Highland Sinner (8 page)

“I think I ken who sent word to my kin,” Tormand said quietly to Simon.

“Weel, dinnae kill him now,” Simon replied, amusement tinting his voice. “I am eager to enjoy my meal.”

“Fine. I will kill him later.”

Tormand stiffened his backbone and strode to his seat trying to act as though he was not about to face an uncomfortable inquisition.

Chapter 5

“Ye need to leave here,” said Bennett the moment Tormand and Simon finished telling them all that had been happening even as they filled their empty bellies. “If ye arenae here then ye cannae be blamed for these murders. All ye need to do is wait until the killers are caught or there is another murder whilst ye are far away and the trouble will be over. They cannae blame ye for something when ye are miles away when it happens.”

It was true, but Tormand did not immediately agree with his younger brother. He was torn. If he was the reason the women were being murdered, leaving might well save a few lives. However, the killer could just as easily follow him wherever he went and begin killing women wherever he settled down.

He felt a twinge of embarrassment to realize that there were not that many places where he could find shelter where there were no women he had bedded or had been suspected of bedding. Even the women at his family’s home could be in danger if he went there. The few women who worked for him or those who worked for his family within their homes had never been his lovers. He had grown up with the strict rule that the men should leave the women working within their households alone. It was a rule very few of his kinsmen had ever broken. That did not mean whoever was slaughtering the women he had bedded would be aware of that rule or believe he had ever followed it. Few people did.

Also, to leave, to flee the area, was an act that held the foul taste of cowardice. He knew that pride was the bitter downfall of many a man, but he could not ignore how his tightened its grip on him at the mere thought of running away from this trouble. Leaving could also harden the growing suspicion that he was the killer, especially if the killings here ended when he left because the murderer had followed him.

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“I dinnae think that would be a good idea,” said Simon, relieving Tormand of the chore of explaining why he was about to say nay to what sounded like a very sound plan. “Nay yet. It would look too much like he was fleeing justice for his crimes. There may yet come a time when it would be wise for Tormand to go into hiding. I have even chosen a place for him to go.”

Tormand looked at his friend in surprise. “Ye have?”

“Aye. I thought it a wise precaution. With each woman murdered suspicion about ye spreads a little wider.”

“I cannae believe that anyone would ever think I could do that to any woman.”

“Most dinnae. ’Tis why ye havenae already had to flee an angry mob. But, the fact that ye have been the lover of each woman is slowly eating away at that belief. Such coincidence was easily accepted with the first murder, but now there has been a second and a third. And all of them were your lovers. Since we havenae gotten any closer to the killer I fear there will soon be a fourth. I think we both ken there is a verra good chance that that woman will have been your lover, too.”

“But if he wasnae here when that happened,” began Uilliam, his green eyes filled with concern for his brother’s safety.

“As I said, it could easily look as if he fled because he was guilty,” Simon interrupted.

Tormand sighed. “That is what I was thinking.”

“Better to be thought guilty for a wee while than to be dragged to the gallows,” snapped Bennett, and then he took a deep drink of ale as if he tried to cool the anger heating his blood.

“I willnae allow him to hang,” Simon said in the calm voice that had the ability to reach out and soothe those who heard it. “I have his escape carefully planned and, since I ne’er leave his side, I will be able to send him on his way without a moment’s hesitation.”

“Ah, and here I thought ye were staying so close to me because ye were so fond of me,” murmured Tormand.

Ignoring him, Simon continued, “There is also the fact that the killer could follow Tormand if he went somewhere else and then women would begin to die there.”

“Are ye so verra certain that this is all connected to him in some way?” asked Harcourt, his amber eyes holding the hard look of a warrior ready to go to battle.

