Читать книгу Highland Sinner - Hannah Howell - Страница 13

“Ye need to leave here,” said Bennett the moment Tormand and Simon finished telling them all that had been happening even as they filled their empty bellies. “If ye arenae here then ye cannae be blamed for these murders. All ye need to do is wait until the killers are caught or there is another murder whilst ye are far away and the trouble will be over. They cannae blame ye for something when ye are miles away when it happens.”

It was true, but Tormand did not immediately agree with his younger brother. He was torn. If he was the reason the women were being murdered, leaving might well save a few lives. However, the killer could just as easily follow him wherever he went and begin killing women wherever he settled down.

He felt a twinge of embarrassment to realize that there were not that many places where he could find shelter where there were no women he had bedded or had been suspected of bedding. Even the women at his family’s home could be in danger if he went there. The few women who worked for him or those who worked for his family within their homes had never been his lovers. He had grown up with the strict rule that the men should leave the women working within their households alone. It was a rule very few of his kinsmen had ever broken. That did not mean whoever was slaughtering the women he had bedded would be aware of that rule or believe he had ever followed it. Few people did.

Also, to leave, to flee the area, was an act that held the foul taste of cowardice. He knew that pride was the bitter downfall of many a man, but he could not ignore how his tightened its grip on him at the mere thought of running away from this trouble. Leaving could also harden the growing suspicion that he was the killer, especially if the killings here ended when he left because the murderer had followed him.

“I dinnae think that would be a good idea,” said Simon, relieving Tormand of the chore of explaining why he was about to say nay to what sounded like a very sound plan. “Nay yet. It would look too much like he was fleeing justice for his crimes. There may yet come a time when it would be wise for Tormand to go into hiding. I have even chosen a place for him to go.”

Tormand looked at his friend in surprise. “Ye have?”

“Aye. I thought it a wise precaution. With each woman murdered suspicion about ye spreads a little wider.”

“I cannae believe that anyone would ever think I could do that to any woman.”

“Most dinnae. ’Tis why ye havenae already had to flee an angry mob. But, the fact that ye have been the lover of each woman is slowly eating away at that belief. Such coincidence was easily accepted with the first murder, but now there has been a second and a third. And all of them were your lovers. Since we havenae gotten any closer to the killer I fear there will soon be a fourth. I think we both ken there is a verra good chance that that woman will have been your lover, too.”

“But if he wasnae here when that happened,” began Uilliam, his green eyes filled with concern for his brother’s safety.

“As I said, it could easily look as if he fled because he was guilty,” Simon interrupted.

Tormand sighed. “That is what I was thinking.”

“Better to be thought guilty for a wee while than to be dragged to the gallows,” snapped Bennett, and then he took a deep drink of ale as if he tried to cool the anger heating his blood.

“I willnae allow him to hang,” Simon said in the calm voice that had the ability to reach out and soothe those who heard it. “I have his escape carefully planned and, since I ne’er leave his side, I will be able to send him on his way without a moment’s hesitation.”

“Ah, and here I thought ye were staying so close to me because ye were so fond of me,” murmured Tormand.

Ignoring him, Simon continued, “There is also the fact that the killer could follow Tormand if he went somewhere else and then women would begin to die there.”

“Are ye so verra certain that this is all connected to him in some way?” asked Harcourt, his amber eyes holding the hard look of a warrior ready to go to battle.

“We have no proof,” replied Simon, “but I do believe it is. There are a few lasses left in this town whom he hasnae bedded.” A smile flickered over Simon’s mouth when Tormand grunted in annoyance over that remark. “But none of them have been killed. ’Tis why the belief that it is naught but coincidence is fading a little more each day, and with each death. Two of the women’s husbands dinnae openly accuse Tormand, but they do naught to quell the growing suspicions, either. The only husband who might have spoken up for him has returned his wife’s body to their lands and he will undoubtedly stay there awhile, if only to comfort his wee sons.”

“The more ye talk the less there seems we can do to put a stop to this.”

