Highland Sinner

by Hannah Howell

  Tormand bent down and kissed her before he started toward the door. “Rest, my sweet. Ye have worked hard and are verra weak. Ye need rest to regain your strength.”

  “Hah! I but conceded so that your poor wee male pride wasnae bruised.”

  He laughed and hurried away to collect his horse.

  Morainn sighed and rolled over onto her back to stare up at the rough board ceiling Simon had had built for this bolt-hole. Her body still thrummed with the pleasure he had given her and she doubted she would be moving from the bed for quite a while. Tormand certainly deserved the claims that he was a great lover. She just wished she could ignore the knowledge of just how he had gained such accolades.

  She loved the rutting fool. Nora was right. Morainn had thought that saying she thought she might would somehow shield her heart from the pain she knew would come when he set her aside. It had been a foolish plan. Her heart knew the truth, and that was that it was held firmly in his elegant hand.

  Memories, she reminded herself. She would have memories, beautiful pleasure-filled memories. She sighed and closed her eyes. The memories would probably only make her heart hurt more in the end for she would still be all alone.

  Tormand looked up when Simon entered the great hall in his modest home looking like he should go back to bed and get some more sleep. Tormand had been sitting in the hall for two hours, reluctant to wake the man too soon. It had given him a lot of time to think and he was not sure he liked the conclusions he had come to. Impatient to talk though he was, he waited patiently as the food was set out for them. To his surprise his equally sleepy-looking kinsmen began to wander in and sit down.

  “Have ye all been staying here then?” he asked.

  “Nay, just last night as it was verra late and Simon’s was the first house we came to,” said Harcourt, as he began to fill his plate with food. “We all decided we didnae want to ride another yard.”

  “Out hunting then?” Tormand heartily wished he could be riding with them on that hunt, instead of hiding away, but he bit back the complaint.

  “That and keeping a close watch for anyone trying to creep back to a house with a body.”

  “Why are ye here?” asked Simon. “Has something happened?”

  “Morainn had another dream,” Tormand replied between bites of food. “She says they grow more vivid.”

  “Ah, so she has seen something that might help us.”

  Tormand told them all Morainn had told him. Repeating it all aloud instead of just in his head made him feel even more certain of what he had come to believe while sitting in the hall on his own. When he felt anger stir inside of him he firmly told himself that she had not lied to him. She had simply not told him everything and probably because she did not want to worry him. That did not ease his anger by much.

  Harcourt groaned. “So it will be back on the horses so that we can ride about looking at shielings and cottages.”

  “One with sheep and a roof that is part slate and part thatch,” said Tormand.

  “Och, aye, that certainly limits the number,” drawled Bennett.

  “I could—” began Tormand.

  “Nay,” said Simon. “Ye run enough risk in just coming here. There is also the chance that the killers watch us now, trying to find out where ye have gone. Ye could lead them to Morainn. They badly want her dead.”

  “I ken it. The woman tells her so in her dreams. Morainn feels as if the bitch has somehow gotten inside her head.”

  “Mayhap she has. We ken little about such gifts. Ye far more than I, but I wager ye dinnae ken everything about them simply because ye dinnae have one. Weel, nay one that gives ye prophetic dreams and visions.”

  “Ye really think I have a gift?”

  “Oh, aye, ye do. Ye can sense the emotions in a room. Nay always, but it has certainly helped now and again. ’Tis as if ye can smell them in the air.”

  Tormand thought about that for a moment, felt a strange urge to deny it despite having displayed the skill before Simon on occasion, and then slowly nodded. “I suspicion I do. I just ne’er thought of it as a true gift. Mostly I thought that my cousin telling me how to strengthen my sense, shall we say, just made a natural skill sharper than most men’s.”

  “Nay, ’tis a gift. ’Tis a small one like my father has,” said Harcourt. “He kens when danger approaches. Says it has kept him alive. I can sometimes feel it drawing near as weel. A useful wee gift. Nay as strong a one as the lasses have, but useful.”

