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)
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.”
Esme wondered if that was what happened to her husband. Had he participated in too many battles? Had his thoughts on war changed? Had it softened him some? That would be difficult to believe with how much Torrance desired power and influence. So, what had caused the change she had noticed in him?
“Have you seen a change in Lord Torrance since his return?”
Esme flinched, her breath catching. “I—I didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t need to.” Brenna rose, her movements gentle. “There have been whispers, of such an important victory easing him, though many wonder how long it will last.”
Esme nodded, not trusting herself to say more but glad to learn others had spotted noticeable differences in her husband as well.
Brenna smiled. “Everyone is eager for news about a future heir.”
Esme forced a smile and lied. “I’m sure it won’t be long now.”
Brenna was delighted to hear that, and talk turned to birthing and bairns as she examined Esme’s wound.
Esme stepped out into the snow once more, the chill nipping at her cheeks. The quiet from Brenna’s cottage clung to her, but her thoughts churned louder than ever. She hadn’t learned as much as she hoped to from Brenna. So, she made no move to return to the keep. Instead, her steps took her in the opposite direction, through the village and past the thinning rows of cottages until she reached the older structure near the edge of the trees—the one where the women stayed.
The women Torrance kept to satisfy his warriors after a victorious battle. Knowing the willing women were there waiting to please them made the men fight harder for victory or so Torrance claimed.
However, Torrance had made it clear—more than clear—that she was never to speak with them.
But what choice did she have if she wanted to learn all she could about the battle that brought her husband home a different man?
She inhaled an encouraging breath, then knocked once and pushed the door open before nerves could catch her. Inside, warmth and the scent of stale ale clung to the air and mingled with heavily sweet scents and drying herbs. Several women occupied the large room, most sleeping, while three women sat near the hearth, two mending garments, one brushing out her long hair. They turned at her entrance, startled at first, then wary.