Highland Sinner (7 page)

So, ye will be there for me, aye?”

Morainn had a lot of doubts about the wisdom of joining in Nora’s wedding, but she buried them deep inside of herself. Nora and her family had not had the power to stop Morainn’s banishment, but their help was one reason she had survived it, even flourished. They never hesitated to argue the ugly rumors that constantly circulated about her, either.

“Aye, I will be there. When?”

“A month from this Sabbath Day. And Walin must come as weel.” Before Morainn could think of a good argument for that, Nora continued, “Now, the other reason I have come is because there is news.” She sighed and then took a deep drink of cider. “Another woman has been murdered.”

“Och, nay.” Morainn suddenly knew that was why she had seen the bloody knife in her dream this time.

“Aye. Lady Marie Campbell, married to the laird of Banloch. He is in town to sell the woolens his clan makes and see if he can wrestle a few agreements for trade out of some of the other lairds gathered here.

At least this woman wasnae carrying a bairn.”

“One of the others was carrying a bairn?”

“Lady Isabella. I grieve for her husband as the bairn couldnae have been his. It seems he had but just returned from a trip to France that had lasted for a six-month. The bairn his wife was carrying was but newly begun.”

“Oh, I had heard that she was faithful to her husband, unlike the Lady Clara.”

“It appears not. T’isnae weel kenned, mind ye. Naught but a whisper. I suspect her good reputation will be what is most spoken of. Most dinnae like to speak ill of the dead. Weel, at least until she begins to be forgotten. Howbeit, Lady Marie was a good wife, loved her husband and he her. He is utterly desolate.

He is readying himself to take her body home. Poor, poor mon. He is a widower now with two young sons.”

“What is happening here?” muttered Morainn. “Oh, we have had violent deaths before, but none like these. Nay highborn women and nay so brutal. Usually it is naught but idiot men slashing at each other o’

er some imagined insult or a theft, but e’en a death whilst being robbed isnae so verra common.”

Nora shook her head, her reddish brown curls bouncing wildly with the movement. “I dinnae ken what is happening, either. Aye, when the court is near as it is now, there can be added troubles, but ne’er anything like this. Ye are quite right about that. And, talk has become quite heated about a mon named Sir Tormand Murray. It appears that he kenned all of these women ere they were married. Some people find that verra suspicious.”

“He is innocent. The mon may be a rutting fool, but he isnae a killer.”

Nora blinked in surprise. “Do ye ken the mon weel then?”

Morainn grimaced and idly rubbed at her aching temples with her left hand. “Nay. I have but seen him once. Once outside of my dreams, in truth.”

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“Ye have had a vision of Sir Tormand Murray?”

“I suspicion a lot of women do,” drawled Morainn, a little startled by the bite to her words. “I think the mon is steeped in the sins of the flesh, right up to his bonnie eyebrows, but he isnae the one who is killing these women. For the last three nights I have had dreams that have made me wake up screaming and shaking with fear. First Sir Tormand is there and all is weel.” She felt herself blush and saw Nora grin, but she ignored it. “The dreams end with me tied hand and foot to a bed, Sir Tormand nowhere in sight, and the stench of danger all round me.”

Nora reached over to pat the hand Morainn had clenched into a tight fist on her lap. “’Tis oftimes more of a curse than a gift, isnae it?”

“Aye, and what makes it even more of a curse is that I can tell no one about the dreams. Who would heed me? Weel a few do, but they dinnae really trust in them or me. But these men? If they didnae think I was insane, they would think that I was a witch, would see it all as proof that I am exactly what so many accuse me of being.”

“Nay as many as ye think, but continue. Do these visions show ye who the real killer is?”

“I think they are trying verra hard to point the way for me. Each time I dream there is a little more to see in that final chilling part. I just cannae grasp what that is. I fear I am beginning to scare poor Walin.”

“Ye could never frighten him. He fears
for
ye, fears that ye are being hurt in some way. I but hope that ye find the answer ye need in these dreams ere they leave ye too weak, mayhap even ill.”

