Black Richard's Heart (The MacCulloughs #1) - Suzan Tisdale Page 0,142

Kneeling down, she took one hand in hers while she felt his forehead. ’Twas dry and cool to the touch. “Raibeart, how do ye feel?”

He swallowed hard before answering. “Like I was near trampled to death by a herd of cattle.”

She smiled and gave his hand a gentle squeeze. “I imagine ye do.”

Lachlan entered the room and stood on the opposite side of his bed. “What happened, Raibeart?”

He recounted the story of how Aeschene had sent him after Colyne and Daniel. He was exhausted and in a good deal of pain, but he wanted to tell him what happened. “When I arrived, there were a dozen men surrounding Colyne and Daniel. They grabbed the boys, but Colyne was nae goin’ without a fight.”

Lachlan nodded, but showed no outward signs of any emotion he might be feeling. “How did ye come to be injured?”

“I had hidden behind a log, tryin’ to figure out what I should do. Colyne got loose, as did Daniel. All hell broke loose then.” He swallowed hard and asked for cider. Marisse helped him sit up so that he could drink. He fell back against the bed and closed his eyes for a moment. “I fought as best I could,” he said. “I killed two of the bloody bastards before Richard and Rory arrived. Then one of the bloody bastards hit me on the head.” He rubbed the back of his head, clearly still angry over it.

“What happened after they hit ye?” Lachlan asked.

“I fell to the ground and pretended to be dead,” he said. “I figured I would nae be much good to anyone if I were actually dead.”

Lachlan nodded his head in approval.

“One of them held a dirk to Colyne’s throat, threatened to kill him if Richard didn’t come with them.” There was no denying his anger. “So Richard and Rory went. They had no choice.”

’Twas very late when Aeschene and Lachlan slipped into Richard’s study. This was a conversation that was best had away from anyone who might overhear.

For over an hour, they discussed any and all options available to them, which were, to say the least, next to nil. They kept their voices soft, naught more than whispers.

While she didn’t have a lick of experience with battles or strategies of war, she did possess something that might prove valuable later; a very vivid imagination. That was the only thing that had kept her from going mad for all those years she was locked away in her father’s attics. It might, at some point, prove quite useful.

So plot and plan they did. Ideas flying fast and furious, each of them expressing possible actions to take in one event or another. More than once, Lachlan asked, what would Richard do? Aeschene was confident she had the answers to many of those questions. And those she couldn’t answer, Lachlan could.

Decisions were made and plans set into motion. The trick to this plan was secrecy. While they were each quite confident in the fealty of their clan members, all it would take to bring everything crashing down was one errant, misspoken word. In this part of Scotia, word sometimes seemed to travel on the wind.

They simply couldn’t afford to take any chances.

It had been nearly three days since her husband, brother-by-law, and friend had been kidnapped. Three long days and still no word from their captors. No ransom note, no demands; no communications at all.

Aeschene stood atop the parapet looking out at the midnight sky. She could hear the torches battling against the breeze, flickering and dancing in their sconces. The sound reminded her of linens hanging on the line to dry in the summer breeze.

Everyone within the keep had settled in for the night. To her left, he could hear the soft murmurs of two guards speaking to one another. Other than the wind, flames, and soft voices, ’twas a still and quiet night.

Lachlan had brought her up to the parapet a while ago. She knew he wasn’t far, keeping a watchful eye on her. He had only done so after she had promised not to take a step in any direction without him. I do nae wish for a repeat of yer walk on the plank, he had said. I still have nightmares.

She doubted he was haunted by anything, let alone that afternoon from months ago. Still, she gave him her solemn vow not to move without his assistance.

Her cloak whipped around her ankles, the wind increasing and whistling. For a brief moment, she thought