Page 25 of Highlander Lord Of Vengeance (Highland Revenge Trilogy #3)

T orrance rode with caution, keeping one arm locked around Esme as she slumped against him. She had finally surrendered to exhaustion. Her head rested near his shoulder, her whisper warm breath tickling at his neck.

It wasn’t easy maneuvering through the forest in the dead of night and only half a moon to light the way.

But his stallion, dark as the night itself, moved with relentless purpose through narrow trails and over uneven ground, guided by Torrance’s steady hands on the reins.

He barely noticed the biting wind or the way branches clawed at him.

He was too busy keeping his eyes focused in the dark while his thoughts continued to spin darker than the path ahead.

How was it that his men had turned against him?

It wasn’t beyond belief. He had cultivated fear with ease, given reason for many to hate him, and trust was a luxury long stripped from his life. But to know betrayal was within his own ranks… it made him realize how desperate and dangerous the game he played could be.

He had risked much more than his life. Esme was now bound to that risk, and that weighed heavier than any blade.

By the time he spotted a low ridge nestled beneath a tangle of trees, the cold had seeped through his bones. He slowed the stallion and guided him off the trail to a narrow hollow, mostly shielded from the wind. There, between ancient trees and thick bushes, was space enough to hide for the night.

Torrance dismounted with care, cradling Esme in his arms as he slid to the ground.

She stirred but didn’t wake, murmuring something unintelligible against his chest. He tucked her close to him, led the stallion to a patch of grass, then lowered Esme to the leaf-covered earth and joined her there.

He took her into his arms wrapping his cloak around them both.

With Esme beside him, her warmth pressed close, he kept his hand on the hilt of his sword, and waited for a light sleep, if sleep would come at all.

Above, the trees whispered secrets, and the stars remained hidden. As the fire of betrayal burned low in his chest, one thought lingered… time was running out. If he did not learn the truth soon… all would be lost, much more than he ever expected.

Torrance urged his stallion into a steady trot the next morning. The weight of the night clung to him, Esme’s warmth against him, the silence that bred too many thoughts, and the knowledge that time was slipping through his fingers like rainwater.

Esme wasn’t surprised when he had barely said two words to her this morning upon waking. He rushed her up onto his stallion and swung up behind her, and they were off. His tense body and the way his eyes continually scanned the area had her realizing they were not out of danger yet.

She had to ask, “Where do we go?”

“Clan Stott,” he said, never taking his eyes off their surroundings. “We’re not far from it.”

She blinked against the dull light, pulling her cloak tighter around her. “That’s where we were meant to take shelter today, is it not?”

He gave a short nod but said nothing more.

As the forest thinned, the land dipped into a small valley, and there a modest village sat tucked neatly against the hills… Clan Stott. Wisps of smoke curled lazily from thatched rooftops, and a few figures moved about busy with morning chores.

Torrance slowed the stallion to a stop, his eyes sharpening.

Esme followed his gaze, then felt him go rigid against her.

At the entrance to the village stood a mam, his aging frame still commanding, who Esme assumed was the clan chieftain. But it was not the chieftain Torrance watched, it was the man speaking with him.

The breath caught in Esme’s throat. “That man… isn’t he the one who rode into camp and warned of the second betrayal?”

“Aye, it is. Gavin.” The name left Torrance like a curse. “He rode with the group that took the lead to make sure no danger awaited us. He was ordered to return home and seek help.”

Esme’s stomach churned with fear. How many men had betrayed Torrance? Had any warrior gone home for help? Or were they completely on their own? Watching the easy familiarity between the two men below caused worry to churn her stomach.

The way Torrance’s grip whitened around the reins and how a storm brewed behind his eyes, she believed her husband was thinking the same.

“Is that Chieftain Eagan who Gavin speaks with, and do you think the chieftain is part of it all?” she asked.

“I don’t know, though from here it certainly looks that way” he said. “I’ll not ride into a place where betrayal might be welcomed with open arms.”

While the situation frightened her it also confused her, and she voiced the sudden thought that came to her. “Could it be that those who favored Ryland as the victor, now tries to turn defeat to victory for him?”

“Don’t be a fool, wife,” he snapped. “Anyone who shows Ryland any mercy knows the consequences of such folly.”

Her heart thudded, realizing this could be a chance, one more attempt to crack the mask he wore, if he wore one. She could see how he reacted to the mention of Ryland and how this might be more about him than Torrance.

She edged a bit closer to danger with her next remark. “What if there are those who believe Ryland is entitled to rule Clan Glencairn?”

He turned and looked at her and calmly, though firmly as if he was declaring it an edict, said, “Clan Glencairn will always be ruled by a rightful heir of Glencairn.” He grabbed hold of her chin. “And your duty is to produce one.”

And finally, there was a chance she would.

His hand fell away from her chin, and he turned his head, just slightly.

The sharp line of his jaw was taut. His voice, when it came, was a low growl.

“I will not beg for loyalty nor chase the favor of cowards. But any man who dares betray me, any man,” —he glared at her— “or woman who seeks to raise a hand against me, will know pain before he or she finds death.”

