Keevah sighed, shook her head, and turned on her heel. She said not another word as she walked away. He watched until she blended into the shadows and soon discovered he was left with a sense of longing, and aye, even loneliness.
Bloody hell.
Richard was in hell, or at least the closest he’d ever been to it.
The sky was still dark, only a hint of the promise of sunlight in the eastern sky. He, Rory, and Colyne were walking toward their keep, still chained together, they shuffled across the wide-open glen. It would not be long before they reached their destination and he prayed it wasn’t his final one.
There was no hope for escape, for Randall Chisolm had more than two hundred warriors in tow. Three to a line, with Richard, Rory, and Colyne in the center. Only a handful of men were on horseback. The rest were Randall Chisolm’s foot soldiers.
Neither he nor Rory slept much last night, though they were certainly exhausted enough. They had stayed up half the night, talking in hushed voices as they tried to figure out what Aeschene had been up to.
Admittedly, there was a brief moment when he lay on the floor of Randall Chisolm’s tent when he succumbed to the dark thought that she had betrayed him. But the more he listened, the more he realized she was actually living out some ridiculous story. ’Twas the only thing that made a damned bit of sense. And when Colyne told them what she had whispered in his ear during their brief embrace, he believed it all the more.
He had expected a full-blown attack from his warriors in the night. But the attack never came. Mayhap they were lying in wait to launch their assault during their walk to the keep. All of his instincts were on full alert as he listened for any sign that his men were hidden in the thick woods. But alas, he heard nothing.
The closer they got to his keep, the more anxious and worried he became. Something was wrong; terribly wrong.
The sky had gone from indigo to purple by the time they neared the gate. A soft yellow glow from dozens of torches emanated from within. The upper wall was lined with torches as well, but not a soul was manning it.
Without a word from anyone within or without, the gate began to lift, creaking and moaning in the early morning light. Randall, who had been bringing up the rear, sent word to the head of his army to take twenty men inside.
Everything was still and quiet, save for the occasional nicker from one of the horses or a cough from one of the men.
Colyne inched closer to Richard, grabbing a hand for reassurance. Richard glanced down at the boy, and his heart nearly seized. He looked positively heartbroken. He too had expected their warriors to attack before now. Richard squeezed his hand and smiled, refusing to give up on the last shred of hope he possessed.
A Chisolm warrior ran past them, and Richard assumed he was heading back to speak with their leader. He could not help the sinking feeling that whatever his wife or Lachlan had planned wasn’t working.
Moments later, Randall Chisolm was riding up to the trio. He was undeniably happy.
“Aye, MacCullough, it appears yer wife was quite serious. They have built gallows just for ye and yer lovely wife awaits ye inside.”
Aeschene looked just as regal and resplendent as the day she had married her. She wore the same soft blue dress, the same silver belt dangled from her waist. But this morning, her hair was plated intricately around her scalp, instead of cascading down her back. The only few differences was the fact she wasn’t wearing her grandmother’s necklace, and instead of witnesses for a wedding, there were witnesses for a hanging. Richard’s hanging.
She was standing between Marisse and Lachlan, not far from the gate, on a recently erected platform. It faced the gallows that were in the center of the courtyard.
Now would be a most excellent time to do something, he mused.
Randall Chisolm took the short steps up to the platform, smiling gleefully as if he’d just been made king of Scotia. He nudged Marisse out of the way so that he could stand directly beside Aeschene.
His pretty wife smiled up at the man, nodded once, then turned away.
Richard saw it all as he slowly walked by heading to his fate.
The procession stopped so that Colyne could be freed from his shackles. As soon as the shackles fell away, one of the scullery maids was escorting the frightened boy away. They were soon swallowed up in the crowd. Murmurs of excitement began to build. The Chisolm warriors were all looking quite pleased with themselves.
He and Rory were less than thirty yards from the gallows. Only moments away from death it seemed. Something had better happen, and soon, elst he was going to be a dead man.
Two of the guards started pushing Richard and Rory forward. Their chains jangled and their feet shuffled against the cobblestones. He looked up and saw that his wife was still standing next to the Chisolm, not the most comforting of images. Lachlan was still right beside her, but now Daniel was on the platform.
Two very large men wearing black hoods took the steps up to the gallows, each one standing near the thick ropes that were undoubtedly going to be draped around his neck in a matter of a few short moments.
‘Twasn’t necessarily fear that fell over him, but something rather close to it. Blended with that was his abject confusion that made a light sheen of sweat break across his upper lip. Rory stumbled, falling against Richard, but both men kept their feet.
Seven steps lead up to the gallows and they were now taking each one slowly, cautiously. The heavy nooses swayed ever so gently in the morning breeze.
At the top, their shackles were unlocked, but their freedom was only temporary. Their hands were tied behind their backs with rope. Soon, the hangmen were dragging them to stand in front of those menacing nooses.
“Do ye have any final words, Black Richard MacCullough?” ’Twas Randall Chisolm’s voice booming over the crowd.
“Aye,” Richard called back. “I will see ye in hell ye bloody bastard!”
Randall threw back his head and had a hearty laugh, still believing he had the upper hand, that he had one. Oh, how he was in for a very rude awakening.
Randall Chisolm was still laughing when Lachlan grabbed him from behind and held the long blade of his dirk against his throat. “Move and ye die,” Lachlan seethed.
At the same time Lachlan was subduing Randall Chisolm, the two hangmen on the gallows pulled their hoods off and withdrew their swords in one fluid motion. A frantic heartbeat later, they were each slicing through Richard and Rory’s bindings.
Richard was stunned to see the hangmen were Angus McKenna and Duncan McEwan. “God’s teeth!” Richard exclaimed.
“Ye did nae think we’d let ye hang,” Duncan said with a smile. A moment later, he was thrusting his sword into the gullet of a Chisolm warrior.
Relief washed over Richard as all hell broke loose from down below and up above. Someone from the crowd tossed Richard and Rory swords and the fight was soon on. Caught off guard, the Chisolm warriors were not as well prepared as they should have been. They’d been too busy watching the gallows, waiting to see the two men hanged. They hadn’t seen the McDunnah and MacDougall warriors take to the upper walls or the other warriors who had infiltrated the crowd.
With a renewed sense of energy, Richard was soon fending off one warrior after another. Metal crashed against metal as arrows flew from the upper wall. Men were pouring out of his keep, flying down the stairs like water spilling from a bowl.