Highland Sinner

by Hannah Howell

  Tormand bit back a curse. Harcourt did not have to repeat what was being said about him in the taverns and the alehouses. It was all too easy to guess. The whispers that cried him a killer were growing louder and spreading through the town like a plague. Tormand knew many people thought him a sinner, a man unable to resist the temptations of the flesh, but how that could ever make them believe he could be a butcher of women he did not know.

  He was about to give in to the urge to ask exactly what was being said when Morainn’s cottage came into view. The door was wide open. It could mean nothing more than Morainn forgot to shut it when she went out to do her chores, but a chill of apprehension speared through his body. Without another thought, he spurred his mount into a gallop and raced to the cottage. He heard only a chorus of startled curses from the others and then the sound of them following him.

  Dismounting before his horse had even fully stopped, Tormand started to go inside only to come to an abrupt halt at the threshold stone. The smooth flat stone had blood on it. A part of him wanted to race inside calling for Morainn, but a larger part held him firmly in place, terrified of what he would see when he went inside. It was Simon who hurried past him to look through the cottage. Tormand was pleased to see that none of his kinsmen followed Simon, either. It made him look less like the coward he was feeling like.

  “She isnae here,” said Simon as he returned. “Neither is the boy. There is some blood in the bedchamber, but nay much.”

  “There wasnae all that much in the other women’s bedchambers, either,” said Tormand.

  “If ye are thinking that the killers have her, I have to say that I just cannae see how that could happen. She isnae your lover, ne’er has been, and ye only met her the other day.”

  “In front of Isabella’s home. In front of the place where Isabella’s body was found. Mayhap the killers stood in the crowd watching all of us.”

  “Possible, but then where is Morainn’s body? They take the women at night and return them to their own beds ere the sun rises. We may nay have seen the bastards do it, but I think ye are as sure of that as I am.”

  “Aye, ’tis the only way they could do it.”

  “So, my friend, where is the body?”

  “Why dinnae ye ask it yourself?” drawled Harcourt and pointed toward the woods.

  Tormand looked in the direction Harcourt pointed and saw Walin and Morainn walking toward them, alive and not obviously injured. He felt such a surge of relief he nearly fell to his knees from the strength of it. Then he realized that they were both in their nightclothes, looked again at the blood on the stone, and knew something bad had happened. That certainty was strengthened when he saw that Morainn carried a very large knife.

  Afraid of what he would say if he opened his mouth, Tormand waited for someone else to say something. His kinsmen and Simon remained silent. Morainn looked dismayed and a little embarrassed as she walked up to them, but said nothing. It appeared that everyone was waiting for someone else to speak first. The silence began to rub his nerves raw and Tormand wondered who would be the first to break it, praying it would not fall to him. His feelings and thoughts were still so chaotic he did not doubt the first words out of his mouth would have him looking like a complete fool.

  Chapter 8

  “William!”

  The glad cry of the small boy finally broke the increasingly tense silence that had held them all in thrall. Tormand turned to see the big cat limping out onto the threshold just as Walin reached it. Even as Walin gently hugged the cat, Morainn rushed over to the animal as well. She crouched by the cat and began to inspect it gently as though searching for some wound or injury. After listening for several moments as the pair cooed over the cat, calling it brave and a hero, Tormand decided enough was enough. He lost control of his impatient need to know why Morainn was running around in her nightclothes and why there was blood by her door and inside her house.

  “What has happened here?” he finally demanded.

  Walin looked up at Tormand and continued to hug and stroke the big cat as he answered, “A woman and a huge mon got into the house last night and tried to kill Morainn, but she had her knife under her pillow as always and it is a verra big knife. And William attacked the woman and that helped me and Morainn get away and we ran and ran and then hid under a tree but they followed us and got verra close to where we were hiding but they didnae find us. Then they left because they were both bleeding and the big mon thought they needed to fix that. He also said that he threw our William against the wall and killed him because he was scratching and biting the madwoman but ye can see that he isnae dead so we dinnae have to dig a hole in the garden for him. Me and Morainn stayed hiding under the big tree for hours and hours and then we walked home and I was verra scared but Morainn had her big knife so no beastie came to eat me.” He looked at Morainn. “I need to give William some cream because he was so verra brave.”

