William made a choice before she did. To Morainn’s surprise, the cat let loose a bloodcurdling yowl and leapt. It did not go for the man as she had expected it to, but lunged straight at the woman. The woman screamed as William landed on her head, a writhing, scratching, and snarling bundle of fury. The man immediately turned to help the woman, who appeared to be stumbling around as if she could run away from the beastie savaging her head and face. Morainn bolted for the door. A large hand reached out at her and she struck out at it with her knife even as she kept running. A loud bellow told her she had succeeded in inflicting a wound.
A sleepy-eyed Walin was standing in the doorway of his small bedchamber. Morainn grabbed him and pushed him toward the stairs, ordering, “Run! Hide!”
The boy did not hesitate to obey, obviously awake enough to know they were in danger from whoever was making all the noise in Morainn’s bedchamber. As Morainn followed she felt both pleased and saddened by that. He should obey his elders, but he should not have to live with fear, with the need to run and hide without question.
The hard painful grip of a large, strong hand on the back of her neck yanked her to a halt. Morainn twisted around on the narrow steps and struck out with her knife again. This time she did not need the bellow of pain to tell her she had cut the huge man a second time; she had felt her knife hesitate slightly as it began to cut across flesh instead of air. The man struck out at her and Morainn went tumbling down the steps nearly taking Walin down with her.
She wanted to lie on the floor and moan over all the aches and bruises she knew she had suffered, but did not give in to that weakness. Leaping to her feet, she followed Walin out of the cottage and ran toward the woods. In there were a lot of places to hide. Morainn had made sure of it.
“Who are they?” asked Walin in a shaky whisper as he huddled deep within the hollow beneath the roots of an old tree.
Settling herself in the small space beside the boy, Morainn fought to catch her breath, and whispered, “They are killers, loving. Hush now for they may come hunting us.” This was not the best of the hiding places Morainn had picked out over the years, but they had run about as far as she felt Walin could withstand.
Morainn could not understand why these people had come after her. They obviously intended to do to her as they had done to the other women they had killed, but she had never been Tormand’s lover. She had never even met or seen the man, except in her dreams, until the day Isabella Redmond’s body was found. They had barely exchanged a word and a look. No one could have known he and the other men would come to see her, either.
Unless the killers were watching Sir Tormand Murray very closely, she thought, and tensed. She shivered, but fought the urge to try to rub some warmth into her arms, afraid of stirring the leaves she was sprawled on. It was the only thing that made any sense. It was also something Sir Tormand needed to know. If she survived this attack Morainn fully intended to tell him about her suspicion.
The sound of voices drifted to her ears and Morainn pressed her body deeper into the hollow. Gently placing her hand on Walin’s back was enough to make the child do the same. She heard the slow pace of horses and wondered if they were being walked or ridden. Morainn hoped it was the latter for it would be a lot more difficult for the killers to catch a glimpse of her and Walin from high up on the back of a horse. She felt herself tense so tightly she wondered that she did not snap something as the sounds of approach grew closer, listening carefully for any hint that she and Walin had been discovered.
“Are ye sure that cursed beast is dead?” demanded the woman whose icy cold voice had haunted Morainn’s dreams all too often lately.
“Aye, m’lady,” answered the man. “I threw it into the wall, didnae I, and it wasnae moving when we left.”
Morainn felt her heart skip painfully in her chest, but fought back the grief and rage stirred by William’s death. She needed to hear everything these people said. They might let slip some hint as to who they were and, no matter how small it might be, Morainn wanted to catch it. She wanted them found and hanged.
And now she wanted it not just because they were killers. The bastards had invaded her home, had intended to kill her, had put Walin’s life in danger and made him afraid, and they had killed her cat. Morainn did not think she had ever felt such a cold rage and it banished her fear for the moment. Even admitting to herself that part of her rage was because these monsters threatened Sir Tormand Murray did not dim it. Sinner and lecher though he was, he did not deserve what these people were putting him through.
“I want this witch dead!”
“And she will be, m’lady. Soon. But, I am thinking, nay tonight.”
The man spoke in a soft, soothing tone despite his deep, rough voice and Morainn suspected he had had a lot of self-training in the ways needed to soothe his companion. They had paused within sight of her and Walin. They were both on their horses and that helped Morainn subdue a sudden flash of panic. As long as the ones hunting her did not dismount and start searching close to the ground, she and Walin would not be found.
“We could fetch the dog,” the woman said. “Dunstan would sniff the whore out.”
“Aye, the dog has a fine nose, but ’twould be too light for a safe hunt ere we fetched the dog and came back here. And ye need those scratches seen to. I wouldnae mind having me own wounds tended to. The lass had a big knife and was quick with it.”
“She cannae live,” hissed the woman. “’Tis said that she has the gift, that she can see the truth. That would be our downfall. Innes will use her gift to find us and I am nay done yet. That rutting bastard Tormand has to pay for all I have suffered, for all my humiliation and shame. I would ne’er have been forced to wed if nay for him and he has to suffer for that. Aye, and for choosing all these whores over me.”
“Now, we cannae be sure he has bedded this lass.”
