“Can you say the same for his son?”
“I would like to,” Adams answered solemnly. “He would not purposely put his family at risk, but he is rash and ill-tempered and he has been known to disregard consequences when his pride is at stake. Still, I do not believe he would endanger his mother and sister.”
They rode on in silence until they reached the trees along the river. The water was cold but shallow enough to pass through without trouble.
“What should we do about it?” Adams asked, guiding his mount over slippery stones.
“There is nothing we can do,” Torin told him, keeping a gentle hold on Avalon’s reins and letting her walk at her own pace in the water. “But if he is responsible for what happened last eve, I will make certain he pays. And if he is responsible, then the Armstrongs likely had instructions on making certain you and I perished. You saw how angry he was when his father stated that he believed we were telling the truth. There is nothing more sinister than passion.”
Adams tossed him a skeptical side-glance. “You believe passion is sinister? Does Miss Hetherington know that about you?”
“Why does it matter whether she does or does not?” Torin asked, doing his best to sound disinterested.
“Come now, Gray,” Adams chuckled. “’Tis plain in your eyes when you set them upon her. You are fond of her. There’s nothing to be ashamed of—”
“I’m not ashamed,” Torin disputed stiffly.
Damn it, that wasn’t the point he should be arguing.
“She is beautiful,” Adams pointed out as if Torin hadn’t noticed.
“So are a hundred other women,” Torin countered.
For some reason, his words made Adams smile as if he were privy to something no one else was. The older man nodded. “But a hundred other women do not fight and kill with a sword and still believe in peace.”
“She desires peace,” Torin corrected him, “for her family’s sake.”
“And what is wrong with loyalty to one’s family?” Adams asked him. “Are you not loyal to yours?”
“Of course I am,” Torin told him, turning away. “Let us ride. At this pace, we will never get there.” He didn’t wait for a reply and he didn’t see Adams’ wide grin as he rode away.
It didn’t take them much longer to arrive at the large glen dotted with sheep and thatched-roofed cottages. A group of people met them and led them to the stable first, promising that their horses would be well cared for.
“No one is to touch my horse,” Torin warned them, knowing their natural inclination was to steal. “She will chomp off the fingers of any who do, showing me who ignored my warning.” His eyes gleamed in the soft glow of a few lanterns. “If anyone thinks to take her, let me make myself perfectly clear. If there is anything that can cause me to toss everything to hell and make me take back what I say here today and kill whoever I need to kill, ’tis my horse.”
After they swore not to touch her, the villagers led them toward a large structure built of stone and timber.
“You have them suitably frightened,” Adams moved in close to tell him. “You sounded entirely serious.”
Torin furrowed his brow at him. “I was,” he said and followed them inside.
The walls of the town hall were covered in thick, masterfully crafted tapestries. Beeswax candles burned in two enormous wooden circular candleholders hanging from the ceiling. Beneath them, several rows of long, carved benches were set to face the front of the hall, where Rowley Hetherington sat with his wife and his ear inclined to a man leaning over his chair to speak to him.
Torin looked around the hall as more people crowded inside and quickly filled up all the benches. He found Braya quickly, as if his soul instinctively knew where to look. She was already seated on the third bench at the far right with her cousins, Millie and Lucy, and a handful of men. Torin squinted his eyes on them. Who were they?
He forgot them soon enough when Braya, finding him as well, smiled at him. His gaze dipped to her bruised neck and he felt his blood boil.
She lifted her fingers to her neck, making him realize where he was staring. He looked up at her mouth. He wanted to smile back.
She looked radiant with her long hair spilling over a white overgown with gold stitching and a saffron kirtle beneath. But hell, she could have worn a sack from neck to toe and he would still want to smile at her.
Adams shoved his shoulder into him to get him moving. Torin hadn’t realized they had been invited to sit on the front bench. He raked his fingers through his curls and stepped forward.
Somewhere along the front bench, a woman wept. Torin looked the other way.
Rowley Hetherington made the introductions, and after turning to face the fathers of their victims, the apologies were underway.
Torin had never asked to be forgiven for killing any of his victims so he had no idea what to expect. The lads’ fathers, who were all fighters and brawlers, seemed to handle the mourning better than the dead lads’ mothers, who wept and even cursed Torin and Adams for what they had done.
