Page 16

CHAPTER TWELVE

" W here did ye learn tae ride so well?"

Valora turned to glance at Torrin as the two of them strode down the path to the village after a short stretch of wild galloping.

It was Valora who had initiated it, urging her horse to go faster and faster just to feel the wind on her face, just to think, if only for a moment, that she was truly free.

It was a pleasant day, though not very sunny or warm.

The chill of the wind bit at her cheeks, stinging her skin.

The sky above was overcast, but not so dark as to keep the sun from reaching the ground, and though it wasn’t enough to warm her skin, it was enough to shed a golden light over everything—the tall, swaying grass, the reeling in the far distance, the black rocks that jutted up from the edge of the cliff.

Valora was glad she had gone, even if she would have preferred to be alone.

"I’ve been ridin’ since I was a wee lass," said Valora with a small shrug. "It was a way tae get out o’ the castle when me faither was in a particularly bad mood."

Torrin nodded but otherwise remained silent. Valora was used to it; people never knew what to say to her, how to treat her. They never knew how to express their sympathy or even if they should.

Silence was the best she could hope for. She despised it when people tried to make her feel better, simply because it never worked.

"Well, ye’re very skilled," he said. "I’ve never seen a lass ride like ye."

Valora gave a small shrug. "I enjoy it. I dae. I wish I could dae it more often."

"What’s stoppin’ ye?"

"Me faither daesnae want me ridin’ too far from the castle," she said. "I dinnae think he’s worried. He’s more concerned that if anythin’ happens tae me, he willnae be able tae use me in the way he wants."

"Yer faither isnae here," Torrin pointed out, and it was only then that Valora realized she was not under her father’s rule anymore. She could do as she pleased; she didn’t have to worry about her father’s reaction.

With a small grin and one last look at Torrin, she urged her horse to gallop faster once more, the two of them breezing down the path.

A laugh escaped her the moment her horse caught on, responsive to her movements as she steered it.

It was a beautiful creature, a young mare with shiny chestnut fur, calm and capable, and it reminded Valora why she loved to ride so much.

Strands of her hair fell out of her updo as she rode, haloing her face.

Her eyes stung from the wind, tears gathering in the corners, but she was too happy, too carefree to be bothered by it.

She could spend the rest of the day like this, simply riding around the lands and seeing their beauty, that endless green that stretched as far as the eye could see on one side and that glittering blue of the waters in the other.

Behind her, Torrin was quick to catch up. Valora could hear his horse’s hooves, thundering against the ground, mingling with her own horse’s gallops. Her laughter, delighted and joyous, was almost loud enough to encompass it all, to veil every other sound.

It wasn’t until they saw the village appear in the short distance that they slowed their pace.

Just as Daisy had said, it was not far from the castle, though it could not be seen from where the castle stood.

Now that Valora looked at it, even from this distance, it seemed like a big place, a populous village, one that seemed to be prospering.

The closer they got, the more this idea was reinforced in Valora’s mind.

Just as they reached the first buildings, she could see the place from up close in all its glory—the sturdy, solid houses of stone and wood, the fragrant and colorful gardens that sprawled before them, the busy street that led to the village square.

She and Torrin took that rode, riding leisurely down its length until they reached the square—a large space with a bustling market, with men, women, and children going about their days.

There was a lot of life there, a lot of joy, more so than Valora had ever seen in her own home. And she couldn’t help but notice that, as they passed, everyone greeted Torrin.

An’ he is greetin’ everyone, too. How daes he ken all these people?

Was this normal for lairds, Valora wondered? Was it only her father who didn’t care about his people? She doubted her father knew the name of anyone who was not in his immediate circle, let alone the names of villagers. And yet, there Torrin was, greeting everyone individually.

As they brought their horses to a halt, dismounting them, Valora turned to him with a small frown. "How dae ye ken all these people?"

Torrin gave a small shrug. "I come here often."

He didn’t elaborate any further than that and Valora didn’t ask. She only observed him as more people approached him, even children, who were running in circles around him, laughing and calling his name.

