“There be a mon here to see ye, Sir Simon,” said Walter, as he stood in the doorway of the great hall looking uneasy and his hand on his sword. “He isnae looking verra weel. I think it be bad news.”
Morainn felt her heart skip with alarm. She glanced around at the men and saw that they shared her fear. They just expressed it by scowling at the door. Unable to stop herself she reached out to clasp Tormand’s hand in hers and had the sinking feeling that it was a good thing Walin had already had his meal and gone to bed. She thought about how they had all gathered together to discuss what else she had seen in her dream two nights ago, the warning of yet another senseless death soon to come. The men had been trying to find something, anything, that would tell them who it might be ever since she had told them, but had had no luck. They had failed to find any sign or gather any useful information about the late Edward MacLean’s wife and companion as well. Bad news now could mean that they were too late to halt yet another gruesome murder. Morainn heartily cursed her visions for giving her only a confused array of the smallest bits of information and never quite enough to put a swift stop to the murders.
“Best show him in then, Walter,” said Tormand.
The moment the man stepped into the great hall, Tormand silently cursed. It was the plump, genial Sir John Hay. Tormand felt both grief and a blind rage fill him for the look on the man’s face told him that poor Lady Katherine had been the victim in the murder they had tried so hard to stop.
Sir John started toward them, but when he swayed, Tormand rushed to his side to steady him. “Easy, John,” he murmured as he led the man to a seat at the table where a full tankard of strong wine already waited for him.
After a long drink that did little to steady the shaking in the man’s hands, Sir John announced, “My Kat has been cruelly murdered, just like those other women were. My poor angel is dead.”
When the man began to weep, all the other men just stared at him, concern mixed with discomfort on their faces. Morainn did not wait for them to get over that discomfort. She hurried to the man’s side and put her arms around him. As she whispered soothing words, he sobbed against her chest for several moments before he was able to regain control of himself. When he finally sat up, she handed him a square of linen to wipe his face with and smiled gently at him in the hope of easing the embarrassment he so obviously felt despite his deep grief.
“Ye are the one they call the witch, arenae ye?” he said in a voice still hoarse from his weeping. “They say ye are trying to help find the bastards who are doing the killing.”
“I am trying to, sir,” she said, “as are all of these good men.” Feeling that the man had control of himself now, Morainn returned to her seat by Tormand’s side.
“Please, if ye can, tell what ye may ken or what ye saw, nay matter how little ye may think it is worth,” said Simon.
Sir John took a deep breath. “I was late returning home from my cousin’s. Kat had had too much to do to go with me. I left young Geordie MacBain there to watch over her. Found him on the ground just below the bedchamber window with his neck broken. And, my Kat, she,” he shuddered and his eyes glazed with grief and pain, “I think she had been dead for a while, but I was too sick at the sight of what had been done to her that I cannae say for certain.” He looked at Simon. “I recalled ye complaining in the past about people nay leaving things as they were when they first discovered some crime, so I left my angel there when I came looking for ye. I but pulled a blanket over her. I couldnae help myself. She was naked, ye ken, and I didnae want her seen that way. She wouldnae have wanted to be seen that way.”
As Simon gently asked a few questions, pausing when Sir John needed a moment to compose himself, Morainn studied the men. It had taken her awhile to gather the courage to face them after having been caught in Tormand’s bed, but the need to tell them the whole of the dream, especially about the warning of another murder being planned, had given her the strength. Not one of them had looked at her with contempt or even mentioned where they had last seen her. Everything had been just as it had been before. Nor did they say anything about where she had spent the nights since—wrapped securely in Tormand’s arms. Even Walin had said nothing and she wondered if the men had seen to it that he did not pester her about the matter. She would have put up with any and all embarrassment and humiliation, however, if she could have stopped this murder.
She could see the sorrow for the death of Sir John’s wife in their expressions. She also saw disappointment over the fact that they had not been able to prevent it despite many hours spent talking about the dream and searching the town for the killers or anyone who might know who they were. It was evident that they thought they had failed the dead woman, failed the grieving Sir John, and Morainn doubted anything she could say would ease that guilt they felt.
Morainn turned her attention to Tormand. He was grieving and she felt an all too familiar pinch of jealousy, but pushed it aside. She had once met Lady Katherine, shortly after Walin had been left at her door, and had found the older woman to be a kind and generous soul. The woman had been honestly upset when she had not been able to find out who Walin’s father or mother was. The few things she had heard about the woman since then had all implied that she was indeed a generous soul, a woman ready to help anyone who needed it. Morainn also did not recall seeing Lady Katherine’s name on Tormand’s list and she knew he had been ruthlessly honest in compiling it. This time the monsters had killed a completely innocent woman. She knew the others had not deserved what had happened to them, either, but poor Lady Katherine had not even committed the sin the killer felt the others had to pay for.
When the men all stood up to return with Sir John to his home, Tormand moved to join them. Sir John suddenly turned and grabbed Tormand by the arm. “Nay, my friend,” he said.
Tormand looked so hurt that Morainn moved to his side, taking his clenched fist in her hands as Tormand asked, “Ye cannae think I had anything to do with this, John.”
“Och, nay, laddie. Ne’er. And I havenae believed for one blessed moment that ye hurt those other women, either. I ask ye to stay here because an angry crowd was gathering in front of my home when I left to come here. Word had already reached them about my Kat’s death. One of the maids most likely, as I didnae do anything to calm them or keep them in my home.
“The crowd wants someone punished for these murders and, from what little I heard said, they think that someone should be ye. Let Simon do what he is so good at while ye remain here, safe behind these walls. I fear that, with the mood the crowd is in, ye could be in verra grave danger if ye came with us.”
