Page 6 of Highlander Lord Of Vengeance

“Aye, my lady,” she said and hurried off.

Esme shook her head. Something didn’t seem right. Her husband had never cared if she was cold. He would tell her it was her own fault for not dressing properly and leave her to suffer a chill. And taking her hand? She could not get over that he held her hand and that he had not done so roughly. He had closed his hand around hers, as if with care, and held it firmly.

Gwen returned and Esme slipped off her cloak and replaced it with the fur-lined one, then rushed off not wanting to keep Torrance waiting.

He stood where she had left him, his head turning as he took stock of his surroundings.

“It took you long enough,” he said when she reached his side.

“My apologies, my lord,” she said, more words she often said to him.

He took her hand again and she wished she could enjoy the feel of its warmth and strength, but she didn’t. His touch caused her skin to prickle with fear since she had felt pain from that same hand when it struck her. But what possibly could cause him to hold her hand now when he never did before?

The village path, still soft from the morning's rain, clung to Esme’s boots as she matched steps beside Lord Torrance. The villagers bowed as they passed, a forest of bent heads, a hush of held breath. No one wished to draw the lord’s gaze.

They continued walking in silence, Torrance casting a wide glance around as if he listened, intending to catch any chatter orwhispers being said. The whole time he never let go of her hand and Esme saw people’s eyes going wide at the unusual sight.

They were deep into the village when suddenly there came a sharp, wet splat.

Esme jerked to a stop in surprise, looking down to find a thick glob of mud staining the hem of her cloak. A heartbeat of stunned silence followed, and then the air tightened, turned brittle.

All eyes shifted, not to Esme, but to Torrance.

Across the way, a lad no older than six years stood frozen, another mudball drooping from his small hand. His mother gripped him fiercely, terror etched deep into her face.

Lord Torrance turned, his movements deliberate, his expression carved from stone. He stared at the lad with a weight that could crush bone.

The lad's lips moved, trembling around whispered apologies too soft to hear.

Esme’s heart ached. She shifted ever so slightly toward Torrance, her voice low and urgent as she gently squeezed his hand. "My lord, Daniel is but a child. It was a mistake... not a slight."

For the briefest moment, something flickered in Torrance’s eyes as if he might consider her words, but it vanished as fast as it had appeared.

He turned his gaze onto Esme, not cruel, but sharp, warning her without saying a word.

Should she hold her tongue as she usually did? Would her interference only make things worse for them both? She couldn’t see the lad suffer. She knew how cruel Torrance could be.

“Please, my lord, do not harm him,” she whispered.

He glared at her with such annoyance that his green eyes appeared bolder in color and Esme knew to say any more could be harmful to the lad. She held her tongue.

Torrance turned slowly, like a storm gathering force. His eyes, sharp as a drawn blade, fixed on the lad. He let go of his wife’s hand and took one step toward Daniel, then another.

Daniel’s mum shoved her son to his knees, begging, “Forgive him, my lord! It was an accident! He meant no disrespect!”

Torrance shifted his attention to Daniel and barked a single command, sharp as a whip crack. “Stand.”

His mum had to help him to his feet, his body trembled so badly.

Torrance’s voice was cold and strong enough for all to hear. “You dare hit Lady Esme with a mud ball? An insult, even if born of foolishness, must be answered.”

Torrance let the moment stretch unbearably long, letting fear root deep in the villagers' hearts. Then he announced his judgment.

“You will clean the horses’ shelter until there is no stink left to it," he commanded, his powerful voice slicing the stillness. "Fail, and I will see you regret it."

Daniel bobbed his head furiously. “Aye, my lord. Aye.”

Tears streamed down his mum’s cheeks. “We are grateful, my lord. Grateful for your mercy.”

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