Black Richard's Heart (The MacCulloughs #1) - Suzan Tisdale Page 0,145
“We let Randall Chisolm set all the rules of his little game, is that it?”
Aeschene smiled wryly. “To a certain extent, aye.”
“Ye are daft,” Marisse scoffed.
“That may verra well be true,” she replied. “Just keep in mind we are paying’ attention, Marisse. We have to wait and see what he does next.”
Lachlan grunted and turned to face the women. “She is right, Marisse. His next move will guide ours.”
“That makes nae a lick of sense to me,” Marisse said, growing more and more frustrated.
“’Tis the art of war. Randall only thinks he is leadin’ this little game of war, but that is nae the case.”
“What on earth are ye goin on about, Lachlan?” Marisse asked, her brow furrowed.
Lachlan chuckled slightly. “We have a few plans of our own, lass. But we cannae show him what those plans are just yet.”
“Plans? What plans?” Marisse asked with a shake of her head. “All we have done for days is wait. I dunnae consider that a plan.”
“We have nae just been waitin’,” Aeschene said as she retook her seat near the fire. “We have also been planning’.”
“Planning what?” Marisse demanded to know.
Aeschene smiled once again. “We’ve been plannin’ on gettin our men back.”
Marisse was thoroughly frustrated. She looked to Lachlan for guidance and answers; but he wasn’t giving any.
“For now, we must be patient and wait to hear from the Chisolm again,” Aeschene said.
Little did they know they’d be hearing far sooner than any of them anticipated.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Richard was back home, in bed with his wife. A dozen furs and thick, soft blankets covered the soft bed. A roaring fire in the hearth warmed the room considerably. His sweet wife was snuggled next to him, the sound of her gentle breaths sweet music to his ears. He had his arms wrapped around her waist, enjoying the simple moment of being warm and loved.
A loud rattle and clanging of metal against the iron bars of their prison tore him from his peaceful dream. “Up with ye!” the guards shouted.
Startled, Colyne sat upright, his eyes still groggy from sleep. Rory groaned as he too, sat up. “Did ye bring the roast venison we asked for?” he said sarcastically. They’d not eaten anything but gruel and porridge since their arrival.
“Nay, I ate my fill and tossed the rest to me dogs,” the older guard replied. He had thick, dark brown hair and piercing hazel eyes. “Stand up and get in the corner,” he ordered.
Slowly, they did as ordered. Their wrists and feet were shackled, a heavy chain looped through the ankle shackles, affectively binding the three of them together. Had Richard been able to see more clearly and had not every muscle and bone ached, he would beaten the bloody hell out of the five guards.
Every step was agony for the two men. Ribs had been broken, lips cut, faces and bodies bruised. Only yesterday did the swelling begin to shrink in Richard’s eyes. Not more than slits now, but at least he could see enough to walk.
Led up several flights of stairs they reached a heavy wooden door, he paused to look at his surroundings. Stars dotted the midnight blue sky overhead. They were in the courtyard of Randall Chisolm’s keep, this much was certain. Although his senses were dulled from all the beatings, he was still smart enough to make himself aware of his surroundings.
As of yet, he hadn’t lain eyes on the Chisolm. The coward probably worried Richard would kill him if he were given even the slightest opportunity.
They had no idea why they had been dragged from the dungeon at this late hour, but knew it couldn’t be good. He scanned the large cobblestone courtyard looking for the gallows or some other torture devices, but found nothing.
The guard pulled them to a stop near a group of horses. A long length of rope was tied to Richard’s shackles before the man climbed atop his steed. Soon, they were heading toward the gate. “Where are ye takin’ us?” Richard asked.
No one was inclined to answer.
Not more than two hours after receiving Randall Chisolm’s missive, another man from the border patrol came racing toward the keep. The gates were still being lifted when he raced through, ducking low, barely missing the jagged edges of the steel gate.
Soaked with sweat and late-night misty air, he jumped from his horse and raced up the steps into the keep. ’Twas just after midnight when he rushed into the gathering room in search of his lady and Lachlan.