Highland Sinner (23 page)

“So ye have seduced Morainn,” said Simon.

Abruptly dragged from his dark thoughts, Tormand needed a moment to comprehend what Simon had just said and he sighed. “Leave it be, Simon. I will but say that she is nay just another warm body to me.

Let that be enough.”

“Are ye planning to marry the lass?”

“I dinnae ken. I dinnae ken what I feel for her or want from her. Weel, save for the fact that she makes my blood run hotter than any woman ever has. I could nay more keep away from her than I could cease breathing. ’Tis that simple and that complicated. Deciding what will happen next is hard when, for all I ken, I may yet be dragged up on the gallows.”

“Oh, nay, we willnae let that happen.”

He looked closely at his friend. “Did ye find something that makes ye believe we will soon capture these bastards?”

“I ken who she is now, dinnae I? It will help. It is also far more than we have had erenow. She may have been nay more than a wee shadow to me the one time I met her, but there has to be someone out there who kens who she is and what she looks like. I wager there is someone who also kens who her huge companion is. As I said, a mon as big as this one appears to be cannae walk around unnoticed, no matter how weel he can slip about in the shadows.”

“I had hoped for more.”

“To catch them with the bloodied knives in their hands?”

“Aye, and to end this. I need to end this and nay just because they are killing women, for all that makes me sound like a hard bastard. I just cannae shake the feeling that I am soon to be running and hiding like James was.”

“Nay, we would never let ye suffer like that for three years.”

Tormand nodded, then realized that Simon had not given him any assurances that he would not find himself running and hiding soon. He turned to ask his friend about that only to find Simon riding beside Harcourt. Tormand softly cursed and then told himself that running and hiding for a short while was still far better than hanging for crimes he had not committed. He hoped he could make himself believe that, when and if the time came that he had to use the bolt-hole Simon had already found for him.

Chapter 13

“There be a mon here to see ye, Sir Simon,” said Walter, as he stood in the doorway of the great hall looking uneasy and his hand on his sword. “He isnae looking verra weel. I think it be bad news.”

Morainn felt her heart skip with alarm. She glanced around at the men and saw that they shared her fear.

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They just expressed it by scowling at the door. Unable to stop herself she reached out to clasp Tormand’

s hand in hers and had the sinking feeling that it was a good thing Walin had already had his meal and gone to bed. She thought about how they had all gathered together to discuss what else she had seen in her dream two nights ago, the warning of yet another senseless death soon to come. The men had been trying to find something, anything, that would tell them who it might be ever since she had told them, but had had no luck. They had failed to find any sign or gather any useful information about the late Edward MacLean’s wife and companion as well. Bad news now could mean that they were too late to halt yet another gruesome murder. Morainn heartily cursed her visions for giving her only a confused array of the smallest bits of information and never quite enough to put a swift stop to the murders.

“Best show him in then, Walter,” said Tormand.

The moment the man stepped into the great hall, Tormand silently cursed. It was the plump, genial Sir John Hay. Tormand felt both grief and a blind rage fill him for the look on the man’s face told him that poor Lady Katherine had been the victim in the murder they had tried so hard to stop.

Sir John started toward them, but when he swayed, Tormand rushed to his side to steady him. “Easy, John,” he murmured as he led the man to a seat at the table where a full tankard of strong wine already waited for him.

After a long drink that did little to steady the shaking in the man’s hands, Sir John announced, “My Kat has been cruelly murdered, just like those other women were. My poor angel is dead.”

When the man began to weep, all the other men just stared at him, concern mixed with discomfort on their faces. Morainn did not wait for them to get over that discomfort. She hurried to the man’s side and put her arms around him. As she whispered soothing words, he sobbed against her chest for several moments before he was able to regain control of himself. When he finally sat up, she handed him a square of linen to wipe his face with and smiled gently at him in the hope of easing the embarrassment he so obviously felt despite his deep grief.

“Ye are the one they call the witch, arenae ye?” he said in a voice still hoarse from his weeping. “They say ye are trying to help find the bastards who are doing the killing.”

