Black Richard's Heart (The MacCulloughs #1) - Suzan Tisdale Page 0,2
told to them over the years.
Still, he could not help but feel disgusted with his own reflection.
Soon, his people began to rebuild what was left of his keep. Or at least they tried to. With very little coin left in their coffers, all they could afford to do was repair the northern portion of the keep and roof. Now, Black Richard and his brothers were forced to live in a small fraction of what had once been a grand and beautiful place.
Black Richard thought the structure was much like himself. Half destroyed. Half of what it had once been. No longer the same and it never would be. Nearly everyone he had once loved was now gone. His parents, four of his brothers, his stepmother, and nearly half his clan. Two of his sisters-by-law, overcome with grief at losing their husbands, had returned to the families and clans from whence they came just days after the battle. He could not blame them for needing to be away from this place and the memory of the past few years in an exile of sorts. Black Richard, wounded, out of his mind with fevers, was unable to offer them any solace or comfort. Eventually, his remaining two sisters-by-law would leave as well. Though he had to give them their due for at least trying. Starvation was a grand motivator.
One day blended into the next. All the while his fury burned. Slow, like the hot embers in a hearth, all it would take to set it to full flame again was the slightest breath set upon it. Fury over the loss of his father and brothers. Innate fury over the senseless deaths and destruction, it burned to the point his guts felt afire.
Eventually, he was moved back into his old bed chamber. The faint smell of smoke still lingered though the women folk did their best to avail the keep of it. Sage was burnt to the point of nausea.
For weeks on end, he sat alone in his room, in the dark. He would not allow anyone to light a candle in his presence, for he didn’t want any light to shine on his affliction. And an affliction it was.
Refusing to meet with his counsel, or the warriors left after the battle, his people left him alone. Meals were brought to him by Colyne and Raibeart. He ate very little, choosing instead to drink his pain away. While his wounds no longer hurt, there was still a deep-seated pain in his heart, for he had not been able to save his father or brothers that ugly day. And he hadn’t died as he should have; with honor.
He’d never been one to wallow in self-pity before. Not even when he had received word of his own mother’s passing. Ten years old he had been, recently sent to foster with the MacDougalls. Although he had never been his mother’s favorite child — that had been reserved for his oldest brother, Cullom— he had the hope that only a ten-year-old lad could have, that someday he would be good enough to earn his mother’s love.
But now, as a grown man, he wallowed in self-pity like a pig in mud. He savored every bitter moment of his loneliness, grief, and anger. He wallowed for many reasons. For the loss of the man he admired most in this world; his father, Galen. For the loss of his brothers and friends. He also mourned the loss of his own self, the man he used to be before being disfigured to the point he frightened people.
After a few months of basking in the glory of self-hatred, guilt, and grief, his cousin, friend, and first in command, Lachlan MacCullough came to visit. ’Twas a gray, dreary, and cold summer afternoon when he entered Black Richard’s room without invite or permission.
Lachlan was a tall, muscular man, with dark blonde hair and peculiarly dark brown eyes. So dark, they appeared almost black. Their mothers had been sisters. But where Lachlan’s mum had been kind, loving, and generous, Black Richard’s mum had been hard, cold, and distant.
Black Richard scoffed when he saw his friend’s smile and chose instead, to turn back to his dark mood and even darker shadows in the corner of his room.
Lachlan took the chair directly opposite him. For a short while, they sat in silence. Richard continued to ignore him, but he could feel Lachlan’s eyes boring into his skull.