Page 41 of Highlander Lord Of Vengeance

Unless, how he felt for her, always felt for her, had blinded him.

He hadn’t realized how closely he’d been watching her until a strange stillness came over her. Her smile faded, her brow drew tight, and the color drained from her face so swiftly it jolted him upright.

He leaned forward, alarm rising. “Esme?”

She turned slightly toward him, lips parting, but no words came. Her eyes were wide, panicked, and then her body doubled over with a sharp shudder.

Torrance was on his feet in an instant.

He caught her around the waist, steadying her as she tried to rise. “Hold on,” he murmured urgently, guiding her off the dais. “Get Brenna!” he barked toward a servant as he lifted her into his arms and rushed her out of the hall.

He took the stairs to his chamber two at a time and once inside rushed her to the clean chamber pot. He dropped to his knees beside her, holding her hair back, his other hand braced on her trembling back as her body convulsed with each retch.

“Easy,” he whispered, feeling her discomfort and helpless to stop it.

She gasped in a shaky breath, the worst of it seeming to pass. Her face was clammy, her body slack against him.

“Torrance…” Her voice was barely there.

He cradled her closer. “I’ve got you.”

Her head rested on his chest, and her fingers curled weakly into his tunic. “I don’t understand. I felt fine and then?—”

He stiffened.

A creeping thought slid through him like a blade drawn slowly. A sudden sickness and after breakfast.

He pulled back just enough to look at her, his mind racing. His voice turned hard. “Is there something you’ve not told me?”

She blinked in confusion. “What do you mean?”

“When I was away… did you lie with another man?”

“What?” she asked, thinking he couldn’t mean what she suspected he meant.

His voice turned harsh with the question he hadn’t meant to ask but couldn’t stop himself from voicing it. “Are you with child? Is that why you are eager to spread your legs for me?”

Color surged to her cheeks despite her pallor, and anger flared in her exhausted eyes. “You think I’m ill because I carry another man’s child?”

“You were not eager for my touch before,” he accused. “Now you lie willingly in my bed. Should I not question why?”

She shoved weakly against his chest. “I obeyed every demand you made of me concerning the consummation of our marriage. I accepted failing you, of not being desirable enough for your manhood to rise to see the deed done. But since your return home your manhood has been anything but flaccid and still you refuse to consummate our vows. I am still the virgin you wed and if you did your duty, you would find the truth for yourself.” She took a breath. “And I come to your bed now because” —she shook her head— “I stopped hating you enough to try.”

The shock of her words froze him. He didn’t move. He couldn’t speak. The shame of his accusation coiled in his gut. And the thought that she didn’t hate him was a revelation he never expected.

The door opened with a rush, and Brenna hurried in with her satchel.

“She’s taken ill,” Torrance said, his voice clipped as he lifted his wife in his arms and carried her to the bed to gently place her down on it.

Brenna stood beside the bed, seeing Esme’s pale face and feeling the clamminess of her skin. “Could you be with child?” she asked, brushing a strand of hair from Esme’s damp forehead.

Esme hesitated. Her gaze swiftly going to Torrance, uncertain, fearful of how to respond.

“There’s a chance,” he said before she could answer, though the words tasted bitter.

A knock sounded, and a young servant stepped inside, pale and out of breath. “My lord, I was sent by cook to tell you that one of the kitchen lads has taken ill too. Retching something awful. He admitted to taking a bit of the dried meat from the morning’s meal. The same meat you refused but Lady Esme ate.”

Torrance’s head snapped around. “What?”

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