“We can only keep hunting. Aye, ’tis maddening that we have gained so little from all our work, but one thing I have learned from all my years of solving such puzzles is that a mistake will be made. Something will be found that will lead us closer, mayhap e’en to the killer’s door. Someone will see something or hear something that will help us find this beast. Or the killer will become so arrogant that he will no longer take such care not to be found.”

“Or we can take something ye found near one of these women to the Ross witch and let her do a seeing,” said Walter, shrugging as everyone stared at him.

Simon pulled the bone hairpins he had found out of his purse and studied them. “’Tis a thought, Walter. One I believe Tormand has had, especially since he has seen the witch.”

Walter grimaced, making his face even more homely than it usually was. “That may nay be good.”

“Ye kenned what she looked like?” Tormand asked his squire.

“But first,” Simon said, quickly interrupting what was obviously going to be an argument, and looking at Tormand, “we need ye to make a list of all the women ye have bedded in this town and those living near at hand. Mayhap the ones who travel with the court as weel.”

“The women who arenae dead willnae like me telling what they may have kept secret from everyone,” said Tormand.

“I fear there has been little secrecy about your many frolics. I believe I could probably make a fairly accurate list myself simply from the gossip I have heard, but a few women may have been discrete. Do ye ken, they treat bedding ye almost as if it is some trophy they have won?”

Tormand felt a blush heat his cheeks and glared at his kinsmen when they all snickered, before turning his glare upon his friend. “Then I will make a list, but nay tonight.”

“Nay. Tonight is for resting both our bodies and our wits.”

Despite the need for rest, it was late before Tormand finally crawled into bed. Selfish though it was, he had kept his bedchamber to himself, leaving the other men to sort out where they would sleep. With Simon or Walter constantly at his side, Tormand had discovered that he savored this time alone to gather his thoughts and to shake off the frustration of hunting down a killer who was as elusive as smoke.

His gut told him that he would soon have to run and hide. Simon was good at solving such puzzles, at hunting down the guilty, yet even Simon was finding nothing to lead them to the murderer. There would be another killing, of that Tormand had no doubt, and the killing would continue until he was standing on the gallows, dying for crimes he had not committed.

He flung his arm over his eyes and struggled to force all thought of the murders from his mind. There was no gain in losing sleep over it all. A faint smile curled his mouth as the image of Morainn Ross filled his mind and his body began to harden in interest. It had been a very long time since the mere thought of a woman could stir his need, but Morainn Ross accomplished it. Tormand knew it would be wise to push her from his thoughts as well, but he did not. Dreams of the lush Morainn were far preferable to dreams of blood, death, and grief.

Even as he slipped into sleep his dream of Morainn grew heated. Tormand slowly removed her clothing, kissing each newly revealed inch of her soft golden skin. He savored her sighs of pleasure and the feel of her fingers in his hair. A little cry of surprised delight escaped her lush mouth as he caressed her full breasts, first with his hands and then with his mouth. The heat of her desire turned her eyes into the color of a storm-tossed sea and he felt himself tumble into their mysterious depths, trapped by her beauty and willing to stay there. But, as he readied himself to unite their bodies, to savor her womanly heat surrounding him, everything began to change.

Darkness swirled around their entwined bodies. The warm, willing woman in his arms became a bloodied corpse. The beautiful eyes that had been shaded with passion for him were gone and he stared in black holes. A soft, cold voice laughingly asked him how he liked his new lover.

Tormand bolted up in bed so fast that he nearly fell out of it. He was soaked in sweat, his breath coming fast and hard. The fact that no one had burst into his bedchamber told him that he had at least kept silent during what had turned into a chilling nightmare. He stumbled over to a small table near the fireplace and poured himself a tankard of wine. It took all of one tankard full and half of another before he felt his heartbeat slow to normal and his hands ceased to shake.

He took a moment to wash the worst of the sweat from his body before crawling back into bed. If that horror was going to revisit him every time he closed his eyes, he would never sleep again. The first part of the dream was easy to understand. He found Morainn Ross very alluring. It was the end of the dream that troubled him. Was it born of guilt or the horrors he had seen? Or, worse, was it some hint of the future, a warning that if he gave in to his attraction to Morainn she would end up like the others? He prayed that was not true, for he was sorely tempted by Morainn and he was not a man who easily resisted temptation.