“We have no proof,” replied Simon, “but I do believe it is. There are a few lasses left in this town whom he hasnae bedded.” A smile flickered over Simon’s mouth when Tormand grunted in annoyance over that remark. “But none of them have been killed. ’Tis why the belief that it is naught but coincidence is fading a little more each day, and with each death. Two of the women’s husbands dinnae openly accuse Tormand, but they do naught to quell the growing suspicions, either. The only husband who might have spoken up for him has returned his wife’s body to their lands and he will undoubtedly stay there awhile, if only to comfort his wee sons.”

“The more ye talk the less there seems we can do to put a stop to this.”

“We can only keep hunting. Aye, ’tis maddening that we have gained so little from all our work, but one thing I have learned from all my years of solving such puzzles is that a mistake
will
be made. Something will be found that will lead us closer, mayhap e’en to the killer’s door. Someone will see something or
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hear something that will help us find this beast. Or the killer will become so arrogant that he will no longer take such care not to be found.”

“Or we can take something ye found near one of these women to the Ross witch and let her do a seeing,” said Walter, shrugging as everyone stared at him.

Simon pulled the bone hairpins he had found out of his purse and studied them. “’Tis a thought, Walter.

One I believe Tormand has had, especially since he has seen the witch.”

Walter grimaced, making his face even more homely than it usually was. “That may nay be good.”

“Ye kenned what she looked like?” Tormand asked his squire.

“But first,” Simon said, quickly interrupting what was obviously going to be an argument, and looking at Tormand, “we need ye to make a list of all the women ye have bedded in this town and those living near at hand. Mayhap the ones who travel with the court as weel.”

“The women who arenae dead willnae like me telling what they may have kept secret from everyone,”

said Tormand.

“I fear there has been little secrecy about your many frolics. I believe I could probably make a fairly accurate list myself simply from the gossip I have heard, but a few women may have been discrete. Do ye ken, they treat bedding ye almost as if it is some trophy they have won?”

Tormand felt a blush heat his cheeks and glared at his kinsmen when they all snickered, before turning his glare upon his friend. “Then I will make a list, but nay tonight.”

“Nay. Tonight is for resting both our bodies and our wits.”

Despite the need for rest, it was late before Tormand finally crawled into bed. Selfish though it was, he had kept his bedchamber to himself, leaving the other men to sort out where they would sleep. With Simon or Walter constantly at his side, Tormand had discovered that he savored this time alone to gather his thoughts and to shake off the frustration of hunting down a killer who was as elusive as smoke.

His gut told him that he would soon have to run and hide. Simon was good at solving such puzzles, at hunting down the guilty, yet even Simon was finding nothing to lead them to the murderer. There would be another killing, of that Tormand had no doubt, and the killing would continue until he was standing on the gallows, dying for crimes he had not committed.

He flung his arm over his eyes and struggled to force all thought of the murders from his mind. There was no gain in losing sleep over it all. A faint smile curled his mouth as the image of Morainn Ross filled his mind and his body began to harden in interest. It had been a very long time since the mere thought of a woman could stir his need, but Morainn Ross accomplished it. Tormand knew it would be wise to push her from his thoughts as well, but he did not. Dreams of the lush Morainn were far preferable to dreams of blood, death, and grief.

Even as he slipped into sleep his dream of Morainn grew heated. Tormand slowly removed her clothing, kissing each newly revealed inch of her soft golden skin. He savored her sighs of pleasure and the feel of her fingers in his hair. A little cry of surprised delight escaped her lush mouth as he caressed her full breasts, first with his hands and then with his mouth. The heat of her desire turned her eyes into the color of a storm-tossed sea and he felt himself tumble into their mysterious depths, trapped by her beauty and willing to stay there. But, as he readied himself to unite their bodies, to savor her womanly heat surrounding him, everything began to change.

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Darkness swirled around their entwined bodies. The warm, willing woman in his arms became a bloodied corpse. The beautiful eyes that had been shaded with passion for him were gone and he stared in black holes. A soft, cold voice laughingly asked him how he liked his new lover.

