Lachlan's Heart: Book Two of The MacCulloughs

by Suzan Tisdale

  “What about those in the dungeon?” Fergus asked.

  “Them as well.”

  With a nod, Fergus left to do his laird’s bidding. But not before securely tying Murdoch to his chair.

  “Ye will ne’er get them to accept ye,” Murdoch called out from his seat near the dais.

  Lachlan wanted to wipe the smirk off the man’s face but maintained control of his temper. But just barely. “Then they will suffer the consequences.”

  Lachlan went about giving more orders. “Find out who the steward is and bring him to me,” he told Jamie. “I also want the kitchen staff brought to me.”

  Jamie gave a nod of his head and left the gathering room to see to the tasks.

  “Ye should leave now,” Murdoch said. “While yer head is still attached to yer shoulders.”

  Lachlan ignored him as he took a seat at the dais. With his arms behind his head and his feet upon the table, he waited patiently for those he’d summoned to arrive. He made a mental list of all the things that needed to be done. First and foremost at the moment would be finding the steward and the Chisolm coffers.

  The courtyard was filled with Chisolms, all eager to get a glimpse of their captors. Nary a one of them considered the MacCulloughs as rightful laird, chief, or master. ’Twas clearly apparent by the scornful glares and hostility aimed at the MacCullough, McDunnah, and MacDougal men.

  Even after Jamie came to tell him all were assembled, Lachlan remained in the gathering room. Murdoch had been silent for the past hour, pretending to have fallen asleep. Lachlan didn’t believe it for a moment. No doubt the man was listening to every word whispered or openly spoken, trying to size up Lachlan and his men. He’d be doing the very same were their roles reversed.

  After waiting what he considered to be a goodly amount of time, Lachlan ordered Murdoch released and taken to the courtyard with the others.

  “Keep a close eye on him and his men,” he whispered to Fergus.

  Lachlan waited a few moments more before leaving the gathering room. The tall exterior doors were open and he could see the crowd.

  These are my people, he thought. They just dinnae realize it yet.

  He stepped to the edge of the wide landing and looked out at the gathering.

  “I am Lachlan MacCullough, cousin to Black Richard MacCullough,” he called out to the throng of people. “I act in Black Richard’s stead. I am yer new laird and chief.”

  “Ye are nae my laird!” someone called out from the middle of the group. The group applauded and shouted their agreements.

  “And where is Black Richard?” Someone else shouted. “Be he too much of a coward to show his face here?”

  ’Twas one of the MacDougall men who stepped forward to answer the man’s insult. He pushed the man to the damp earth. “Would ye be brave enough to say that to his face?”

  Stunned into muteness, the man lay on the ground staring up at him.

  Insulted by what they perceived to be mistreatment, the crowd began clamoring and moving toward the MacDougall warrior. For every Chisolm who stepped forward, another of Lachlan’s men responded. Soon a wall of warriors were in place, shouting threats to the horde.

  “Enough!” Lachlan shouted from atop the steps.

  He needed only call the order once. The crowd quieted and turned their attention back to Lachlan.

  “I act in Richard’s stead,” Lachlan began. “Richard is meeting with the King.”

  He didn’t believe he owed any of them an explanation as to where Richard was. However, if he mentioned Richard’s impending meeting with David II, he felt it might add some validity to their claim against the Chisolms.

  “What right do ye have to take our lands?” someone else shouted.

  He felt his temper rising but would not fall prey to it. These people were trying to goad him into acting like a menacing fool. “By the laws of war,” he called out his answer.

  A low murmur began to grow. If he didn’t get matters into hand now, he never would.

  “Unlike yer former lairds, we dunnae kill innocents. We dunnae slaughter the defenseless,” Lachlan shouted over the din. He was hoping to quell the murmurs. Instead, they only grew.

  “Maitland would never do such a thing!” one person shouted. “And neither would Randall!” someone else shouted.

  Taking in a deep breath, Lachlan shouted down the crowd. “Unlike the treatment yer former lairds gave our people, ye will be given a choice.”

