Page 10 of Highlander Lord Of Vengeance

However, he knew better.

His boots struck a slow rhythm as he descended the stairs and walked along the worn path that circled the stronghold. He had much on his mind, decisions that needed to be made, changes that needed implementation, but mostly a future that had two paths and he wasn’t sure which path to travel.

His heavy thoughts caused him to pause in his tracks.

A servant passed nearby, offered a quick bow, and hurried on. The lad didn’t speak… few did unless summoned to do so. He preferred it that way. Words held too much danger.

His gaze shifted to the keep, its silhouette sharp against the gray sky. Decisions couldn’t be made quickly, there was toomuch at stake, too many lives that could be shattered. Time was needed but he didn’t have much of that either, so he had no business wasting it.

He resumed his path, steps slow but steady, each one a measured effort to keep thoughts locked tight within him. As he neared the side of the keep, the scents changed, roasted meat, onions, fresh bread, kitchen smells thick in the chilly air.

He pressed on, his head lowered as his thoughts remained chaotic.

Cold water suddenly hit his boots with a heavy slap, soaking the leather and spattering his cloak. He stopped abruptly.

At the kitchen door stood a tall lass, a bucket still in hand, her wild red hair escaping a poor excuse for a braid. Her green eyes narrowed when she realized whom she’d just doused.

“You should watch where you walk, my lord,” she said boldly, lifting her chin, her voice laced with a Highland burr as sharp as the chill in the air.

Before Torrance could speak, Brack appeared from around the corner.

“You reckless fool, Una!” Brack barked, storming toward her. “How dare you speak to Lord Torrance that way.”

“It doesn’t change the fact that I threw water out the door, and he walked right into it,” Una said, unflinching.

Brack’s hand clenched. “You will suffer for this.”

Torrance raised his own hand to halt him. His expression never shifted. He remained calm, but there was a flare in his eyes, not anger… calculation.

He studied the lass in silence.

Una held her ground, shoulders squared. There was fire in her, the kind born of loss and stubborn pride. “I may be a prisoner of a lost battle, but I’m no broken woman.”

“Not yet,” Brack threatened. “It’s two days in the stocks for you.”

“Nay!” Torrance ordered sharply. “Her punishment will wait.”

Brack looked about to argue.

“It will wait,” Torrance said with a slight nod to Brack. Then he turned, the wet squelch of his boots following along with him.

Brack gave Una a last scowl and stalked after him, muttering curses under his breath.

Una stood a moment longer, bucket dangling from her hand, watching the two men enter the keep and thinking that waiting to learn her punishment might be worse than the stocks.

They walked in silence, entered the keep, and headed to the narrow corridor that led to the solar. Brack kept pace just behind Torrance.

When they reached the wooden door, Torrance paused, his hand resting on the iron handle.

“Una… tell me about her,” he said without turning.

Brack stiffened. “Don’t you remember?”

“Am I to recall every prisoner we keep?” Torrance said tersely as he entered his solar, whipped off his cloak to toss on a chest, and went to the table to fill a tankard with ale. He nodded for Brack to join him in a drink.

Brack was only too glad to fill a tankard as he spoke. “She’s been here a few moon cycles now. Stubborn as a mule. She was tending to the wounded when we took Crosswell village. Could’ve run, but she didn’t.”

“And yet she speaks as if she regrets that choice.”

---