That he confirmed only a rightful heir would rule Clan Glencairn would be something her husband would say, something he and his father were adamant about.

And she had heard Torrance say many times that no half-blood would ever have the title of Lord of Clan Glencairn.

She had believed that it was part of the reason he went to war with Ryland.

He wanted him dead, never able to lay claim to the title.

And why would Ryland even want it? He had his own clan and from what she heard he was content with no aspirations of ever ruling Clan Glencairn. So, why would she think it wasn’t Torrance who returned home to her but Ryland?

Torrance was different. There was no denying it. If he wasn’t Ryland, then what would have changed him? And would that change last?

“You would show no mercy?” she asked, though knew how her husband would answer.

He gazed at her then, not cold, not angry just… resolute. “Only a weak woman would ask such a foolish question. Mercy is wasted on traitors.”

She looked away, staring at the distant village, thinking she was losing her mind, and wondering if that was her husband’s plan all along. To drive her mad and be rid of her. Perhaps he already had a woman in mind for his next wife. But then why chance getting her with child?

He grabbed her chin again, fiery anger in his eyes that burnt out quickly and he rested his brow to hers. “No matter what happens, I will not see you harmed. I will keep you safe.”

That was it. He was trying to drive her mad and she, like a fool, was falling for it. One moment he was cruel, the next tender. She couldn’t let herself be tricked. She couldn’t fall into his trap, since she was sure death awaited her there. But how… how did she ever survive?

Torrance turned the horse away from Clan Stott and led them once again into the forest.

They had been riding for some time, clouds growing darker as they followed overhead.

The air remained heavy, as if the trees themselves were holding their breath.

Each hoofbeat echoed in Esme’s ears, but still Torrance said nothing.

The silence between them had grown thick, stretched so taut she feared one word might snap it.

Esme kept her hands resting in her lap, having no desire to wrap her arms around him.

Her worrisome thoughts continued to grow.

She silently continued to berate herself for being so foolish.

Torrance enjoyed laying a trap for people, though he more enjoyed the punishment he inflicted for being caught in one.

She had seen him do it time and again. She should have realized it. She had dug her own grave.

Her voice broke the silence, soft and unsteady. “Where do we go now?”

Torrance’s grip on the reins tightened. He did not answer her, did not look at her.

Esme swallowed the lump rising in her throat and tried again. “Will we return home?”

Still, he said nothing.

“Or do we continue on to complete the mission?”

Her only response was a snort from the stallion.

She kept her voice firm, but she could not prevent her unease from being heard. “Or are you not sure what you’ll do with me yet?”

That brought a response. She felt his entire body shift, muscles tense, though he maintained his silence.

Dread coiled in her chest. The way he had dispersed his warriors so fast and rode away with her and how he wouldn’t dare approach Clan Stott…

it all gnawed at her. She couldn’t shake the feeling that something more than betrayal haunted him.

The fear that she had made the most dreadful mistake clawed at her.

What if this was the trap? Not just for her but for warriors he felt weren’t loyal. It was an easy way to get rid of them. And what of her? Did he bring her this far just to be rid of her?

She wanted to believe it wasn’t true, wanted so badly to believe he had changed. But evil didn’t change and Torrance was an evil man capable of anything, especially deception.

Had she been a fool? Had she wanted to be free of Torrance so badly that she had conjured some reckless suspicion in her mind to free her of evil?

A sharp rustle to the left, in the woods, had Torrance drawing his stallion to a halt. Then a rustle came from the right.

Esme barely turned her head before men stepped from the woods—one, two, then more, surrounding the trail like wolves closing in. Their weapons were drawn and their eyes already locked on Torrance.

The stallion reared slightly beneath him, apprehensively.

Torrance swore beneath his breath.

Esme didn’t wait. This could be her only chance, and she took it.

She threw herself off the horse, hitting the ground hard.

Pain jolted through her palms and knees, but she pushed herself up and ran straight into the forest. Branches whipped at her face, roots caught at her feet, and cold air tore at her lungs.

But she didn’t stop. She ran as though the devil himself gave chase… and he did.

Fear pounded in her head louder than her heartbeat. He led me here. He knew. This was always the plan to get me alone. Get rid of me, so he could find a new wife.

The woods blurred around her, panic turning everything to shadow and sound. Then she heard it, the crunch of leaves behind her. Someone chased after her. The heavy footfalls grew louder, drawing closer.

She veered left, her heart thundering, her breath ragged. A branch snapped behind her. She didn’t look back. She couldn’t. She didn’t want to see who chased her, didn’t want to know how little time she had.

It came suddenly, shockingly. A heavy weight struck her from behind. She hit the ground with a cry, breath driven from her lungs. Still, she struggled as best she could, fighting until the very end, kicking, clawing, the world spinning.

“STOP, ESME! STOP!”

His voice was so fierce that it froze her, giving him enough time to pin her.

Torrance.

He loomed above her, his breath hot and fast, his hands tight around her wrists, holding her pinned to the forest floor. His hair hung loose over his brow, his eyes wild—not with rage, but something else. Something raw.

Then he said, “You know… don’t you?”