Highland Sinner (10 page)

Simon placed one of the hairpins in her hand, and Morainn closed her fingers over it. She was just thinking that the concerned looks all six men were giving her were rather touching when she was abruptly pulled into hell. The images came at her so fast and hard she felt as if someone was pummeling her brain.

Strong emotions, all of them bad, slammed into her, making her heart pound so fast she feared it would be damaged.

Fear. Pain. Hate. Icy cold fury. Pleasure. The last made Morainn’s stomach churn for she knew it came from the ones causing the pain and the fear. There was madness there, too. It swirled around the pair, inflicting such horrors onto another person like some evil spirit. Knives gleamed, and blood flowed.

Morainn tried to flee the stench of blood and death but she could not move.

She became aware that her whole body was shaking violently, but she could not release the hairpin. She struggled to fix her mind’s eye on the shadowy figures that moved around in the thick fog of sharp emotion. The victim was easy to find and Morainn did not need to know which person in the fog was doing the screaming that pounded at her mind. She could see the killers bending over the victim, like two carrion birds, who worked to inflict as much pain as possible.

Morainn finally grasped the sense of someone huge, broad-shouldered and bulky with muscle. She also smelled that heavy scent she had smelled in her dreams. It came from a small figure, one nearly lost in the shadow of the larger one, but Morainn could gather no more information than the fact that the figure was slight and female. Then she caught a too vivid sight of a knife aimed at a beautiful green eye, wide open and full of terror in a blood-soaked face, and she knew she could bear no more. A sharp cry escaped Morainn as she finally released the hairpin.

The moment she was no longer touching the hairpin, Morainn felt the contents of her stomach racing up into her throat and she gagged. Suddenly, long, strong arms were wrapped around her and she was vaguely aware of being on the floor on her knees, moaning. A bucket appeared and Morainn violently released all of the poison the dark vision had left boiling inside of her.

By the time she regained control of her stomach, Morainn was too weak to do anything more than slump
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against the hard body of the man behind her, steadying her. She stared dully at Sir Simon as he knelt down and gently bathed her face with a cool, wet cloth. Someone made her drink a little cider and rinse her mouth with it several times. A small part of her clouded mind was aware of one of the men talking softly, comfortingly to Walin.

As her senses slowly returned they brought intense embarrassment with them. She was sprawled in Sir Tormand’s arms like a wanton. The elegant Sir Simon was crouched before her, bathing her face and hands as if she was some helpless child. Morainn caught a movement out of the corner of her eye and saw one of Sir Tormand’s handsome kinsmen taking the soiled bucket outside. If she were not so weak, she would run away and hide for a year. The humiliation she felt was almost more than she could bear.

Morainn said nothing as Sir Tormand helped her to her feet. He led her back to the table and she sat down, unable to look at him as he sat beside her and kept a light grip on her arm. She wanted to shrug that steadying hand off, but knew she still needed it. It took a few bites of the lightly buttered bread that magically appeared in front of her and a few cautious drinks of cider before she felt as though she might be able to speak clearly. She stared at the top of the table, however, unable to meet the gazes of the men who had seen her so thoroughly disgrace herself. Morainn placed her elbow on the table and pressed a hand to her aching forehead as she tried to think of a way to tell them what she had seen in a way that would make some sense to them.

“Did one of the women lose her eyes?” she asked softly. “Green eyes?”

“Aye,” replied Tormand, shocked by what she asked, for it implied she had actually seen at least part of the killing of Isabella. “Isabella Redmond.”

“Jesu.”
She shuddered and hastily took a drink of cider. “I ne’er gave much thought to what Sir William meant when he said she had been butchered. Didnae really want to.”

“I am sorry ye now have a better idea of what he meant.” Tormand glanced at a wide-eyed Walin. “This may nay be something we should speak of in front of the boy.”

Cursing herself for forgetting about the child’s presence, Morainn lifted her head enough to look at Walin.

