Page 14 of Highlander Lord Of Vengeance (Highland Revenge Trilogy #3)
"Let it wander no more. You need to remain alert and remain close to me when we arrive," Torrance instructed, his tone firm. “If I must step away, one of my warriors will remain at your side.”
Esme looked at him alarmed. “You expect trouble?”
“I always expect trouble, so I am never left unprepared. Besides, I don’t trust Stuart,” he said, his voice flat as his gaze swept the distant village. “He smiles with one hand while drawing a blade with the other.”
That he shared that with her was another piece that filled in the puzzle since Torrance never shared such a talk with her.
Silence fell again, broken only by the movement of horses. Torrance meant to say no more, meant to keep his thoughts his own, but he couldn’t take his eyes off her.
Wind caught the strands of her blonde hair, to sweep across her cheeks kissed pink from the cold, and her eyes, more watchful lately, now held a soft curiosity as she took in the village that came into sight.
And her lips… he couldn’t look at her lips without thinking of last night and how satisfied he felt seeing and feeling the pleasure, he brought her.
There was a beauty about her, not only in her face or her lush body, but her nature… kind, resilient, courageous.
He glanced at her. “You look lovely.”
The words had fallen unbidden from his lips like a confession carried on the wind.
Her head turned toward him slowly, eyes narrowing just slightly as if trying to decide whether to accept the compliment or question his sincerity. He didn’t offer clarification. He simply looked away, his jaw tight, as if the words hadn’t left his mouth at all.
Torrance silently berated himself for saying what he did. He could tell by her look that such words were unfamiliar to her, and she was puzzled by them. He should know better, yet she had touched him in a way he had never expected and if he wasn’t careful, he would ruin everything.
The gates of Clan Rennoch stood open, yet there was no sign of a welcoming party.
Torrance scowled seeing no sign of Chieftain Stuart.
A lone warrior approached as they entered the village, his posture stiff. He offered only a shallow nod. “Chieftain Stuart sends his welcome. He awaits you in the Great Hall.”
Torrance offered no reply, his silence more cutting than words. He urged his stallion forward, Esme following closely behind as their escort led them along the main path with six of Torrance’s warriors following behind. Villagers halted their tasks to watch, some bowing, others not bothering.
The Great Hall loomed, torches blazing at its entrance, warmth and merriment spilling from within. Inside, laughter rang out, music lifted in a lively rhythm, and the scent of roasted meat, sweet bread, and spiced wine thickened the air.
They were shown not to the high table, but to a long trestle near the side wall, barely more than a place of convenience. Torrance paused before sitting, his jaw clenched as he sent a quick glance toward the six warriors who stood behind him. It was a warning to stay alert.
Torrance sat, letting his cloak drop off his shoulders. He crossed his arms and kept his eyes sharp.
Esme sat beside him, leaving her cloak to fall around her, then rested her hands in her lap, easily detecting the brewing storm within her husband.
At last, a booming voice called out across the hall, “Ah! Torrance, you've made it. We had nearly forgotten we were expecting you!”
Chieftain Stuart stood at the far end of the high table, goblet in hand, and face flushed from drink and merriment. He lifted the cup in mocking toast before turning his attention elsewhere.
Torrance didn’t respond. He didn’t blink. He simply sat unmoved by music or mirth.
“Touch nothing,” he said to Esme without turning to her. “Eat nothing. Drink nothing. Something stinks here, and it isn’t the stew.”
She nodded, though her gaze wandered nervously over the crowd. Whatever warmth she had initially first felt upon entering the Great Hall was gone now, replaced with tension that wrapped like a tight cord around the room.
Time passed. Slow and watchful.
At last, Torrance summoned one of his warriors with a quirk of his finger and nodded at his wife. “Watch her.”
Then, without another word, he stood and made his way toward Stuart, easily cutting through dancers and jesters with the chill of his presence alone.
Esme remained seated, hands folded, back straight. She felt more than simply curious eyes on her but refused to meet them. She wished they could take their leave now. The music pressed at her ears. The fire was too hot. And?—
“Lady Esme.”
The voice was barely a whisper, yet sharp enough to pierce through the din. An old woman, her hair long and silver, her frame wrapped in dark wool, slipped onto the bench beside Esme without invite.
Esme’s eyes widened, instinct cautioning her not to call attention.
“He searches,” the old woman murmured. “He seeks answers long buried beneath blood and vengeance.”
Esme’s breath caught. “Who are you?”
“A friend of truth. Listen well, what he seeks lies two days’ ride from Clan Glencairn. But he cannot go alone.” The woman’s eyes—one pale, the other a stormy gray—fixed on Esme’s. “You must go with him if secrets are to be revealed.”
Before Esme could ask more, the old woman rose and vanished into the crowd as swiftly as she’d come.
Esme sat frozen, heart hammering in her chest, her glance hurrying to find Torrance. She kept her eyes on him eager to tell him of the old woman and worried for what might be brewing here.
Torrance approached the high table with unhurried steps, his expression unreadable. The noise of the hall masked his approach well enough that Stuart was startled slightly when Torrance appeared at his side.
“You dishonor your guest,” Torrance said, his voice low, clipped. “No greeting. No proper place at the table. Is that how you show your respect for one who you will claim allegiance to?”
Stuart leaned back in his chair, a smug smile curling at his lips. “I pledge allegiance to no man. It is others who will pledge allegiance to me.”
Torrance leaned closer, so only Stuart could hear. “You have always been a fool, but this… this is different. There’s something foul in this hall. You’ve made a mistake thinking I wouldn’t notice.”
He let his gaze sweep slowly over the revelers.
His stare paused on a serving girl too stiff in her posture.
A man laughing too hard at nothing. The flick of eyes from corner to corner as if waiting for a cue.
And he saw that no other chieftain in the area was present.
A deep, bone-honed instinct took hold, and he knew… the celebration was a mask.
He didn’t bother to bid farewell. He turned and walked away.
Stuart raised his cup, keeping his smile fixed. “Leaving so soon?”
Torrance gave a small nod to one of his warriors across the room. Without hesitation, the man slipped quickly toward the door, vanishing through it like a shadow.
Torrance hurried toward his wife, the crowd seeming thicker than only moments ago. He needed to get Esme out of here quickly.
He barely took a few steps.
“You’re not going anywhere, Torrance?” Stuart bellowed, his voice booming over the music.
Everything stopped—music, laughter, the clatter of cups—held in a breathless pause. Then it shattered.
From the shadows, warriors lunged, steel gleaming in the firelight. Shouts erupted, benches toppled, and the joyful feast turned into a snare. Torrance’s blade was in hand before the first blow came, and he met it with savage precision.
His eyes swept the room… Esme.
She stood near the table, his warriors drawing in to shield her, but too many enemies were between them now. Too many blades. He saw the shift, the tightening of the trap, and knew, in that instant, he would reach her too late if he didn’t?—
He vaulted up on a table, food, bowls, and tankards flying as he kicked them out of his way. He swung his sword, striking down all who tried to stop him with swift, precise slices.
He reached her as a sword arced toward her side.
With a powerful shove, Torrance slammed Esme back against the stone wall, his arm barring her from moving, his body shielding hers as he blocked the strike with his sword and finished the warrior with one thrust.
“Stay behind me,” he growled, his voice thick with fury.
She couldn’t speak. Her breath was caught in her throat, her eyes wide with fear as warriors bore down on them. They would not survive this. They would die here today.
The firelight glinted off drawn blades. The hall echoed with screams, the clash of steel, the scent of blood rising like smoke?—
Then the heavy doors of the Great Hall burst open.