  Hundreds of curious people stared back at him.

  “Ye may stay or ye may go.”

  He gave his statement a moment to sink in. “If ye stay, ye will swear yer fealty to the MacCullough. Ye will be afforded the protection of the MacCullough clan and its allies.”

  “Bah! We already have allies!” a voice called out.

  “If ye mean the Farquars,” Lachlan said, searching for the man who protested, “their allegiance can only be purchased.” He found the man in question, and looked at him directly. “They have already fled. If ye mean the MacGregors, we have an emissary meeting with their laird right now. If ye mean the MacRays, they have already sworn their allegiance to the MacCulloughs. That leaves ye with no one.”

  A low murmur washed over the large crowd. ’Twas apparent from some of the confused expressions staring back at him, that they were unaware of this bit of information.

  “The MacCulloughs have the might of the McDunnahs, the MacDougalls, the MacRays, as well as the Mackintoshes and Grahams to stand behind them.” He didn’t bother explaining that their primary goal was a united Scotland.

  “If ye wish to leave, ye may leave. Ye may take yer personal belongins with ye but ye will forever be banned from returning to these lands.”

  Lachlan gave one final, slow look at the people below. “Ye have one hour to make yer decision. If ye decide to leave, ye must be gone by the noonin’ hour. If ye stay, ye will come to me to declare yer fealty.”

  And with that, he spun around and went back into the keep.

  Chapter Four

  It had been days since Keevah had slept and she was not alone in her exhaustion. ‘Twasn’t just her thoughts of Lachlan that kept her awake. Each night, the entire keep was awakened to the sounds of Colyne’s plaintive wails - screams caused by nightmares. Nightmares he swore he could not recall.

  But Keevah doubted the boy was being honest with anyone, least of all himself. No, she was quite certain he could remember every vivid detail of the dreams that haunted him. But for an 11-year-old child, it was difficult at times, to face the truth.

  ’Twas just as difficult for the adults in the keep to face it. Aeschene would sit with him, night after night, holding his hand, soothing him back to sleep.

  Richard, although he was still healing from the beating he’d received during his time as a prisoner of Randall Chisolm, paced back and forth, night after night, waiting for the screams to begin. Richard remembered all too well the time in his life when nightmares haunted him. His heart ached for his youngest brother.

  Raibeart paced right along with him.

  What no one seemed to be doing was talking to the child during the daylight hours. To Keevah’s way of thinking, that was, mayhap, not the best route to take. She believed that one needed to face a problem head on rather than sweep it away as if it didn’t exist.

  A week had passed with no improvement.

  After breaking their fast on this bright, crisp November morn, she was able to convince Colyne to leave the keep under the guise of needing his help to retrieve her yarn. ’Twas not easy getting him to agree to help and not because he didn’t wish to. The lad was simply too afraid to leave the safe confines of his home.

  “I promise ye we will nae be long,” she told him. ’Twas only after she told him he could carry her sgian dubh that he finally agreed.

  They walked in silence through the courtyard. They paused just outside the gates whilst Colyne carefully studied the landscape around them.

  “Black Richard has tripled the guar
d,” she told him encouragingly. “And now that we own the Chisolm keep and all their holdings, I doubt we shall run into any trouble.”

  He gave the matter some thought before nodding his head and taking that first, all important step forward. Keevah gave him a warm smile and a reassuring pat on his shoulder.

  As they took the path, with Colyne’s eyes piercing their surroundings, Keevah felt certain her earlier assumptions had been correct.

  They walked in silence the remainder of the way to her cottage. She opened the door and allowed Colyne to step inside first.

  There was a week’s worth of dust lining those possessions she had left behind; her bed, her little table and stool, as well as her kitchen accouterments.

  Days ago, Richard had sent three of his men with her to retrieve her loom. It now sat near the hearth in the gathering room. She had also gathered most of her yarn and she had been too busy since to come back for the rest.

  “Colyne, would ye mind if we sat and talked for a moment?” she asked as she sat on the stool next to the cold brazier.

