Page 7 of Highlander Lord Of Vengeance (Highland Revenge Trilogy #3)

E sme paced the floor of Torrance’s bedchamber.

He had ordered her there shortly after she had climbed into her own bed.

She had remained in her room since he had sent her there and had had her supper sent to her.

She didn’t mind, though after the incident in the woods she had expected to be summoned to his bedchamber, and she had waited for it.

When the time grew late, and she thought he’d forgotten about her, the summons had come.

The door suddenly swung open. Her husband stood staring at her, his eyes roaming slowly over her from head to foot.

She realized the fire’s light behind her allowed him to see the shapely silhouette of her body beneath her nightdress.

Passion flared in his eyes and her breath caught for a moment, knowing what that meant.

She prayed she would not fail him this time.

“Go to sleep,” he ordered with a snap of his hand.

His command puzzled her. She had become familiar recognizing desire when it flared in his eyes and having felt his hard shaft pressed against her in the woods, it confirmed it.

She thought for sure this time might be different.

But it was Una’s warning about Torrance searching for another wife that worried her.

She knew what it meant… her sudden death.

She didn’t know if it was fear or foolishness that made her blurt out, “I heard you search for another wife. If you tell me what I do wrong, I can?—”

“Where did you hear that?” he demanded with a flare of anger.

“Whispers amongst the servants and villagers,” she said, not wishing to see Una punished for revealing such information.

He stared at her hesitant as if trying to decide on a response, then it came sharp and menacing. “Be a good wife and I will not need to search for your replacement.”

There was barely anything left of her courage to hold onto, but she tried. “I will be a most dutiful wife.” She swallowed down her fear. “Please, my lord, plant your seed inside me so that I may give you the heir you deserve.”

He crossed his arms over his chest and lifted his chin a notch after he took steps toward her and stopped in front of her. “You have failed thus far. Why would this time be any different?”

Esme stared speechless at him.

“You have no reason for your failure, wife?” he accused when she said nothing.

She hurried to say, “I will do better.”

“If you don’t understand your failing, how can you ever hope to do better?”

Please. Please give me strength , she silently prayed and stepped close enough to him to stretch up and plant a kiss on his lips.

He stood stiff and unmoving, then without warning, his powerful arm whipped around her slim waist, and he yanked her up against him as his lips took command.

Though powerful and demanding, his kiss was not unpleasant, not like previous ones, harsh and cruel.

It was similar to the kiss in the woods as was her response, eager, to her surprise.

That it stirred something in her, a spark of desire, offered some hope that this time could be different.

He deepened the kiss as if it wasn’t enough, he needed more, was eager to share more.

And perhaps that was what made the difference, the kiss was shared, meant to please them both, something she had never felt before now with Torrance.

Then she felt it, his shaft hardened against her and poked at her as if demanding entrance.

She almost sighed with relief. Unfortunately, it was a brief relief.

As fast as he had claimed her lips, he just as quickly tore his mouth off hers and shoved her away from him.

“Go to bed,” he ordered with an angry growl. “NOW!” he commanded when she didn’t move fast enough.

She scurried away and hurried under the blanket, bringing it up to her chin. She shook with fear but beneath it, a strange tingle raced through her body.

Something was wrong, seriously wrong. There were things different about Torrance since his return.

Her husband was a cruel man, but he hadn’t been as cruel since his return.

His solutions to many of the grievances the villagers had brought to him proved that as well as the food and drink he had offered the people that day.

Or how he spared the lad, Daniel, from a far worse punishment.

And he didn’t raise his voice to the servants nearly as much as he once did.

And that he sought diplomacy rather than battle was another difference in him.

But easy explanations could be found for them. What she couldn’t understand was why he sent her to bed when he finally…

She shook her head. She had finally done something right. She had gotten his shaft to grow hard when all the other times she had failed. His shaft had remained limp, and he would grow furious with her for failing him. So why now when she was successful in her duty had he turned her away?

Torrance sat scowling at the flames in the hearth. He wouldn’t dare glance at the bed where his wife slept. This plan had been devised quickly, unexpectedly, and under unimaginable circumstances. It had a good chance at success, except for one thing that had failed to be settled… Esme.

