Page 5 of Highlander Lord Of Vengeance (Highland Revenge Trilogy #3)

“And what is Angus to do… starve?” Torrance asked, a touch of anger in his voice.

A thin woman stepped forward and Neil hurried to wave her away.

“Let her speak,” Torrance ordered.

The woman’s hands knotted nervously in front of her. “I’m Mara, my lord, Neil’s wife. I can make sure the food is enough to feed our family along with Angus.”

Angus spoke up. “I don’t eat much.”

“I will see you are fed,” Mara said.

Torrance looked at each of them. “Then it is settled and, Neil, if your goats wander again, I will see them made into a stew.”

“I will make sure they don’t wander again,” Neil said, his face having paled.

“Eat and drink while we continue,” Torrance offered, waving them off to the tables ladened with food and drink.

The three thanked him profusely and Mara hurried to gather her four little ones so they could feast as well.

A ripple of murmurs followed many not believing the gossip that food would be waiting in the Great Hall for those who shared their grievances. Everyone waiting to speak grew anxious, wanting to be heard before the food was gone.

The next person stepped forward, a broad woman with strong arms and a scowl that could curdle milk.

“My lord. I’m Gayla. My daughter, Innis, was betrothed to Fergus and he accepted her dowry gift, a fine woven plaid. Now he says he’ll have none of her, changed his mind he did, and he won’t return the plaid.”

Fergus, a lanky lad with shifty eyes, was shoved forward by his father.

“I never agreed to a full match!” Fergus stammered. “We talked. That’s all.”

Torrance crossed his arms on his chest. “Did you accept the plaid?”

Fergus looked to the ground.

Gayla’s voice thundered. “He wore it!”

“Return the plaid or marry the lass,” Torrance ordered.

Innes, her voice as thunderous as her mum’s pushed through the crowd. “I won’t have him. He’s a liar. I want my plaid back to give to a deserving man.”

Fergus kept his focus on the ground.

“You’ll give it back, Fergus,” Torrance ordered.

Fergus raised his head, fear in his eyes. “I don’t have it.”

“What did you do with it?” Innes demanded.

“Answer her,” Torrance snapped when Fergus failed to speak.

Fergus jumped, the words rushing from his mouth. “I gave it to a lass I’ve been courting over at Clan MacVail.”

“How dare you give my plaid to another lass,” Innes said, fury rather than tears swirling in her eyes and her mum looking as furious as well.

“Do you want the plaid returned to you, Innes, knowing he gave it to another lass?” Torrance asked.

Innes shook her head. “Nay, my lord. I could not bear to look upon it now.”

Fergus stepped back when Torrance focused on him with fiery anger in his eyes. “Liars are never to be trusted. You will spend two days in the stocks and afterwards you will do whatever chore Innes, and her mum ask of you… for the next three moon cycles.”

“I have plenty that needs doing,” Gayla sneered.

“Have him taken to the stocks, Brack. Gayla and Innes enjoy the food and drink.”

Both women thanked Lord Torrance repeatedly before they went to the table to feast.

More grievances were aired, the food and drink replenished as it dwindled down, though the line seemed to grow longer.

Esme was impressed and surprised that her husband handled the complaints more fairly than she expected him to.

None were as harsh as she thought they’d be.

She was glad when only two were left. The wooden chair had grown uncomfortable, and she wished to stretch her legs with a wander around the village.

John, the smithy, was next and shoved a young lad, no more than ten years, he held by his arm, forward. “William stole some of my tools.”

William trembled. “I, my lord, I did steal them, but I was trying to return them when caught.”

“So, he claims,” John sneered.

Torrance turned to Esme. “What would you do, wife?”

The room stilled. It was not the question itself that drew breathless silence, but that Torrance had asked her at all.

Esme stared at him just as shocked as everyone else.

“I’m waiting,” Torrance snapped.

Esme pushed her unease aside and leaned forward. “Why did you steal the tools, William?”

“It’s only me and my mum and some things needed fixing in the cottage. So, I took the tools, fixed what I could, and returned them the same day.”

“Why didn’t you ask John if you could borrow them?” Esme asked.

“I did… but he refused me.”

Esme looked at John.

He shrugged. “Maybe the lad did, but I don’t recall.”

“I believe an apology to John for taking the tools without permission will suffice, don’t you John?” Esme asked.

John caught the warning look in Torrance’s eyes and quickly agreed. “Aye, my lady.”

“And, William,” she said, turning a soft smile on the lad. “You may borrow any tools from the keep you may need as long as you return them.” She turned to her husband. “If that is permissible with you, my lord.”

“It is, since William will begin working with the men who tend the keep and learn how to use the tools properly that he borrows,” Torrance ordered.

“Aye, my lord, I am most grateful,” William said, bobbing his head.

“Go eat,” Torrance said, dismissing the lad and the smithy with a wave of his hand.

The lad hurried off to collect his mum so they could feast together.

The last person, an elderly woman with gnarled fingers shuffled forward and announced, “I’ve come to say my neighbor’s singing is driving me mad.”

Torrance blinked. “Is that so?”

“It’s always sad songs. Dreadful weeping dirges. I haven’t had a cheerful thought in weeks!”

Torrance looked at Esme again. “Solve this, wife.”

Again, the room quieted, and Esme’s stomach churned, fearful she would do wrong.

“Can she carry a tune?” Esme asked gently.

The woman cast a quick glance to another woman, reed thin, standing to the side and scowled. “Sadly, aye.”

Esme realized then that both women were rail thin, and she only recalled seeing them on market day, and together, which meant they probably lived in one of the crofts away from the village. And with similar features, she wouldn’t be surprised if they were sisters and came for the food.

Esme smiled softly. “Perhaps your neighbor can limit the singing to daylight hours. And include a joyful tune now and again.”

“A fine solution,” the woman declared with a smile.

“And perhaps on occasion, you and the woman would attend a feast here at the keep, and she could entertain us with a merry tune or two,” Esme suggested, so they would at least eat well a few times within a moon cycle.

“Aye. Aye, she enjoys singing and would probably love to sing for you,” the woman said, teary-eyed.

Torrance brought his fist down on the table and there was dead silence. “It is settled. Grievances are down. Now eat and enjoy.”

A low cheer sounded, followed by chatter, laughter, and feasting.

Esme saw it, the slow blooming of trust, the way wary gazes softened. They weren’t just being judged. They were being heard… fairly.

The question was… when had her husband turned fair?