He pushed her down onto a wide, soft bed; the fine linen sheets cool against her heated flesh. When he lowered his beautiful body down to hers, she eagerly accepted his weight. The way their bodies fit together so perfectly made her cry out her need for him. His warm, soft lips traveled over her throat, leaving a trail of delicious fire as she ran her hands over his tautly muscled back. When the heat of his mouth touched her breasts she arched against him in silent demand.
Then, abruptly, he was gone, her arms empty. She felt as if a part of her soul had just been torn away. As she began to sit up to look for him, she was pushed back down onto the bed, but this time it was not done gently. Her wrists and ankles were suddenly tightly bound to the bedposts and fear rose up in her so swiftly and fiercely that she felt she could choke on it. The scent of a too rich perfume filled her nose and she coughed. Morainn cried for Tormand to help her, to save her from this unseen threat.
“Your lover is doomed,” whispered a soft, icy cold voice. “And so are ye, witch.”
Morainn saw a bloodstained knife held in a delicate hand and screamed.
Morainn bolted upright in her bed, startling her cats, and looked around. The sight of her own bedchamber did little to still the hard pounding of heart. This was the third time she had had the dream. It was always the same dream, but each time it became a little more detailed. Morainn was not sure she could go through it again even if it promised some much needed answers to why these poor women were being murdered or who was doing it. No matter how hard she thought over what she had seen in her dreams, she remained certain that they were trying to tell her something about these murders.
“But just what does Sir Tormand Murray have to do with those killings?” she wondered aloud.
She looked out her tiny window, saw that the sky was lightening with the rising of the sun, and softly cursed as she flopped back down on the bed. A small noise by the door drew her attention, making her heart leap with fear. She took a deep breath to calm herself when she saw Walin there watching her with concern. She had obviously woken him up. Again.
“Ye screamed,” he said.
“Aye, I suspicion I did,” she replied. “These visions are verra troubling ones. I think they are trying to tell me something important, each one just a little different from the one before, but I havenae grasped what the message is yet.” None except the one that told her a part of her, a very large part, craved Sir Tormand Murray for a lover. “I am sorry for waking ye, lad, but I fear I cannae promise that it willnae happen again.”
“At least this time ye have woken us near the time we must be awake anyway.”
“True enough. Go and get ready, dearling, and then we will break our fast as we plan our day.”
The moment he was gone, Morainn stared up at her ceiling. These were troubling dreams and not just because they ended with an increasing darkness. She had never had such dreams about a man. Despite the dark ending of this vision, her body still felt heavy with a need she had never felt before. Nor did she fully understand it. She had only seen the man in the flesh once. Despite how he had defended her before an angry crowd, she should not be dreaming of being naked with him. And liking it. Especially when his own friend called him a rutting fool, she thought with a sigh as she got up to wash and clean her teeth.
Two women had been brutally murdered. From what Sir William had said four days ago, Tormand Murray had kenned both women. If any other women were murdered, ones he had also kenned, then Sir Tormand was going to be drawing very close to a noose around his neck.
From the few people who did visit or talk to her, Morainn had learned a little about the dead women. Lady Clara and Lady Isabella had each kenned a lot of men, although it appeared that Lady Isabella had been faithful to her husband once they were officially wed. Yet, Sir William had cast his suspicions on Sir Tormand and Morainn knew others would as well. Her visions told her he was innocent, as did all of her instincts, but she knew that did not mean he was safe from hanging for murder. Innocent men had been dragged to the gallows before.
Once dressed, she went to join Walin for their morning meal. She had to do something to try to stop Tormand from going to the gallows. It was what her visions were pushing her to do; she was certain of that. Morainn just hoped that she could come up with some useful plan before it was too late.
It was as they weeded her garden that Walin finally spoke about her dreams. “Mayhap ye should go and talk to Sir Tormand. He is the mon with the mismatched eyes, isnae he?”
“Aye, he is,” she replied as she sat back on her heels and looked at him. “Yet, what could I say to him, Walin? I have dreams about ye, sir? He may have eloquently defended me before that crowd, but that doesnae mean he will give any weight to my visions. S’truth, he may think I but try to catch his interest.”