  Morainn had to bite back a laugh at the stunned looks on the men’s faces. She wondered how much they had actually heard and understood of what Walin had just said. The boy had been talking so fast he had barely taken a single breath from beginning to end. She stood up and idly brushed off her nightgown, relieved that she had worn the heavy, linen-lined wool one she had made. Few gowns were as extremely modest as it was.

  “Gentlemen, Walin and I have had a verra long night,” she said. Much longer than she had planned for, Morainn thought, as she had fallen asleep the moment the sun had risen, the knowledge that she was safe causing her exhaustion to claim her for a few hours. “If ye would give us a wee while to clean up and dress I will be pleased to tell ye all that happened. There is bread, fruit, venison, and cider or ale in the kitchen. Help yourselves. Walin and I shouldnae be long.” She grabbed Walin by the hand and started to pull him into the cottage.

  “I want to give William some cream,” protested Walin.

  “And so ye can just as soon as ye have washed up and donned your clothes.”

  “I am so glad we willnae have to put him in a hole in the garden.”

  “So am I, dearling.”

  Tormand stepped inside, watched Morainn and Walin disappear up the steep, narrow stairs to the upper chambers, and then looked to Simon. “Did ye understand all the lad said?”

  Simon laughed and started toward the kitchen. “A wee bit. I fear I got distracted waiting for the boy to take a breath. Help me set some food out as I suspicion the two of them will be hungry.”

  “Did she say she has cold venison?”

  “Aye.” Simon frowned. “An odd thing for her to have but I cannae see the lass out poaching, so I shall assume that someone gave her some. Considering the fact that I am one of the king’s men, a mon sworn to uphold the law, she has wit enough to ken that she shouldnae tell me about any meat she has poached. The laird’s cook may have brought her some when she came to collect the mead that is the fee for this home.”

  “Ah, that is verra possible.” The relationship Morainn had with Sir Kerr was not something Tormand really wanted to think of.

  “I wonder what the cat did,” murmured Harcourt, as he grabbed a jug of ale to place on the table.

  Looking at the big cat that sat down on a bench at the table as though it belonged there, Rory said, “It attacked the woman.”

  “Ye understood all the lad said?”

  “Some. I fear I began to get distracted by the need to understand how one can hide under a tree.”

  While they set food and drink on the table, Tormand’s kinsmen fell into a discussion about which parts of Walin’s rapidly told tale had grasped their attention, and Tormand looked at Simon. “What caught your attention, aside from the lad’s ability to talk fast?”

  “A mon and a woman,” Simon said, and then frowned. “I truly didnae want to believe a woman was involved in these savage murders. Even doubted Morainn’s vision when I thought about it. A mistake I willnae make again. The question is—does the woman participate? Is she the leader or the follower? Obviously th
ey arenae omnipotent or infallible if one wee lass can escape them.”

  “She had a verra big knife,” Tormand drawled.

  Simon grinned. “And a ferocious cat.” He quickly sobered. “They are watching us. ’Tis the only explanation for why they would go after Mistress Ross so soon after we had visited with her. They are watching every step we make. If I wasnae so absolutely certain of the honor of everyone close to us and this hunt, I would start looking for a traitor.”

  He was right, and the thought made Tormand’s stomach cramp with fear for Morainn. “Then we must convince her to come with us. She cannae stay here alone again; nay until these bastards are dead.”

  “I agree, even though I am reluctant to place such a bonnie lass right within your home.”

  Tormand felt as if his friend had just slapped him in the face. “Jesu, Simon, I am nay some animal in rut.” Afraid of what else he might say, he muttered, “I will see to the horses as I think we will be here for a while.”

