Lachlan's Heart: Book Two of The MacCulloughs

by Suzan Tisdale

  His game was fear, she was certain of it. The madman wanted - nay needed - to see the abject terror in her eyes.

  Keevah refused to give that to him; she would die first.

  Although she was certain Lachlan was searching for her, she knew there was a strong possibility he would not find her in time. If that was the case, she would make what last few moments she had left as painful as possible for her attacker.

  “Why do ye not show yer face?” she asked into the darkness. “Are ye afraid?”

  “Ye will see my face soon enough, whore.”

  She laughed and shook her head. “Call me what ye like,” she said. “It matters not to me.”

  She was doing her best to sound brave, or at the very least, unafraid.

  What is he doin’? Keevah could hear shuffling sounds coming from her left. Or was it her right? She had no idea as the candle was too far away. Just a small glow to her left, towards her feet. Scraping sounds, as if he were arranging something on a table. Lord, how she wished she could see!

  Her mind raced for a way out, a way to get free. Or a way to prolong the inevitable until Lachlan found her. If he found her. The longer she stayed strapped to the table, the more she began to doubt she’d be found alive.

  Nay, she told her frightened heart. I will fight until the bitter end.

  The bindings were made of heavy leather; unbreakable. If she were to be freed, it would have to be by her captor’s hands. Or Lachlan’s. And she was growing far too impatient and angry to remained tied to a table waiting for rescue. Or death.

  Just as she had done in all the other very difficult times in her life, such as when they lost her father, and years later, her mother, she had to be strong, at that time for her brothers. And after their deaths? She had to be strong for herself.

  Brigid.

  The poor child had already lost the woman she knew as her mother. The only good thing in her life. Keevah refused to let her lose her replacement.

  “I need to empty my bladder,” she told him, trying to keep her tone as normal sounding as possible.

  “Then empty it.”

  “And ruin my pretty dress?” She hoped she didn’t sound like an idiot. Or afraid. Or insane.

  He ignored her request. More shuffling and scraping noises from the table.

  “What is yer name?” she asked, doing her best to maintain her feigned nonchalance and strength.

  More silence.

  “Have ye lived in Inverness long?” She was asking the questions as if she had just been introduced to a fine gentleman. Inside, her stomach was twisted into knots.

  “Do ye have family here?”

  He growled. “Be quiet.”

  She refused to obey the order. “’Tis awfully cold here. Could I have my cloak?”

  He banged something down on the table.

  “I really need to use the chamber pot.”

  When her request went unheeded, she said, “Are ye afraid I will escape?”

  He laughed.

  “Are ye afraid a wee thing like me could overpower ye?”

  Heavy footfalls echoed off the walls coming towards her. “I fear nothin’. God is with me.”

  ’Twas clearly evident that he was frustrated with her. He began yanking and pulling at the leather bonds and soon, her hands were free. She thanked him warmly, just to irritate him. A few quick tugs and pulls and her feet were free.

  Before she could do anything, he was standing behind her, his hard fingers digging into her arms. He said nothing as he pulled her down from the table. Needles of pain stabbed at her feet as her heart pounded against her breast.

  He began to drag her towards the table with the candle. ‘Twasn’t until she saw the contents of the table that real fear set in. ’Twas filled with countless knives, hammers, wooden clubs, and various other tools that were certainly meant to inflict pain.

  Her blood ran cold.

  Forcefully, he pushed her into the corner. “Do nae turn around,” he barked his order.

  Not brave enough just yet, she did as he said. Her breaths were ragged, and her stomach churned with fear and hatred. Moments later, he was thrusting a chamber pot into her hands.

  By the time Lachlan reached the river, his blood was boiling and rushing in his ears. He paused briefly in the middle of the narrow street that ran between the buildings and the river. The only sound he could hear was the pounding of his heart and the heated blood coursing through his veins.

  Taking in a deep breath, he closed his eyes for only the briefest moment. Willing his nerves to settle as if he were preparing for battle, knowing he’d need every one of his senses.

