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 concerned, they were just as culpable. They had broken a five-generations old trust and friendship to side with the MacCulloughs’ most hated enemy; the Chisolms. ’Twas an act of treachery he could never forgive.
Now, just three short years after winning back his keep and lands, a messenger from King David II was sitting at Black Richard MacCullough’s table. The missive the man gave infuriated not only Black Richard, but his men as well. If it weren’t the king’s messenger giving him this news, he would have gutted him and left his body for the scavengers. From Lachlan and Rory’s pained expressions, they felt much the same way.
Richard was tempted to pull his cowl back and allow the man to see his scars so he could run back to David and tell him this idea of his might not be a good one. Instead, he tugged it a bit lower over his eyes. The shadows it afforded him offered a way for him to study a person without being studied in return. Shadows had their advantages.
“Ye jest,” Rory said in wide eyed consternation. He was younger than Black Richard by ten years. A tall, slender fellow with brown hair and blue eyes. There were many times when Black Richard envied the man his good looks.
The messenger, a young, skinny man with short cropped blonde hair and big gray eyes, looked offended at Rory’s response and question. For the life of him, Black Richard could not recall the messenger’s name, for he was too stunned by the missive he brought.
“I can assure ye, I do not jest,” the messenger said.
Lachlan and Rory exchanged concerned glances with one another. Although Black Richard did not possess the ability to read a man’s mind, he knew exactly what his two friends were thinking: They were just as horrified as he was. But Black Richard did not possess the freedom to rant or rave. He was chief and laird of the MacCulloughs and must maintain a certain air. For this moment, he chose disinterest.
“David is on his way to the MacRay keep as we speak. He expects ye to be there by noon time, the day after tomorrow.”
Lachlan shook his head in disgust. “If David thinks a marriage betwixt our laird and a MacRay woman will stop the warrin’ betwixt our clans, he is sadly mistaken.”
“Are ye sayin’ the MacCulloughs will not agree to peace?” the messenger asked. Richard noted a slight challenge in the man’s tone.
Black Richard answered the question on Lachlan’s behalf. “What we be sayin’ is the MacRays cannae be trusted. Even if I were to agree to such a union, I would wager ye gold to horse shite that peace will last as long as the weddin’ ceremony. And ’twill be the MacRays who break their oath first.”
The messenger studied Black Richard for a short moment. “I fear ye have no choice in the matter, MacCullough. If ye are not at the MacRay keep by the designated date and time, ye will forfeit everythin’. Yer keep, yer lands, yer chiefdom.”
They had worked too hard these past years to rebuild, to regain all that was taken from them. Black Richard could ill afford to tempt fate and ignore David’s edict.
For a brief moment, Black Richard debated on whether or not his keep, lands, or even the chiefdom were worth keeping. Especially if it meant sacrificing himself to a MacRay.
Half his keep still stood in ruins, there was barely enough in their larders or coffers to see them through another winter, and the number of fighting men were at an all-time low.
“What of the Chisolms?” he asked pointedly. “’Twas they who started the bloody war betwixt all of us. How will ye punish them?”
“Ye think a marriage to a bonny lass a punishment?” the young man asked curiously.
Black Richard seriously doubted there was such a thing as a bonny MacRay, but kept that opinion to himself. “I ask ye again, what of the Chisolms? What are David’s plans for them?”
“David has made no formal announcement on that matter,” he replied.
Black Richard noted a flicker of deceit in the man’s eyes. He knew much more than he was willing to say. Knowing the Chisolms were related to David, by some distant marriage, chances were they would never be punished. Not for anything they had previously done to the MacCulloughs or anyone else for that matter. “So the Chisolm bastards are free to continue their raids?”
“I can assure ye, they are bein’ dealt with,” the messenger replied sternly. “But they are of no importance at the moment.” He drummed his fingers on the top of the table. “What shall I tell David?”
Rory stepped forward and glowered at the young man. “Ye can tell David he can go straight to hell, along with his Chisolm kinfolk!” While in truth that was exactly what Black Richard would have enjoyed telling the king’s messenger, ’twas wholly inappropriate. He shot Rory a look of warning that made the young man take a few steps back.
Rory’s outburst had no visible effect on the king’s messenger. He kept his attention on Black Richard. “Is that what ye wish me to tell him?”
Black Richard grunted. “Tell David I shall see him the day after tomorrow, at the MacRay keep.”
“Ye cannae mean to agree to this,” Rory ground out. “’Tis madness!”
Black Richard had waited until David’s messenger was gone before addressing Lachlan or Rory’s outrage. “What choice do I have?” he asked them. “If I do not agree to the union, we lose everythin’.”
Lachlan and Rory were hard pressed to find a more palatable solution to Black Richard’s problem. For a long while, the three men stood in stupefied silence.