Cautiously allowing himself to relax and invite sleep to take him back into its hold, Tormand wondered if the Ross witch really did have visions. Could she truly touch something and see whatever secrets it might hold? If she could, Morainn Ross could well prove to be just what he and Simon needed to find the killer. They would have to keep her close then, protecting her as she aided them. And with such protection around her, Tormand decided she would be safe enough that he might not have to worry about resisting temptation after all.

Morainn managed to bite back the scream in her throat this time as she sat up in bed so fast she felt dizzy for a moment. She reached for the tankard of cider she had begun to keep at her bedside and took a deep drink, trying to wash the sting of terror out of her throat. It took several moments for her heartbeat to return to a more comfortable pace.

If these dreams did not stop soon she would be too exhausted to do even the simplest of chores. Morainn feared she might start to fight going to sleep at all. That would be an affliction that could easily kill her in the end.

Setting her drink aside, she huddled beneath the blankets and tried to grasp the courage to go back to sleep, to get the rest she needed. Morainn was almost too afraid to close her eyes. The horrific sight of her own body lying there, mutilated, her eyes gone, was not one she could easily forget.

Yet again the horror had come after a lovely heated dream of her and Tormand loving each other. She could almost feel the touch of his mouth still lingering on her breast. The warmth that filled her body at that memory told her that she remembered it all too well. For a virgin, she was having some very vivid, very sinful, dreams about Sir Tormand Murray. It was a blessing that she would not be seeing much of the man or she might find the temptation he offered far too much to resist.

And she would pay dearly if she succumbed to that weakness, she thought as she shuddered. Morainn could not be certain, but she suspected that was what the bloody end of the dream was telling her. If she let Tormand Murray into her bed she would suffer as all the other women had suffered. Then again, she thought ruefully, such ideas could have been put into her head by her talk with Nora today.

Morainn felt her cats curl up against her and welcomed their warmth. She was not sure if she had just had a true vision of what was to come or if it was only a chilling warning to be careful. Since she did not see any reason a man like Tormand Murray would seek her out, she had to wonder why she even needed such a warning.

Because she wanted him, she thought with a sigh. She could deny the truth to herself all she wanted to, but, in her dreams, that truth came out. Morainn could not believe her own foolishness. Tormand Murray was a man steeped in the sins of the flesh and, if even a few of the rumors about him were true, he made no effort to turn away from any temptation. After years of fighting to cling to her chastity, despite her deep loneliness and the men who tried to steal it from her, she would have to be witless to hand it over to a man like Sir Tormand.

Closing her eyes, Morainn lightly stroked Grigor, her big yellow tom, when it rested its head on her stomach. Its deep, rumbling purr began to ease away the lingering horror of her dream. She felt herself begin to relax, her breathing softening, as she welcomed sleep again. In the morning she would decide if she knew enough yet to risk going to Sir Innes and Sir Murray and telling them about her visions. It was a decision that required a well-rested mind for she knew the danger was not really that he might not believe her. It was that he would and she could easily find herself spending far too much time in the company of a man who sorely tempted her to sin—and do so repeatedly and with great enthusiasm.

A low growl abruptly pulled Morainn’s attention from the chickens she was feeding. Her gray tabby William crouched on the low stone wall surrounding the rough chicken coop. The cat’s fur was all standing out and its ragged ears were flattened against its head. She looked in the direction it stared, but saw nothing. That did not immediately cause her to relax her guard, however. William might be just a cat, but the animal was never wrong when it sensed, and warned her of, a possible threat.

Morainn had just finished shutting the chickens in the coop when she heard the sound of horsemen approaching and her heart skipped with fear. “Walin,” she called to the boy playing with a ball behind her cottage, “get in the house now.”

Walin picked up his ball. “Ye wish me to hide?”

“Aye, laddie, at least until I ken what the men riding this way are wanting of me.”