Morainn briefly smiled. “I look that poorly, do I?”

“Nay, my friend. Ye just look verra tired. And, I think one of the things that robs ye of sleep, aside from dark dreams, is that ye ken ye have some hard decisions to make.”

“Such as whether or nay to speak to Sir Tormand Murray?”

Nora sighed and nodded. “Ye did say that he defended ye in front of that angry crowd. Isnae that a good sign?”

“It doesnae mean he will believe I am having visions, ones that might actually help him to find a brutal killer. As I told Walin, the mon might just think I am trying a new, clever, and intriguing way to get into his bed.” She smiled when Nora laughed, but quickly grew serious again. “I have too little to tell him, Nora.

So far all I can say it that I saw a bloodied knife, heard a soft, cold voice, and smelled a heavy scent, rather like some of the scents the ladies at court wear. It isnae enough. I must have more to help him catch this madmon or Sir Tormand is as doomed as the voice in my dream whispered he was.”

“The whispers of suspicion are growing louder,” said Tormand, as he and Simon trotted after the big hound that had caught the scent of yet another blood trail.

“I ken it, but they are still naught but whispers,” replied Simon.

“Dinnae try to soothe me, Simon. The noose is tightening around my neck and we both ken it.”

When the hound stopped beside a rough shepherd’s hut, Simon paused to look at Tormand. “We both ken it, so what is the purpose of allowing our wee brains to prey upon the matter? We need all our wits and strength to catch this madmon. Marie was a good woman.”

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“Aye, she was,” Tormand agreed, feeling sorrow weight his heart.

“Yet ye bedded her.”

“Long ago. She was grieving. Her first husband had been dead for a six-month and the loneliness was eating at her soul. His kinsmen were also trying to steal away all the mon had left her. Barely a day passed when she didnae have a confrontation with them.” He met Simon’s gaze and said firmly, “It wasnae a seduction; it was a comforting. It was also just the once. Her husband kens all about it for she told him ere they married and he understands.”

“That explains why he isnae whispering poison about ye.”

“Aye, but some of those around him are. Marie and I remained friends although we ne’er slept together again. I fear that friendship was enough to make many fools believe we were lovers. That is my fault.”

Simon grimaced. “I would like to assure ye that it isnae so, but in some ways it is. Ye are the sort of mon who cannae be around any lass without too many thinking that ye are bedding her. T’isnae just because ye do bed so many, but that ye can, and do so easily. Nay doubt some men feel eased by the thought that there is some special trick or e’en magic ye use to get so many lasses into your bed. They dinnae ken that ye are just an ordinary mon who was blessed with the looks a lass likes.”

Tormand gave Simon a look of friendly disgust. “Thank ye, Simon. Ye are a great comfort to me.”

“My pleasure.” Simon sighed heavily. “Weel, we have dallied enough. Let us get this o’er with.”

It was as bad as Tormand had feared. Worse in many ways for he had truly liked Marie, had considered her a good friend. He felt the same about her husband, Duncan, who was grieving so hard right now. He stared at the bloodstained pallet, the remains of Marie’s clothes, and felt the sting of tears in his eyes.

Tormand prayed that Marie had died quickly, that God in His mercy had stopped her generous heart before the pain had become too great.

“I want this mon dead,” Tormand said quietly, his voice hard with the aching need for retribution. “And ere he dies, I want him to feel the pain and fear he so callously inflicted upon these women.”

“That is a gift I pray for daily,” said Simon in a voice equally quiet, equally hard, as he studied the floor of the tiny shepherd’s hut.

When Simon picked something up off the floor, Tormand moved closer to the man. “What have ye found?”

“Another hairpin made of bone,” Simon replied.

“In a shepherd’s shieling?”

“Aye. An odd thing to find here, isnae it? Unfortunately, we ken that a lot of women use them.”

“So that means that anyone could have dropped it here, e’en one of two lovers stealing a moment alone.”

Simon nodded as he left the hut, not surprised by the fact that Tormand followed close on his heels. “Yet, is it nay strange that we have found one at each of the places where the women were murdered?”