“Dearling, it might be best if ye go out to play for a while. This is a verra dark thing we must discuss now.”

“Are ye feeling better now, Morainn?” Walin asked even as he stood up to leave.

She doubted she would ever feel better after what she had seen, but forced herself to smile gently at the boy. “Aye, and feeling more so with each passing moment. Go play for a wee while, laddie. Ye really dinnae want to hear this.” As soon as the boy was gone, she told the men. “At the end I saw a knife aimed at a beautiful green eye set in a face covered in blood from more cuts than I cared to count. Not that any vision would ever let me be so precise. ’Tis why I couldnae stay any longer, why I had to flee what I was seeing.” Morainn did not really want to find as much pleasure as she did in the light soothing touch of Tormand’s hand against her back.

“Did ye see the killer?” asked Simon.

Finally sitting up straighter, Morainn forced herself to meet Sir Simon’s gaze. She felt the heat of a blush touch her cheeks, but ignored it. There were more important things to worry about at the moment than her own embarrassment. And, in all fairness to herself, she never would have been so sick if she had not touched that hairpin in an attempt to help him find a killer.

“Aye and nay,” she replied. “There are two.”

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“Two men?” Simon frowned. “Aye, I am nay really surprised.”

He would be surprised soon, she mused, and said, “Nay, a mon and a woman.”

Morainn almost smiled at the look of shock on all the men’s faces. She had to admit it had shocked her, too, but not nearly as much as they appeared to be. Did men truly believe that women never fell victim to such a madness, that they could not feel such a murderous hate and anger? If men were so incapable of thinking a woman could be as dangerous, as lethal, as a man, it was no wonder that so many fell victim to the bad ones.

“A woman helped to cut up those women?” asked Tormand, shock still faintly trembling in his deep voice.

“Aye. That hairpin is hers. The others probably are as weel,” Morainn replied. “I cannae tell ye if they fell out as she did her evil work or if she left them apurpose, however.”

“As a sign, mayhap,” murmured Simon.

The man had recovered from his shock quickly, Morainn thought. There was a look in his steel gray eyes that told her he was already working on these new facts, trying to put the puzzle together. She began to doubt that there was much that could shock the man for long. Morainn wished there were more men like Sir Simon Innes. She suspected fewer innocent men would die on the gallows.

“Why would she leave a sign?” asked Harcourt. “And why leave something so common that no one can read whatever message she is trying to send?”

“’Tis nay so common,” said Morainn and felt herself blush a little when all the men looked at her.

“Common ones are made out of wood or the bones of chickens, mayhap ducks or geese. Sometimes even a sheep. That one is made from the antlers of a stag and it has a wee design carved upon it.”

Simon carefully studied the hairpins and then cursed. “I am nay so weel acquainted with such things that I can tell one animal bone from another, but a common hairpin wouldnae have a fancy design etched into it.

That costs money, as does one made of antler horn. ’Tis a rose, I think.”

“The perfume,” Tormand murmured.

Morainn stared at him in such surprise she barely kept herself from gaping. “Ye ken who it is?”

“Nay, I had a dream last night, a dream about these murders, and I smelled the perfume.”

The way he was looking at her and the heat that entered his gaze told Morainn that he had dreamed about more than the killings, but she forced her mind back to the matter of her vision and what it might tell them about the killers. Later she would consider what it meant when a man she was attracted to had a dream the same night she did and, she guessed, one that was probably very similar to hers. It took all of her willpower not to blush when she thought of what had happened in that dream before it had turned into a nightmare.

“Heavy, cloying, almost too strong to tell what it is, for all ye wish to do is pinch your nose shut,” she said.

“Exactly like that. Ye have smelled it, too?”

She nodded, forcing herself to think only of the dark parts of her dreams, the ones that had to do with the killings and not the hunger the man stirred within her. “In every dream I have had about these killings. I
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wondered on it, but then decided it must be the way the vision was trying to tell me that it was a woman being killed. The voice I heard in the dreams wasnae clear enough for me to ken if the one who spoke was a mon or a woman. Yet, in one of those dreams the hand that held the blood-soaked knife was small and delicate.”