“Because he is a rutting fool?”
Morainn inwardly grimaced, thinking that it had probably been unwise to say that before Walin. “There is that. But, what could he do even if he did believe in my dreams? He already helps Sir Simon hunt for the killer. He is, I think, nay a mon to flee, either. The dreams that now cause me to scream in the night are trying to tell me who is killing these women, but havenae yet told me enough to help Sir Tormand.”
“Mayhap ye are missing something. That can happen when ye get scared.”
“True, my wee wise laddie. I shall try to study the ones I have had more intently.” Even if they do leave me both terrified and aching with lust, she thought ruefully. “Aye, I must, for I think he is stepping closer to the gallows every day.”
“Morainn!” called a woman from somewhere in the front of the cottage.
“Out in the garden, Nora!” Morainn smiled when her oldest and most faithful friend walked into the garden. “’Tis good to see ye. Let me clean up and we can have some cider, mayhap sit in the shade.”
“That would suit me,” said Nora, as she lightly tousled Walin’s thick curls.
It did not take long for Morainn to join Nora in the shade of the huge beech tree near the corner of her cottage. She handed her friend a tankard of cool cider and joined her on the rough bench made of old logs. Sipping at her cider, Morainn watched Walin play with the cats for a moment and then turned to Nora.
“I am verra pleased to see ye, but I didnae really expect another visit from ye until next week,” Morainn said.
Nora just blushed and held out her left hand.
Morainn gaped at the little silver band her friend wore. “James finally asked ye to wed him? Ye are betrothed?” When Nora nodded, Morainn laughed and hugged her. “There is to be a proper wedding, aye?”
“Och, aye. No hand-fasting for the likes of me. I am marrying up, ye ken, and I want nary a one in the town to question the right of the marriage.”
The glint of stubbornness in Nora’s dark eyes told Morainn the woman meant every word. “James’s family accepts ye then?”
“They do. They are good people and I dinnae fault them for trying to get my mon to look higher for a wife. I am nay some swineherd’s brat, but I am nay as weel-born as they are. Nor do I bring land to the marriage or even much of a dowry at all. But, they do ken love. James’s parents share it, ye see, and they couldnae deny their son the blessing of it.” Nora sat up straighter and looked Morainn right in the eye. “I told them that ye will be my attendant.”
“Och, nay, Nora,” Morainn began to protest.
“Aye, and I am proud to say that they gave me no argument, so ye need nay fret that ye will be unwelcome. The only question they had was, weel, about Walin. Ye ken that near everyone whispers that he is your bastard child.”
“I ken it. It stings sometimes and can cause me a wee bit of trouble with men, but I would ne’er give him up.”
“And so I told them. I also told them the truth about how he came to be living with ye. Do ye ken, the fact that ye kept the lad despite the trouble it has caused ye and the harm it has done to your good name—”
“What good name? Ross witch?”
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br /> Nora ignored that and continued, “And the fact that ye were still struggling to survive yourself seemed to win them o’er to your side immediately. That and the fact that ye were but thirteen when ye were tossed out to live all on your own. And done verra weel, too. They hadnae realized that ye were so verra young. So, ye will be there for me, aye?”
Morainn had a lot of doubts about the wisdom of joining in Nora’s wedding, but she buried them deep inside of herself. Nora and her family had not had the power to stop Morainn’s banishment, but their help was one reason she had survived it, even flourished. They never hesitated to argue the ugly rumors that constantly circulated about her, either.
“Aye, I will be there. When?”
“A month from this Sabbath Day. And Walin must come as weel.” Before Morainn could think of a good argument for that, Nora continued, “Now, the other reason I have come is because there is news.” She sighed and then took a deep drink of cider. “Another woman has been murdered.”
“Och, nay.” Morainn suddenly knew that was why she had seen the bloody knife in her dream this time.
