Page 21 of Highlander Lord Of Vengeance

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.

“Lady Esme,” one said, setting her needle aside slowly and standing respectfully. She had dark hair, kohl-smudged eyes, and a voice that had likely coaxed endless favors from battle-weary men. “To what do we owe the honor?”

“I don’t mean to disturb anyone. I won’t stay long,” Esme said, stepping inside and closing the door behind her. “I… I have a few questions.”

The three women exchanged apprehensive glances.

With her heart pounding, Esme asked, “I won’t ask you to betray any confidences, and I will speak of my visit to no one. I was wondering if you could tell me… after the last battle, did anything seem… unusual about Lord Torrance?”

“Unusual? How?” asked the second woman, fair-haired and younger, still running the brush through her curls.

“Was he overly quiet? Did he… speak of anything strange?”

“Overly quiet? Strange?” the third one said with a dry laugh. “He never said a word. He’d be rough with us before spilling his seed and be on his way when done. I doubt he knows any of our names or which one of us he poked.”

Esme could not keep her cheeks from flushing deep red.

The dark-haired woman scrunched her brow. “Come to think of it. He was rough and sometimes cruel, when he took what he wanted. You knew when he was in the mood, and you made certain to please him. After the battle, though…” She trailed off, eyes narrowing as she remembered. “He didn’t want anyone of us. He just sat at our fire one night, watching. Listening.”

“And when I spoke to him,” the younger woman added, “he snapped at me, telling me he was there just to hear our voices, and we were to continue to talk. It made no sense. He had never done that before that night.”

“That’s true,” the dark-haired woman said. “It was odd, like he was trying to learn something from us. After a while he got up and without saying a word walked away.”

“Something’s changed in him,” the young woman murmured. “We all could see it.”

Esme’s fingers curled into the wool of her cloak. “You’re all certain about this?”

They all nodded, as if fearful of saying anymore, the firelight casting their faces in shifting shadows.

The door slammed open, cracking against the wall.

Torrance stood in the threshold, eyes blazing, snow clinging to his shoulders. His gaze locked on Esme.

“What the bloody hell are you doing here?”

The air turned to ice.

The women scattered back, falling silent. Esme’s breath caught, but she forced herself to stand tall, lifting her chin.

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