The Chisolm was losing his patience. “What are the two of ye whispering’ about?”
Aeschene held up one finger as if to say, hold on a moment.
“Lachlan is right behind ye, standing next to Keevah. There are seven Chisolm warriors lined up around the tent.”
“I said what are the two of ye whispering’ about?” Randall repeated, raising his voice.
Aeschene gave one last nod of understanding to Marisse before turning her attention to the Chisolm. She’d make no apologies. “I am blind, as ye well ken,” she said mustering up the most firm tone she could manage. “Marisse is my maid and acts as my eyes. She is describing things to me so that I can have a better understanding of my surroundings.”
“Aye, I heard ye were blind,” he said dismissively. “I am glad ye are here. I have been looking forward to discussing my terms with ye.”
“I am nae here to discuss yer terms.”
He chuckled nervously, glancing about the room. “Pardon me?”
“I said I am nae here to discuss yer terms,” she said, a bit louder this time.
“Then why are ye here?”
Standing a bit taller, she said, “I am here to thank ye.”
“Thank me? For what?”
His confusion was growing by leaps and bounds; she could hear it in his voice.
“To thank ye for taking that bloody bastard I was forced to marry.”
There was no denying his complete bafflement. Randall’s brow knitted into a hard line. He glanced at Lachlan, then to the two women standing with Aeschene. None of them gave even the slightest inclination as to whether or not she meant what she said.
Once again, he was chuckling nervously as he tried to make some sense out of what was happening.
“Ye jest,” he said, his eyes darting from one person to the next.
“I can assure ye, I do nae jest,” Aeschene told him. “Now, before we I give ye the keys to the MacCullough keep, I would like to see them.”
Randall Chisolm’s mouth fell open and his eyes grew wide. “The keys?”
“That is what ye want, is it nae? The keys to the MacCullough keep? All of his lands?”
He stammered, incredulous. Nay, this was not happening at all as he had imagined. For years, he had dreamt of the moment he could destroy Black Richard MacCullough. Destroy his spirit, his heart, and his mind before he took the life from him.
“Ye are goin’ to give me the keys? To the MacCullough keep?” He shook his head in disbelief.
“Aye, but not until I see them.”
Nay, this was a trick. It had to be. She was supposed to beg and plead for her husband’s life to be spared. Where were the tears? Why wasn’t she on her knees? Nay, nay, nay!
“Do ye truly expect me to believe ye are just goin’ to hand over MacCullough lands?” He was doing his best to regain his footing.
“Ye can believe what ye wish,” she said with a slight shrug of her shoulders. “Did ye bring them with ye?”
“Why? Why would ye just give up so easily?”
“Who says I am givin’ up?” she asked, tilting her head to one side.
His heart began to pound viciously against his chest, his palms grew damp, and his breathing, Lord, he couldn’t get his breathing under control. His anger was a visceral reaction to the immense sense of disappointment.
“I will see for myself that he is still alive,” Aeschene said. “Then we shall talk.”
Randall studied the woman for a long moment. Doubt and uncertainty filling his gut. There was something in her countenance, the manner in which she spoke; with such strength and conviction. Fine, he finally decided. We shall see what game she is playing.
‘Twasn’t easy for Aeschene to hide her relief when Randall Chisolm give the order to bring Richard, Rory, and Colyne to the tent. Her cloak hid the tremble in her fingers and hopefully the knocking of her knees.
As she waited for her husband, she strained her ears to listen. Sounds of shuffling feet, soft murmurs from a group of men in the corner to her right, and the distinct thrumming of fingertips against wood… Was it Randall Chisolm doing that? Mayhap he was just as nervous as she.
That realization brought her a good measure of comfort. She would draw strength from believing that thus far her plan was working; she had caught Randall Chisolm off guard. He hadn’t anticipated anything she had said or done to this point. She sent a silent prayer heavenward that she could maintain her rouse.
“They are coming’” Marisse murmured as she gently grabbed Aeschene’s arm.
Moments later, she could hear the soft clanking of chains and dragging footsteps. There was a commotion, a blur of movement just ahead. A frantic heartbeat later, she heard one body, then another, hitting the floor. In an instant, she recognized her husband’s voice as he groaned in pain. Marisse and Keevah gasped in unison. “They have been beaten,” Marisse said in a low voice. “Severely beaten.”
“Aeschene!” Colyne called out as he tried to rush toward her. The chains prevented him from doing so.
“Wheest, ye brat!” A man’s voice, deep and gravelly, boomed within the tent.
Whispering softly to Marisse, Aeschene said, “Take me to Colyne.”
As soon as she was close enough, Colyne all but leapt into her arms. He held onto her for dear life. She didn’t need good eyes to know the boy had been poorly mistreated. Leaning down, she touched her cheek to the top of his head. His hair was greasy and smelled musty and dank, and his clothing was just as foul.
“Wheest, now, Colyne.” She spoke soft and low so that only he could hear her. “Whatever ye hear me say, remember, ’tis just a story.”
She had no way of knowing if he understood her or not. Gently, she pulled away so that Marisse could take her back to speak with Randall Chisolm. If she weren’t terrified of the outcome, she would have plunged her dirk into Randall Chisolm’s heart for treating an innocent boy so harshly.
“Ye have a strong affection for the boy,” Randall said curiously.
“Aye, I like him well enough,” she replied coolly. “’Tis his oldest brother I have no fondness for.”
Randall threw his head back and laughed heartily. “Ye jest!”
He found her silence unnerving. His laughter finally faded.
Aeschene took a step toward him. “Laird, ye have no idea the hell that man has put me through since the day we were married.”
She could hear Richard making an attempt to speak her name. Marisse hadn’t been able to fully describe his condition. But severely beaten left little to the imagination. She wanted to run to him, to hold him and whisper sweet words. Soon enough, this would all be over. She could only pray he would last long enough to get through this.
“Black Richard MacCullough is a cruel, vile man. His mistreatment of me has known no bounds,” she continued. “From locking me away for days at a time, to being as cruel and harsh with his words as he was with his hands. He cares not of my comfort or wishes or needs; he cares only about himself.” Managing a tear wasn’t difficult for it tore at her heart to say such things about the man she loved more than anything else in this world. “Laird, I have been living a nightmare. Ye cannae begin to imagine my suffering.”