"Me laird!" called a man as he hobbled over to them. He was older, his face wrinkled, his hands weathered, but his eyes remaining a bright, clear whisky color. "Ye’ve come early this time. We werenae expectin’ ye until next week. Has it already been a fortnight?"

"Nay, nay," said Torrin, shaking his head. "But I wished tae show Miss MacNeacail here the village, so I thought it would be a good opportunity tae come."

A fortnight? Does he come here so often?

It sounded so strange, so foreign to Valora that she could hardly imagine it, let alone believe it. But it seemed to be true; it had to be, if everyone knew who Torrin was.

The man bowed deeply to Valora, giving her a warm smile. "Good mornin’, me lady. Welcome! How dae ye find our village?"

Valora was at a loss for words, but she quickly scrambled for something to say. "It’s very charmin’! Truly, like a gem. It’s nae often ye see a village the likes o’ this."

It was true, too; this was perhaps the most well cared-for village Valora had ever visited, and she couldn’t help but think a lot of love had been poured into the land, into the houses, into the people.

She had long since learned to recognize love like this, in its little manifestations—a well-tended garden, a clean well, a street full of smiles.

"It is our honor ye like it," said the man, before turning back to Torrin. "Me laird, please give our thanks tae yer healer. The ointment ye brought me has been daein’ wonders! Me arm is good as new!"

With a gentle smile, Torrin reached for the man, slapping a friendly hand on his shoulder. "I’m glad tae hear that, Iain. Are ye on the mend, then? Or dae I still have tae fash over ye?"

"Ach, me laird, never fash over me," said the man—Iain, Valora reminded herself. If there was even the smallest chance that she would end up saying yes to Torrin’s proposal, then she would need to learn the names of everyone in that village, too. She would have to show that she cared.

"I fash over ye all," said Torrin good-naturedly, and the two men said their goodbyes before Torrin turned back to Valora, the smile lingering on his lips. She couldn’t return it, though; she could only frown once more in confusion, wondering who the man in from of her truly was.

Was he the cold, unapproachable laird with the stony expression she sometimes encountered, or this warm man that he seemed to be now?

"What is it?" he asked her, his smile turning into a frown of his own.

"Ye come here every fortnight?" Valora asked.

In the soft light of the morning, she could have sworn that Torrin’s cheeks heated at the question, taking on the color of a freshly bloomed rose. For a moment, he averted his gaze, glancing off into the distance instead of facing her.

"I bring them medicine sometimes," he said. "Our healer, Ina, who ye’ll meet soon, prepares ointments an’ medicine fer these people an’ I bring them to them. An’ then I help with anythin’ else I can."

Valora glanced around them at the village people—at the way they were smiling, glad to see their laird, at the children who were not afraid to approach him, at the well-kept buildings and facilities, and she knew what Torrin was saying to be true.

Warmth expanded in her chest—an odd kind of warmth that had nothing to do with the weather that day. Not only was Torrin helping those people, but he also never bragged about it. If anything, he seemed reluctant to reveal the true extent of the help he had given them.

"That’s very nice o’ ye," she admitted. "Truly, the things ye dae fer these people?—"

"I’m their laird," Torrin interrupted with a small shrug. "I wish tae help them in any way I can."

Those words stayed with Valora as the two of them roamed around the village, with Torrin showing her every important place—the church, with its slanted roof and the large, wooden cross, the inn that hosted every weary traveler who passed through, the tavern where the locals gathered at night for a drink or two.

Everything was new to Valora; though she had visited villages before, and she had stayed at inns while traveling, she had never seen a place boasting such harmony.

As they walked down a side road, on their way back to the square through a more scenic route, they came across a man carrying three large pails of water on his own, followed closely by a young boy who, for all his desire to help, couldn’t possibly do anything to assist him.

Torrin rushed to them, grabbing two of the pails from the man even as he insisted he could do it himself.

Just as they were about to reach her, though, the little boy tripped on a loose stone and fell on his hands and knees.

Valora watched as if in slow motion, and before she knew it, she was rushing towards the child, kneeling next to him to take a look at his injuries.