Highland Sinner (11 page)

“I would appreciate it if ye didnae try to seduce this one.”

Simon’s voice startled Tormand out of his thoughts about getting Morainn into his bed, which he decided was a good thing because he was growing hard and hungry. Tormand was glad to see that his kinsmen were riding ahead of him and Simon and had not heard the man’s words. For a moment, he was angry that Simon would dare to give him such a warning. Then he inwardly sighed, admitting to himself that it was probably deserved. He had been thinking about seducing Morainn. In truth, he had been thinking about riding back to her cottage to get her naked and into a bed as quickly as he could.

“Want her for yourself, do ye?” he asked, and was not really surprised by the tone of possession edging into his voice. Tormand had to accept that he already felt very possessive of Morainn.

“I wouldnae turn her aside if she smiled my way, but that isnae why I am speaking up about this. The lass has enough trouble in her life without ye adding her to your list. Especially now. If we are right in believing all of this is connected to ye, that someone is trying to destroy ye by killing women ye have bedded and pointing the finger of blame toward ye, then bedding Morainn Ross puts far more than her heart and virtue at risk. Aye, and I do mean virtue. I dinnae e’en think that boy is her bastard as so many claim he is.”

“Nay, I dinnae believe he is, either.”

Tormand was chilled by Simon’s words. It was a chill that went far deeper than it should, if all he felt was a simple concern that yet another woman might suffer and die because she had found some pleasure in his arms. Forcing himself to look closely at what he felt, he saw that it was fear, a fear that she would be taken from him before he had ever had a chance to find out what she meant to him.

In some inexplicable way he and Morainn had become connected to each other. He was certain of it. He was also certain that she had shared the dream he had had last night, and he wondered if she had seen them making love. Had she felt the same heated need he had? There was also what he felt when he had touched her hand to consider. It was as though the bond that had begun in that dream, even in the first meeting of their eyes, had been strengthened by that simple touch.

He had the sinking feeling that his days as a man who took what he wanted whenever he wanted it were
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rapidly drawing to a close. Tormand had always felt that the women of his family had been talking romantic nonsense when they had claimed one just knew when they met their true mate. However, just in case there was some truth in that, he had actually avoided any woman who had stirred anything more than lust in him. The fact that he had liked Marie was one reason he had never tried to return to her bed, had stepped back before that one night of comforting could become anything more. He knew he could not step back from Morainn.

For a moment he nearly convinced himself that that was because her gift was needed to help them find this killer. The lie did not hold firm for any longer than that. Tormand knew he was drawn to Morainn in ways he could not fully understand, at least not yet. Even the fact that she was beautiful and he lusted after her did not explain away what he felt, was feeling.

His unwillingness to look too closely at those feelings was now proving to be more a hindrance than a defense. He knew he was going to have to overcome that unwillingness. Although he was reluctant to change the way he lived, he was not fool enough to push aside or turn away from the woman who might well be his fated match. Then he thought of the list Simon had mentioned and nearly groaned. He might not have to even try to push Morainn away; his past might well do it for him.

“Why dinnae ye believe he is her true child?” asked Simon, cutting into Tormand’s rambling thoughts.

“He has black hair and blue eyes as she does.”

“Nay exactly as she does,” Tormand replied, grasping at the change of topic Simon offered like a starving man would clutch at a crust of bread tossed his way. “Aye, ’tis true that children can hold a mix of each parent, e’en look akin to some ancestor many years dead and gone, but ye can still see the kinship if ye look hard enough. I dinnae see it in him. And, he calls her Morainn, doesnae he? Nay
maman.
Why play that game when she holds him close to her side and kens that near all who live round here think the boy is her child?”

“True. I wonder whose child he is?”

“I dinnae ken and yet there was something oddly familiar about him.”

“Mayhap ye should check over that list of yours.”

“Ah, that list. If ye ken I might try to pull the lass into my sinful clutches, just show her the list I am making. One look at that and any woman with a pinch of wit in her head will stay verra far away from me.” Tormand was feeling sorry for himself, but then the import of Simon’s suggestion became clear to him and he glared at his friend. “And just what are ye implying by telling me I should check o’er my list?”

“That a mon who spends so much time casting his seed hither and yon will eventually sow something.”

“I was always verra careful never to
sow
anything.”

“I suspicion many a bairn’s father might say the same thing.”

Before Tormand could argue that any further, Simon rode ahead a little to speak to Harcourt. Tormand sank back into his thoughts even though it was not a place he wished to be. There was so much turmoil inside of him, he was surprised his stomach had not turned against him. Simon’s parting comment had only made it all worse.

He could not believe there was even the smallest chance that Walin was his child. Tormand knew he had always been careful, even when drunk. Most of the women he had bedded, especially those from the court, were well versed in ways to keep a man’s seed from taking root as well.

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The word
most
suddenly stuck in his mind like a thistle burr to a horse’s tail and his heart sank. Cold reason smothered his instinctive refusal to believe he could have sired a child on one of his many lovers and that she would not tell him if he had. Simon was right. Many a new father had probably thought he had been careful, had done all that was needed to insure that there was no bairn produced by his pleasuring a woman. Was it not his own mother who had once said that only celibacy could insure that no child is born? One thing Tormand had never practiced was celibacy. These last few months had been the longest he had been without a woman since the age of fourteen, when Jenna the cooper’s daughter had given him his first taste of the pleasures of the flesh.

Tormand cursed. He now had the seed of doubt planted firmly in his mind. There was no returning to a state of blissful ignorance or happy denial. Along with hunting down a brutal killer and trying to keep his neck out of a noose, he was going to have to find out all he could about Walin. If there was even the smallest chance that he was the boy’s father, he could not ignore it. He had to find out the truth, one way or another. When he realized that could well prove to be yet another bond he had with Morainn, yet another thing that would keep pulling him back to her side, he cursed again. Fate was obviously playing a May game with him and he was losing.

