“’Twas no doubt the Farquars,” Traigh said the moment he saw Black Richard. “The sons of whores have been seen many times these past weeks, near our northern border.”
Until today, the Farquars had done naught more than appear near the border, looking menacing and hurling insults to the MacCullough men who patrolled the area. Although Black Richard had been anticipating an attack, he hadn’t thought they were foolish enough to attack an innocent farmer.
“Andrew, can ye tell me what happened?”
The boy nodded once and wiped his nose on his sleeve. “Da and I were tendin’ to the fields when we saw about ten men come over the hill. They was goin’ slow at first, as if they was just out for a ride.” His little blue eyes began to fill with tears as he recounted the events of the morn. But he braved through it, taking in a deep breath to fight back the tears. “Then of a sudden, one of them whistled, let out a war cry, and ’twas all a blur after that. They came ridin’ in to the field, swords drawn, shoutin’ and bellerin’ to beat the moon.”
Black Richard placed a comforting hand on the boy’s shoulder and urged him to continue.
“Mairi and Liza heard the ruckus and came runnin’ from our croft. The men saw them, my sisters. Three or four of them went ridin’ after them, whilst the others fought with da to keep him from gettin’ to them first.” A tear fell down his round cheek. “I do not ken what they did to Mairi,” he said, his voice cracking on unshed tears. “But one of them grabbed her and rode off while the others went after the cattle.”
Traigh shook his head, his eyes filled with sorrow and anger. “They made off with all three of Abel’s cattle. The lad says he could hear Mairi screamin’ as they rode away.”
This was the last thing they needed, today of all days. Letting loose a frustrated breath, he gave the lad’s shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “We will get Mairi back,” he told the boy. “Ye will stay here with Donald and me brothers for now.”
Lachlan and Rory had been quiet until then. “How many men do ye want to go with ye?” Lachlan asked.
Worried this could all be a ruse to leave the keep open for attack, Black Richard made a decision. “I want ye to stay here and protect the keep,” he told Lachlan. “Rory, ye will go with Traigh and I.”
Lachlan’s eyes grew wide. “Only three of ye?” he asked incredulously.
“Nay, I shall take five more men with us. But I need ye to stay here and protect me keep and wife. I do not ken if this be a ploy to get as many men away from the keep as possible.”
Lachlan understood then, his laird’s intentions and gave a nod of approval.
“I want everyone moved inside the keep,” Black Richard said. “Bring the animals into the bailey as well. Make sure everyone is armed and at the ready.”
“Shall I send word to our patrols as well?”
“Aye,” Black Richard replied. “I fear we may be on the verge of war.”
War was not a word to be used lightly. ’Twas an ugly word that made any Highland Chief worthy of his title to cringe with dread. The last thing Black Richard wanted at the moment was to be in a full out war with the Farquars. Or anyone else for that matter. His clan was simply not big enough or ready enough at the moment to declare war with their enemies.
But the taking of Mairi MacCullough was an action that could not be ignored.
The Farquars were the kind of clan who were always at the back of any fracas, cheering on whomever they believed would be the victor, or, whomever had paid them the most gold. Their allegiances were to those who paid. Treaties and oaths be damned.
For them to steal cattle was not a surprise, for they were well known to be thieves. However, for them to attack and take a prisoner was out of character in so far as they would not have done such a thing on their own. Nay, more likely than not they had been paid to do such by someone with plenty of coin to spare. ’Twas either the MacRays or the Chisolms who were truly behind these evil deeds.
Black Richard had known the treaty of peace with the MacRay wouldn’t last long. Something in his gut told him the MacRay was behind this attack. More likely than not, he had paid the Farquars to attack in order to keep his own hands clean.
If they had not taken Mairi MacCullough, Black Richard would have ignored it in so much as they would have simply rieved the cattle back. But the life of an innocent girl of five and ten was at stake. He could not in good conscience simply leave her to her fate.
With six men riding with him, Black Richard thundered through the gates of his keep and headed north, in search of Farquars and Abel MacCullough’s daughter.
Silently, he prayed that no true harm had been done to Mairi. If she had been hurt he doubted he would be able to keep his clan from revenge.
In less than an hour Black Richard and his men reached Abel’s farm. It sat a little under a mile from their northwestern border, on flat land with rich soil. A wide stream ran through the eastern edge, making it a perfect place in which to grow barley and wheat.
As he and his men rode down the path leading up to the croft, the hair on the back of his head stood on end. An eerie silence had fallen over the place. The cattle that would normally have been grazing in the glen had been stolen. But there were also no chickens pecking at the dirt. Not even a lamb could be heard bleating in the distance. No smoke billowed through the chimney.
A heavy sense of doom and dread filled his gut as he scanned the area for any sign of life.
“Check the croft,” Black Richard ordered Traigh as he dismounted. “Rory, ye and the others fan out. Abel and Liza must be here somewhere.”
While Traigh went inside the croft, Black Richard went into the small barn attached to it. Where there should have been chickens and a milk cow, there was naught but an empty stall and nests. Overhead, was a small loft, filled with straw. He was about to leave when he heard a slight rustling above.
On the off chance ’twas not Abel or his daughter, he withdrew his sword slowly, careful not to let the steel scrape against the sheath. Bracing himself, he studied the loft carefully for a long moment. “Abel? Be that ye?” he called to whomever was above.
He received no reply.
“Whoever ye be, make yerself known at once,” he said, his voice even and firm.
’Twas then he heard a soft whimper.
Believing mayhap that Abel had been injured and had hidden himself above, Black Richard took to the wooden ladder, keeping his sword at the ready. Cautiously, in case his instinct was incorrect, he rose up the ladder until he could see inside. The shutters had been closed over the small window on the north side of the space. ’Twas dark, save for a tiny beam of light streaming in through a crack in the wall.
In the far corner, in the shadows, he could hear the slight rustle again. “Abel? Be that ye?” he whispered. “’Tis me, Black Richard.”
As soon as he identified himself, the person within began tossing the hay away in hurried fashion. A moment later, he saw the terrified eyes of Liza MacCullough peering through. “Black Richard!” she exclaimed as the tears fell from her eyes.
Black Richard climbed the rest of the way up. Her blonde hair was mussed, with little bits of hay sticking to it here and there. Just like her older brother, Andrew, her face was streaked with tears and dirt. “Och, lassie,” Richard said as he lifted her from the corner. “’Tis all right now,” he said, as she began to cry against his chest.