Tormand stared at Simon in shock. “Ye cannae be thinking a woman had something to do with this, can ye? Aye, I ken weel that a woman can be as vicious and as deadly as any mon, but strength was required in these killings, nay only to hold the women but to bring them to where they could be tortured and killed
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before taking them home.”

“I ken it. ’Tis why I dinnae see these hairpins as wee arrows pointing to our killer. ’Tis just a puzzle.

Mayhap the mon who is doing this is killing these women because they werenae chaste and he leaves the hairpin of a lass who betrayed him as some sign, as his mark.”

“But why choose women I have bedded?”

“That is a verra good question.”

Tormand cursed softly as they started the long walk back to town. Each site of the murders was farther away than the last one. He prayed there would be no more murders, but if there were, he decided they would bring horses with them next time.

A shudder went through him. He did not think he could stand over another woman’s body. Guilt was robbing him of sleep. Although they had yet to find any hard proof that he was in any way connected to these killings, the fact that all of the dead women had once shared his bed could not be ignored. More and more people were beginning to notice that sad fact and the whispers of suspicion were growing louder every day. He could almost feel the noose tightening around his neck.

By the time they reached his home, Tormand was feeling weary in his body as well as in his heart. One glance at his friend was enough to tell him that Simon fared little better. All Tormand wanted was a hot bath and clean clothes, ones that did not carry the stench of death. He would follow that with a filling meal and a soft bed. He had no doubt that Simon wanted the same things.

Opening the door, Tormand immediately heard voices. Once inside, he shut the door and scowled toward his great hall. He recognized those voices. His family had arrived.

“Ah, there ye are,” said Walter, as he strode toward the great hall from the kitchens, a jug of drink in each hand. “Brothers and cousins here. They arenae too happy with you.”

Before Tormand could say just how little he cared about that, Walter disappeared into the great hall. He knew Walter would be telling his kinsmen that he was home. Tormand looked at Simon and, without a word, they both bolted up the stairs. Tormand had no intention of enduring the inquisition his family would put him through until he had had a bath and changed his clothes. If nothing else, it would be difficult to convince his kinsmen that all was well if he still stank of blood and death.

It was over an hour before Tormand felt ready to face his family. He had spent most of the time just sitting in his bath until the water grew too cool for comfort, thinking about what he could say and what he should not say. Instinct told him it was foolish to try to hide the truth from his family but he was about to give it his best effort. He did not wish his mother to suffer any more worry and grief. If he had to lie to ease her mind, he would. If his kinsmen wrested the truth out of him and Simon, then he would threaten them into lying.

“Ready?” asked Simon.

A little surprised to see his friend standing in the doorway of his bedchamber as he had not heard the man approaching, Tormand nodded. “Aye, I suppose I am. Troublesome lot,” muttered Tormand. “I didnae invite them to come, especially since I ken they are here to badger me with questions.” Recalling how his brother had banged on his bedchamber door to demand that he get to the hall the moment he had finished cleaning up, Tormand scowled. “They are here to poke their long noses into my business.”

Simon smiled faintly. “Some people would be most grateful for such concern, e’en just for a family.”

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Tormand gave Simon a narrow-eyed look. He knew the truth of those words, but was in no mood to say so. He also knew that Simon had very little family left and those few cared nothing for the man. Tormand knew very well that he was blessed in his family. There were times, however, when he would be more than willing to toss some of that blessing into someone else’s lap.

“What I would like to ken is how did they hear of my troubles?” Tormand asked, as he and Simon headed toward the great hall.

“Are ye certain they are here because of these murders?”

“Aye. They saw me nay so verra long ago, so they couldnae have been struck with a searing need to see my face once more.”

The moment Tormand stepped into the great hall, all four of his kinsmen turned to stare at him. His cousins Rory and Harcourt looked amused. His brothers Bennett and Uilliam looked a little wary. They knew their brother did not really want the family getting tangled up in whatever trouble he was in.

Tormand’s gaze settled on Walter and his eyes narrowed. His squire was looking suspiciously innocent.