Page 50 of Highlander Lord Of Vengeance

“Draw and quarter him,” someone shouted.

“Make the enemy suffer,” another called out.

The voices weren’t those of the villagers. The shouts came from Torrance’s warriors. The villages held their tongues and some of the woman wiped at their eyes so their tears wouldn’t be noticed. The clan was tired of senseless death, war, and suffering.

“How is Ryland?” Torrance asked.

“His fate is still unknown, my lord, and his clan continues to pray for him.”

“I do hope he lives to face his punishment for even daring to think he had a chance against Clan Glencairn,” Torrance said, his voice raised with strength.

His warriors cheered him on, and the crowd joined in out of fear.

“Get the healer, Brack,” Torrance ordered.

Puzzled, Brack scrunched his face. “The healer?”

“Did I not speak clearly enough?” Torrance snapped harshly.

“Nay, my lord. I will fetch the healer.” Brack turned and hurried away.

“It is your lucky day, warrior,” Torrance said for all to hear. “You will return home with a message to Chieftain Ryland. Tell him I continue to be the most powerful, victorious leader—just as I was when we were young lads sharing adventures in the woods. And as his fate was in my hands then, it is in my hands now.”

“Aye, my lord,” the warrior said with a respectful bob of his head.

Esme caught sight of Brack rushing toward Brenna, a healing basket in her hand as she stepped out of a cottage. His hand went to her arm, and he leaned his head down close to hers. Brenna did not look at all upset or fearful that Brack touched her, and Esme wondered over it as Brack kept hold of her arm, hurrying her to Lord Torrance.

“See to his wounds, Brenna,” Torrance ordered, then turned to Brack. “Then send him on his way and make sure it is known he is not to be harmed. I want my message to reach Ryland.”

With the confrontation ending, Esme slipped away, hoping to reach the keep unnoticed. She had only taken a few steps when a rough hand suddenly clamped over her mouth and an arm locked around her waist. Her muffled cries went unheard as she was dragged back, fighting fiercely.

“Keep struggling and I’ll snap your neck here and be done with it,” the man growled into her ear.

Panic surged. She clawed at his hand, kicked at his shins, but it wasn’t enough. Then her frantic glance landed on Daniel, the young lad who’d once splattered her with mud. His eyes went wide with alarm.

“HELP! HELP! LADY ESME NEEDS HELP!” he shouted, running off.

The man cursed under his breath and tried to quicken his escape.

Esme needed to slow them down, so help could reach her. She let her body go limp, pretending to faint.

Torrance’s fierce roar split the air. “LET HER GO!”

The man froze at the sound and all color drained from his face leaving him to look like a ghost.

Torrance stood like a storm barely contained, his face a mask of lethal rage. His eyes burned cold and hard as steel, jaw clenched so tightly a muscle ticked. There was no mercy in his glare, only the promise of swift, brutal death. The look alone was enough to make the man shudder.

Esme felt it too, not fear, but something deeper, something that gripped her chest and stole her breath. The power in Torrance’s stance, the fury ignited by her endangerment, sent a chill through her. In that moment, she realized there was nothing he wouldn’t do to protect her.

And she wasn’t sure what unsettled her more, the danger… or how safe she suddenly felt.

The man yanked her upright and shifted his hand from her mouth to her neck. “Come any closer and I’ll snap her neck,” he warned, his grip tightening.

A loud thump sounded suddenly, and the man stumbled, his hand jerking away from Esme’s throat.

He cried out, staggering back, his arm still coiled around Esme’s waist.

Daniel stood several feet away, another stone clutched in his hand, his small chest heaving, and he hurled it at the man. It struck his shoulder, and his hand loosened around Esme.

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