Black Richard's Heart (The MacCulloughs #1) - Suzan Tisdale Page 0,160

pouring out of his keep, flying down the stairs like water spilling from a bowl.

The courtyard was soon filled near to bursting with MacCullough, McDunnah, and MacDougall warriors. ’Twas a cacophony of metal against metal, grunts, groans, curses, breaking bones, and tearing flesh.

Richard looked toward the gate in search of his wife, but she was nowhere to be seen. The platform was empty. Worry erupted in his heart, but there was no time to think; he could only fight.

He and Rory jumped from the platform into the crowd, fighting back to back against their foes. Exhausted from the torment and hell he’d endured the past fortnight and with his eyes still half swollen made fighting difficult. Not impossible, just difficult.

He gutted two men, sliced the throat of a third, as he made his way through the crowd. Men fell left and right, and soon the ground was littered with dead and dying men. The gray blue cobblestones had quickly turned crimson with the blood of his enemies. Arrows found their marks, in hearts, guts, and limbs. Men continued to fall, one after the other.

He felt someone fall against his back. With his sword at the ready, he spun around to find Lachlan. “Where is Aeschene?” he called out over the din of battle.

“She is safe!” he shouted back as he fought against one of the Chisolms.

Knowing his wife was no longer in danger fueled his unbridled need for vengeance. If he died this day, so be it. At least he would die fighting.

For nearly an hour, they fought hard and with fierce determination. Felling one enemy after another, until there were only a handful of Chisolms were left; and they were begging for mercy.

By the time the battle was over, Richard’s arms felt as heavy as lead anvils. He was covered in sweat and blood, most of it from his enemies. He’d suffered only one minor injury: a cut to his upper sword arm.

As the remaining Chisolm warriors threw down their swords, Richard stood near the steps to his keep. His cobblestone courtyard was littered with bodies. So many dead Chisolms and a few were close to dying.

Out of breath, his heart pounding ferociously against his chest, he looked for Randall Chisolm. His heart began to sink when his cursory scan for the bloody fool came up empty. He couldn’t imagine the Chisolm fighting to the death; the man was too much of a coward.

“Would ye happen to be lookin’ for this?” Came Angus’s voice from somewhere behind him.

Richard turned around only to find Angus and Duncan coming his way. And they each had a tight hold on Randall Chisolm. His hands had been bound in shackles and he’d been gagged with a length of cloth. A fine trickle of blood flowed down the left side of his face from a cut to his forehead. But what Richard enjoyed seeing most was the utter fear in the man’s eyes. Unmistakable, undeniable, unfettered fear.

“What would ye like us to do with the son of a whore?” Angus asked.

“Gut him?” Duncan suggested lightly.

Angus handed the prisoner off to one of his men before wrapping Richard in a bear hug. God’s teeth, the man was still as strong as an ox. After Angus released his tight hold, Duncan slapped him on his back and smiled. “’Tis bloody good to see ye,” Richard said. He was unable to quash his smile at seeing his old friends. Time had been good to both men. Duncan was just as handsome as he’d ever been, maybe a bit thicker in his middle. Angus’s once blonde hair was now white, with just a hint of silver to it. Just as tall, just as strong, and just as quick witted as Richard remembered.

Turning his attention back to Randall Chisolm, who was trying to speak through the gag, he studied him briefly. Everything bad that had happened to him and his clan this past several years, happened because of the Chisolms. It started with Maitland, but it would end with Randall. He would show him no mercy for the man certainly hadn’t show his people any.

“Hang him.”

Randall Chisolm was dead. Hanged in the noose that had been meant for the MacCullough laird.

Richard found he rather liked the poetic justice of it all. The man who had tormented his people for years had finally received exactly what he deserved.

He, Lachlan, Rory, and Raibeart stood in silence as they watched the lifeless body of their tormentor sway to and fro. ’Twas a