’s belly.
“Aye, all is well,” she said. “I just felt my babe move, as if he wants to remind me of somethin’.”
“Remind ye of what?” Marisse asked, her brow drawn into a fine line.
Aeschene smiled and reached for Marisse’s hand. “That we are nae cowards.”
Raibeart slept fitfully throughout the day. Donald visited every few hours, though there was truly no need. Not left alone for even a moment, the women took turns sitting with him, keeping a watchful eye out for any sign of fever or infection.
A hush had fallen over the keep, out of respect for the lad. Men of all ages had volunteered to keep watch on the upper walls so that more men could be added to patrol their borders. The women folk all pitched in, cooking and cleaning. Everyone shared what they had. Gylmyne entertained the little ones, regaling them with stories of old battles or timeless tales. A few of the children took to calling him grand da, to which he smiled proudly.
‘Twasn’t until the evening meal that any problems arose. Tables had been pulled out, filled with all manner of clans people. They would eat in shifts, so that everyone could have a comfortable place to eat. Aeschene insisted on waiting last for she felt that was what Richard would have done under the circumstances. The clan always came first, no matter what.
She, Marisse, and Keevah had sat with the last group of the night. She was looking forward to Hattie’s venison stew and fresh bread. Having taken her usual seat, her stomach growled in anticipation of a hearty meal.
Marisse sat to her immediate left, and Keevah sat opposite her. Frances had helped serve earlier, and took a seat next to Keevah. More people sat down, each of them talking about the events of the day and asking after Raibeart.
The kitchen maids began filing in, arms laden with trays and pots and platters. ’Twas then the rift began.
“I will nae be serving’ her,” Loreen stated loudly.
All chatting came to an abrupt halt.
“Will nae be serving who?” Aeschene asked, puzzled by the woman’s outburst.
Loreen scoffed. “Ye ken who I mean.”
Aeschene stilled Marisse with a touch of her hand. “Nae, Loreen, I dunnae ken who ye mean. Please, by all means, tell us who ye will nae serve.”
“I will nae serve that auld whore.”
Most of the women at the table gasped, surprised she would say such a thing right in front of Keevah and their lady.
“Her name is Keevah,” Aeschene said.
Loreen harrumphed. “I care not what ye call her, I will nae serve her.” She stood taller and possessed a haughtiness typically reserved for royalty. “I cannae believe the rest of ye would even sit at the same table as her.”