  Straining his ears, he could hear the river lapping lazily along the slightly frozen banks. A strong breeze rushed in from the west rustling bits of debris along the docks. Other than the sounds of the river, the breeze, and a few night creatures scurrying about, he could hear nothing.

  Holding his torch up, he carefully scrutinized the area. An empty street ahead to his left, the river to his right. Crates, barrels, and other cargo were stacked near the docks.

  Something, call it instinct or intuition, made the hair on the back of his head stand on end. She is here. He could feel it in every fiber of his being.

  Silently, he withdrew his sword and pushed his cloak over his shoulders. Cautiously, carefully, he took slow, measured steps down the street. He wasn’t about to wait for Murdoch and Ewan or the others.

  Keevah’s hands shook so hard she dropped the chamber pot. It clanged against the wooden floor and bounced once before hitting the wall.

  She expected her captor to admonish her for being loud. Instead, he laughed, that haunting, maniacal laugh. “’Twas a good thing ’twas empty, aye?”

  This was nothing but a game to him. A sick, twisted game whereby he instilled fear and terror into his victims.

  From somewhere deep inside, her fear and anger blended into strength. She squatted down and picked up the chamber pot. Slowly, she stood and righted her shoulders. “I cannae go with ye lookin’ at me.”

  Much to her relief, he did exactly as she had hoped. He was right behind her, so close that she could feel his hot breath on her neck. “I think I will watch.”

  Clutching the chamber pot in both hands, she spun around. As hard as she could, she swung it against the side of his face.

  He hadn’t expected her attack and stumbled sideways.

  Keevah dropped the chamber pot and lunged for the table. Panic stricken, she fumbled around until her fingers wrapped around the handle of one of the many knives. She grabbed it, fully prepared to kill him.

  Before she could do anything else, he had come up from behind her and shoved her hard against the table. The force of the push caused the knives and tools to jump and scatter.

  “Ye bloody whore!” he screamed as he grabbed a fistful of her hair and yanked her backwards.

  A guttural scream formed in her throat as she tried to pull away from him. The more she resisted, the more intense the pain. ’Twas next to impossible to think clearly.

  He was dragging her backwards, towards the table he’d had her strapped to before. She knew if he got her back to the table, she was as good as dead.

  Instead of pulling away, she planted her feet firmly on the floor and lunged backward against his body with all her might. Caught off guard, he slipped and they fell onto the floor.

  Keevah rolled sideways, never once letting go of the knife. She picked up her skirts in one hand and tried to find a door. Terrified, she began screaming as loud as she could.

  Lachlan was halfway down the block when Murdoch, Ewan, and the other men approached. He raised his torch and signaled for them to be quiet. They paused, withdrew their swords, and approached him as quietly and ask quickly as possible. None said a word as they slowly and silently searched their surroundings.

  They’d just reached the end of the block when they heard Keevah’s blood-curdling screams. All heads spun towards the sound. They were coming from one of the tal
l buildings in the center of the block.

  With his heart racing, Lachlan ran back towards the terrifying screams. He was certain they were coming from the top floor. He tried opening the door but ’twas locked. Raising one heavy booted foot, he kicked at the door once, then again. It crashed open, splinters of wood flying in all directions.

  A few feet ahead was a set of wooden stairs. He took the steps two at a time as he called out her name. “Keevah! Keevah!”

  When they reached the second floor landing they could hear a loud crash coming from above stairs. As fast as lightning Lachlan’s feet barely touched the steps.

  They spilled onto the landing and found a door on either side and one straight ahead. Uncertain which door to open, they began crashing through all three.

  The door! She’d found the door!

  Just as she reached out to grab the handle, his arms were around her waist, pulling her back again. “Ye filthy whore!” he seethed. “Ye are a dead woman, Keevah! I am going to slice ye into a thousand bloody pieces!”

  She screamed again, louder and louder as he lifted her off the ground. She kicked and kicked until she remembered the knife in her hand. With a panic-stricken heart, she turned the knife over in her palm and thrust it backwards.

