“I ken that,” he said quietly. “’Tis why I didnae fight coming here to hide. I trusted Simon to ken when it was time for me to find a bolt-hole. I but find it verra difficult to accept that from time to time.”
She slowly nodded and asked, “Are they closing in on these mad dogs?”
“The noose is finally tightening around their necks, aye.”
“Good, for that is what is truly important.” She shook her head. “’Tis a shame that the ones who were heaving rocks at your house couldnae be made to see the truth. Then ye could have used some of them to help ye find the killers and ye wouldnae be held prisoner here any longer.”
“Weel, ’tis a verra fine prison. And ye are right. I would be naught but a hindrance, either because my presence would stir up a mob again, and that could put everyone in danger, or because we would all have to be so verra careful that I wasnae seen by anyone, there would be little hunting going on. As Simon said—he wouldst rather catch the real killers before I hang.”
“Simon Innes has a rather dark sense of humor.”
“He does, but some of that may come from the fact that he deals with a lot of verra dark things. Simon has seen nearly every evil one mon, or woman, can do to another. Sometimes I worry that such work is slowly eating away at his soul.”
“Or his heart,” she murmured. “Was anything I saw in my dream of help to him?”
Tormand nodded. “It was and he is already putting it to use.”
“Did the name of the woman help? I was not sure which it was—Ada or Anna—but I find I am already calling her Ada in my mind.”
“I think Simon believes it is Ada, too, although he hasnae been able to get any real information on MacLean’s wife, and his own memory of meeting her is too faint to trust it. He cannae find any of the servants who worked for the MacLeans, which is verra strange.”
“I hope that is because they fled the place and nay because they are also dead. These two are filling far too many graves.”
Tormand stood up and held out his hand. “Come to bed, Morainn. Let us talk no more of monsters and death.”
She blushed, but set aside her needlework and put her hand in his. He tugged her toward the bed, stopped just at the edge of it and kissed her with such gentle passion she was feeling dazed when he stopped. Tormand then moved to bank the fire and snuff all the candles save for the one next to the bed. Morainn felt a little less shy as the light in the room dimmed to a soft glow. It was foolish considering how often they had made love, but she was still shy about him seeing her naked.
Kissing the blush upon her cheeks, Tormand slowly undressed her. He took his time, savoring each new patch of skin that he uncovered. It pleased him that she looked dazed with desire by the time he settled her down on the bed. He knew he had stirred passion in other women, but it made him feel far more satisfied to do so in Morainn. It also stirred his blood in a way that no other woman’s look of desire ever had. The desire of those other women had always been simply a means to be sure his need was satisfied. With Morainn, he wanted her to feel all the passion she was capable of, and his own needs were no longer all important to him.
He removed his clothes swiftly, tossing them to the floor, and then crawled into bed with her. Tormand’s own hunger for her prompted his speed, but so did the knowledge that Morainn was still uneasy about being naked with him, about him seeing her body. He did not want that shyness to intrude and cool her ardor now. Tonight he was going to love her as he had never made love to another woman.
Morainn eagerly welcomed him into her arms. She could see his desire for her blazing in his eyes and that look always eased the fears she had about risking her heart with this man. The feel of his warm skin against hers made her sigh with pleasure. Morainn did not think she could ever grow tired of that feeling.
Although she quickly grew eager for him to possess her fully, he took his time. Morainn tried to control her rising desire, for she loved the way he made her feel with his touch and his kisses, and she wanted to savor it for as long as she could. She no longer flinched in shock when he kissed and caressed her breasts, but arched up, welcoming every touch of his hand and the warmth of his mouth.
“Ah, love, ye are so beautiful, so warm,” he murmured against the soft skin of her flat belly. “Ye taste like the finest mead and I can get drunk on you.”
She wanted to return his flattery, but the way his clever fingers were stroking her womanhood made it hard to put two coherent words together. Morainn did not know how he could talk while making love. When she was in his arms like this she did not doubt his desire for her, felt certain it ran as hot and fierce as her own, and yet he could talk. She could barely say his name.
Then, suddenly her eyes widened with shock, and she felt her hunger waver. He was kissing her there. Sure it was a sin she not allow him to commit, she tried to push him away, but he held fast to her hips and licked her. Shock quickly gave way to a rapidly rising passion that had her arching into his intimate kiss, allowing him to move her legs so that he could be even bolder in his attentions. Morainn was not sure she would survive this sort of lovemaking for she ached with need even as she felt as if fire was racing through her veins. He kept murmuring something, soothing words and flatteries, but she was too blind with her own need to understand what he was saying.
When she felt her body tightening in the way it always did before the pleasure she felt crashed over, she grabbed him by the shoulders and tried to pull him up into her arms. She needed him inside of her, but she did not know how to make such a demand. Then he began to kiss his way back up her body. When he reached her mouth, he kissed her hungrily, almost fiercely, at the same time that he buried himself deep inside of her. Morainn cried out in welcome and wrapped her legs tightly around his body. His thrusts were hard and deep and she met them eagerly. Just as she shattered and fell into that state of utter bliss he always sent her to, she heard him bellow out her name as he joined her there.