“Aye. Lady Marie Campbell, married to the laird of Banloch. He is in town to sell the woolens his clan makes and see if he can wrestle a few agreements for trade out of some of the other lairds gathered here. At least this woman wasnae carrying a bairn.”
“One of the others was carrying a bairn?”
“Lady Isabella. I grieve for her husband as the bairn couldnae have been his. It seems he had but just returned from a trip to France that had lasted for a six-month. The bairn his wife was carrying was but newly begun.”
“Oh, I had heard that she was faithful to her husband, unlike the Lady Clara.”
“It appears not. T’isnae weel kenned, mind ye. Naught but a whisper. I suspect her good reputation will be what is most spoken of. Most dinnae like to speak ill of the dead. Weel, at least until she begins to be forgotten. Howbeit, Lady Marie was a good wife, loved her husband and he her. He is utterly desolate. He is readying himself to take her body home. Poor, poor mon. He is a widower now with two young sons.”
“What is happening here?” muttered Morainn. “Oh, we have had violent deaths before, but none like these. Nay highborn women and nay so brutal. Usually it is naught but idiot men slashing at each other o’er some imagined insult or a theft, but e’en a death whilst being robbed isnae so verra common.”
Nora shook her head, her reddish brown curls bouncing wildly with the movement. “I dinnae ken what is happening, either. Aye, when the court is near as it is now, there can be added troubles, but ne’er anything like this. Ye are quite right about that. And, talk has become quite heated about a mon named Sir Tormand Murray. It appears that he kenned all of these women ere they were married. Some people find that verra suspicious.”
“He is innocent. The mon may be a rutting fool, but he isnae a killer.”
Nora blinked in surprise. “Do ye ken the mon weel then?”
Morainn grimaced and idly rubbed at her aching temples with her left hand. “Nay. I have but seen him once. Once outside of my dreams, in truth.”
“Ye have had a vision of Sir Tormand Murray?”
“I suspicion a lot of women do,” drawled Morainn, a little startled by the bite to her words. “I think the mon is steeped in the sins of the flesh, right up to his bonnie eyebrows, but he isnae the one who is killing these women. For the last three nights I have had dreams that have made me wake up screaming and shaking with fear. First Sir Tormand is there and all is weel.” She felt herself blush and saw Nora grin, but she ignored it. “The dreams end with me tied hand and foot to a bed, Sir Tormand nowhere in sight, and the stench of danger all round me.”
Nora reached over to pat the hand Morainn had clenched into a tight fist on her lap. “’Tis oftimes more of a curse than a gift, isnae it?”
“Aye, and what makes it even more of a curse is that I can tell no one about the dreams. Who would heed me? Weel a few do, but they dinnae really trust in them or me. But these men? If they didnae think I was insane, they would think that I was a witch, would see it all as proof that I am exactly what so many accuse me of being.”
“Nay as many as ye think, but continue. Do these visions show ye who the real killer is?”
“I think they are trying verra hard to point the way for me. Each time I dream there is a little more to see in that final chilling part. I just cannae grasp what that is. I fear I am beginning to scare poor Walin.”
“Ye could never frighten him. He fears for ye, fears that ye are being hurt in some way. I but hope that ye find the answer ye need in these dreams ere they leave ye too weak, mayhap even ill.”
Morainn briefly smiled. “I look that poorly, do I?”
“Nay, my friend. Ye just look verra tired. And, I think one of the things that robs ye of sleep, aside from dark dreams, is that ye ken ye have some hard decisions to make.”
“Such as whether or nay to speak to Sir Tormand Murray?”
Nora sighed and nodded. “Ye did say that he defended ye in front of that angry crowd. Isnae that a good sign?”
“It doesnae mean he will believe I am having visions, ones that might actually help him to find a brutal killer. As I told Walin, the mon might just think I am trying a new, clever, and intriguing way to get into his bed.” She smiled when Nora laughed, but quickly grew serious again. “I have too little to tell him, Nora. So far all I can say it that I saw a bloodied knife, heard a soft, cold voice, and smelled a heavy scent, rather like some of the scents the ladies at court wear. It isnae enough. I must have more to help him catch this madmon or Sir Tormand is as doomed as the voice in my dream whispered he was.”