Chapter 7

Her heart pounding, Morainn opened her eyes. She felt as she did when she had some vision and yet she knew she had not had one. Wearied by the vision that had brought her to her knees as she held the hairpin Sir Simon had given her, she had crawled into her bed early and slept like the dead. Something had startled her awake, however. Something that was making her feel very afraid.

Then she heard a familiar low growl. The moon sent enough light into her bedchamber that she was able to see her cat William crouched low on her bed, its fur all puffed out, making the cat look even bigger than it was. It was glaring at the door and she could swear that its eyes actually glowed. A glance around revealed that her other cats were also tense and staring at her bedchamber door.

And then she heard the floor creak just outside the door. Her heart in her throat, Morainn grasped hold of the large knife she kept beneath her pillow and slowly sat up. There had been a few times when some fool man had crept into her room thinking he could steal what she refused to give him willingly. They had left chastised and bleeding. Instinct told her that this time it was no lust-crazed idiot outside her door.

Even as the door began to open she smelled the cloying scent of too many roses and her heart clenched with fear. Forcing back the rush of panic that threatened to make her scream, she crouched on top of her bed. If her visions were accurate, she was about to face a woman and a very large man who wanted to kill her.

She thought of Walin and, even though her fear increased, she also found a source of cold determination and strength within her. Morainn knew these monsters would kill Walin if he woke up and do so with barely a thought for the innocent life they would end. If she was quick and lucky, she could get past them, grab Walin, and flee. Once out of the cottage she had a dozen places they could hide until these killers gave up the hunt. Morainn prayed she was given a chance to flee, if only for Walin’s sake.

The door was suddenly thrust wide open and the voice from her dreams hissed, “Softly, ye fool!”

“Nay need, m’lady,” the huge man standing in the doorway said. “She be awake. The lass must have heard us.”

Morainn cursed the shadows in her room that kept her from seeing these people clearly as the woman
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appeared beside the man. His massive size made the woman look tiny and delicate, but Morainn could see the glint of a knife in her elegant little hand.
My knife is bigger,
Morainn thought as she tensed and tried to decide which one of the intruders she should aim for. Her eyes told her to go for the man because he was the one to try to hurt so that she had time to run, but her instincts told her that would be a bad choice. Her instincts told her to go for the woman and the big man would move out of the way to help the murderous bitch, giving Morainn a chance to get out the doorway he now blocked.

William made a choice before she did. To Morainn’s surprise, the cat let loose a bloodcurdling yowl and leapt. It did not go for the man as she had expected it to, but lunged straight at the woman. The woman screamed as William landed on her head, a writhing, scratching, and snarling bundle of fury. The man immediately turned to help the woman, who appeared to be stumbling around as if she could run away from the beastie savaging her head and face. Morainn bolted for the door. A large hand reached out at her and she struck out at it with her knife even as she kept running. A loud bellow told her she had succeeded in inflicting a wound.

A sleepy-eyed Walin was standing in the doorway of his small bedchamber. Morainn grabbed him and pushed him toward the stairs, ordering, “Run! Hide!”

The boy did not hesitate to obey, obviously awake enough to know they were in danger from whoever was making all the noise in Morainn’s bedchamber. As Morainn followed she felt both pleased and saddened by that. He should obey his elders, but he should not have to live with fear, with the need to run and hide without question.

The hard painful grip of a large, strong hand on the back of her neck yanked her to a halt. Morainn twisted around on the narrow steps and struck out with her knife again. This time she did not need the bellow of pain to tell her she had cut the huge man a second time; she had felt her knife hesitate slightly as it began to cut across flesh instead of air. The man struck out at her and Morainn went tumbling down the steps nearly taking Walin down with her.

She wanted to lie on the floor and moan over all the aches and bruises she knew she had suffered, but did not give in to that weakness. Leaping to her feet, she followed Walin out of the cottage and ran toward the woods. In there were a lot of places to hide. Morainn had made sure of it.

“Who are they?” asked Walin in a shaky whisper as he huddled deep within the hollow beneath the roots of an old tree.

Settling herself in the small space beside the boy, Morainn fought to catch her breath, and whispered,

“They are killers, loving. Hush now for they may come hunting us.” This was not the best of the hiding places Morainn had picked out over the years, but they had run about as far as she felt Walin could withstand.

Morainn could not understand why these people had come after her. They obviously intended to do to her as they had done to the other women they had killed, but she had never been Tormand’s lover. She had never even met or seen the man, except in her dreams, until the day Isabella Redmond’s body was found. They had barely exchanged a word and a look. No one could have known he and the other men would come to see her, either.

Unless the killers were watching Sir Tormand Murray very closely, she thought, and tensed. She shivered, but fought the urge to try to rub some warmth into her arms, afraid of stirring the leaves she was sprawled on. It was the only thing that made any sense. It was also something Sir Tormand needed to know. If she survived this attack Morainn fully intended to tell him about her suspicion.

The sound of voices drifted to her ears and Morainn pressed her body deeper into the hollow. Gently
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placing her hand on Walin’s back was enough to make the child do the same. She heard the slow pace of horses and wondered if they were being walked or ridden. Morainn hoped it was the latter for it would be a lot more difficult for the killers to catch a glimpse of her and Walin from high up on the back of a horse. She felt herself tense so tightly she wondered that she did not snap something as the sounds of approach grew closer, listening carefully for any hint that she and Walin had been discovered.