  He screamed in agony as the knife tore through the flesh of his thigh. Keevah pulled it out and thrust it again and yet again, until his grip loosened. Covered in blood, the knife slipped from her hands.

  Once again, they fell to the floor.

  Scrambling to her feet, she didn’t bother searching for the weapon. She knew she had to get to the door. If she could just get out of the room, she could run for help.

  Just as she was racing toward freedom, she heard a loud bang coming from outside. Torchlight spilled into the space as a shadow stood in the doorway.

  It all happened so fast it made her head spin.

  The door flung open, banging against the wall just as her attacker wrapped a heavy arm around her neck and began pulling her back. This time, he put a dirk against her neck. “Stop!” he yelled at the shadowy figure. “I will slice her throat if ye take another step!”

  The next sound she heard made her heart seize with joy and relief. “Ye will be dead before yer bloody body hits the floor.”

  The sound of Lachlan’s voice was all she needed in order to continue to fight. She grabbed his arm with both hands and bit down as hard as she could.

  That was all Lachlan needed in order to send the bloody bastard to the bowels of hell.

  As the Inverness Slasher growled with pain, he let Keevah fall to the floor. In two large, furious strides, Lachlan was upon him.

  “Dunnae kill him!” Ewan screamed from behind.

  Lachlan thought ’twas the most insane and ridiculous thing he’d ever heard. Ignoring the plea, Lachlan thrust his sword deep into the man’s gut.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Keevah didn’t remember falling into Lachlan’s arms. She didn’t remember the long, quiet walk back to the Tickled Pickle or drinking the sleeping draught the healer had given her.

  She slept like the dead until the following evening. Lachlan never once left her side. Neither did Brigid.

  When she finally woke, every muscle in her body ached. Even opening her eyes was a challenge. Her head swam and the room spun and for the briefest moment she was certain she was back in that cold, dark, musty room.

  Closing her eyes, she took in slow breaths. When her nausea subsided, she opened her eyes again. When her vision cleared, she saw Lachlan’s beautiful, handsome face. He was leaning over the bed, holding her hand and smoothing loose strands of hair from her forehead. She let out a long, heavy, relieved breath right before tears filled her eyes.

  “Wheest, lass,” he whispered warmly. “Ye are safe.”

  “Is he dead?” It hurt to speak, her voice sounded scratchy and hoarse.

  Lachlan nodded as he gave her hand a gentle squeeze.

  Brigid climbed onto the bed and squeezed in beside her. “Did ye send the bad man to hell with my da?” she asked in a most serious tone.

  Lachlan looked at Keevah, silently asking for permission to answer the child’s question. Keevah gave a slow, tired nod.

  “The bad man is dead,” he told her.

  “Good,” Brigid replied before asking, “Did ye hit his head like Mr. MacElany hit da?”

  “Brigid, let us nae talk about that right now,” Lachlan said. “Keevah needs to rest.”

  Keevah was glad he’d put a stop to the conversation. “Water,” she scratched out as she pointed to her throat. Moments later, he was holding her head and putting a cup to her lips. ’Twas truly painful to swallow, but her mouth felt as dry as dust.

  She heard Euphemie’s voice coming from near the door. “Brigid, lets ye and I go below stairs and see what Bessie is fixin’ for our supper?”

  Reluctantly, Brigid climbed down from the bed. Lachlan waited until the door clicked behind them before turning his attention back to Keevah.

  “I ken ye’re in some pain, lass,” he said as he took a gentle hold of her hand.

  “Aye,” she managed to scratch out.

  “I also ken it pains ye to speak.”

  She nodded her affirmation.

  “Good,” he smiled. “So ye can do naught but listen.”

  Here it comes, she thought. He is bloody furious and who can blame him?

  “The gravediggers were here,” he told her. “The ground is still frozen. We have two choices, Keevah. We can come back in the spring or we can take Kiernan with us. Either way, we will be leavin’ Inverness just as soon as ye are able to ride.”