Tormand had already cleaned them both off by the time Morainn had regained her senses enough to start to feel embarrassed. She tensed in his arms and buried her face against his neck. She was the worst sort of wanton, she decided. Embarrassed though she was, and shocked that she had allowed him to do that, she realized very quickly that she wanted him to do it again. That only made her feel even more embarrassed.
Feeling the tension seep into her body, Tormand lightly stroked her slim back and grinned into her tousled hair. She was going to be embarrassed, but he decided she would have to get over it. He had never loved another woman in that way, but he decided he liked the taste of his little witch. She was clean, sweet and tart, and she had never known any man but him. Tormand would not allow her to shy away from such loving now.
“Cease fretting over it, dearling,” he said and turned her very red face up to his to brush a kiss over her lips.
“But, ye shouldnae be kissing me there,” she muttered, unable to meet his gaze.
“Why not? I like to kiss ye there. Ye taste good,” he added and laughed when she groaned and buried her face back in the crook of his neck. “Ye liked it, too.”
“That doesnae make it right.”
“Aye, it does.”
Before she could argue that, he tensed and then suddenly leapt out of bed. A moment later, she heard what he had. Someone was approaching the tower house on horseback. Several someones. Morainn quickly got out of bed and threw her clothes back on. Tormand was fully dressed and armed before she was done, moving with the speed and efficiency of a man who had known danger and battle. With one jerk of his head, he ordered her to slip away through the little bolt-hole in the wall. She wanted to stand at his side, hated fleeing without knowing what he might face, but he had made her promise that she would run when he told her to, so she started toward the small bolt-hole that would lead her out into the woods.
“Be at ease, Tormand,” called a familiar voice. “We have news.”
Morainn hastily ran back to the bed to pull the covers
back over it and was just moving to fetch some tankards and ale when Simon and the Murrays banged on the door. She was not quite sure how many Murrays were on the other side of the door, but she set out six tankards anyway. When Tormand unbolted the door and the men came in she was glad of it. The fact that all of them had come to the tower house in the dead of night did worry her, however. She prayed it was good news as she poured out the ale. It had taken Tormand a long time to shake free of his black mood. News of another murder that he would blame himself for could easily have him brooding for days instead of a few hours.
“Do ye fools never sleep?” Tormand asked, as he grabbed one of the tankards Morainn had filled, and sat at the foot of the bed.
“Not when ye work with Simon,” muttered Harcourt, as he picked up a tankard of ale and gulped it down as if he had not had anything to drink for a very long time.
“Nay tonight. Tonight we go ahunting,” said Simon, ignoring Harcourt as he also grabbed a tankard of ale and sent Morainn a brief smile of gratitude. “Someone has finally sent word about the people we are looking for.”
It was difficult for Tormand to hide his rising excitement as he pulled Morainn down to sit beside him. Could it really be all over? That would mean that he and Morainn could return to his home and he could finally have time to study what he felt for her and decide what he would do about it.
“Ye ken where the bastards are?” he asked.
“That was what the message we got implied. I had thought to just ride over there myself, but then thought that ye may be displeased if we didnae include ye in this.”
“Oh, aye, verra displeased. But are ye confident this is true, that this person who sent word can be trusted?”
“As much as anyone else. I have never kenned the mon to be other than honest.”
Tormand looked at Morainn. “Will ye be all right if I leave ye here alone?”
“Of course,” she replied. “Ye have left me here alone before.”
“Nay at night.”
“There is a verra thick door with a sturdy bolt and I ken to run and hide if I must.”
“I wouldnae ask ye to come if I didnae think she would be safe,” said Simon. “No one kens ye are here and, if this proves to be all it promises to be, the threat will be o’er by morning.”
Morainn watched as the men left and bolted the door securely behind them. She hoped they would find the killers and either cage them for a hanging or kill them. For what those monsters had done, they deserved no less. She also knew that Tormand needed this to be over.
As she returned to bed, she huddled beneath the covers. She missed Tormand’s big, warm body curled around her, but told herself she had better get used to sleeping alone again. It brought tears to her eyes even to think about it, but if the monsters were killed tonight, she would be sent home to her cottage to live with just a memory of love, and an unrequited one at that.
She grimaced as the tears slid down her cheeks despite her efforts to hold them back. She was the only one who loved in this relationship. Tormand lusted. He might be kinder to her than he had ever been with his other women, but he had never even hinted at any feelings stronger than desire. Nor had he hinted that there would be any future for the two of them. She would go back to her garden, her orchards, and her beehives, and he would go back to his women. It hurt, but Morainn suspected she had better get used to that as well. When she had to walk away from Tormand she was going to be leaving her heart behind.
“How did ye get word of this?” asked Tormand after they had ridden for an hour.
“A boy came and gave me a missive. Badly written but understandable. Old Geordie said he had seen the ones we were looking for. Said they were lurking around a deserted crofter’s cottage not far from him.”
“It will take us at least another two hours to get to Old Geordie’s since it is so dark we must ride slowly and carefully. Isnae that a little far away for the murderers? I thought they would be closer to town where they can find more victims easily.”