The woman’s snort of cold laughter echoed through the wood. “Ye saw how he looked at her at the Redmonds’.”
“I did, but today was the first time he has visited her and he wasnae alone.”
“It doesnae matter. He means to add her to the rolls of his women. He has caught her scent and will soon run her to ground. Innes may only be interested in how she can help him find us, but Tormand wants to lift her skirts. I want her dead ere she lets him into her bed as all the others did, the filthy whores. That would give him pleasure and I dinnae want him to have any. I just want him to be shamed, condemned, and hanged.”
In that chilling voice was the tone of a very spoiled child. A spoiled child who had finally been forced to do something she did not want to do, thought Morainn, and the woman blamed it all on Tormand. Whatever ill happened in the woman’s marriage would only continue to harden the woman’s sense of injury. Morainn did wonder how the woman was able to slip around killing people in the dead of night without her husband at least becoming aware of her absences. Unless, of course, the man had been one of her first victims.
Grimacing, Morainn forced herself not to get too lost in her own thoughts. She not only needed to listen carefully to every word these killers spoke; she also needed to be alert for the possibility of being discovered.
“M’lady, please, ye are still bleeding,” the man said. “And so am I. We are leaving a trail any child could find and follow.”
“We have to find the witch!”
“We will. Ye have my word on it. Calm yourself. Where is the good in getting caught hunting for someone we cannae find in these dark woods? We will get ourselves cleaned up, rest a wee bit until our wounds are healed enough nay to draw the eye our way, and then be back on the hunt ere ye ken it.”
“I wanted her dead,” the woman said, sounding so much like a child denied some treat it made Morainn shiver. “She will tell Innes about us and help him catch us. We cannae let her see us, Small.”
Morainn listened to the man continue to soothe the woman as the pair rode off. Even when she could no longer hear them she remained tense and still. For a m
oment she could not even think clearly. All she could think about was how that woman spoke of killing her, that she did not even know the woman, and that she was marked for death for something she had not done. Sir Tormand had not even kissed her yet. Was Sir Tormand such a lecherous fool that he only had to look at a woman to have the world and its mother believe he would soon have her warming his bed? Morainn knew, deep inside, that what troubled her most was that the woman wanted her to die for far more than what tiny pieces of information Morainn might get from some vision. M’lady wanted to kill her because a man had looked at her with the glint of lust in his eyes and, in Morainn’s mind, that only proved the woman’s insanity.
“They are gone, Morainn,” whispered Walin.
Taking a deep breath to calm herself, Morainn spoke in an equally soft voice. “We shall bide here for a while longer, love. I am nay big enough nor skilled enough with a knife to win in a battle against those two. Giving someone a wee poke with my knife to make them back away so I can run—aye, I can do that. Fighting and beating two people and one of the size of a mountain? Nay.”
“Why do they want to kill ye? Ye didnae e’en meet Sir Tormand until today.”
“I met him yesterday, briefly. But that doesnae matter to those two. The woman is mad, Walin. Utterly mad. One cannae e’er understand how she thinks.”
“How long do we have to stay here?”
“I would feel safest if we could remain hidden until the sun begins to rise. At least then I will be able to see better as we make our way home. If they have hidden in the dark and the shadows as we have, I willnae be able to see them in time for us to flee and hide again.”
“What if some beast comes round and thinks we are good eating?”
“First, that beastie will have a difficult time reaching us in here and, second, I have a verra big knife.” She smiled when she felt him relax as she pulled him close. “Rest, my bonnie laddie. I will keep ye safe.” She prayed she could keep that promise, but knew telling him the truth, that their fate was not always in her hands, would only frighten him.
“Do ye think that mon really killed William?”
Although she could hear the tears choking him and felt strongly inclined to cry herself, Morainn gently rubbed his small back and replied in a calm voice, “I dinnae ken, loving. We will see when we get home. If that mon did kill our William, then our cat died a hero. It attacked that woman and when the mon turned to help her, I was given the chance to flee. I dinnae wish to think on what may have happened to us if William hadnae given me that chance.”
“If William is dead, we will bury him in the garden. William loved the garden.”
“Aye, it did, and we will give our brave cat a verra fine burial.”
“And something to mark his grave.”
“Aye. Now, please, rest, laddie. I will keep watch.”
“I have to say my prayers first.”
She held Walin close as he whispered his prayers, not reminding him that he had already said them once tonight. Morainn was both amused and a little saddened as she listened to him ask God to let William live or at least give the cat a nice garden to romp through in heaven. It was sweet that Walin thought of the cats as his friends, calling them him or her instead of it. What was sad about it was that a cat was Walin’s best friend, that he had no other children to play with. No one wanted the witch’s bastard near their children. After the first time Walin had cried because a mother had yanked her children away from him as if he carried the plague, Morainn had begun to leave him with Nora when she had to go to town, and there were no small children at the Chisholm house. It was a sad life for a child, but she could think of no way to change it.
Morainn was not surprised when Walin fell asleep the moment he finished his rambling prayer. She dearly wished she could join him in that blissful place of dreams, even if her dreams were sometimes too dark. The fear for his life and her own, as well as the race through the woods to get away from the killers and hide, had badly sapped her strength. She had to keep watch, however, and not only for the very small possibility that some predator might sniff them out. There was always the chance that the woman with the icy voice might yet convince her massive companion to come hunting her and Walin with the dog.