  “And here I thought ye dragged me along with ye because I was a clever lad,” drawled Tormand, as he grinned at Simon.

  Simon grinned back. “Ye are, although I hate to stroke your already considerable vanity by saying so. Ye have a way of looking at things that can also be verra helpful.”

  “Nay as helpful as Morainn’s dreams and visions though. She was wondering why ye havenae given her another hairpin.”

  “I had thought on it, but then we discovered Edward MacLean and that gave me a trail. It is slowly leading me toward the killers and so I didnae wish to inflict another vision on the lass. Now that I have the name—Ada or Anna—I have an e’en clearer trail. I believe it is Ada, although I cannae quite grasp what memory makes me believe that. I find it difficult to understand how she could have been wed to Edward and yet so few people e’er saw her and I have yet to find one who can recall her name or appearance.” He frowned. “E’en me, and I have always taken great pride in my ability to see clearly, to see everything nay matter how small or apparently insignificant.”

  “No one can see everything. Mayhap the fact that no one saw her only fed her madness.”

  “Possible. At least we can be fair sure that her huge companion is named Small Ian. The one who told me has always been an accurate source of information. I just wish that Morainn had gotten more information on who will be killed. It is hard to stop a killing when ye dinnae ken who the victim might be.”

  Tormand took a deep drink of ale and then said, “I think the victim she saw this time is herself.” He nodded at the shocked looks on the faces of his companions, a shock he fully shared. “She didnae say so, but as I sat here waiting for ye, Simon, I gave a lot of thought to what she did say and how she answered my questions about who the victim was.”

  “Evasive was she?”

  “Verra much so. After a long explanation about how few people she knew and how she wouldnae recognize the victims e’en if she saw them clearly, what she finally said was that the woman wasnae verra big and she had dark hair.”

  Bennett cursed. “It sounds verra much as if she was hiding something. I am surprised ye didnae ken it as ye have always been good at sniffing out a lie.”

  “I got distracted.” He ignored the derisive snorts of the men. “She may e’en have done that apurpose, although I cannae really believe that.”

  “Nay, nor can I,” said Uilliam. “She isnae a woman who kens how to be so, weel, so—”

  “Sneaky?” Tormand said.

  “Aye, ’tis as good a word as any. She probably just felt she had given ye the answer ye needed to stop pressing her on the matter and got, er, distracted herself.”

  “Being distracted sounds a lot more enjoyable than being stuck on the back of a horse all day,” muttered Rory, and replied to his kinsmen’s derisive remarks with a tart skill that equaled theirs.

  It was almost the middle of the afternoon before Tormand was able to leave. Morainn’s dream had been gone over so many times he began to feel he was the one who had had it. Each time he repeated what she had seen and heard details of the other dreams and visions she had suffered through, he realized that Morainn was a very strong woman. She had to be to endure such things. What he wanted, however, was to make sure that these killers were removed from her dreams as soon as possible. Simon’s increasing collection of information had begun to make him feel a hint of hope, but he was still discouraged at the slow pace of their progress. Now that he felt Morainn had dreamed of her own death, he was even more so.


  “We will capture them,” Simon said, as he watched Tormand get ready to ride back to the ruined tower house. “We now ken who they are.”

  “A big dark mon named Small Ian and a woman no one recalls?”

  “A woman and a mon who nay longer have a house to hide in. And, aye, we dinnae have their precise names and dinnae ken exactly what they look like, but we ken enough to recognize them when we see them.”

  “Mayhap it would be safer for Morainn if she came back here. More armed men to surround her.”

  “She has become your partner in this, Tormand. In the people’s eyes she is the one that has helped ye kill without being seen and keeps ye from the justice ye deserve. It would be as hard to keep her completely safe here as it would be if ye came back.”

  “Why do I think someone is using the people’s fury and fear about these murders to get rid of Morainn?”

