Page 20 of Highlander Lord Of Vengeance

Torrance was gone from their bed when she woke this morning. She wondered if he had slept there at all, but warmth and his familiar forest-rich scent still clung to his pillow proving his head had rested there. But for how long?

She kept a quick pace, glad the village still slept, save for a few early risers tending to fires and livestock. She was anxious for answers, though she wasn’t even certain what questions she dared ask.

She couldn’t escape the feeling that something was… off.

Her husband had returned from the battle with minor injuries but without rage, without his usual sharp-edged temper. The change was subtle, but undeniable. His tone didn’t threaten as often. He’d pause a moment before speaking as if giving thought to his words. Then there was a look in his eyes she didn’t quite recognize. Not to mention what happened in their bedchamber last night. Something definitely wasn’t right with her husband.

She reached the healer’s door and knocked lightly, brushing snow from her hood.

Brenna opened it, her braid trailing over one shoulder and her eyes turning wide. “Lady Esme.”

The door was suddenly yanked out of her hand, Brack appearing behind her.

“Is something wrong, my lady?” Brack demanded.

Esme found herself speechless. How did she explain her early morning visit, but then what was Brack doing there so early?

“My hand,” Esme said, thinking quickly. “But don’t let me disturb your visit with the healer. I will wait until Brenna finishes with you.”

“She is finished with me, my lady, and you are far more important to tend to than I am.”

Esme stepped aside as Brack rushed out of the cottage without saying another word.

“Come in, my lady,” Brenna offered. “The air stings this morning.”

Esme stepped inside, welcoming the warmth of the cottage that wrapped around her like a gentle wool blanket. The scent of herbs and damp wool filled the air, and the hearth crackled with fresh logs.

“Please sit and I will see to your hand.”

“It is doing well, nearly healed,” Esme said, taking a seat at the small table. “There is something else I wish to speak with you about.”

“I am at your service, anytime, my lady.” Brenna said. “What can I help you with besides your wounded hand?”

“It is not about me that I seek advice.”

Brenna’s brow wrinkled, but she held her tongue and waited.

Esme almost lost her courage, then after a silent moment, said, “You were at the battlefield, helping the wounded.”

Brenna gave a nod. “Aye. Grim work. I’ll be scrubbing blood from my hands for weeks, though none of it remains.”

Esme hesitated, careful in how she probed for answers. “Did you tend to Torrance’s wounds?”

“He chose to see to them himself since they were minor.” She paused as if she suddenly recalled something. “His concern was for his warriors. He directed me to do all I could for those in need, including the wounded MacLeish warriors.”

Esme’s brow furrowed. “He thought of his men and the enemy warriors as well?”

Brenna nodded. “Aye, I remember thinking it strange, since he always warned me to tend first to the warriors whose wounds once seen to would allow them to return to battle.”

Esme looked toward the fire, her voice soft. “That was a bit of a change for him.”

The words weren’t long out of her mouth before she realized she should never have spoken them.

Brenna crouched beside the hearth, poking at the fresh logs there, encouraging them to flame. “Men change in war. They see too much. Feel too much. Or stop feeling at all.”

Esme wondered if that was what happened to her husband. Had he participated in too many battles? Had his thoughts on war changed? Had it softened him some? That would be difficult to believe with how much Torrance desired power and influence. So, what had caused the change she had noticed in him?

“Have you seen a change in Lord Torrance since his return?”

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