Page 68 of Highlander Lord Of Vengeance

Esme shivered again and wondered which one they were… the hunter or the hunted.

The land began to change, the forest thinning and opening to meadows dormant in the cold and not long after, the sharp outline of rooftops emerged in the distance, smoke curling into the gray sky.

“A village,” Esme said relieved, yet anxious.

Ryland slowed the horse, scanning what little he could see. “It’s small and isolated. That may work in our favor. I’ll speak to whoever leads there. Hopefully, someone there has heard of the Old Woman.”

“And if they ask why you're searching for her?”

“No one is foolish enough to question Lord Torrance,” he said, with the commanding tone of her dead husband. “You will stay close. With no warriors to have my back, I will take no chances. One false look, one whisper out of place, and we leave. I’ll not risk your safety.”

She laid her hand over his where it rested at her waist. “I will do as you say, Ryland, and I will obey Torrance’s every word without question.”

He kissed her, her lips welcoming and eager as if for that moment the world slipped away and there were only the two of them, then—reluctantly—he urged his stallion forward.

Torrance entered the village at a slow gait, keeping his arm snug around Esme’s waist.

Heads turned their way and conversations faltered as the villagers watched the couple ride through the village.

A lad, his eyes wide, dropped the bundle of firewood he’d been carrying and rushed off after one look at Torrance.

A grizzled man leaning on a cane squinted at them, then blinked hard and stumbled back a step.

Esme swore she heard him whisper, “Lord Torrance.”

They didn’t travel much deeper into the village when the whispers began. The name slithered through the village swift and chilling, filling people with fear. Faces disappeared behind shutters. A pair of young men near the smithy made a show of turning away, though not before crossing themselves.

Esme leaned closer to Ryland, her voice barely above a breath. “They recognize you.”

“They should,” he said grimly. “Word travels far of bloody victories and evil leaders.”

A hunched woman near a garden plot stared openly, the corner of her apron clutched in one hand and bravely spoke up. “We are a peaceful village, my lord?”

“Then you have nothing to fear,” he called out.

Esme couldn’t stop the shiver that ran through her, hearing the cold, heartless voice of Torrance. Nor was it easy trying to ignore the rumble of hunger in her stomach, it had been too long since they last ate.

A gentle squeeze at her waist reminded her it was Ryland, and she had nothing to fear from him. She realized it wasn’t going to be as easy as she thought to undo the damage Torrance had done to her.

“Who leads here?” Torrance demanded, his powerful voice carrying throughout the village.

The door of a cottage that had seen better days creaked open and an elderly man in a wool cloak stepped out. He bore the signs of age, a face weathered with wrinkles, yet he was sharp-eyed. He gave Torrance a long, wary once-over.

“Do you lead here?” Torrance snapped impatiently.

“Who’s asking?” the old man demanded.

Esme spotted the lad who had dropped his bundle of firewood and taken off now leaning against the corner of the cottage. He had run to warn the old man of their arrival, or had he recognized Torrance?

“Don’t play the fool, old man. It will end badly for you,” Torrance cautioned.

“These old eyes aren’t what they used to be,” the old man countered with a reasonable excuse.

“Have it your way,” Torrance said, and his chin shot up, his eyes narrowed, and he cast a glare around on all who stood near. “I am Lord Torrance of Clan Glencairn, and I seek information.”

“Where are your warriors?” the old man asked. “Lord Torrance never travels without them. Too many enemies would gladly have his head.”

“As I will have yours if you continue to question me,” Torrance threatened.

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