Mayhap someday, he would be able to give her the words.
For now, he would be content in simply admitting to himself how he felt.
But someday he would give her the words.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Fast asleep in her husband’s arms, Aeschene startled at the sound of someone knocking on their door. She sat upright, her mind foggy with sleep. The loud knocking propelled Richard from the bed in a flash, his sword drawn as quick as lightning.
“Richard!” Came Lachlan’s voice as he pounded on the door once again.
Richard grabbed a drying cloth from the back of the chair and wrapped it around his waist before opening the door. The keep better be under attack, he groused to himself.
“Richard! The Farquars have attacked again.” Lachlan said in a rush.
“Where?”
“Same as last time. Along our western border,” he said. “They killed Seamus’s boy, Traigh.”
Aeschene gasped from the shadows as she sent a prayer of peace to Traigh’s parents.
Fury enveloped Richard. “Gather men at once,” he ordered as he rushed to get dressed.
“I already have,” Lachlan replied. “I called for ten and our horses are being readied as we speak.”
Lachlan knew his laird well. Richard nodded approvingly as he pulled his boots on.
“Richard?” Aeschene’s voice called from the darkness of their bed.
He went to her at once and kissed her forehead. “All will be well, lass. I am going to leave Rory here to watch over ye. Go back to sleep.”
“How do ye expect me to sleep -”
“Lass, I must go,” he said before kissing her again.
There was no time to argue.
Aeschene counted to twenty before slipping from the bed. She grabbed her robe from the end of the bed and went at once to Marisse’s room.
In less than a quarter of an hour, Richard and his men were thundering through the gates and heading out into the dark night. There was only a sliver of a moon which hardly afforded much light. The four outriders carried torches that blazed and whipped in the cold night air.
Across the open field, Black Richard and his men flew. He knew ’twas probably folly, to head to the border now. The Farquars were probably long gone. Still, he felt compelled to go, to see the damage for himself.
The hadn’t ridden far when one of the outriders called back. “’Tis Thomas the Red!”
Ahead, moving at a slow walk, was the older warrior. Behind him, Traigh MacCullough’s lifeless body was draped over his mount.
Richard and Lachlan pulled up to him.
“The bloody bastards,” Thomas the Red said through gritted teeth. “He was only six and ten and the bloody bastards cut his throat.”
Richard swallowed back his anger and disgust. He needed to keep a clear head. “How many?”
Thomas shook his head in disgust. “At least a dozen. We didn’t see them until they were upon us.”
Twelve Farquars against five MacCulloughs.
“Do not fash it, Richard,” Thomas said. “We sent five of the sons of whores to hell.”
Richard stared at the lifeless form of Tragic MacCullough. While he was certainly proud of his men for fighting against so many Farquars, the loss of such a good young lad made his teeth ache from grinding them.
“Traigh here,” Thomas said, his voice cracking. “He fought well and bravely, Richard. He gutted one Farquar before they took his life.”
“He did our clan proud,” Lachlan said in a fierce tone.
“But that will not appease his mother,” Richard said.
“Nay. But at least he went down fighting,” Lachlan replied. “That has to mean something.”
“They all be gone now, Richard,” Thomas informed him. “I left Daniel and Gregor to patrol.”
Richard gave a nod and shifted his weight in his saddle. “Take young Traigh to his parents, Seamus. Lachlan, ye and I will press on, just to make certain the Farquars have in fact left. Bring five men with us, send the others back to guard the keep. Have the guards doubled on the wall.”
Lachlan nodded and did as ordered.
In less than a half an hour, they were heading to their border, hell bent for leather.
They buried Traigh MacCullough on the hillside, next to his grandfather.
The rains were relentless, soaking man and beast alike. Tears of angels welcoming the lad into God’s loving grace, according to some. His mother and father wept, their only son lost to men intent on destroying their clan.
The stream that fed into the loch swelled, overflowing its banks. In a matter of days it more resembled a raging river than a calm, quiet stream. Puddles began to look like ponds. The ground was naught but thick, black mud.
The weather mirrored the very heart of the clan: somber, depressed, and sorrowful.
Richard couldn’t have been more proud of his wife. With Marisse’s help and Hattie’s guidance, they prepared meals to be taken to Traigh’s parents. His mother, Mairi, was too bereft to think of cooking, Aeschene knew they needed to eat. She spent the better part of two days sitting by Mairi’s side, offering her a shoulder to cry on, and words of comfort when the grief became too much.
For two solid weeks, they received no respite from the rain or howling winds.
Traigh’s death seemed to bring the clan together even more. Many of his clans people remarked on what calming influences Aeschene and Marisse were. Richard could see the pride in his people’s eyes as it pertained to his wife.
The death made his men train all the harder. From dawn to well after dusk, they trained until their bones ached, and then they trained some more. Everyone knew that eventually, the Farquars would align themselves with the Chisolms making a near indestructible fighting force.
“All around us are our enemies,” Richard remarked to Lachlan one afternoon. “We are surrounded.”
Lachlan nodded his head in agreement. “The Chisolms, the Farquars, as well as the MacRays,” he shook his head in utter disgust.
Richard blew out a frustrated breath as he and Lachlan walked the upper wall. “I fear ye are right, Lachlan. We cannae count the MacRays as allies. They want to destroy us as much as the Chisolms do.”
“Marriage contract or nay, ye are right. It would not surprise me to find the MacRays leading up the rear of any attack, peace accord be damned.”
Richard couldn’t deny he had thought the same. No matter what David had ordered, the MacRays could not be trusted.
The sun was beginning to set, though he’d be hard pressed to prove it, for the sky was dark, the rain unceasing. “My stomach growls,” he said as he slapped Lachlan on the back. “’Tis time to sup.”
Lachlan smiled broadly. “With Aeschene gettin’ yer brothers to behave like fine lads, and Hattie being able to make something finer than broth, I do enjoy our evening meals.”
Weeks ago, Richard would have hung his head in shame at the thought of his wife providing for his clan. Now, he wasn’t so prideful. It had done Aeschene’s heart a world of good knowing she was helping.
Never had he met anyone with a heart as big as his wife’s. Beauty aside -and she was the most beautiful woman he’d ever known - ’twas her heart, the way she loved without condition, that he admired most about her.