After all these years, he knew what kind of nap she was referring to. There would be very little actual sleeping taking place.
“Brogan,” Frederick called out to him. “We need to finish discussin’—”
Brogan shook his head. “No’ now, lads. Me wife and I need a nap.”
Prologue to Black Richard’s Heart
The Highlands, 1356
Death could not come fast enough for Black Richard MacCullough.
’Twas difficult to distinguish his blood from the countless others who lay dead or dying on the cold spring grass. Grass he had played in as a child. Now, ’twas painted in blood.
It had been a long, hard-fought battle between the MacCulloughs and the Chisholms. A battle that had lasted for three long, bloody days. The MacCulloughs were laying siege to their own keep; a keep that had been stolen from then five years ago by the ruthless Maitland Chisholm.
The first two days had been spent trying to get beyond the massive, well-fortified walls. Knowing how well built they were, for he’d built the damn things with his own hands, a decision was made. On this, the third day, Galen MacCullough decided to burn the bastards out. Thick, black smoke billowed from the roof of the keep. The early spring breeze picked up sparks and carried them from the keep to the granary. Before they knew it, several fires burned. The Chisholms came pouring out of the gate like rats leaving a sinking ship. Apparently, their ill-gotten gains were not worth fighting for.
Through the pounding rain and relentless wind, they fought. They fought for revenge. They fought for honor. And they fought to regain their home and lands.
Black Richard had watched his father die first, cut down by Maitland’s own blade. Unable to aid him for he was too busy in a fight for his own life, all he could do was watch his father fall to his knees. A moment later, Maitland was using his battle axe to chop Galen’s head off.
Then, one by one, four of his six brothers fell.
All the while he fought ferociously and bravely, until he could no longer lift up his own sword. His last and final act, before being cut nearly in half, was sending Maitland Chisholm to hell.
Now Black Richard lay dying, his face flayed open by Maitland, his gut sliced open by a nameless Chisholm.
The MacCulloughs had fought bravely, and none who had died or were about to, would die in vain or in shame. He was certain just as many Chisholms - may the greedy bastards all now be burning in hell — had been killed as his own clansmen.
Knowing death was inevitable, he did not bother with plotting revenge. He would have to leave that up to his two younger brothers, Raibeart and Colyn. Far too young to fight but, hopefully, with time and guidance by anyone left standing, the two young boys would rise and seek revenge in the name of their father and brothers. There was one Chisholm left to be dealt with; Randall. The son of the Chisholm chief responsible for the hell on earth they had been living all these years.
Through the fog of pain, the blood rushing in his ears, the pounding in his skull, he thought he heard the call of victory. Whether it be real or his imagination, he neither knew nor cared. All he wished for was the pain to cease and for the sweet release of death. Mayhap someone would take mercy on him and slice his throat to speed up the process of dying.
Which hurt the worst, his face — flayed open from skull to neck — or the gaping, bleeding wound on his side — he did not know. ’Twas agony either way.
It seemed an eternity passed before silence filled the air. The rain stopped as suddenly as it had arrived. A strong breeze blew in, chasing away any remnants of the clouds. Soon, the sun was shining so brightly it pained his eyes to look upon it.
This must be the end, he told himself. Death has finally come for me.
About the Author
USA Today Bestselling Author, storyteller and cheeky wench, SUZAN TISDALE lives in the Midwest with her verra handsome carpenter husband. All but one of her children have left the nest. Her pets consist of dust bunnies and a dozen poodle-sized, backyard-dwelling groundhogs – all of which run as free and unrestrained as the voices in her head. And she doesn’t own a single pair of yoga pants, much to the shock and horror of her fellow authors. She prefers to write in her pajamas.
Suzan writes Scottish historical romance/fiction, with honorable and perfectly imperfect heroes and strong, feisty heroines. And bad guys she kills off in delightfully wicked ways.
She published her first novel, Laiden’s Daughter, in December, 2011, as a gift for her mother. That one book started a journey which has led to fifteen published titles, with two more being released in the spring of 2017. To date, she has sold more than 350,000 copies of her books around the world. They have been translated into four foreign languages (Italian, French, German, and Spanish.)
You will find her books in digital, paperback, and audiobook formats.
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www.suzantisdale.com
suzan@suzantisdale.com
Also by Suzan Tisdale
The Clan MacDougall Series
Laiden’s Daughter
Findley’s Lass
Wee William’s Woman
The Clan Graham Series
Rowan’s Lady
Frederick’s Queen
The Mackintoshes and McLarens Series
Ian’s Rose
The Bowie Bride
Brogan’s Promise
The Clan McDunnah Series
A Murmor of Providence
A Whisper of Fate
A Breath of Promise
Moirra’s Heart Series
Stealing Moirra’s Heart
Saving Moirra’s Heart
Stand Alone Novels
Isle of the Blessed
Forever Her Champion
The Edge of Forever
Arriving in 2017:
Black Richard’s Heart
The Brides of the Clan MacDougall
(A Sweet Series)
Aishlinn
Maggy (arriving 2018)
Nora (arriving 2018)
Coming Soon:
The MacAllens and Randalls