Page 13 of Highlander Lord Of Vengeance

“You will remain by my side while clan members voice their grievances,” he ordered.

Esme nodded. “As you say, my lord.”

The Great Hall soon brimmed with murmurs and the occasional cough as clan members filtered in, uncertain what to expect. It had been some time since Lord Torrance, feared for his unforgiving judgments, had opened the hall for grievances. Curious glances passed between the people as they eyed the long wooden tables set with bread, cheese, meats, and clay jugs of ale, an oddity in itself. But they dared not touch the food or drink unless permitted to do so.

All eyes focused on the center of the dais where Lord Torrance sat rigid, regal, and unbending. Brack stood to his side.

Esme remained seated beside him and kept her hands folded tightly in her lap, uncertain what she would witness here today, fairness or cruelty.

The first to approach was an elderly man with a limp, clutching his cap in trembling hands. “M’lord, it’s me root cellar. Neil’s goats broke in again. Ate half the stores I’d put by for winter.”

A younger man, tall and thick-necked, stepped forward nervously. “The latch broke, my lord.” He turned to the elderly man. “I’ve fixed the latch like promised, Angus.”

Torrance leaned slightly forward. “Have your goats done this before, Neil?”

Neil hesitated. “Aye, my lord… twice. But never this bad.”

Torrance’s dark eyes swept from Neil to Angus. “How many roots are left?”

“Not enough to see me through winter.”

Torrance rubbed his chin, giving the problem thought while the two men waited nervously to hear their fate.

Torrance looked to Neil and the man shrank back in fear. “You will reinforce the pen to keep the goats from ever wandering again, and you will replace Angus’s root loss with that of your own.”

“But I will not have enough to feed my family for winter,” Neil complained, and realizing he objected to Lord Torrance’s decision quickly tried to make amends. “Forgive me, my lord, but I have little ones to feed.”

“And what is Angus to do… starve?” Torrance asked, a touch of anger in his voice.

A thin woman stepped forward and Neil hurried to wave her away.

“Let her speak,” Torrance ordered.

The woman’s hands knotted nervously in front of her. “I’m Mara, my lord, Neil’s wife. I can make sure the food is enough to feed our family along with Angus.”

Angus spoke up. “I don’t eat much.”

“I will see you are fed,” Mara said.

Torrance looked at each of them. “Then it is settled and, Neil, if your goats wander again, I will see them made into a stew.”

“I will make sure they don’t wander again,” Neil said, his face having paled.

“Eat and drink while we continue,” Torrance offered, waving them off to the tables ladened with food and drink.

The three thanked him profusely and Mara hurried to gather her four little ones so they could feast as well.

A ripple of murmurs followed many not believing the gossip that food would be waiting in the Great Hall for those who shared their grievances. Everyone waiting to speak grew anxious, wanting to be heard before the food was gone.

The next person stepped forward, a broad woman with strong arms and a scowl that could curdle milk.

“My lord. I’m Gayla. My daughter, Innis, was betrothed to Fergus and he accepted her dowry gift, a fine woven plaid. Now he says he’ll have none of her, changed his mind he did, and he won’t return the plaid.”

Fergus, a lanky lad with shifty eyes, was shoved forward by his father.

“I never agreed to a full match!” Fergus stammered. “We talked. That’s all.”

Torrance crossed his arms on his chest. “Did you accept the plaid?”

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