  Simon watched Tormand stride away and winced. He had seen the hurt on the man’s face and regretted it, but he could not take the words back. Tormand was a good man but, over the last few years, he had lost his way, in a manner of speaking. The man needed to regain control of his baser needs and urges or he would find himself in trouble. That is, if he survives this one, he mused.

  Feeling a presence at his side, Simon turned to look at Harcourt who had quickly and silently moved to his side. “Ye think I was too harsh?”

  “Nay. He has acted much like a beast in constant rut for the last few years.” Harcourt grinned briefly when his kinsmen snickered. “Howbeit, I am asking ye to step back a wee bit.” He spoke quietly so that his words would not be overheard by the woman or child upstairs.

  “I dinnae think that bairn is hers nor do I believe she is Sir Kerr’s leman.” Realizing why Harcourt spoke so quietly, Simon followed his lead. “That would mean she is a virtuous lass and one who has had more than enough trouble in her life. She needs no more, certainly not the sort that an affair with Tormand will bring her.”

  “Och, I agree, and I ken she isnae the lad’s mother, save in her heart. He was already a lad of two years when some heartless wench or bastard left him on the lass’s doorstep. In the dead of winter. In the middle of the night. ’Tis a miracle that the laddie didnae die right there.”

  “How did ye discover that?”

  “I asked. And Sir Kerr ne’er visits the lass, ne’er e’en comes to collect his rent of two wee casks of mead once a year. Sends his cook. Do ye ken that he is a black-haired mon with eyes the color of the sea?”

  Simon whistled softly, knowing that very few people actually saw Sir Kerr. “’Tis your bonnie face, isnae it, that gains ye all this information so quickly. S’truth, I wonder why ye e’en sought it.”

  “Because that lass is Tormand’s mate. The lad is just fighting it hard right now.”

  The wide grins on the faces of the other Murrays told Simon that they all agreed with that strange statement and he frowned at Harcourt. “His mate?”

  “Aye. Mayhap ye havenae heard that we Murrays believe something that is considered odd by many.”

  “Only one thing?”

  Harcourt ignored that. “We, or most of us, believe that there is such a thing as a perfect match, a mate, that suits each mon and woman in all ways.”

  “And ye think Morainn Ross is Tormand’s? He has only just met her.”

  “Doesnae matter. It hits some hard and fast, ye ken. My father says he fought it hard, denied it every step of the way e’en though he twisted himself into knots to bring his Gisele to Scotland from France. The lasses in the clan swear to this belief, as ye would expect them to, but most of the men who have married agree to it in private. It has hit our Tormand hard, knocked him right onto his lecherous arse.”

  Thinking over the way Tormand had been acting since setting eyes on Morainn, Simon thought there might be some truth to what Harcourt was saying. “It could still be naught but a sharp lusting.”

  “It could be and Tormand is a verra lusty lad, has been since his voice first deepened. But he suffers from more than a fierce lusting. Did ye nay see his face when he saw the blood on the threshold, when he thought Morainn’s body might be lying up those stairs? He was terrified that she was dead, bone-deep afraid of it. I wager he hasnae acted like that over the other women. Nay, especially when I dinnae think he has e’en kissed the lass yet.”

  “Nay, he hasnae done either. Ye are right on that. His vehement arguing this morning was unusual as well. He really didnae want us to come here, so doesnae that disprove your assumption?”

  “Of course he wouldnae want to be too close to the lass too often. He has wit enough to ken, or suspect, what she means to his future—an end to rutting his merry way through life. He shows signs of jealousy, nearly flew over this table to catch her when that last vision brought her to her knees, kept hold of her e’en as she recovered, and he looked near to fainting when he saw that blood out there. Och, aye, that laddie is in deep waters and sinking fast.”

  Simon sighed. “Then I will stand back for now. If he should abuse her trust or her need for his protection, however, dinnae expect me to keep standing back. I will speak out.”

  “Fair enough, but only after we beat some sense into his wee head.”