  “Because that is what is happening.” He nodded at Tormand’s look of surprise. “Fair or nay, we can see why the people look at ye with suspicion. Ye kenned every one of the women killed. Even the news of Edward MacLean’s death didnae ease that. The fact that the wife no one recalls is also gone is attributed to ye killing her. Each time the murmurs quiet a little, someone stirs it back up again and Morainn’s name is mentioned more and more. There have e’en been a few whispers about how this is all connected to her being a witch, to some dark magic she is brewing.”

  Tormand cursed. “’Tis all idiocy.”

  “Aye, but people can become witless when they are afraid and a lot of people are verra afraid right now.” He frowned. “I would like to tell ye that ye are wrong to think she dreamed of her own death, but the more I think on all ye told me, the more I think ye might be right. E’en so, she is safer where she is.”

  “At least there she only has to worry about two people wanting her dead instead of a whole cursed town.”

  “Exactly. Are ye going to confront her with what ye believe?”

  “I dinnae ken. Part of me wishes to, but another part doesnae see any gain in it. She thinks she is protecting me in some way.” He shrugged. “I will see how I feel about it all when I get back to the tower house.”

  “Tell me, have ye decided what ye are going to do about Morainn once this is all over?”

  “Ye mean if the fool woman is still alive?” He hated to even say the words and the look of knowing amusement that flickered across Simon’s face irritated him. The man knew him too well. “Nay, I havenae. About all I can think of right now is how I should like to spank her fair backside for nay telling me all that she saw.”

  “That could prove interesting,” drawled Simon.

  Tormand was surprised he could, since his emotions were so tangled and few of those emotions were good or calm ones, but he laughed. Nodding a farewell to Simon, he began his stealthy way out of town, keeping a close watch for anyone following him. The end of this trial was drawing near; he could feel it. He just prayed Morainn would be there to celebrate with him.

  Chapter 15

  Standing in the doorway to the room he and Morainn shared, Tormand fought to calm himself. He had warred with himself for the whole journey back to her side, going from angry with her to understanding why she had not told him the whole truth. It would do no good to rush in now and demand she tell him everything she saw in her dream. Such a confrontation would serve no purpose except, perhaps, to allow him to ease some of the anger that still swam in his veins. He could not even claim that she had lied to him; she simply had not told him everything. He still had the feeling that she felt she was protecting him in some way. He wondered if it was fair to deprive her of that.

  She moved around the room gracefully and efficiently as she made them something to eat. The scent of a rich rabbit stew filled the air and tugged at his stomach. He had not taken the time to eat anything while he was at Simon’s except for a small meal to break his fast. Once he had realized that Morainn had dreamed of her own death he had not felt very hungry anyway.

  Tormand knew that the depth of the fear he felt for her meant that his other feelings for her also ran deep. It certainly explained why he was so angry, even a little hurt, that she had not told him the full truth. He could not keep ignoring the fact that he was getting more entangled with Morainn Ross with every hour he spent in her company, with every moment that they spent in each other’s arms. He no longer felt the need to flee from that or from her, either.

  “Ah, ye have come back and just in time,” she said and smiled at him. “I am cooking the rabbit ye caught for us yesterday.”

  “It smells good,” he said as he walked into the room and sat in a chair near the rough stone fireplace. Taking a deep breath, he added, “Verra good indeed. Simon obviously supplied us verra weel.”

  “Och, aye, he did.”

  She poured him a tankard of ale and handed it to him. He murmured his thanks and gave her a small smile. It felt good to cook his meal for him and to greet him this way when he returned to their shelter. Morainn could see the danger in that, however. She was settling into the ways of a wife more than just a lover and Tormand Murray did not want a wife. Even if he did, he would not choose the bastard daughter of a witch burned by the townspeople and one who was thought to be a witch as well. A man like Tormand could reach very high indeed when he finally felt like marrying and begetting a child or two.

  At the thought of Tormand giving some other woman a child, Morainn felt such a pain in her heart she was surprised she did not cry out. Instead, she quickly turned her attention back to her cooking so that he could not see that pain in her eyes and wonder on it. The stew did not really need close watching, but she hoped that Tormand, like most men, did not know a great deal about cooking.

