Page 30 of Highlander Lord Of Vengeance (Highland Revenge Trilogy #3)

D arkness pressed in from all sides. Esme stood on the upper floor of the keep, the walls long and shadowed, the air thick with unease. She didn’t remember how she had come to be there alone, not seeing Ryland anywhere.

“Ryland?” she called out, her voice tight with fear.

Silence was the only response she got.

She moved soundlessly over the cold stone floor as she hurried from chamber to chamber, heart pounding. Shadows leapt and danced, fed by glimmers of unseen firelight, but she found no sign of Ryland. Why had he left her alone? He promised he would keep her safe. Her panic swelled.

“Where are you?” she whispered, her body beginning to tremble.

She suddenly found herself in the corridor where the weeping had echoed before, but now it was oppressively still.

A chill wrapped around her, a warning, and she turned only to see an old woman standing there.

The same woman from the celebration at Clan Rennoch.

Silver hair hung around her shoulders like strands of mist and her dark eyes glowed fathomless.

“Ryland must find the healer,” she said, her voice thin and whispery, as if carried on the breath of the dead. “The one known as an Seann Bhean.”

Esme opened her mouth to speak, to demand more, but the woman lifted a finger.

“Beware,” she whispered. “Friends are foes… and foes are friends.”

With that, she vanished, dissolving into smoke that curled around Esme like grasping hands.

A low growl rumbled through the air. Esme’s breath caught as the hallway dimmed further, shadows thickening into something solid.

A dark figure surged toward her out of the gloom, no face, no form, only menace, and she screamed, the sound ripping from her throat as she threw her arms up ? —

Esme woke, thrashing in Ryland’s embrace.

“It’s me, Ryland. You’re safe, Esme,” he said, tightening his hold, his voice rough with concern. “It was nothing more than a dream.”

Her chest heaved, the scream still lingering on her lips, the terror still clawing at her insides. She clung to him, trembling, her cheek pressed against the warmth and solidness of his muscled chest.

“Nay, it was much more,” Esme whispered hoarsely, struggling to strengthen her voice. “She… the mysterious woman who spoke to me at Clan Rennoch, said you must find the healer called an Seann Bhean… the old woman. And she warned to beware that friends are foes and foes are friends.”

Ryland stilled, recalling how the woman had told Esme that she had to go with him on this quest. Was this why her presence was necessary?

Tears slid down her cheeks unchecked. “It felt so real, Ryland. So real…”

He cradled her closer, his hand stroking her hair, his concern for her mounting, feeling her slim body tremble against his. “Then we will take heed, Esme, since I believe you are right. It was more than a dream.”

Dawn had barely touched the sky when they left Purdom Keep behind, its silhouette swallowed by mist. Ryland held Esme close, her back pressed against his solid chest, his arm tight around her waist as if he feared she might vanish with the fog.

Silence lingered between them, though it was not born of distance but of weight, of dreams and warnings neither could ignore.

They followed a narrow trail into the woods, the trees arching overhead like cathedral columns. The forest breathed with cold, quiet purpose, and Ryland’s every glance scanned the shadows.

Esme broke the silence, tilting her head slightly to look at Ryland. “Do you know where to find her? The Old Woman?”

His jaw tensed. “Nay, I have no idea, but someone must. We should come upon a village soon. I’ll ask the questions needed… as Torrance.”

She asked gently, “Are you ready for that?”

“Are you?” he asked, his eyes filled with concern.

“I want to say, aye, but it will be strange seeing Torrance return in you, and me being his target once again. He was a skilled marksman and just like his arrows hitting their mark, his words hit with the same precision and pain.”

He adjusted his heavy cloak wrapped around them both, giving her a reassuring squeeze.

“Remind yourself that he is dead and he cannot hurt you anymore and pay no mind to any hurtful words I speak to you, for they are nothing but lies. And do not let the name Ryland slip from your lips and, most importantly, remember how much I love you.”

Esme’s heart soared hearing those words. She had come to understand, seeing him with his friends, how fiercely he protected those he cared for, those he loved, and to know she was part of that circle, though probably more the center of it, calmed her worries.

They rode in silence a while longer, the trail twisting and narrowing through the thickening trees. A raven’s harsh cry echoed somewhere ahead, and Esme shivered.