“They dinnae have a house anymore, do they? Mayhap this was the easiest place to hide away in. I suspicion that those two are more concerned about survival now, than about who they can kill next.”
Tormand wrapped his plaid more tightly around himself as the chill, damp night air cut deep into his bones. He did not feel right about this, but was not sure why. It could be that after so long and hard a search, so many deaths, this all seemed too easy.
“Wouldnae killers like these make verra sure no one could see them?” he finally asked Simon.
“Do ye have a bad feeling about this?”
“It just all seems too easy, too quickly and neatly settled.”
“Ye expected a fight?”
“Mayhap, or mayhap I wanted one. It doesnae appear as if I will be granted that wish.”
By the time they reached Old Geordie’s hovel, Tormand knew he would not be getting back to the tower house any time before the sun rose, and that would only happen if he turned around right now and started back. He was sorely tempted to do so and take the others with him. His instincts were crying out that this was a trap.
When a sleepy-eyed Old Geordie opened his door after several wood-shaking pounds of Simon’s fist, Tormand felt his unease begin to change to alarm. The man did not look as though he had expected Simon’s visit. Tormand heard his kinsmen behind him ease their swords out of their sheaths. One look at the frown on Simon’s face told him that his friend was now very suspicious as well. Tormand could not see, hear, or even smell anyone around and it would be impossible for an angry mob to hide away anywhere on the rocky grazing land surrounding Geordie’s home.
Then he realized that the trap had not been set for him or the men with him, but for the one they left behind. Tormand fought back the urge to leap on his horse and race back to the tower house. He could not be sure that it was a trap for Morainn, or he could be succumbing to the fear he had suffered from ever since this trial began. It would help to at least find out why they were at Geordie’s house when he obviously had not expected them and who might have written the note to draw them there.
“Is something wrong, lad?” the graying Geordie asked Simon.
“I thought ye were going to tell me about that,” said Simon. “Did ye nay send me a message asking me to meet ye here?”
“Why would I be doing that?”
“Your missive said ye kenned where the killers I have been hunting have gone to ground.”
“Missive? Laddie, ye must ken that I can barely write me own name. I wouldnae have written ye a missive. Sent one of me lads to speak to ye, aye, but nay write anything.” Simon started to show Geordie the scrawled letter, but the man shook his head. “Come in and let me light a few candles. Cannae see anything here in the dark.”
Tormand followed Simon inside, glancing back to see that his kinsmen had placed themselves around the cottage as guards just in case there was a trap yet to be sprung. He also noticed that Geordie had set a huge knife down on a table and realized the man had not answered his door unarmed. The inside of the cottage revealed that it was a lot larger than one would suspect from the outside. Geordie was not exactly some poor shepherd. The moment the candles were lit, Simon handed Geordie the message that had supposedly come from him. As he tensely waited to hear what the man would say, Tormand idly wondered who the man was to Simon, for few men called Sir Simon Innes laddie.
“As I said, lad, I cannae write,” Geordie finally said as he handed the note back to Simon. “Cannae read verra weel, either. Nay enough to send ye something like this.”
“Do ye have any idea who would have written this?”
“Looks like me cousin’s scrawl. The old bitch taught herself to write so that she could keep records of her medicines and salves and all.”
“Where is your cousin?”
“Right here, sad to say. She came round last evening and said she had been off to deliver a child and it was too dark for her to go home, so could she bed down here. Couldna
e say nay could I, but I am nay sure why she has stayed another night.” He scowled at a small, narrow set of stairs that led up to the next level of the house. “She says she wanted to look over my lands for some herbs. Nay sure I believe her.” He looked back at Simon. “Just what does it say?”
“That ye had some information on the killers I have been trying to catch, that ye ken where they are hiding.”
“Nay, dinnae ken anything about that, but if Ide wrote that note, she might ken. I will fetch her.”
The name Ide made Tormand tense. That was the woman that had been trying to stir up the crowd in front of the Redmond home. It was also the woman that had helped lead the crowd in the murder of Morainn’s mother and in Morainn’s banishment when she had been too young to be left on her own. Now Tormand was certain that this was a trap and that it had been set for Morainn. Even as he turned toward the door, Simon grabbed him by the arm.
“Steady, Tormand,” Simon urged. “We need to ken what is happening.”
“That old bitch is trying to get someone else to kill her rival for her,” snapped Tormand.
“I think ye may be right, but think. Calm yourself and but think for a moment. That would mean that the old bitch kens the killers and may even ken where they are hiding. Mayhap she was the one who tended to the wounds Morainn and her cat left them with.”
The truth of what Simon said was all that kept Tormand standing where he was and not rushing back to the tower house to make certain that Morainn was safe. It was also all that kept him from grabbing Old Ide, as Geordie led the woman down the stairs, and shaking the truth out of her. The moment the woman stood in front of them, Tormand knew she was behind all of this, and that she had done it to get Morainn killed. There was a nasty look of triumph, of gloating, in her eyes.
Highland Sinner Page 21