  By the time she got her emotions back under control, Morainn started to feel that the silence in the room was not a companionable one. There was a tension to it that troubled her. She looked at Tormand only to find him staring morosely at the wall. Something was bothering the man, but Morainn was a little afraid to ask what it was. Her mind was rapidly filling her head with all sorts of possible reasons for his strange behavior and none of them were good. It could be that he brooded over their failure to catch the killers, but it could also be that he brooded over the fact that he was stuck in a ruined tower house with a woman he was already tiring of.

  Even though she was curious about what Simon had said concerning her dream and about what was happening concerning the hunt for Ada and Small, she did not ask. Morainn decided it might be safer, if only for her poor misguided heart, just to wait until he felt like talking again. She forced all of her attention and thoughts on the work she had set out for herself. Stitching flowers onto linens for Nora’s dowry chests would keep her busy and she was heartily pleased that she had had some brought to her to work on. The tedious chore would help keep her from worrying about all the reasons Tormand had become so strangely quiet.

  It was not until long after they had eaten and Morainn had returned to her needlework that Tormand was finally able to shake off his dark mood. He was not a man given to brooding much, but he had obviously learned the way of it. After a while, however, it had begun to feel too much like self-pity.

  He looked at Morainn busily stitching pretty flowers onto what looked like a cover for a pillow and grimaced. She had been slipping around the room like a ghost, obviously sensing his bad humor. His anger over how she had not told him that she had seen herself as the next victim had finally left him. He actually found it oddly touching that this tiny woman who had been unwillingly pulled into this tangle because she had a gift, would try to protect him in any way.

  He would let her keep her secret. He would also not tell her how hard everyone was working to find the cottage she had described, of how desperate they were to find it before she did become the next victim of the killers. His inability to join the other men in that hunt was one reason he had fallen into such a black mood. Morainn was his woman and he should be the one out there hunting down the ones who me
ant to do her harm.

  His woman. Tormand decided he liked the sound of that. Possessiveness was not something he had ever suffered from before, but he definitely felt possessive about Morainn.

  “Your friend means to take a lot of linens to her marriage, doesnae she?” he said, smiling at her when she gave him a startled look.

  Morainn could see no signs of the strange mood that had possessed Tormand when he had first arrived and she inwardly sighed with relief. She had been thinking she ought to go to bed as it was very late, but she had been hesitant to bed down with Tormand when he was in such a bad humor. Now she felt alert, sure he would soon give her an explanation for his long, silent study of the walls.

  “She has no lands or money, but she wishes to bring some things of value to her marriage,” Morainn replied. “All the women of her family are sewing and doing needlework night and day. I am glad that your brother Uilliam was able to bring me this work to do.”

  “If all the work is as fine as yours, James’s kin will be verra impressed.” He sighed. “I apologize for being such poor company these last few hours. I fear I succumbed to self-pity.”

  “Self-pity? Over what?”

  “This trouble we are mired in, these murders so many wish to blame on me, and the fact that I must hide away here whilst Simon, my brothers, and my cousins hunt down my enemies.”

  “Aye, I suspicion such things would be a sharp pinch to the pride of any mon.”

  He laughed softly. “Ye dinnae sound verra sympathetic to my woes, love.”

  “Oh, I am. But—”

  “Aha, the infamous but.”

  She ignored his teasing. “Ye have a verra good life awaiting ye when this is all over. Yet, if ye joined the hunt now ye could lose all of that; ye could lose your life. To give in to pride and go out ahunting these monsters with the others would put yourself right back in harm’s way. Others could be hurt or killed, as weel for the crowd, if stirred into a frenzy as they were the night they surrounded your home, might try to attack ye e’en if ye have a half dozen armed men riding with ye. Or more. In their fear and anger they would fight with the ones trying to keep ye alive and find the real killers. In the eyes of the mob, the ones protecting ye would also be seen as the enemy.” Once finished she was a little afraid that she had far over-stepped her bounds, but he did not appear angry.