harsh, his words clipped.
“With hidin’ away in yer room, lost in whatever black abyss ye’ve tossed yerself into.”
In no mood to discuss anything, let alone his foul mood, Black Richard glowered at his cousin. “Leave me,” he ground out.
Lachlan, unfazed by Black Richard, chuckled. “I think nae,” he replied. “The clan needs ye. Now more than ever.”
’Twas morbid curiosity alone that made him ask what he meant by now more than ever.
Lachlan gave him a look that said he questioned Black Richard’s state of mind. Puffing out his cheeks, he let his breath out in a rush. “In case ye have forgotten, ye are the chief of this clan now.”
“I was never meant to be chief,” Richard reminded him. His brother Cullom, the first-born son, was to have held that title. But he was now dead.
“Be that as it may, lad, ye are the chief now. And it is high time ye started actin’ like one.”
Never had Black Richard possessed the desire to be chief. He was fifth in line, and the thought that he might someday hold that position had never occurred to him.
After the first attack — the one where half the clan was slaughtered and their ancestral home taken from them by Maitland Chisolm — Richard had returned home at the behest of his father. Not their ancestral home or MacCullough lands, however. Nay, they were given a place to live by the MacCallum clan, their friends and allies for decades. The MacCullough clan had gone from more than five hundred strong, to one hundred and seventy-eight left, including his father and brothers. Now, they numbered one hundred and seven.
“I have no desire to be chief,” he told him. Silently, he wondered why it made is gut roil to say it out loud.
“Yer father would be rollin’ in his grave to hear ye say such,” Lachlan said.
And there was his answer. If his father could see him now, he would undoubtedly be ashamed.
“It matters not what ye want. Ye are now chief. ’Tis up to ye to bring this clan together, to help rebuild all that Maitland Chisolm destroyed these past years.”
He knew that Lachlan spoke nothing but the truth. Colyne and Raibeart were far too young to take their father’s place. There was no one but Richard now.
“Since yer father’s death, it has been me and Donald holdin’ this clan together,” Lachlan said, leaning in close and speaking in a low, most serious tone. “We have done all that we can, Richard. We have brought everyone back from the MacCallum holding. Anyone who is left anyway. They worry we will not have enough food to see us through the winter. They worry the MacRays or the Farquars will attack us next.”
Richard lifted his head at the mention of those two names. “I would nae put it past either one of them to attack while we are at our weakest,” he said.
“If they do attack, we will not be able to defend ourselves for long,” Lachlan said. His tone was growing far more serious. “Donald and I have done our best to ease the clan’s worries, but they need ye. They need to ken their chief will protect them, no matter what.”
Their chief. A scarred, broken man, who, months after nearly dying, still prayed for his own death. What kind of chief could he be to them?
“We did not fight all these years,” Lachlan began solemnly, “nor did we fight for three solid days, losing all those men —including yer father and brothers — only to have it all taken away from us by the likes of the MacRays or Farquars or Chisolms.”
Richard studied him closely for a long moment, all the while his stomach churned and his anger burned.
“If that be the case, we might as well all pack our things and hand the keys back over to the Chisolms.”
For the first time in a very long while, Black Richard heard a voice that had become unfamiliar to him. ’Twas filled with strength and fierce determination. “’Twill be over my dead body!”
Chapter Two
Spring 1361, Highlands of Scotland
The MacRays.
Just thinking the name left a foul and bitter taste in Black Richard’s mouth. Garrin MacRay, chief and laird, had at one time been an ally to the MacCulloughs. But for reasons neither Black Richard nor his father, Galen, could ever reason out, they had joined forces with the Chisolms.
Although the cowards had stopped in joining the fateful raid those many years ago, as far as Black Richard was