“I am trying to, sir,” she said, “as are all of these good men.” Feeling that the man had control of himself now, Morainn returned to her seat by Tormand’s side.

“Please, if ye can, tell what ye may ken or what ye saw, nay matter how little ye may think it is worth,”

said Simon.

Sir John took a deep breath. “I was late returning home from my cousin’s. Kat had had too much to do to go with me. I left young Geordie MacBain there to watch over her. Found him on the ground just below the bedchamber window with his neck broken. And, my Kat, she,” he shuddered and his eyes glazed with grief and pain, “I think she had been dead for a while, but I was too sick at the sight of what had been done to her that I cannae say for certain.” He looked at Simon. “I recalled ye complaining in the past about people nay leaving things as they were when they first discovered some crime, so I left my angel there when I came looking for ye. I but pulled a blanket over her. I couldnae help myself. She was naked, ye ken, and I didnae want her seen that way. She wouldnae have wanted to be seen that way.”

As Simon gently asked a few questions, pausing when Sir John needed a moment to compose himself, Morainn studied the men. It had taken her awhile to gather the courage to face them after having been caught in Tormand’s bed, but the need to tell them the whole of the dream, especially about the warning of another murder being planned, had given her the strength. Not one of them had looked at her with contempt or even mentioned where they had last seen her. Everything had been just as it had been
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before. Nor did they say anything about where she had spent the nights since—wrapped securely in Tormand’s arms. Even Walin had said nothing and she wondered if the men had seen to it that he did not pester her about the matter. She would have put up with any and all embarrassment and humiliation, however, if she could have stopped this murder.

She could see the sorrow for the death of Sir John’s wife in their expressions. She also saw disappointment over the fact that they had not been able to prevent it despite many hours spent talking about the dream and searching the town for the killers or anyone who might know who they were. It was evident that they thought they had failed the dead woman, failed the grieving Sir John, and Morainn doubted anything she could say would ease that guilt they felt.

Morainn turned her attention to Tormand. He was grieving and she felt an all too familiar pinch of jealousy, but pushed it aside. She had once met Lady Katherine, shortly after Walin had been left at her door, and had found the older woman to be a kind and generous soul. The woman had been honestly upset when she had not been able to find out who Walin’s father or mother was. The few things she had heard about the woman since then had all implied that she was indeed a generous soul, a woman ready to help anyone who needed it. Morainn also did not recall seeing Lady Katherine’s name on Tormand’s list and she knew he had been ruthlessly honest in compiling it. This time the monsters had killed a completely innocent woman. She knew the others had not deserved what had happened to them, either, but poor Lady Katherine had not even committed the sin the killer felt the others had to pay for.

When the men all stood up to return with Sir John to his home, Tormand moved to join them. Sir John suddenly turned and grabbed Tormand by the arm. “Nay, my friend,” he said.

Tormand looked so hurt that Morainn moved to his side, taking his clenched fist in her hands as Tormand asked, “Ye cannae think I had anything to do with this, John.”

“Och, nay, laddie. Ne’er. And I havenae believed for one blessed moment that ye hurt those other women, either. I ask ye to stay here because an angry crowd was gathering in front of my home when I left to come here. Word had already reached them about my Kat’s death. One of the maids most likely, as I didnae do anything to calm them or keep them in my home.

“The crowd wants someone punished for these murders and, from what little I heard said, they think that someone should be ye. Let Simon do what he is so good at while ye remain here, safe behind these walls. I fear that, with the mood the crowd is in, ye could be in verra grave danger if ye came with us.”

“As ye wish,” Tormand said in a tight voice. “I offer my deepest condolences, John.”

“Thank ye, lad. I ken they are heartfelt. But I would like it more,” Sir John replied, including Morainn in the suddenly fierce look he gave Tormand, “if ye would find the bastard who did this. I want to see him dancing at the end of a rope and then I shall spit upon his grave. Get him for me, Tormand.”

“I will. I swear it.”

