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)
He glanced at her. “You look lovely.”
The words had fallen unbidden from his lips like a confession carried on the wind.
Her head turned toward him slowly, eyes narrowing just slightly as if trying to decide whether to accept the compliment or question his sincerity. He didn’t offer clarification. He simply looked away, his jaw tight, as if the words hadn’t left his mouth at all.
Torrance silently berated himself for saying what he did. He could tell by her look that such words were unfamiliar to her, and she was puzzled by them. He should know better, yet she had touched him in a way he had never expected and if he wasn’t careful, he would ruin everything.
The gates of Clan Rennoch stood open, yet there was no sign of a welcoming party.
Torrance scowled seeing no sign of Chieftain Stuart.
A lone warrior approached as they entered the village, his posture stiff. He offered only a shallow nod. “Chieftain Stuart sends his welcome. He awaits you in the Great Hall.”
Torrance offered no reply, his silence more cutting than words. He urged his stallion forward, Esme following closely behind as their escort led them along the main path with six of Torrance’s warriors following behind. Villagers halted their tasks to watch, some bowing, others not bothering.
The Great Hall loomed, torches blazing at its entrance, warmth and merriment spilling from within. Inside, laughter rang out, music lifted in a lively rhythm, and the scent of roasted meat, sweet bread, and spiced wine thickened the air.
They were shown not to the high table, but to a long trestle near the side wall, barely more than a place of convenience. Torrance paused before sitting, his jaw clenched as he sent a quick glance toward the six warriors who stood behind him. It was a warning to stay alert.
Torrance sat, letting his cloak drop off his shoulders. He crossed his arms and kept his eyes sharp.
Esme sat beside him, leaving her cloak to fall around her, then rested her hands in her lap, easily detecting the brewing storm within her husband.
At last, a booming voice called out across the hall, “Ah! Torrance, you've made it. We had nearly forgotten we were expecting you!”
Chieftain Stuart stood at the far end of the high table, goblet in hand, and face flushed from drink and merriment. He lifted the cup in mocking toast before turning his attention elsewhere.
Torrance didn’t respond. He didn’t blink. He simply sat unmoved by music or mirth.
“Touch nothing,” he said to Esme without turning to her. “Eat nothing. Drink nothing. Something stinks here, and it isn’t the stew.”
She nodded, though her gaze wandered nervously over the crowd. Whatever warmth she had initially first felt upon entering the Great Hall was gone now, replaced with tension that wrapped like a tight cord around the room.
Time passed. Slow and watchful.
At last, Torrance summoned one of his warriors with a quirk of his finger and nodded at his wife. “Watch her.”
Then, without another word, he stood and made his way toward Stuart, easily cutting through dancers and jesters with the chill of his presence alone.
Esme remained seated, hands folded, back straight. She felt more than simply curious eyes on her but refused to meet them. She wished they could take their leave now. The music pressed at her ears. The fire was too hot. And—
“Lady Esme.”
The voice was barely a whisper, yet sharp enough to pierce through the din. An old woman, her hair long and silver, her frame wrapped in dark wool, slipped onto the bench beside Esme without invite.
Esme’s eyes widened, instinct cautioning her not to call attention.
“He searches,” the old woman murmured. “He seeks answers long buried beneath blood and vengeance.”
Esme’s breath caught. “Who are you?”
“A friend of truth. Listen well, what he seeks lies two days’ ride from Clan Glencairn. But he cannot go alone.” The woman’s eyes—one pale, the other a stormy gray—fixed on Esme’s. “You must go with him if secrets are to be revealed.”
Before Esme could ask more, the old woman rose and vanished into the crowd as swiftly as she’d come.
Esme sat frozen, heart hammering in her chest, her glance hurrying to find Torrance. She kept her eyes on him eager to tell him of the old woman and worried for what might be brewing here.
Torrance approached the high table with unhurried steps, his expression unreadable. The noise of the hall masked his approach well enough that Stuart was startled slightly when Torrance appeared at his side.
“You dishonor your guest,” Torrance said, his voice low, clipped. “No greeting. No proper place at the table. Is that how you show your respect for one who you will claim allegiance to?”
Stuart leaned back in his chair, a smug smile curling at his lips. “I pledge allegiance to no man. It is others who will pledge allegiance to me.”