  He certainly didn’t sound angry. Nay, his voice was filled with nothing but warmth. “But on the morrow, ye and I will stand before a priest and we will be wed.”

  Her eyes flew open. Had she the strength to, she would have argued against it. But then she looked into those warm brown eyes and saw nothing but love and a good deal of determination.

  “As soon as I realized ye’d been taken by that madman—” his voice cracked ever so slightly. “Keevah, my world came undone. I cannae live this life without ye in it. Ye either marry me on the morrow, or I will wade into the River Ness and let my body be washed out to sea.”

  There was no doubt in her mind that he was serious.

  “I love ye, Keevah. With every fiber of my being, with every bit of my soul, I love ye. I want no other.”

  She tried to speak but he stopped her. “Please, do nae say I need a better woman,” he said. “There is no better, finer woman in all the world than ye.”

  Again, she tried to speak but he wouldn’t allow her to. “I ken yer past is important to ye. Euphemie has helped me to see that. When I say it matters nae to me, what I mean is that no matter what yer past is, I love ye. The woman ye are now.”

  She couldn’t hold onto her tears any longer. They trailed down her cheeks.

  “I also ken that Brigid is yers. When ye are stronger, we will talk about that. But for now, please ken my heart. We will raise her together as our own. And if ye and God are willin’, we will give her many brothers and sisters. I will nae live the rest of my life without ye or Brigid in it.”

  She swallowed hard and tried to speak. This time, when he stopped her, she shook her head. “I am tryin’ to say aye, if ye’ll listen.”

  It took a moment for the words to sink in. When the realization that she was finally accepting his proposal set in, he smiled so broadly and brightly, ’twas like balm to her spirits.

  “Ye will marry me then?” he asked, just to be certain.

  “Aye,” she smiled up at him. “Aye.”

  They were wed the following morning.

  Murdoch stood as his best man. The other men stood behind him, but very few of them were paying attention to the ceremony. They were too busy looking at Euphemie’s ‘ladies’: a dozen beautiful women dressed in their finest gowns. Charles, as always, stood as sentry at the entry door.

  One of the ladies had loaned Keev
ah a beautiful, midnight blue gown. Four of them had spent nearly two hours styling her hair. Braided around the top of her scalp, loose tendrils fell down her back. They had affixed tiny, blue and white dried flowers throughout her black locks.

  Lachlan had never seen her looking so regal or happy.

  Brigid stood next to Keevah, smiling throughout the ceremony. ‘Twasn’t that she truly cared about the wedding. Nay, she was looking forward to the sweet cakes Bessie had promised her earlier. She was also filled with anticipation of the adventure of traveling across the highlands on horseback to her new home.

  “I love ye, Keevah. I promise to love, honor, protect, and cherish ye all the rest of my days,” Lachlan promised before the priest.

  Brigid tugged on his tunic. “Me too?” she asked. Those crowded around them laughed quietly at her innocent question.

  He smiled, patted her head and said, “Aye, lassie. I promise ye as well.”

  Keevah gave him the words of her own heart. “I love ye, Lachlan MacCullough. With all that I am. I promise to love, honor, protect, and cherish ye all the rest of my days.

  The priest said a prayer over them, made the sign of the cross, and then gave Lachlan permission to kiss his bride.

  Gently, he lowered his head and pressed his lips to hers. Warm, sweet, and tender. The room erupted into applause, bringing the kiss to a halt.

  Lachlan had refused Euphemie’s offer to spend their wedding night in her opulently appointed room. Instead, he’d procured a room at the inn down the street.

  As soon as they finished the wedding feast Bessie had so thoughtfully prepared, they said their goodbyes, gave their thanks to Euphemie and Charles, and left the Tickled Pickle behind them.

  Night had yet to fall when Brigid finally, blessedly fell asleep. Lachlan had carried her to the little cot near the brazier and gently covered her with a warm fur.

  The newly formed family had spent the better part of the day tucked away in a quiet room at the inn. Enjoying one another’s company, they had played games and told stories; simple things that meant everything to Keevah.