“This place feels… watched,” she said softly.

“When you’re being hunted or doing the hunting, everything feels as if it is watching you,” Ryland murmured.”

Esme shivered again and wondered which one they were… the hunter or the hunted.

The land began to change, the forest thinning and opening to meadows dormant in the cold and not long after, the sharp outline of rooftops emerged in the distance, smoke curling into the gray sky.

“A village,” Esme said relieved, yet anxious.

Ryland slowed the horse, scanning what little he could see. “It’s small and isolated. That may work in our favor. I’ll speak to whoever leads there. Hopefully, someone there has heard of the Old Woman.”

“And if they ask why you're searching for her?”

“No one is foolish enough to question Lord Torrance,” he said, with the commanding tone of her dead husband. “You will stay close. With no warriors to have my back, I will take no chances. One false look, one whisper out of place, and we leave. I’ll not risk your safety.”

She laid her hand over his where it rested at her waist. “I will do as you say, Ryland, and I will obey Torrance’s every word without question.”

He kissed her, her lips welcoming and eager as if for that moment the world slipped away and there were only the two of them, then—reluctantly—he urged his stallion forward.

Torrance entered the village at a slow gait, keeping his arm snug around Esme’s waist.

Heads turned their way and conversations faltered as the villagers watched the couple ride through the village.

A lad, his eyes wide, dropped the bundle of firewood he’d been carrying and rushed off after one look at Torrance.

A grizzled man leaning on a cane squinted at them, then blinked hard and stumbled back a step.

Esme swore she heard him whisper, “Lord Torrance.”

They didn’t travel much deeper into the village when the whispers began. The name slithered through the village swift and chilling, filling people with fear. Faces disappeared behind shutters. A pair of young men near the smithy made a show of turning away, though not before crossing themselves.

Esme leaned closer to Ryland, her voice barely above a breath. “They recognize you.”

“They should,” he said grimly. “Word travels far of bloody victories and evil leaders.”

A hunched woman near a garden plot stared openly, the corner of her apron clutched in one hand and bravely spoke up. “We are a peaceful village, my lord?”

“Then you have nothing to fear,” he called out.

Esme couldn’t stop the shiver that ran through her, hearing the cold, heartless voice of Torrance. Nor was it easy trying to ignore the rumble of hunger in her stomach, it had been too long since they last ate.

A gentle squeeze at her waist reminded her it was Ryland, and she had nothing to fear from him. She realized it wasn’t going to be as easy as she thought to undo the damage Torrance had done to her.

“Who leads here?” Torrance demanded, his powerful voice carrying throughout the village.

The door of a cottage that had seen better days creaked open and an elderly man in a wool cloak stepped out. He bore the signs of age, a face weathered with wrinkles, yet he was sharp-eyed. He gave Torrance a long, wary once-over.

“Do you lead here?” Torrance snapped impatiently.

“Who’s asking?” the old man demanded.

Esme spotted the lad who had dropped his bundle of firewood and taken off now leaning against the corner of the cottage. He had run to warn the old man of their arrival, or had he recognized Torrance?

“Don’t play the fool, old man. It will end badly for you,” Torrance cautioned.

“These old eyes aren’t what they used to be,” the old man countered with a reasonable excuse.

“Have it your way,” Torrance said, and his chin shot up, his eyes narrowed, and he cast a glare around on all who stood near. “I am Lord Torrance of Clan Glencairn, and I seek information.”

“Where are your warriors?” the old man asked. “Lord Torrance never travels without them. Too many enemies would gladly have his head.”

“As I will have yours if you continue to question me,” Torrance threatened.

Esme got the sudden urge to put distance between them, the guttural growl that followed his threat reminding her of a time when Torrance warned her of the same. And it made her wonder about Torrance’s plan to get rid of her. How would he have done it? Would he have made her suffer?

“Quit your musing, wife, and pay attention to what goes on here,” Torrance barked, startling Esme.

Once again, she felt the tender squeeze at her waist, reminding her that she had nothing to fear. Though another rumble in her stomach, louder this time, continued to caution how hungry she was.

Habit had her answering, “Aye, my lord.”

“As for you, old man, my warriors are nearby and you will be the first I pass judgement on when I take over this village, unless your chieftain gives me good reason not to.”