“Mayhap ye should hide, too.”

“They have already seen me. Go.”

The moment the boy disappeared into the cottage, Morainn walked to the front of her home intending to meet her uninvited guests at her front door. A flicker of amusement went through her as her cats gathered around her, her big toms to the front on either side of her. She knew they could do little to help her fight against six men, and that such sights made too many people think of such things as familiars, but she did not order them away. If nothing else, she remembered all too well how often a nicely aimed slash of sharp claws had allowed her to get free of some fool man who thought she would welcome his attentions just because he had a coin or two. William in particular hated men and that had proved helpful from time to time.

When the men were close enough for her to recognize them, Morainn felt her breath catch in her throat. Sir Tormand had come to her and she had to wonder why. Had someone told him that she had visions? Did he seek her help? If so, it would certainly help her to tell him about the visions she had already had. Sir Simon’s presence she could understand, but she wondered why the other four men had come. Such a show of force at her door made her uneasy.

“Mistress Ross,” Sir Simon said in greeting, as he reined in before her, “we havenae come to cause ye any trouble.”

“Nay?” She believed him, but still asked, “Then why the other men?”

Sir Tormand cast a fleeting glare at the other men. “They claimed we needed protectors on the journey here.” He looked at her. “But the truth is they are but curious.”

“To see the witch?” she asked, glancing at the four very handsome men. “Are ye going to introduce them to me?”

Tormand sighed so heavily that she almost smiled. She remained coolly polite as he introduced his brothers Bennett and Uilliam and then his cousins Harcourt and Rory. They were all a treat for a woman’s eyes and Morainn found herself made a little uneasy by that. If nothing else, the gossip such a visitation could stir could prove very difficult to bear. Pushing aside her concern, she invited them all into her cottage, idly wondering if so many tall, strong men would actually fit.

Just as she was about to lead them inside, Tormand paused by William. “That must be one of the biggest and strongest cats I have e’er seen,” he said and started to reach down to pat the cat.

“’Ware, sir, William doesnae like men,” Morainn cautioned him, and then felt her heart skip in alarm for he was already scratching a strangely placid William behind its ragged ears. “How verra odd,” she murmured, praying this was not some sign, as she did not really want to trust Sir Tormand, at least not too much.

“Mayhap it just didnae trust the other men it met with.” Tormand kept his tone of voice light and friendly, but inside he found himself wondering just who those other men might be.

He frowned a little as she led them into her small, neat cottage. The thought of her with any man actually gnawed at him, tasting alarmingly like jealousy. He did not doubt that she was troubled by unwanted attentions from men who felt any woman alone was free for the taking, especially a poor one without any family left, but was there one she wanted?

The fact that he felt eager for an answer to that question even as he almost dreaded it was a little alarming. He did not mind desiring her, but he did not want to feel any more than that. Tormand was not bothered by her birth or circumstances and he certainly did not care what superstitious fools thought she was, but he was just not ready to change his ways. A lover was what he wanted, no more. He was only one and thirty and in no need of an heir. He had a few more years of play left to get through before he started to look for anything more, anything deeper or lasting. He was not playing now simply because every man needed a rest, he told himself.

When the little boy Walin was brought forward and introduced, Tormand had to fight to suppress a frown. With his blue eyes and thick black hair, Walin looked a lot like Morainn, but that was not what troubled him the most. There was something about young Walin that strongly reminded Tormand of someone. Tormand could not grasp the memory that tickled at the edges of his mind, however.

They were soon all crowded around her table, each with a tankard of cider, and a plate of honey-sweetened oatcakes set in the middle of the table. Talk was idle for a few moments and Tormand watched his kinsmen flirt with Morainn. The annoyance he felt over that troubled him so much that he was beginning to think coming to see her had been a very bad idea. Then she fixed her sea-blue eyes on him and he felt his heart skip in welcome.

This was not good, he mused. Not good at all. Unfortunately, he did not have any urge to flee what was beginning to feel too much like a trap too many of his kinsmen had fallen into—the kind that ensnared a man’s heart.

