They were in the bowels of Randall Chisolm’s keep, in his dungeon. The air was frigid and dank, and even after three days here, he still wasn’t used to the smell. It reeked of piss, feces, and vomit with slight undertones of decay, despondency, and death.
“Richard, I am so c-cold,” Colyne said through chattering teeth.
They were huddled together in a corner of one of the cells, with Colyne pressed in between he and Rory. If they didn’t die from a beating, they’d certainly freeze to death.
“Put yer hands under yer arms,” Rory whispered a ragged breath. He hadn’t been spared any beatings and looked just as bad as Richard.
He did as Rory instructed but it offered very little relief. “I am goin’ to kill Randall Chisolm and his men,” Colyne whispered. “I hate those bloody bastards.”
Rory grunted his approval. Richard chuckled at the boy’s tenacity, which sent a bolt of pain from his chest to his back, radiating down his left leg. “I look forward to that day,” he said with a grimace.
Torch light glowed in the distance, the sound of heavy booted feet scraping across the stone floor. At least one of the guards were headed towards them.
“Quiet down,” the guard ordered, banging the keys against the heavy steel bars.
Richard would have given the man every last coin to his name if he would give him the torch just long enough to warm up his brother.
“’Tis freezin’ in here,” Colyne said, his tone stern and biting. “Can we have a blanket?”
The guard apparently found the request hilarious. He threw his head back and laughed.
“David will nae like how ye have treated us,” Colyne told him.
“David who?”
“King David,” Colyne replied. “He was on his way to our keep when ye took us. When he finds out what ye have done, and yer poor treatment of us, ye will regret it.”
“Ye lie,” the man said with a good measure of disbelief.
Colyne shook his head in dismay. “Were I ye, I dunnae think I would be willing’ to take that chance. Were I ye, I think I would send a letter to our keep and ask. Or better yet, write to David and ask him.”
It had been like this for days; Colyne arguing with the guards, trying to convince them they were living on borrowed time. His argument was always the same: David was on his way to the MacCullough keep. David was going to be quite angry with them. Richard wasn’t about to quiet the boy. In truth, he was in too much pain, fading in and out of consciousness to do anything. He couldn’t help but think that Colyne had acquired his storytelling abilities from Aeschene.
“Bring us blankets and I will make sure to tell David ’twas ye who did it. I will ask him to show ye some mercy.”
Doubt sparked in the guard’s eyes as he considered what Colyne said. He shook his head, grunted, and walked away.
“’Twas a good attempt,” Rory said.
“Eventually, I will wear them all down,” Colyne said with much confidence.
“Do nae push them too far,” Rory whispered. “If they hurt ye, we will nae have to worry about Randall Chisolm killin’ us, but Aeschene.”
Colyne shivered again. Richard was in too much pain to ask if it was from cold or worrying over Aeschene.
On this, the fourth night since the men and Colyne had been kidnapped, Aeschene sat in Richard’s study with Lachlan and Marisse. ’Twas nearing the midnight hour, most of their new inhabitants had settled in for the night. But sleep was next to impossible for Aeschene. The longer they went without word, the angrier and more worried she became.
A low fire in the hearth crackled softly; candles burned here and there, casting the room in shades of yellow, amber, and scarlet. They had pulled chairs up near the fire, each of them lost in their own thoughts and worries. Lachlan, as he was prone to doing, stretched out his long legs, his hands resting upon his abdomen as he stared into the fire.
“I dunnae understand why they haven’t sent their ransom demands yet,” Marisse said in a quiet voice. She was just as frustrated as Aeschene, but kept her worries to herself.
“I dunnae ken Randall Chisolm, but I cannae help to think he is tryin’ to get us to make a mistake,” Aeschene answered, drawing her shawl tightly around her stomach.
“What do ye mean?” Marisse asked.
“By not communicating with us, he thinks I will become so consumed with worry that I will demand our men take action.”
Lachlan finally pulled his gaze away from the fire. “I do ken the man. He is more than just a wee tetched. He is as ruthless as he is insane.”
He’d gather no argument from either woman.
“So what do we do?” Marisse asked.
“We wait,” Aeschene said.
Marisse got to her feet. “Wait? Wait for what? Wait for them to send their corpses to us?”
“Our number one concern right now is keeping the clan safe. Of keeping our lands, our keep, out of the hands of Randall Chislom,” Aeschene told her. “The slightest error in judgement, the smallest mistake could cost us everything, including our own lives.”
Marisse didn’t necessarily like that answer. “I am goin’ mad with worry. I think I would rather act than to just sit by and do nothing.”
Aeschene was just about to respond when a knock came at the door. Lachlan went to see who it was and what they wanted. Moments later, a young man was rushing into the room. “M’lady, two of our men just came in from the border. They had a missive from the Chisolm.”
She felt a tickle of fear trace down her spine.
And so it begins.
Lachlan read the missive out loud. “We have yer men and the boy. Ye will receive our demands soon.”
Aeschene’s brow knitted when Lachlan grew silent. “And? What else does it say?”
“That is it,” he said. “There is naught else.”
She blew out a frustrated breath. “I was right then. The man is mad and he is tryin’ to bait us into making’ a mistake.”
Lachlan raked a hand through his hair. “I am beginning’ to believe ye are right.”
“I have had about enough of these games he is playin’,” Marisse said angrily.
“I do nae like it any more than ye do,” Aeschene said.
Lachlan went to the hearth and stared at the low burning flames. “Arguing amongst ourselves will serve no purpose. Aeschene is right. The man is simply baitin’ us.”
Marisse threw her hands up in defeat. “So we continue to wait?” She shook her head in disgust. “We let Randall Chisolm set all the rules of his little game, is that it?”
Aeschene smiled wryly. “To a certain extent, aye.”
“Ye are daft,” Marisse scoffed.
“That may verra well be true,” she replied. “Just keep in mind we are paying’ attention, Marisse. We have to wait and see what he does next.”
Lachlan grunted and turned to face the women. “She is right, Marisse. His next move will guide ours.”
“That makes nae a lick of sense to me,” Marisse said, growing more and more frustrated.
“’Tis the art of war. Randall only thinks he is leadin’ this little game of war, but that is nae the case.”