“She hasnae buried her husband,” Morainn said, shivering as she saw the sight of the bloody, mutilated man hanging from chains. “She has only just finished killing him. I had thought she already had, but nay, she just considered him as good as dead. He is dead now.”
“Did ye get a name?” asked Simon.
“Only part of it. Edward. She called him Fat Edward and in the vision I saw him hanging in chains and he is verra fat. Or was.” Morainn closed her eyes as she struggled to hold the horrible image of the dead man in her mind’s eye. “Red hair and nay a pretty red, either. Freckles everywhere.” She shivered again and Tormand pulled her a little closer to him. “I am nay sure what he may have done to her, but I get no sense of true cruelty or evil in the mon. Yet, she killed him verra slowly and he suffered in great pain for a verra long time.”
“Did ye see where? Did ye see anything that might tell ye where and when this may have happened? I ken several men named Edward and none of them are small men. If I had a hint of where the body is, it could save me a great deal of searching.”
“All I saw was the room where he was hanging in chains. A dungeon, I think, for it was all damp stone and the light flickered as though it was coming only from a fire or torches.” She rubbed at her forehead, hating the need to try to remember clearly such a bloody dream, but she tried and then tensed. “A large door with a snarling dog, nay, wolf on it.”
“I ken where that is. ’Tis where Edward MacLean lives. He calls his home Wolf Hallow. ’Tis but a short ride north of town.”
“This time I am coming with ye,” shouted Tormand, as the men ran out of the room, Walter hastily taking Walin back to his bed.
When Tormand leapt out of bed, Morainn flopped back down onto the soft feather mattress and groaned. He turned to frown at her in concern, studying her carefully even as he continued to get dressed. She was looking a little pale, but he could see no sign that she had suffered with this dream as badly as she had suffered with her visions.
“Are ye weel, Morainn?” he asked.
Morainn groaned again and pulled the blanket over her head. “I have just been found in your bed by everyone in this house, even Walin. And I was found here naked.”
He forced himself to bite back an urge to laugh. “I got the blanket around ye before they saw anything.”
She sat up and glared at him. “They saw me.” Then she paled and put a hand over her mouth. “And how can I be so cold of heart, so verra selfish? There is some poor mon hanging dead in his own home, a mon who suffered all the torments of hell at the hands of his own wife and I am fretting because your friends and family now ken that I have shared your bed.”
Tormand sat down on the bed, pulled her into his arms and stroked her back. “Ye arenae cold or selfish. This has all happened so quickly, ye have had no time to e’en think it all through. One moment ye are having a nightmare and the next ye are sitting in bed with six half-dressed and weel-armed men standing around. And ye cannae take on the weight of these murders, loving. It will crush ye. As for those fools seeing ye in my bed, dinnae fret over it. And Walin? His only interest was to see that ye were nay hurt.” He gave her a kiss and then got up to finish dressing and arming himself.
“Mayhap ye shouldnae go,” she said quietly. “What if it is a trap or the ones who think ye guilty are out there and looking for a fight?”
“I will be with five armed men who have blooded themselves in battle. I will be fine.” He gave her another kiss and ran out the door, calling back, “Walter will stay here to watch over ye and Walin.”
Morainn cursed and fell back in the bed again. At least while the men were gone she would have time alone to conquer her embarrassment. Discovery had been inevitable, she told herself. It would have been impossible to keep the fact that she was sharing a bed with Tormand a secret in such a crowded house. She prayed Walin was too young to understand fully what her place in Tormand’s bed meant and she really did not wish to answer questions posed by a curious little boy.
She leapt out of bed, snuffed the candle someone had lit, and then collected up her clothing, donning her shift for modesty’s sake. There were still a few hours before dawn and she needed to get some sleep. Holding her clothes against her chest, she slipped out of Tormand’s room and went back to her own. Morainn suspected Tormand expected her to stay in his bed, but she would not do so until he said so plainly.
Once huddled beneath the covers of her bed with her cats curled all around her she began to feel calmer, certain that she would be able to go back to sleep. The sound of Walter’s distinct tread only added to her growing sense of calm, for she knew, just as Tormand had told her, she and Walin had not been left unprotected. There were a few things she had seen in her dream that she had not had time to tell the men, but there would be time on the morrow. Telling them that the evil woman had smiled at her in the dream as Morainn had screamed would only worry them.
“That is a sight I could have happily lived a long life without ever seeing,” murmured Harcourt.
Tormand was pleased to see that his cousin was looking a little pale. The remains of poor Edward MacLean had caused his own stomach to revolt strongly and he had only barely controlled the urge to empty his belly on the bloodstained floor of the dungeon. The smell of blood and death was so strong they were enough to gag a man. The killers must have tortured Edward for a very long time. The once very large man was only a shadow of the food-loving man he had once been. They had nearly skinned the man alive, broken all his fingers and toes, and castrated him. Tormand was sure there were other injuries, but the man was so filthy and so covered in blood he could not see what they might be and did not want to. He also suspected it was mostly the castration of the man that had drained all the blood from their faces and left them all so pale.
“I cannae think of anything this mon may have done to his wife that would have earned him this death,” said Simon, as he began his ritual of carefully searching the area around the dangling body of Edward. “He was an irritant, boastful, somewhat of a pig, and none too bright, but I ne’er saw him lift a heavy hand to anyone or e’en speak unkindly about anyone. He was, in truth, quite jovial in the manner of a not particularly intelligent fellow who found his own humor very amusing.”
“Did ye e’er meet his wife?” asked Tormand.
“Once,” replied Simon. “A shadow of a woman, quiet and easily forgotten. I would ne’er have thought her capable of such brutality.”
“Mayhap that is how she has gotten away with it for so long.”
“But where were his people?” asked Rory. “With a house of this size there should be a maid or two, a cook, and such as that. No one came to the door and I saw no one as we made our way down here.”
“She could have sent them away,” said Simon. “E’en if she didnae do it right away, I doubt anyone would have heard the poor man down here. I think she and her hulking great companion are also long gone.”
“Aye, they are too cunning to stay so close to a murder. She would ken that, as soon as we saw Edward, we could guess who she is. Do ye ken her name, Simon?”
“Nay. As I said—she was utterly forgettable. I will find someone who kens who she is though.”
“And then what?”
“First I will see if she has any kin near at hand or, more important, any kin that have recently been murdered. As soon as I gather as much information as I can on this mon’s wife, we return to our hunting. What I am truly hoping for is that someone can give us a good description of who her large companion might be.”
“The huge shadow that can move about silently in the darkness and disappear like mist on a sunny morning?” asked Harcourt.
“Aye, that one.” Simon started to walk out of the dungeon. “He cannae have remained in the shadows all of his life. Someone has had to have seen him. Let us search the rest of this house and see if we can find anything that will help us.”
“What about that poor old fool Edward? Do we just leave him hanging there?”
“For now.”
After several hours of fruitless searching, Tormand rode beside Simon as they headed back home. It bothered him to leave poor Edward MacLean hanging in the dungeon, but Simon wanted to come back with a few of his men and deal with the body then. He hoped Simon gave the men some warning of what they were about to see before they went down those dark steps into that blood-soaked room of torture and death. Tormand had hoped they would find some trail to follow, but he was getting used to disappointment in this hunt. If the mad pair they hunted suffered from a blood lust of some sort, he hoped it was well fed for now.
“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. 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 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 impli
ed 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.”
Highland Sinner Page 17