The moment the men were gone, Tormand sat down at the table, put his head in his hands, and gave into his grief. Morainn sat by his side, wrapped her arms around him, and held him as close to her as she could. The sadness in the great hall, that which Sir John had left behind and that which Tormand felt so weighted down with, filled the air and Morainn was not surprised to feel her own eyes sting with tears.

This killing made no sense, despite knowing that they dealt with insanity, and that deeply troubled Morainn. She also felt a growing sense of dread. This could be the murder that turned all those whispers snaking through town about Tormand’s possible guilt, into shouts and demands for retribution. She held him a little tighter in her arms and reminded herself that Simon had found them a bolt-hole if that should
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happen.

Simon entered the great hall of the Hays’ elegant home and saw Sir John standing by the surprisingly large window, staring out at the street in front of his home. The large, damp square of linen the man clutched tightly in his hand told Simon that Sir John had been weeping again and he felt a surge of pity for the man who had adored his wife. This time Simon felt not only a need for justice, a need to end the senseless killings and punish the ones committing them, but also a deep need for revenge. Lady Katherine had been a good woman, one who had been kind and generous to a fault. Sir John was the same and a very good friend. This heartless murder had made the hunt for the killers very personal. He stepped up behind Sir John and placed a hand on the man’s shoulder even though he knew there would be no way truly to comfort his friend.

“I am done now, John,” he said quietly. “Old Mary and Young Mary have gone to your wife. They said they will prepare her.”

“I should help them,” John said, but he made no move to leave his place by the window.

“Nay, my friend. Let the women tend to her. Ye dinnae need to see that again.”

“’Tis a sight I will never be able to banish from my mind, Simon.”

“Try to dull its sting with memories of all that was good in your marriage.”

“Aye, I will. Some day.” Sir John frowned as he continued to study the crowd. “The crowd grows larger and its tone grows uglier. There are a lot of people who think Tormand is the killer and they speak their opinions loudly and quite often. My Kat was weel loved for her generous heart and aid to the poor.

These people have lost a gracious friend and they want someone to pay dearly for that.”

“Ye mean they want Tormand to pay.”

Sir John slowly nodded. “Him and the Ross witch as they call the poor lass. Get them away from here.”

“Tormand?” Simon studied the crowd. “Ye think the danger to him has become that great?”

“Aye, I do. To him and to that bonnie wee lass. It was all whispering to start with and then it became talking openly of the suspicions so many held, and now this. Ere I left for my cousin’s, my Kat expressed concern for his safety and she kenned far more about the townspeople than I ever did. I think there is also someone behind them, prodding them all on. Mayhap even the killers. Aye, get him and that bonnie lass away to someplace safe.”

“He willnae like it.”

“At least he will be alive to complain about it. And, I think I would do it now. There are a few in that angry mob suggesting they all go and find the killer and hang him and we both ken that Tormand is the mon they most suspect. I assume ye already have a bolt-hole readied for him.”

“I do,” Simon said, even as he started to stride away.

“Get them out of here. Aye, e’en if ye have to bind and gag that fool Tormand to do so.”

“They will be gone within the hour.”

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Morainn frowned and lightly placed her hand over Tormand’s mouth. They had been talking about Lady Katherine. She knew it helped him deal with his grief for the loss of a good friend. And that was all the woman was, Morainn thought. She had not needed long to decide that. Tormand spoke of Lady Katherine as if she were some dear aunt or cousin, not as a man would speak of a lover he still had a fondness for.

“Did ye hear that?” she asked.

“Hear what?”

Tormand lightly licked her palm and then grinned when she both flushed with a hint of pleasure and squeaked as she tugged her hand away. There was an ache in his heart for his old friend Lady Katherine, but he suddenly had an idea of how he might soothe it just a little. Morainn’s passion had warmed his nights and he was always hungry for her. There was also the wish to avoid the men when they returned with news of Lady Katherine’s murder. He knew what they had seen and he knew that, at best, there would just be another hairpin. No trail, no witnesses. They were getting closer but, sadly, not close enough to save poor Kat. He wanted to wash the bitter tastes of grief and defeat from his mouth with the hot, sweet taste of Morainn. He was just about to pull her onto his lap when he heard a noise and Morainn started toward the window.