“The whispers of suspicion are growing louder,” said Tormand, as he and Simon trotted after the big hound that had caught the scent of yet another blood trail.
“I ken it, but they are still naught but whispers,” replied Simon.
“Dinnae try to soothe me, Simon. The noose is tightening around my neck and we both ken it.”
When the hound stopped beside a rough shepherd’s hut, Simon paused to look at Tormand. “We both ken it, so what is the purpose of allowing our wee brains to prey upon the matter? We need all our wits and strength to catch this madmon. Marie was a good woman.”
“Aye, she was,” Tormand agreed, feeling sorrow weight his heart.
“Yet ye bedded her.”
“Long ago. She was grieving. Her first husband had been dead for a six-month and the loneliness was eating at her soul. His kinsmen were also trying to steal away all the mon had left her. Barely a day passed when she didnae have a confrontation with them.” He met Simon’s gaze and said firmly, “It wasnae a seduction; it was a comforting. It was also just the once. Her husband kens all about it for she told him ere they married and he understands.”
“That explains why he isnae whispering poison about ye.”
“Aye, but some of those around him are. Marie and I remained friends although we ne’er slept together again. I fear that friendship was enough to make many fools believe we were lovers. That is my fault.”
Simon grimaced. “I would like to assure ye that it isnae so, but in some ways it is. Ye are the sort of mon who cannae be around any lass without too many thinking that ye are bedding her. T’isnae just because ye do bed so many, but that ye can, and do so easily. Nay doubt some men feel eased by the thought that there is some special trick or e’en magic ye use to get so many lasses into your bed. They dinnae ken that ye are just an ordinary mon who was blessed with the looks a lass likes.”
Tormand gave Simon a look of friendly disgust. “Thank ye, Simon. Ye are a great comfort to me.”
“My pleasure.” Simon sighed heavily. “Weel, we have dallied enough. Let us get this o’er with.”
It was as bad as Tormand had feared. Worse in many ways for he had truly liked Marie, had considered her a good friend. He felt the same about her husband, Duncan, who was grieving so hard right now. He stared at the bloodstained pallet
, the remains of Marie’s clothes, and felt the sting of tears in his eyes. Tormand prayed that Marie had died quickly, that God in His mercy had stopped her generous heart before the pain had become too great.
“I want this mon dead,” Tormand said quietly, his voice hard with the aching need for retribution. “And ere he dies, I want him to feel the pain and fear he so callously inflicted upon these women.”
“That is a gift I pray for daily,” said Simon in a voice equally quiet, equally hard, as he studied the floor of the tiny shepherd’s hut.
When Simon picked something up off the floor, Tormand moved closer to the man. “What have ye found?”
“Another hairpin made of bone,” Simon replied.
“In a shepherd’s shieling?”
“Aye. An odd thing to find here, isnae it? Unfortunately, we ken that a lot of women use them.”
“So that means that anyone could have dropped it here, e’en one of two lovers stealing a moment alone.”
Simon nodded as he left the hut, not surprised by the fact that Tormand followed close on his heels. “Yet, is it nay strange that we have found one at each of the places where the women were murdered?”
Tormand stared at Simon in shock. “Ye cannae be thinking a woman had something to do with this, can ye? Aye, I ken weel that a woman can be as vicious and as deadly as any mon, but strength was required in these killings, nay only to hold the women but to bring them to where they could be tortured and killed before taking them home.”
“I ken it. ’Tis why I dinnae see these hairpins as wee arrows pointing to our killer. ’Tis just a puzzle. Mayhap the mon who is doing this is killing these women because they werenae chaste and he leaves the hairpin of a lass who betrayed him as some sign, as his mark.”
“But why choose women I have bedded?”
“That is a verra good question.”
Tormand cursed softly as they started the long walk back to town. Each site of the murders was farther away than the last one. He prayed there would be no more murders, but if there were, he decided they would bring horses with them next time.
Highland Sinner Page 5