Gasps and whispers circled the few gathered there.

“Your next words better hold the truth,” —Torrance’s glance turned harsh— “or I will make you suffer greatly.”

“Patrick is a stubborn old fool, the last of our warriors who looks to protect us, since we no longer have a chieftain to lead us,” said the woman who had spoken of being a peaceful village.

It struck Torrance then. “You are part of Clan Purdom.”

“Aye, a once fine and proud clan and still is—those left of us,” Patrick said, drawing his shoulders back as best he could.

“Then it is good I have come here. You are now part of Glencairn,” Torrance declared.

Esme felt a smile tempt her lips, but she kept them locked tightly. If it truly was Torrance speaking, she would worry for the clan, but knowing Ryland spoke, she knew he would see to their care. Not so Patrick, the old man.

“You don’t want to do that, my lord,” Patrick advised. “It is best you leave us alone.”

“And why is that, Patrick?” Torrance demanded.

“We are cursed, my lord, and the curse will only bring you misery and defeat as it has done us repeatedly.”

“That curse is about to be broken, Patrick. Now, my wife and I require someplace warm and food and drink,” Torrance ordered, having heard Esme’s stomach protesting its hunger and realizing it had been far too long since they last ate. “Then you will help me find what I seek.”

“What is that, my lord?” Patrick asked.

Torrance kept a steady eye on the old man to see how he would react. “I seek, Seann Bhean… the Old Woman.”

That brought silence so sharp it stung.

Then someone muttered, “Fool’s errand.”

Another said, “She’s no one’s friend.”

“She is an old woman who doesn’t mind her tongue, but healers revere her for her endless healing knowledge. Follow me to our meeting house where you will be provided with food and drink. I will have our healer fetched so you can ask her about the Old Woman.

“You are a good husband to see your wife fed,” Esme whispered as he turned his stallion to follow Patrick.

He wore a scowl as he cast glances at the villagers they passed by, and he whispered to Esme, “I am nothing like Torrance. Always remember that.”

Torrance bought the stallion to a halt in front of a shelter that appeared the size of two cottages placed end on end but had only one entrance.

Esme stretched her shoulders and back as soon as Torrance helped her off the horse. Not used to riding as much as she had done lately, her body ached.

“I will see we have a bed to sleep in tonight,” he said, his hand at her back, caressing it for a moment before guiding her toward the door.

She almost sighed aloud with how soothing his strong hand felt along her back. She nodded at his remark while thinking what it meant to share a bed with him now, knowing he was Ryland. He loved her and that made a difference.

The firepit in the center of the large room heated the area well.

That the village didn’t have much was obvious by the sparse vegetable stew they were served, though it did fill and warm the stomach as did the hot cider.

Along with that, four oat cakes were placed on the table in front of them and Esme wondered who would go without them, so the lord and his lady could be fed.

“Fill your stomach, wife, so I don’t have to listen to it rumble endlessly,” Torrance ordered, seeing his wife’s reluctance to touch the oat cakes.

She lowered her head embarrassed by Torrance’s remark, then realized it was Ryland who made it.

What was he trying to tell her? The answer came easily to her.

Ryland would never let others starve if he could help it.

He was telling her that he would see the village get more food and with that, she reached for an oat cake.

Patrick had not waited for Torrance to invite him to join them at the table, he sat opposite them. “I am warning you, my lord, do not bother with us. The curse will destroy you.”

Torrance went to ask about the curse when the door opened and in walked a woman, plain features, brown hair streaked with gray, full shape, and wearing a gentle smile.

“Breann,” Patrick called out. “Come join us. Lord Torrance wishes to speak with you.”

Brenn hesitated before approaching the table, her glance going between Lord Torrance and Esme. “Word traveled, but I thought it was just rumors.”

“Sit, Breann,” Patrick urged, patting the spot next to him on the bench.

Breann ignored him, looking a bit dazed as she continued to stand.

“What rumors?” Torrance asked.

“That a lord and his lady would come looking for the Old Woman,” Breann said. “Now here you are.”

“And what message do you have for us?” Torrance asked.

Breann bit at her bottom lip as if biting back her response.

Torrance pounded his fist on the table. “Tell me now!”

Breann jumped frightened by his demand and hurried to say, “The Old Woman will only meet with the worthy one… the woman.”