“But ye have seen no faces?” asked Simon.

Morainn shook her head. “Nay. Weel, nay yet. Each dream gives me a wee bit more. The perfume, then the voice, then the hand. The vision I got from touching the hairpin gave me more.” She swallowed hard, fear of what else she might see making her blood run cold, but she could not let that fear stop her from helping in the hunt for this vicious killer. “Mayhap if I hold another one I will see a face or some other thing that will help ye find these killers.”

Simon gave her a gentle smile. “Nay, not today. From what I saw, such visions are hard on both body and mind. Rest a day or two and we will try another then. I have put the one ye have already touched aside so that ye will nay have to see its secrets again.”

“But another woman could die while we wait.”

“Aye, there is that chance, but your gift does us no good if ye use it until ye are ill or broken in heart and mind. Rest. We can return on the morrow if ye think ye will be able to abide touching another one. For now mayhap ye can think long and hard on all the dreams and visions ye have had concerning this matter.

There may be some small but verra important thing that ye will remember.”

Morainn did not think there would ever come a day when she could abide touching one of those hairpins, but she nodded. She would force herself to do it. To her shame, she admitted to herself that the biggest reason she would do so was for Sir Tormand Murray’s sake and not the poor murdered women’s.

Morainn hated to think that she could be so swayed by a handsome face.

It was only a few minutes later that she stood at her door watching the men leave, her arm around Walin’

s small shoulders. All the men had given her a very gallant farewell, but it was Tormand’s that she knew would linger in her mind. There had been a look in his eyes that had caused her heart to pound with a strange mix of fear and anticipation. If she did not wish to end up as just one more of what was undoubtedly a legion of besotted women, she would have to be on her guard around that man.

“She has a true gift,” Simon said, as he rode beside Tormand.

“Or a curse,” Tormand said. “She saw Isabella’s murder, saw that they took her eyes.”

“Aye, in many ways she did, although she didnae see it too clearly, thank God. I am reluctant to ask her to try again with another one of the hairpins, but we have nothing, have found no trail to follow on our own. Whoever is doing this is verra clever or verra lucky.”

“They say madness can oftimes make one more cunning,” said Bennett. “I am just finding it difficult to believe a woman would have a part in all this. Och, aye, I ken that they can be as cruel and vicious as any mon, but to actually wield the knife? That is what I find so hard to accept.”

“And, yet, it makes a strange kind of sense,” said Harcourt, and shrugged when the others looked at him.

“From what ye tell me, each woman had her beauty utterly destroyed. A woman could understand how much that meant to the women, mayhap e’en hate that beauty they hold. ’Tis the fact that the women’s hair was cut off that makes me inclined to think a woman really is involved. A mon might destroy a
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woman’s face or body in some mad, jealous rage, but I doubt he would realize how important that hair would be to a woman.”

“Ah, aye, ye may be right,” murmured Simon. “Then again, I believe we can all agree that there is madness behind these murders and who can understand the mind of a mon touched by madness, or a woman’s.”

Tormand only half-listened as Simon and his kinsmen debated all that Morainn had told them. Most of his thoughts were on the woman they had just left and not on her words. He was certain they had shared a dream last night. Such a thing had never happened to him before, but he knew it meant something, was important in a way that left him very uneasy. It implied some bond had been made between him and Morainn Ross and he did not want any bonds.

There was also what had happened when he had touched her hand to worry about. He did not mind being strongly attracted to a woman. If nothing else, it made the lovemaking richer and more heated, more satisfying. But he had felt a strong lusting for a woman before and had never felt such a wave of heat and longing simply by touching the woman’s hand. A large part of him was eager to pursue Morainn, to find out how that fierce heat would feel once he had her naked between the sheets. Another part of him wanted to put the spurs to his horse and ride as far away from Morainn Ross as he could.