“’Tis pleasant to have company to break up the tedium of the day,” Morainn said, “but I dinnae think ye rode here just to introduce your kinsmen, Sir Tormand.”

“Nay, especially since I didnae invite the fools to ride with me and Simon,” Tormand replied, and sent his grinning kinsmen a brief scowl. “They have decided I need to be protected and stick like burrs.”

Morainn felt a strong twist of envy in her heart. Even though Tormand was glaring at the others, she knew he cared for them. They were family and she sensed that those bonds were both deep and wide. She had never truly had a family. Once her father had left, shortly after her birth according to her mother, her mother had apparently lost interest in being a true loving mother. She had never harmed Morainn, but the woman had rarely displayed any true affection for her only child. Morainn had spent her growing years being made to feel little more than a burden.

She hastily shook aside the envy and regrets. Her mother had made sure that her child had always had food to eat, clothes to wear, and a roof over her head. She had also taught Morainn everything she knew about the healing arts, the one thing Anna Ross had actually felt passionate about. That knowledge had allowed Morainn to make a life for herself after she had been banished from the town. For that alone, Morainn knew she owed her mother a lot. She may not have had the close, loving family these Murrays obviously did, but she had been gifted with far more than too many others got.

“We heard that ye had visions,” said Tormand, thinking it a poor start to the conversation, but not sure how else to broach the subject of why they were there.

Fear of the consequences of admitting such a thing made her hesitate, but then Morainn recalled Sir Tormand’s defense of her before the angry crowd. “Aye, sometimes,” she replied. “Visions, dreams, call them what ye will.”

“They make her scream in the night,” said Walin.

“Ah, weel, nay always.” Morainn handed Walin an oatcake in the hope that it would keep him silent for a while. “I cannae have a vision just because someone needs one, however. They come to me when they wish to. They are nay always clear in what they try to tell me, either.”

Hearing the hesitancy in her voice, Tormand said, “Dinnae fear to speak of it to us. The Murray clan is littered with people who have such gifts. Mostly the lassies.” He heard his kinsmen murmur their agreement to that claim. “We dinnae think ye are truly a witch simply because ye have these dreams. We Murrays call them gifts for a reason.”

It was difficult not to gape at the man. She glanced around at the other men, but saw no sign that Tormand was lying. They all just watched her silently, a hint of compassion in their eyes as though they understood exactly how difficult it was to have such a gift as hers. Morainn knew some people who thought of her gift as God-given, and not of the devil, but she had never met anyone who freely admitted to having such things in their bloodlines. There was even the hint of pride in Sir Tormand’s voice as he spoke of it.

“Then, wouldnae ye prefer going to them?” she asked.

“If one of them had seen anything, then I would have been sent word of it. Several of them sensed there was some trouble coming my way, that I could be in danger, but nay more than that. ’Tis why these fools are here.”

It was difficult not to press him for more information about his family and the gifts he said they had, but Morainn resisted the urge. “If they have sensed that then, why do ye nay leave here?”

“Because that would look too much like fleeing out of guilt and the killer might follow me anyway. I wouldnae be ending the murders, only taking them to a new place, to new victims.”

She nodded. “Aye, I have, er, dreamed that ye are connected to this in some way, but that ye arenae the killer. Nay, ye may stand in pools of blood in my dreams, but there is none on your hands. Unfortunately, my telling anyone that willnae be enough to help ye fend off any accusations.”

“We ken that, Mistress Ross,” said Sir Simon. “We dinnae plan to make ye speak of such things before those who are too quick to see the devil’s hand in anything they dinnae understand. We but hoped that ye may be able to help us find this killer. Three women are dead and we have no idea of the who or the why, only supposition. We desperately need some sort of trail to follow.”

“Ye want me to tell ye of my dreams? I saw no trail in them, sir. The face of this monster has ne’er appeared to me, if that is what ye are seeking.”

“Nay, we come here hoping that ye have a certain gift that many in town say ye have.”

“And what would that be?”

“The ability to touch something and see the truth.”