  Worry flashed in his eyes. She could see that he wanted nothing more than to hurry back to the keep. “I promise, we will nae tarry long. I simply want to talk to ye.”

  He raised a dubious brow. “Talk to me?”

  “Aye,” she smiled warmly. “I want to talk about the bad dreams ye have been having.”

  He shrugged his shoulders and diverted his gaze, a habit that was becoming increasingly irksome. “I cannae remember them. Please, can we go back now?”

  “Colyne, ’tis all right for ye to be afraid. I reckon I’d be havin’ bad dreams of my own had I gone through what ye did.”

  He remained silent and continued to stare at his feet.

  “Mayhap if ye were to talk about it, ye might feel better.”

  “What is there to talk about?” he murmured. “Because of me, me brothers almost died.”

  “Because of ye?” she shook her head. “Nay, Colyne, ye did nothin’ wrong.”

  Anger began to bubble up to the surface. “Had I stayed closer to the keep instead of lookin’ for that stupid treasure, no one would have gotten hurt!”

  “Oh, Colyne, lad, that is nae true. People were hurt because of what Randall Chisolm did. People were hurt because of that man’s black heart.”

  He glowered at her angrily. “They were hurt because of me!”

  Keevah rushed across the floor and pulled him into her bosom. “Nay, Colyne. I swear to ye that is nae true. If ye dunnae believe me, ye should ask Richard.”

  Tears began to fall down his cheeks. “He hates me. So does Raibeart,” he cried against her chest.

  Her heart cracked at his anguish. “No one hates ye, lad.”

  “Aye, they do!” he cried. “They are just too polite to say it.”

  She could not resist the urge to laugh. “Polite? Black Richard? Raibeart?” she shook her head. “I have never heard anyone accuse either of them of bein’ polite.”

  He didn’t find her statement amusing and told her so.

  Crouching down, she took him by his shoulders and looked directly into his eyes. “Listen to me, Colyne. Ye did nothin’ wrong. No one hates ye. We all love and adore ye.”

  He wiped his tears away with the palms of his hands. “But-”

  “But nothin’,” she interrupted, refusing to listen to his argument. “Ye did nothin’ wrong, lad. Not a thing. Have I ever lied to ye?”

  Scrunching his brow, he thought on it for a long moment. “Nay,” he admitted solemnly.

  “Now, I will not have ye worryin’ over this any longer. Ye, lad, are loved beyond measure. This, I promise to ye. When ye are older, ye will be better able to understand all that has happened to ye. But for now, will ye please try to set yer worry aside?”

  He smiled, not quite as bright and innocent as before, but at least he smiled. “Aye, Keevah, I promise.”

  October had come and gone with quiet ease. The remnants of autumn with its vibrant shades of crimson, goldenrod, and burgundy now peeked through the dust of the first snow.

  It had been more than a month since Keevah had last seen Lachlan, his promise to return home in a sennight not kept. Deep down, she knew she shouldn’t have expected him to be able to keep that promise, for he was far too busy still trying to bring the Chisolms to heel.

  He had sent missives to Richard, updating him on the progress he was making, which, according to the bits and pieces Aeschene shared with her, was not much. ’Twas important business he was tending to and it sounded as though he was exceedingly busy and occupied.

  Keevah hadn’t changed her mind about declining his marriage proposal. Nay, that was still out of the question. Still, she had hoped that once, just once, he might have inserted a small message, just for her. While she couldn’t have read that message to save her life, she would have relished knowing he was at least thinking of her. She certainly couldn’t get him out of her mind no matter how hard she tried.

  Her days were spent being Aeschene’s eyes; helping her get from one place to another within the keep. Truly, she enjoyed the woman’s company, nay, her friendship and was glad for it.

  Richard’s and Raibeart’s injuries from their ordeal with Randall Chisolm’s men had long ago healed. Colyne was making progress as well. Speaking to his brothers and gaining their reassurance that he was not to blame for what had happened with the Randall had done wonders for the boy’s spirit.