Tormand bolted up in bed so fast that he nearly fell out of it. He was soaked in sweat, his breath coming fast and hard. The fact that no one had burst into his bedchamber told him that he had at least kept silent during what had turned into a chilling nightmare. He stumbled over to a small table near the fireplace and poured himself a tankard of wine. It took all of one tankard full and half of another before he felt his heartbeat slow to normal and his hands ceased to shake.

He took a moment to wash the worst of the sweat from his body before crawling back into bed. If that horror was going to revisit him every time he closed his eyes, he would never sleep again. The first part of the dream was easy to understand. He found Morainn Ross very alluring. It was the end of the dream that troubled him. Was it born of guilt or the horrors he had seen? Or, worse, was it some hint of the future, a warning that if he gave in to his attraction to Morainn she would end up like the others? He prayed that was not true, for he was sorely tempted by Morainn and he was not a man who easily resisted temptation.

Cautiously allowing himself to relax and invite sleep to take him back into its hold, Tormand wondered if the Ross witch really did have visions. Could she truly touch something and see whatever secrets it might hold? If she could, Morainn Ross could well prove to be just what he and Simon needed to find the killer. They would have to keep her close then, protecting her as she aided them. And with such protection around her, Tormand decided she would be safe enough that he might not have to worry about resisting temptation after all.

Morainn managed to bite back the scream in her throat this time as she sat up in bed so fast she felt dizzy for a moment. She reached for the tankard of cider she had begun to keep at her bedside and took a deep drink, trying to wash the sting of terror out of her throat. It took several moments for her heartbeat to return to a more comfortable pace.

If these dreams did not stop soon she would be too exhausted to do even the simplest of chores.

Morainn feared she might start to fight going to sleep at all. That would be an affliction that could easily kill her in the end.

Setting her drink aside, she huddled beneath the blankets and tried to grasp the courage to go back to sleep, to get the rest she needed. Morainn was almost too afraid to close her eyes. The horrific sight of her own body lying there, mutilated, her eyes gone, was not one she could easily forget.

Yet again the horror had come after a lovely heated dream of her and Tormand loving each other. She could almost feel the touch of his mouth still lingering on her breast. The warmth that filled her body at that memory told her that she remembered it all too well. For a virgin, she was having some very vivid, very sinful, dreams about Sir Tormand Murray. It was a blessing that she would not be seeing much of the man or she might find the temptation he offered far too much to resist.

And she would pay dearly if she succumbed to that weakness, she thought as she shuddered. Morainn could not be certain, but she suspected that was what the bloody end of the dream was telling her. If she let Tormand Murray into her bed she would suffer as all the other women had suffered. Then again, she thought ruefully, such ideas could have been put into her head by her talk with Nora today.

Morainn felt her cats curl up against her and welcomed their warmth. She was not sure if she had just had a true vision of what was to come or if it was only a chilling warning to be careful. Since she did not see
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any reason a man like Tormand Murray would seek her out, she had to wonder why she even needed such a warning.

Because
she
wanted
him
, she thought with a sigh. She could deny the truth to herself all she wanted to, but, in her dreams, that truth came out. Morainn could not believe her own foolishness. Tormand Murray was a man steeped in the sins of the flesh and, if even a few of the rumors about him were true, he made no effort to turn away from any temptation. After years of fighting to cling to her chastity, despite her deep loneliness and the men who tried to steal it from her, she would have to be witless to hand it over to a man like Sir Tormand.

Closing her eyes, Morainn lightly stroked Grigor, her big yellow tom, when it rested its head on her stomach. Its deep, rumbling purr began to ease away the lingering horror of her dream. She felt herself begin to relax, her breathing softening, as she welcomed sleep again. In the morning she would decide if she knew enough yet to risk going to Sir Innes and Sir Murray and telling them about her visions. It was a decision that required a well-rested mind for she knew the danger was not really that he might not believe her. It was that he would and she could easily find herself spending far too much time in the company of a man who sorely tempted her to sin—and do so repeatedly and with great enthusiasm.