  Looking at the grinning Murrays, Simon laughed and shook his head. He was not sure he really believed in such things as a perfect match or mate or the other half of oneself, but it was a nice thought. It explained why the Murrays never arranged marriages for their children, something considered very strange by most people. When asked why they did not do so, they said they preferred that their children be happy. Since many Murrays had made some very good and advantageous marriages, others believed the clan did make arrangements and treaties with marriages as the binding for them, for how else could they gain so many good alliances. Then again, Simon mused, the clan was also known for its faithful wives and equally faithful husbands.

  He had to admit that Tormand had been acting a little odd ever since he had first laid eyes on Morainn Ross. There had been none of the seductive smiles or soft practiced flatteries that pulled the women to Tormand’s side and into his bed. There had been, however, a lot of concern for Morainn’s health and welfare. Tormand was never unkind to a woman, but Simon suddenly realized that his friend only concerned himself about the woman’s health or life when there was some clear sign that she was suffering under the hand of a cruel, brutish man. Thinking back to the moment they had raced to Morainn’s door and Tormand had halted his rush into the house so abruptly at the threshold, Simon could clearly recall how terrified Tormand had looked as he had stared at the blood on the threshold stone. Yet, Tormand had never once hesitated to enter the homes of the other murdered women, including that of his friend Marie, not even after he had a full knowledge of what he would find inside.

  There was definitely something brewing between Tormand and Morainn Ross. For now, Simon would simply allow it to brew. It could even be amusing to watch his friend, the great lover of far too many women, stumble his way into love and marriage. Simon would just make sure that Morainn did not suffer from Tormand’s stumblings or his apparent inability to be faithful to any woman. The woman already had killers stalking her. She did not need any added troubles.

  Tormand finished tending to the horses and stepped outside of the very clean stable. It was a surprisingly large and well-kept building for a woman of low birth and no family. As was the cottage, he realized. Laird Sir Adam Kerr had been very generous to an orphaned girl thrust out onto her own by superstitious townspeople. Tormand actually felt grateful for that, but he could not stop himself from wondering why the laird had done it. Very few people had met Sir Kerr and those who had did not talk about him. The gossips said that the man was steeped in sin. It was even whispered that he had a harem like the heathens in the eastern lands. The mere thought that Morainn was one of Sir Kerr’s harem had Tormand grinding his teeth in
fury.

  He took a deep breath and slowly let it out, trying to push out all the chaotic emotion he suffered from with it before starting back to the cottage. Now was not the time to delve into the how and why of Morainn Ross’s arrangement with the laird of Dubhstane. Tormand had no doubt that the killers had found Morainn, had tried to butcher her as they had done the other women. For many reasons, some of which he really did not want to examine too closely, it was his responsibility to insure that she was kept safe and out of the killers’ hands. If nothing else, Morainn’s gift could prove to be a great help to them in their search for the killers.

  Pausing at the threshold of the cottage he studied the blood on the stone and recalled the icy fear that had held him frozen in place. He had been unable to face what might lie within the cottage despite having already stood over the butchered bodies of three women without emptying his belly. Just the thought that Morainn might be lying on her bed, her beauty defaced by the killers, her lovely eyes cold and empty of life, had terrified him. Tormand had to face the fact that he was in danger of finding himself enraptured by Morainn, by a witch with eyes the color of the sea on a summer’s day. He pushed aside the childish urge to flee what could well be his fate and went inside.

  Just as he was about to go and ask what the men in the kitchen were laughing about, Walin came running down the narrow stairs so fast he stumbled on the last step. Tormand moved quickly to catch the boy before he ended up flat on his face on the stone floor. Walin grinned up at him and Tormand felt the oddest pinch in his heart. He could not shake the feeling that there was something very familiar about the boy.

  “Thank ye, Sir Tormand,” Walin said as Tormand released him.

  “Ye should be more careful upon the stairs.” Tormand almost cursed at how much he had just sounded like his father.