Black Richard's Heart (The MacCulloughs #1) - Suzan Tisdale Page 0,154
His anger was a visceral reaction to the immense sense of disappointment.
“I will see for myself that he is still alive,” Aeschene said. “Then we shall talk.”
Randall studied the woman for a long moment. Doubt and uncertainty filling his gut. There was something in her countenance, the manner in which she spoke; with such strength and conviction. Fine, he finally decided. We shall see what game she is playing.
‘Twasn’t easy for Aeschene to hide her relief when Randall Chisolm give the order to bring Richard, Rory, and Colyne to the tent. Her cloak hid the tremble in her fingers and hopefully the knocking of her knees.
As she waited for her husband, she strained her ears to listen. Sounds of shuffling feet, soft murmurs from a group of men in the corner to her right, and the distinct thrumming of fingertips against wood… Was it Randall Chisolm doing that? Mayhap he was just as nervous as she.
That realization brought her a good measure of comfort. She would draw strength from believing that thus far her plan was working; she had caught Randall Chisolm off guard. He hadn’t anticipated anything she had said or done to this point. She sent a silent prayer heavenward that she could maintain her rouse.
“They are coming’” Marisse murmured as she gently grabbed Aeschene’s arm.
Moments later, she could hear the soft clanking of chains and dragging footsteps. There was a commotion, a blur of movement just ahead. A frantic heartbeat later, she heard one body, then another, hitting the floor. In an instant, she recognized her husband’s voice as he groaned in pain. Marisse and Keevah gasped in unison. “They have been beaten,” Marisse said in a low voice. “Severely beaten.”
“Aeschene!” Colyne called out as he tried to rush toward her. The chains prevented him from doing so.
“Wheest, ye brat!” A man’s voice, deep and gravelly, boomed within the tent.
Whispering softly to Marisse, Aeschene said, “Take me to Colyne.”
As soon as she was close enough, Colyne all but leapt into her arms. He held onto her for dear life. She didn’t need good eyes to know the boy had been poorly mistreated. Leaning down, she touched her cheek to the top of his head. His hair was greasy and smelled musty and dank, and his clothing was just as foul.
“Wheest, now, Colyne.” She spoke soft and low so that only he could hear her. “Whatever ye hear me say, remember, ’tis just a story.”
She had no way of knowing if he understood her or not. Gently, she pulled away so that Marisse could take her back to speak with Randall Chisolm. If she weren’t terrified of the outcome, she would have plunged her dirk into Randall Chisolm’s heart for treating an innocent boy so harshly.
“Ye have a strong affection for the boy,” Randall said curiously.
“Aye, I like him well enough,” she replied coolly. “’Tis his oldest brother I have no fondness for.”
Randall threw his head back and laughed heartily. “Ye jest!”
He found her silence unnerving. His laughter finally faded.
Aeschene took a step toward him. “Laird, ye have no idea the hell that man has put me through since the day we were married.”
She could hear Richard making an attempt to speak her name. Marisse hadn’t been able to fully describe his condition. But severely beaten left little to the imagination. She wanted to run to him, to hold him and whisper sweet words. Soon enough, this would all be over. She could only pray he would last long enough to get through this.
“Black Richard MacCullough is a cruel, vile man. His mistreatment of me has known no bounds,” she continued. “From locking me away for days at a time, to being as cruel and harsh with his words as he was with his hands. He cares not of my comfort or wishes or needs; he cares only about himself.” Managing a tear wasn’t difficult for it tore at her heart to say such things about the man she loved more than anything else in this world. “Laird, I have been living a nightmare. Ye cannae begin to imagine my suffering.”
Randall was quiet for a long while, clearly thinking over what she was telling him. “But ye are with child.”
Choking on a sob, she swiped at the tears that fell down her cheeks. “I,” she swallowed hard, struggling with the words. “’Tis nae by my choosin’, laird. He took me against my will.”
“Black Richard MacCullough took ye against yer will?” He was incredulous.