Total pages in book: 107
Estimated words: 99593 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 498(@200wpm)___ 398(@250wpm)___ 332(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 99593 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 498(@200wpm)___ 398(@250wpm)___ 332(@300wpm)
A younger man, tall and thick-necked, stepped forward nervously. “The latch broke, my lord.” He turned to the elderly man. “I’ve fixed the latch like promised, Angus.”
Torrance leaned slightly forward. “Have your goats done this before, Neil?”
Neil hesitated. “Aye, my lord… twice. But never this bad.”
Torrance’s dark eyes swept from Neil to Angus. “How many roots are left?”
“Not enough to see me through winter.”
Torrance rubbed his chin, giving the problem thought while the two men waited nervously to hear their fate.
Torrance looked to Neil and the man shrank back in fear. “You will reinforce the pen to keep the goats from ever wandering again, and you will replace Angus’s root loss with that of your own.”
“But I will not have enough to feed my family for winter,” Neil complained, and realizing he objected to Lord Torrance’s decision quickly tried to make amends. “Forgive me, my lord, but I have little ones to feed.”
“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.