Page 24 of Highlander Lord Of Vengeance

The Great Halldoors slammed open with a thunderous crack, the wind rushing in like an angry spirit, snow flurrying in its wake. Gasps echoed as Torrance strode in, blood streaking down the side of his face, his dark cloak tattered and touched with snow. His left arm hung stiff, blood dripping from the wound above his elbow onto the wood floor.

“Fetch the healer!” his voice roared through the hall, sharp and commanding, but beneath it… a strain. A fatigue from a hard-fought battle.

Esme was on her feet before she realized she’d moved. Her heart jolted at the sight of him—bloodied, breath ragged, and yet still upright with a storm-wrought scowl on his face. She hurried to him, her hands reaching out instinctively.

“You’re bleeding heavily,” she breathed, eyes darting over his wounds. “Let me see.”

“I said get the healer!” he barked again, though his voice faltered as Esme’s hands steadied his good arm and gently eased him toward a bench near the hearth.

A guard darted off and out the door to fetch Brenna.

“You should sit,” Esme said, grateful that a servant had wisely fetched a stack of cloths and a bucket of water and had setthem on the table. She grabbed a cloth, pressing it gently to the cut on his head. He hissed under his breath but didn’t pull away.

She worked quietly, her fingers surprisingly gentle for someone who felt nothing for him but obligation. And yet… the sight of him like this—wounded, breathless, human—made something ache in her chest.

“You’re lucky,” she said softly. “The head wound isn’t deep.” Her gaze dropped to the tear in his sleeve. “But your arm…”

“Caught a blade. A minor wound,” he said through clenched teeth, steeling himself against her tender touch, her soft voice, and a look of concern in her eyes as if she truly cared what had happened to him.

She felt a strange heat rush through her. His eyes locked firmly on hers and in their depth, she thought she saw something she had never seen in her husband’s eyes before now. He looked at her as if he truly cared for her, as if he actually had a heart.

“Still,” she said, her voice softer now, “it must be painful.”

Their eyes held for a moment longer than they should have. His expression shifted, something unspoken rising between them, uncertainty, perhaps, or?—

Before either could speak, Brack stormed into the hall, face dark with fury.

“What in the devil’s name were you doing in the woods alone?” he demanded. “You could have been killed!”

Torrance’s gaze snapped to him, cold and sharp. “You dare question me?”

Brack realizedhis mistake and though he corrected himself, his voice remained etched with anger. “Nay, my lord, but I cannot protect you if you vanish without a word. There are enemies who would pay dearly to see you bleed.”

“I do bleed, yet the three who dared to challenge me lie dead in the forest for the animals to feast on,” Torrance said, offering no explanation for his absence.

Brack growled something under his breath, but Esme stepped between them, hands firm on Torrance’s arm again.

“There is time for talk later. He needs tending right now,” she said quietly but firmly. “Brenna is on her way.”

“My wife is right. We will talk later,” Torrance said, a clear dismissal.

Brack hesitated, jaw tight, an annoyed glance at Esme, then he turned with a muttered curse and stalked off, the echo of his boots fading down the corridor.

The fire crackled in the silence that followed. Esme quickly tended to the wound on his arm, placing a cloth around it to still any blood that flowed, then she got busy cleaning the blood off his head wound so Brenna would have a clear view of it when she arrived.

Her touch soothed and Torrance closed his eyes relishing her tenderness. He felt an ease begin to wash over him and soon he found himself free of worry and turmoil. He felt—content. How long had it been since he felt at such ease?

“You should’ve taken someone with you,” she said, not accusingly but with concern.

He kept his eyes closed as he answered her. “This task was for me alone.”

She wanted to ask what task, but he looked so content with his eyes closed that she didn’t wish to disturb him any further. She did, however, reach for his hand, her fingers brushing his, and found he didn’t pull away.

“Whoever they were… they meant to kill you,” she said, her voice barely a whisper.

Brenna’s voice rang out. “I am here, my lord.”

Torrance almost yelled at her to leave, preferring his wife’s hands to tend to him, but he held his tongue and let the healer work. It was better this way. He couldn’t allow anything to interfere with the plan.

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