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 lowered her hand to rest on her stomach where by now her husband had expected a bairn to be growing, but it wasn’t. Though she had gained some weight, her fault. She had been able to enjoy her meals since he hadn’t been there to comment on everything she put in her mouth. He would notice and no doubt remark on it and see that she got less food.
She sighed feeling helpless, trapped, and fearful. Always fearful.
The horn sounded again—close this time.
She hurried out of her bedchamber to greet her husband, the man she hated with her whole heart. She silently prayed as she made her way down the stone stairs for strength and sneaked in a prayer that had no hope of being fulfilled—please, please, let me be free of him.
The wind stirred the hem of Esme’s cloak as she stood atop the stone steps of the keep, her hands knotted tight at her sides. The village that spread wide before the castle was lined with clan members—men, women, even bairns clutching their mothers’ skirts—all summoned at the sound of the horn. Not for celebration. Not for joy. But for duty touched with fear.
Esme watched as silence settled over the village and a chill swept through the crowd like a shadow passing over the sun as hoofbeats rang out, sharp and steady.
She forced her glance up the slope where the road cut through the last of the pines. A black horse crested the ridge, a brute of an animal, its mane flying like a war banner. Upon it sat a man clad in a dark plaid and furs, his cloak billowing behind him as if the very wind feared to touch him.
Lord Torrance… her husband.
Her stomach twisted and she turned her eyes away for a moment. She hadn’t seen him in months, not since he’d ridden off to crush Clan MacLeish. Why couldn’t her prayers have been answered? Why couldn’t he have been struck down in battle, freeing her? It had been wrong of her to offer such a prayer, or was it? Shouldn’t evil be struck down?
She turned her eyes on him again, his face coming into view, hard as granite cliffs and his green eyes, even from a distance, icy and calculating. Her skin crawled, knowing what was to come.
The crowd broke into a forced cheer as he rode through the gates. They knew if they didn’t welcome him as a victorious leader they would be made to suffer for it. Not one of them avoided his gaze, knowing his warriors watched for anyone who didn’t greet him enthusiastically.
Esme remained still, her chin lifted though her heart thundered. He spotted her as he drew near, and she felt it like a threatening blade to her throat. He reined in before the keep, the horse snorting clouds into the cold air.
His gaze swept the crowd once before dismounting. Then he turned his eyes on hers and they never left hers as he climbed the stairs with deliberate slowness. There was no warmth in them, no smile, not a single nod. Not a sign of affection, only possession.
Esme stood unmoving at the top, her spine rigid though every instinct screamed for her to retreat. Run! Get out of here! But she had no place to go.
His boots thudded against the stone, measured, unhurried, ominous.
He mounted the final step and stopped before her, tall and broad. His face was as handsome as ever but evil often disguised itself in fine features. Whereas the battlefield softened some and hardened others, Torrance took pleasure in it, and it showed in his bold green eyes.
“Wife,” he said, holding her gaze.
Her throat had turned as dry as dust, knowing he was assessing her and finding fault. It took her a moment to say, “Congratulations on your victory, my lord.”
He appeared hesitant for a moment, then his strong voice rolled over her like thunder.
“There had better be food waiting for me and my men.”
She hurried to say, “Aye, my lord, there is food, ale, and wine aplenty.”
She didn’t need to remind the cook. The woman had been prepared, knowing the severe consequences she would suffer for such a mistake.
He looked past her, at the heavy doors of the keep, then back. His gaze did not warm. If anything, it turned heavier, like a weight pressing down.
Esme’s stomach knotted.
He looked at his warriors, gathered near, waiting in anticipation and shouted, “We celebrate!”
A cheer rang out as he grabbed her by the arm and propelled her into the keep, his words falling on her like shackles. “You will remain by my side until I say otherwise.”
When they reached the dais in the Great Hall, he pulled out a chair and ordered, Sit.”
Esme stared at him, a bit bewildered.
He lowered his face to hers. “Did you not hear me, wife?”