  Still, he held on to the fear of stepping beyond the walls of their keep. No longer did he play with the other children. Instead, he kept inside. Each afternoon he spent with Marisse who now acted as his tutor. She marveled on more than one occasion on his progress. “He reads better than I,” she told Richard and Aeschene one chilly winter day. “And he is wicked with his cypherin’. I’ve never seen the like before.”

  No one was more proud than Richard. While he was still greatly concerned over Colyne’s refusal to play with the other children or to go more than a few feet beyond the doors of the keep, he was mightily proud of the lad’s intelligence.

  Richard waited until Marisse had left for the day before pulling Colyne into his private study.

  “Am I in trouble?” Colyne asked sheepishly.

  “Nay,” Richard replied with a fond smile.

  “Ye usually only bring me here when I have done somethin’ wrong,” Colyne politely reminded him.

  “I believe yer mischief-filled days are long gone, are they nae?”

  Colyne nodded as he glanced about the room nervously.

  “I brought ye here to tell ye how verra proud I am of ye,” Richard began as he leaned back in his chair. “Of all the MacCullough men, out of all my brothers, ye seem to be the only one who could master his studies.”

  Colyne looked at him as if to say he thought he was mad, or over exaggerating.

  “’Tis true,” Richard said. “Marisse claims ye to be intelligent beyond yer years.”

  “It really is nae that hard,” he said with a roll of his eyes.

  “Mayhap for ye it is easy, but not everyone can claim such,” he said.

  They sat in silence for a short time, with Colyne fidgeting in his seat.

  “Colyne, I think it is time ye start yer trainin’.”

  His head shot up so fast Richard was surprised it didn’t give him an ache. His mouth fell open and his eyes widened.

  “On the morrow, ye shall train with Raibeart and I, in the courtyard.”

  “But I thought I had to wait until I was older?” he exclaimed.

  Richard chuckled. “I said that at a time when ye were still behavin’ like a hellion. Ye have changed these past few months, and for the better.”

  Colyne’s face fell as it burned crimson. Lowering his head, he said, “I lost my sword.”

  “Yer wooden one?” Richard asked.

  He gave a curt nod. “When the Chisolms took us. I broke it when I hit the Chisolm in his head.”

  Richard threw his head back and laughed heartily. “Och,
lad, ye will make a verra fine warrior.”

  Scrunching his brow, Colyne asked what he meant by that.

  “Ye defended yerself, Colyne. Ye fought a man twice as old and twice as strong as ye. And ye broke yer wooden sword over his skull. I could nae be more proud.”

  Richard could have given an entire slew of reasons why he was choosing to start Colyne’s training early. But the most important one was to give the young boy the confidence he needed to face his demons. And if there was one thing Richard knew all too well, it was fighting demons. ’Twas bad enough to do as a man full-grown. He could only imagine the torment his younger brother was suffering.

  “We begin on the morrow,” Richard informed him. “Do ye think ye are ready?”

  Colyne thought long and hard before giving a nod of his head. “Aye, Richard, I think I am.”

  Truth be told, Colyne wasn’t sure he was ready to begin his training. But if the man he admired most in this world felt he was, then, he supposed, that had to mean something.

  He spent the remainder of the afternoon in his room, staring out the window. Raibeart had recovered nicely from his injuries and was off doing whatever it was his brother was fond of doing lately.

  Colyne missed the old Raibeart. The brother who, until a few months ago, was his closest friend and confidant. For as long as he could remember, he and Raibeart never spent a moment apart. After the deaths of his father and other brothers, all they had were each other. Richard was too busy fending off starvation for their clan to spend any amount of time with them. Truly, Colyne didn’t blame Richard for any of it. He understood that as chief, Richard’s first duty was to his people.

  So he and Raibeart were often left to their own devices, to raise themselves.

  In trouble far more often than not, it didn’t matter as long as the two of them were together.

  But everything had changed when Richard married Aeschene.

  Aye, most of it was for the better. No longer did they feel like outcasts in their own clan. Nay, each of them finally felt like they had a purpose and that they belonged.