What preyed most on her mind, however, was that her cottage was no longer safe. That murderous pair knew where she lived, knew how to get inside, and the woman desperately wanted the witch dead. The only way to be safe again was to leave, to find somewhere to hide until the killers were caught and hanged. Her pride rebelled, wanting her to hold her ground, but she pushed it aside. She had to consider Walin’s safety, too.
The problem was—where could she go? Knowing a killer hunted her, she could not go to Nora’s or ask help from what few friends she had. That could bring the danger to them and she could not reward their friendship that way. She briefly considered asking the man who rented her the cottage and land, Sir Kerr, for protection and help, but quickly shook that thought aside. He had been kind to her when she was a child thrust out in the cold, but she doubted he would want her and a small boy cluttering up his home. Rumor had it that he was a greater lecher than Tormand.
Mayhap she should ask Sir Tormand and Sir Simon for help, Morainn thought. After all, they wanted hers. It would be a fair enough exchange and that would take away the taint of charity her pride shied away from. Unfortunately, that would put her far too close to a man who stirred her interest in ways it had never been stirred before. He tempted her and temptation was a lot easier to resist when it was kept at a distance. Sir Tormand obviously had very little practice in the resisting of temptation and that would make it all the more difficult to be near him. If he tried to seduce her into his bed, Morainn had the sinking feeling she would soon find herself there. To ask him to keep her safe was to put her virtue at risk, something she had fought hard to cling to. To not ask him could leave her and Walin in danger of their lives.
It was a hard choice that faced her, she decided as she fought a yawn. Morainn told herself that she was simply too weary, still had the bitter taste of fear in her mouth, to make the decision now. She knew she could not put off the decision for long, however. Before night fell again, she and Walin had to be somewhere safe or they could well be dead before the next sunrise.
Tormand rode beside Simon and bit back the urge to continue the argument they had had over their early morning meal. Although he truly felt that it was not right to risk Morainn having another such violent vision barely a day after having the first one, he knew Simon was right to say they had to try. He also knew it was not the only reason he was reluctant to go to Morainn’s cottage again. It stung his pride to admit it, but he feared getting too close to her, feared the way she pulled hard at far more than his lust. When he was away from her he could convince himself it was just the hunger of a man who had not had a woman in too long, but when he got near her, looked into her beautiful eyes, he could not play that game with himself. He was all too aware of the fact that it was more and he did not want more.
He knew, deep in his bones, that she was his match, his mate, or whatever else the women in his clan liked to call it. Tormand knew that, if he wanted to keep sampling every fair flower in life’s garden, he should be staying as far away from Morainn Ross as possible. He could not, and it was not just the need to find the killer that held him so close to this dire threat to his freedom. Ever since he had first looked into those sea-blue eyes every instinct he had kept pushing him toward her.
It made no sense. Morainn was bonnie, but he had bedded or walked away from women far more beautiful than she was. Despite his own doubt about the truth of it, he could not ignore the fact that many others believed Walin was her bastard child. He had also discovered that she paid Sir Kerr, laird of Dubhstane, a pittance to live in the cottage and work the land around it. Since Sir Kerr of Dubhstane was rumored to be far more of a lecherous rogue than Tormand ever could be, it was only natural to wonder what more there was to that unsavory connection.
Strangely enough, that did not make him happily consider her fair game as it would have only a few days ago. It knotted his belly up with something that tasted alarmingly like jealousy. That annoyed him.
“If the lass still looks pale and weary, I willnae press her to touch another hairpin today,” said Simon.
Pleased that Simon thought his bad temper was due to their earlier disagreement and not his chaotic thoughts about possible mates who had a legion of lovers to vie with his own, Tormand nodded. “I just cannae think it good for her health or her mind to have such violent visions, to be so upset by them.”
Harcourt, hearing those words as he rode up beside Tormand, grunted his agreement. “The lasses arenae as strong as men; they cannae take too much punishment.”
Ignoring the derisive hooting of their kinsmen still riding behind them, Tormand looked at his cousin. “I pray ye dinnae mouth such beliefs before any of the lassies in our clan.”
Grinning widely, Harcourt shook his head. “I said they were weaker. Ne’er said they couldnae be sneaky or vicious. I fair shudder to think of what they would do to me if they heard me say such things.”
“Weel, at least ye have some wit under all that hair. Since I was too busy arguing with Simon when we broke our fast, I forgot to ask if ye heard anything of interest when ye were out roaming the town last night.”
“Nay. Would have told ye if we had. Just found a lot of ale and a few willing lassies.”
The way Harcourt avoided his gaze as he spoke gave Tormand a very bad feeling. “Harcourt, ye always were a poor liar. What did ye hear?”
Harcourt sighed. “Talk. Nay more than that. Just foolish talk. We set a few fools straight and then had a fine toss or three with those willing lassies. Sweet Jennie sends her best.” He winked. “And her best was verra fine indeed.”
Highland Sinner Page 9