Total pages in book: 117
Estimated words: 109722 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 549(@200wpm)___ 439(@250wpm)___ 366(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 109722 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 549(@200wpm)___ 439(@250wpm)___ 366(@300wpm)
Firth roared out and stumbled, blood pouring from the cut that ran below the corner of his right eye down to his chin just missing the corner of his mouth. His hand flew to his cheek cupping it, the blood flowing around his hand and along his neck.
“If I ever see your face again, I’ll kill you,” Royden threatened and turned to Trevor as he slipped the dagger back into the sheath. “You would have done the same or worse if it had been your wife. But then your wife didn’t suffer through a battle. Now we’ll take our leave.”
Wren looked ready to step forward and help the man when Royden turned around.
“Don’t!” Royden commanded, taking hold of Oria’s arm and sending a scowl at Wren that had Parlan taking her arm and directing her to the horses.
Oria was glad her husband had hold of her arm, her limbs having gone weak, so shaken was she from what happened. She thought to protest when he lifted her in his arms and placed her on his horse, ordering one of the warriors who had accompanied them to take charge of her horse, but thought better of it. In his arms was exactly where she needed to be.
Royden held her close as they rode off and wondered if she even realized her whole body trembled. “He won’t hurt you ever again.”
Oria understood all too clearly. Her husband intended to see Firth dead. She thought to argue with him but realized it would do little good. She’d wait and talk with him when the time was right.
She did, however, voice another worry. “Won’t Trevor retaliate?”
“Firth isn’t worth a battle. Besides, from what I could tell of our visit, Trevor is here to establish a home for himself, or he never would have brought his wife along. He’s also here to try to build a modicum of peace with the locals and not cause any unrest.”
“In preparation of his arrival,” Oria said.
Royden nodded. “The man responsible for all that has happened.”
“Demelza told Wren she expects him and she worries what will happen when he comes. She says he wins at all costs. He’s already taken so much. What more is there for him to take?”
“That’s what we need to find out,” Royden said.
Royden left his bedchamber before Oria woke the next morning and went to the practice field. Anger had stirred him awake and the more he had laid there, the fouler his mood had turned. He didn’t want his wife waking to that nor did he want it to follow him throughout the day.
He practiced against an imaginary opponent. It was easy. All he had to do was recall in his mind the many battles he’d been in and the many opponents he had fought. He could hear the clang of the swords, the screams of the fallen, smell the blood, the sweat, the fear.
He stopped as if emerging from a nightmare, glad he had taken his shirt off, his chest damp with sweat and heaving from the strenuous practice. He’d been a fool to think raising a sword would calm him. It only angered him more like it had done after every battle he had fought. He was a Highlander and battle was part of survival, but not a constant as it had been the five years he’d been away.
A quick movement caught his eye and he looked to the section of woods that bordered the practice area on one side. The movement came again and with his sword clamped firmly in his hand, Royden went to see who was spying on him.
“Don’t come any closer.”
Royden stopped, recognizing the leper’s raspy voice and catching sight of his outline that almost blended in with the tree he looked as if he clutched.
“What are you doing back here?” Royden asked.
“I have messages that need to be delivered.”
“For who?” Royden asked.
“Other monasteries.”
“Then you best be on your way,” Royden said and turned.
“You fight well with only one hand.”
Royden turned around. “You watched?”
“It is not every day one sees a warrior with one hand swing a sword with such skill. It was good to see that the loss of a hand doesn’t condemn a warrior.”
Unlike the leper who was condemned no matter what he did. Royden couldn’t imagine how lonely life was for the man. No one would go near him. He would never feel a comforting touch or a hardy hug, or even share a meal with friends. He’d always be removed from others—alone.
“I did what I had to do to survive, just as you do,” Royden said.
“Aye, and both lives were forced upon us by evil hands,” the leper said.
His accusation had Royden thinking. “Fate would be the evil hand that touched you, and I have yet to discover the evil hand who touched me. In your travels, perhaps you heard of the man responsible for the attack on my home.”