Now there wasn’t time to waste on it. He would work it out somehow, but it wasn’t a priority. Or was it?. He needed to be careful, very careful, and he needed to stop kissing her. Though she had been the one to kiss him this time and, bloody hell, if he couldn’t resist her.

He threw his head back, too forceful, giving it an unexpected whack against the back of the chair and hoped it would knock some sense into him.

There had been no time to question the wisdom of the plan.

The pact had been made in haste and with good intention.

It was only afterwards when he had a moment to breathe, to think clearly that he understood the implications it could cause.

But if it succeeded it could end the bloodshed, the endless battles, and the meaningless deaths.

Still, if it was discovered before he found what he was searching for there would be only one death… his.

The snow had begun falling again, soft and steady, clinging to the thatched roofs and dusting the path before Esme in a quiet hush. She pulled her cloak tighter, her breath forming faint clouds in the cold morning air as she made her way to Brenna’s cottage.

Torrance was gone from their bed when she woke this morning. She wondered if he had slept there at all, but warmth and his familiar forest-rich scent still clung to his pillow proving his head had rested there. But for how long?

She kept a quick pace, glad the village still slept, save for a few early risers tending to fires and livestock. She was anxious for answers, though she wasn’t even certain what questions she dared ask.

She couldn’t escape the feeling that something was… off.

Her husband had returned from the battle with minor injuries but without rage, without his usual sharp-edged temper.

The change was subtle, but undeniable. His tone didn’t threaten as often.

He’d pause a moment before speaking as if giving thought to his words.

Then there was a look in his eyes she didn’t quite recognize.

Not to mention what happened in their bedchamber last night.

Something definitely wasn’t right with her husband.

She reached the healer’s door and knocked lightly, brushing snow from her hood.

Brenna opened it, her braid trailing over one shoulder and her eyes turning wide. “Lady Esme.”

The door was suddenly yanked out of her hand, Brack appearing behind her.

“Is something wrong, my lady?” Brack demanded.

Esme found herself speechless. How did she explain her early morning visit, but then what was Brack doing there so early?

“My hand,” Esme said, thinking quickly. “But don’t let me disturb your visit with the healer. I will wait until Brenna finishes with you.”

“She is finished with me, my lady, and you are far more important to tend to than I am.”

Esme stepped aside as Brack rushed out of the cottage without saying another word.

“Come in, my lady,” Brenna offered. “The air stings this morning.”

Esme stepped inside, welcoming the warmth of the cottage that wrapped around her like a gentle wool blanket. The scent of herbs and damp wool filled the air, and the hearth crackled with fresh logs.

“Please sit and I will see to your hand.”

“It is doing well, nearly healed,” Esme said, taking a seat at the small table. “There is something else I wish to speak with you about.”

“I am at your service, anytime, my lady.” Brenna said. “What can I help you with besides your wounded hand?”

“It is not about me that I seek advice.”

Brenna’s brow wrinkled, but she held her tongue and waited.

Esme almost lost her courage, then after a silent moment, said, “You were at the battlefield, helping the wounded.”

Brenna gave a nod. “Aye. Grim work. I’ll be scrubbing blood from my hands for weeks, though none of it remains.”

Esme hesitated, careful in how she probed for answers. “Did you tend to Torrance’s wounds?”

“He chose to see to them himself since they were minor.” She paused as if she suddenly recalled something. “His concern was for his warriors. He directed me to do all I could for those in need, including the wounded MacLeish warriors.”

Esme’s brow furrowed. “He thought of his men and the enemy warriors as well?”

Brenna nodded. “Aye, I remember thinking it strange, since he always warned me to tend first to the warriors whose wounds once seen to would allow them to return to battle.”

Esme looked toward the fire, her voice soft. “That was a bit of a change for him.”

The words weren’t long out of her mouth before she realized she should never have spoken them.

Brenna crouched beside the hearth, poking at the fresh logs there, encouraging them to flame. “Men change in war. They see too much. Feel too much. Or stop feeling at all.”