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)
They were deep into the village when suddenly there came a sharp, wet splat.
Esme jerked to a stop in surprise, looking down to find a thick glob of mud staining the hem of her cloak. A heartbeat of stunned silence followed, and then the air tightened, turned brittle.
All eyes shifted, not to Esme, but to Torrance.
Across the way, a lad no older than six years stood frozen, another mudball drooping from his small hand. His mother gripped him fiercely, terror etched deep into her face.
Lord Torrance turned, his movements deliberate, his expression carved from stone. He stared at the lad with a weight that could crush bone.
The lad's lips moved, trembling around whispered apologies too soft to hear.
Esme’s heart ached. She shifted ever so slightly toward Torrance, her voice low and urgent as she gently squeezed his hand. "My lord, Daniel is but a child. It was a mistake... not a slight."
For the briefest moment, something flickered in Torrance’s eyes as if he might consider her words, but it vanished as fast as it had appeared.
He turned his gaze onto Esme, not cruel, but sharp, warning her without saying a word.
Should she hold her tongue as she usually did? Would her interference only make things worse for them both? She couldn’t see the lad suffer. She knew how cruel Torrance could be.
“Please, my lord, do not harm him,” she whispered.
He glared at her with such annoyance that his green eyes appeared bolder in color and Esme knew to say any more could be harmful to the lad. She held her tongue.
Torrance turned slowly, like a storm gathering force. His eyes, sharp as a drawn blade, fixed on the lad. He let go of his wife’s hand and took one step toward Daniel, then another.
Daniel’s mum shoved her son to his knees, begging, “Forgive him, my lord! It was an accident! He meant no disrespect!”
Torrance shifted his attention to Daniel and barked a single command, sharp as a whip crack. “Stand.”
His mum had to help him to his feet, his body trembled so badly.
Torrance’s voice was cold and strong enough for all to hear. “You dare hit Lady Esme with a mud ball? An insult, even if born of foolishness, must be answered.”
Torrance let the moment stretch unbearably long, letting fear root deep in the villagers' hearts. Then he announced his judgment.
“You will clean the horses’ shelter until there is no stink left to it," he commanded, his powerful voice slicing the stillness. "Fail, and I will see you regret it."
Daniel bobbed his head furiously. “Aye, my lord. Aye.”
Tears streamed down his mum’s cheeks. “We are grateful, my lord. Grateful for your mercy.”
The villagers sagged in relief. A beating had been expected. A maiming, even.
As his mum said, this was mercy.
Without a word, Torrance turned to Esme and once more took hold of her hand, grasping it tightly, a warning that she had displeased him.
It didn’t matter to her. The lad had been spared a harsh punishment and that was all that mattered.
His hand eased his grip after only a few steps, and they continued their walk through the village whispers following them. While she couldn’t hear what they said, she knew.
Mercy.
They all wondered as did she… why Lord Torrance had shown the lad mercy when he had never shown anyone mercy.
The silence grew heavy as they continued walking. Torrance was far too engaged in surveying the village than having any desire to speak with her. She didn’t mind. Silence was safer for her.
Torrance halted when they reached the smithy.
He was a burly man with arms thick as tree trunks. At the sight of Torrance, the smithy quickly set down his work and wiped his hands, bowing his head in greeting.
Her husband released her hand and Esme lingered a few steps behind, grateful to slip into the background away from the smell of hot metal and thick smoke. From beneath the smithy's bench, a familiar cat emerged, a scrappy thing with a crooked ear and a bold spirit.
The cat hesitated, then darted toward her with a friendly meow—only to freeze mid-step, hackles rising as her wide eyes darted to Torrance. Recognizing him, the cat slunk back, tail low, the memory of past cruelties clear in her retreat.
Esme's heart twisted. The poor creature remembered.
Without thinking, Esme knelt and stretched her hand toward the cat, a small, coaxing smile on her lips. But her foot caught a loose stone. She stumbled, reaching out instinctively to stop herself from falling, her palm landed against a piece of hot iron. The pain was immediate, searing up her arm. She gasped and snatched her hand back, falling to one knee.
Torrance turned at the sound, his expression…
Esme thought she had caught concern in his eyes or perhaps it was what she wished to see, but it was annoyance she actually saw.