Black Richard's Heart (The MacCulloughs #1) - Suzan Tisdale Page 0,147

the stone floor.

“He looks beleaguered,” Marisse whispered. “He is in need of a shave, and if I am not mistaken, sleep.”

“Aeschene,” he called to her. To her ear, he sounded much relieved to see her.

“If I did nae ken better, I would say he is happy to see ye,” Marisse whispered.

The pace of his footsteps increased as if he were rushing toward her. When she felt he was close enough, she halted him. “Stop,” she said, her voice firm and unyielding.

“Aeschene, ’tis good to see ye,” he said.

She silenced him by holding up a palm. Not for a moment did she believe him. “Just give me the Chisolm’s demands,” she said.

He was genuinely taken aback. “Demands?” He shook his head.

“I will nae play games, Willem. Just give me his bloody demands.”

“Aeschene, I dunnae ken what ye’re talkin’ about,” he stammered.

She could hear the confusion in his voice, but was reluctant to believe him just yet. “Last eve, we received a missive from Randall Chisolm in which he said we would be hearin’ from him soon. Less than two hours later, I received word that ye were at our border, wanting’ to see me.”

“What demands?” he asked as he took a glance around the room. “And why are so many people crowded in here? Please, can we nae speak alone?”

“Alone?” She quirked a brow. “Nay, Willem, I will nae speak to ye alone. Let my people hear the lies for themselves.”

Willem gave a quick shake of his head as he tried to make sense of this odd encounter with his sister. He stood a bit taller as he took in a deep breath. “Aeschene, I honestly dunnae ken what ye are goin’ on about. I am merely here to tell ye that our father is dead.”

A whisper could have knocked Aeschene from her chair. This was not what she was expecting to hear from her brother. Murmurs filled the hall.

Marisse leaned in to whisper, “Aeschene, I think he speaks the truth.”

Seeing her confusion, Willem took a step closer. “’Tis the truth I speak. Our father died in his sleep four days ago. We buried him yesterday. Darrin is now chief. He sent me to tell ye.”

Not even a flicker of grief caressed her heart. If anything, she felt relieved to hear her father was dead. Mayhap she should have felt guilty for not grieving the loss, but she couldn’t muster even a twitch of sadness.

Willem reached into the pouch at his waist. “I have a letter from Darrin,” he said as he handed it to Marisse. He remained quiet whilst Marisse read from the small scroll. “’Tis true,” she said. “Yer father is dead. Darrin writes that he wants to assure ye that he will continue to honor the peace accord.”

“Of course he will honor it,” Aeschene murmured. “My father’s death means nothing as it pertains to that.”

“Our father’s death means many changes will be taking place,” Willem said, chancing another cautious step towards her. “No longer will our father rule our clan without concern for his people. Darrin wants peace, Aeschene. Genuine peace.”

Uncertain what to make of that bit of news, Aeschene sat taller in her chair. “So, I am to believe that yer presence here is purely coincidental?” She still wasn’t convinced her father had no hand in the kidnappings.

“Aye, I swear to ye it is.”

She was unable to simply forget about the years of conflict and turmoil between she and her father and brothers. Having spent so many months away, she was able to look back at the past few years. “Ye, all of ye, treated me with nothing but disdain for years,” she said. “Because I was imperfect. Useless was the word father oft used to describe me.” She took in a deep breath willing the tremble in her hands to subside.

“I took enough beatings from that man for ten men, if ye will remember correctly,” Willem said. “To defy him would have been the same as signing my own death warrant.” He shrugged away the memories. Even as a grown and married man, his father was not above planting his fist in his face. “What choice did we have but to go along with him?” Willem asked.

She jumped to her feet. Years of frustration and anger toward her family bubbled to the surface. Spilling out, overflowing like the banks of a river during a summer rain. “What choice did ye have?” She was incredulous and appalled. Her hands shook with anger, her voice cracking with fury.