“As ye wish,” Tormand said in a tight voice. “I offer my deepest condolences, John.”
“Thank ye, lad. I ken they are heartfelt. But I would like it more,” Sir John replied, including Morainn in the suddenly fierce look he gave Tormand, “if ye would find the bastard who did this. I want to see him dancing at the end of a rope and then I shall spit upon his grave. Get him for me, Tormand.”
“I will. I swear it.”
The moment the men were gone, Tormand sat down at the table, put his head in his hands, and gave into his grief. Morainn sat by his side, wrapped her arms around him, and held him as close to her as she could. The sadness in the great hall, that which Sir John had left behind and that which Tormand felt so weighted down with, filled the air and Morainn was not surprised to feel her own eyes sting with tears.
This killing made no sense, despite knowing that they dealt with insanity, and that deeply troubled Morainn. She also felt a growing sense of dread. This could be the murder that turned all those whispers snaking through town about Tormand’s possible guilt, into shouts and demands for retribution. She held him a little tighter in her arms and reminded herself that Simon had found them a bolt-hole if that should happen.
Simon entered the great hall of the Hays’ elegant home and saw Sir John standing by the surprisingly large window, staring out at the street in front of his home. The large, damp square of linen the man clutched tightly in his hand told Simon that Sir John had been weeping again and he felt a surge of pity for the man who had adored his wife. This time Simon felt not only a need for justice, a need to end the senseless killings and punish the ones committing them, but also a deep need for revenge. Lady Katherine had been a good woman, one who had been kind and generous to a fault. Sir John was the same and a very good friend. This heartless murder had made the hunt for the killers very personal. He stepped up behind Sir John and placed a hand on the man’s shoulder even though he knew there would be no way truly to comfort his friend.
“I am done now, John,” he said quietly. “Old Mary and Young Mary have gone to your wife. They said they will prepare her.”
“I should help them,” John said, but he made no move to leave his place by the window.
“Nay, my friend. Let the women tend to her. Ye dinnae need to see that again.”
“’Tis a sight I will never be able to banish from my mind, Simon.”
“Try to dull its sting with memories of all that was good in your marriage.”
“Aye, I will. Some day.” Sir John frowned as he continued to study the crowd. “The crowd grows larger and its tone grows uglier. There are a lot of people who think Tormand is the killer and they speak their opinions loudly and quite often. My Kat was weel loved for her generous heart and aid to the poor. These people have lost a gracious friend and they want someone to pay dearly for that.”
“Ye mean they want Tormand to pay.”
Sir John slowly nodded. “Him and the Ross witch as they call the poor lass. Get them away from here.”
“Tormand?” Simon studied the crowd. “Ye think the danger to him has become that great?”
“Aye, I do. To him and to that bonnie wee lass. It was all whispering to start with and then it became talking openly of the suspicions so many held, and now this. Ere I left for my cousin’s, my Kat expressed concern for his safety and she kenned far more about the townspeople than I ever did. I think there is also someone behind them, prodding them all on. Mayhap even the killers. Aye, get him and that bonnie lass away to someplace safe.”
“He willnae like it.”
“At least he will be alive to complain about it. And, I think I would do it now. There are a few in that angry mob suggesting they all go and find the killer and hang him and we both ken that Tormand is the mon they most suspect. I assume ye already have a bolt-hole readied for him.”
“I do,” Simon said, even as he started to stride away.
“Get them out of here. Aye, e’en if ye have to bind and gag that fool Tormand to do so.”
“They will be gone within the hour.”
Morainn frowned and lightly placed her hand over Tormand’s mouth. They had been talking about Lady Katherine. She knew it helped him deal with his grief for the loss of a good friend. And that was all the woman was, Morainn thought. She had not needed long to decide that. Tormand spoke of Lady Katherine as if she were some dear aunt or cousin, not as a man would speak of a lover he still had a fondness for.
“Did ye hear that?” she asked.
“Hear what?”
Tormand lightly licked her palm and then grinned when she both flushed with a hint of pleasure and squeaked as she tugged her hand away. There was an ache in his heart for his old friend Lady Katherine, but he suddenly had an idea of how he might soothe it just a little. Morainn’s passion had warmed his nights and he was always hungry for her. There was also the wish to avoid the men when they returned with news of Lady Katherine’s murder. He knew what they had seen and he knew that, at best, there would just be another hairpin. No trail, no witnesses. They were getting closer but, sadly, not close enough to save poor Kat. He wanted to wash the bitter tastes of grief and defeat from his mouth with the hot, sweet taste of Morainn. He was just about to pull her onto his lap when he heard a noise and Morainn started toward the window.
“Ye must have heard that,” she said.
“Aye, I did,” he said, as he hurried to the window and gently but firmly put his body in front of hers. “I think someone is coming to visit us and not to offer condolences on the loss of a good friend.”
Even as he spoke she heard a sound that was chillingly familiar. It was the sound of a crowd full of anger and eager to do something to the ones they were angry with. When they had come after her mother it had been fear that had driven them, but she knew the results would be the same. Her mind filled with memories of the horrible day they had come and taken her mother; their fear, and the anger and hatred it filled them with, driving them to kill her. Morainn had barely escaped with her own life that night and by the time the sun had come up she had found herself with no kin and driven out of her home into the woods. Once calmed, their blood thirst slaked by the death of her mother, the ones who had caught her at her home in the early hours of dawn had simply driven her off like a stray dog and warned her never to return.
She started shaking, possessed by all the fear and grief the young girl she had been had suffered. Tormand put his arm around her shoulders and held her close to him. His warmth and unspoken concern helped her regain some control over the fear that was swamping her.
“Dinnae be afraid, Morainn,” he said quietly and kissed her cheek. “They willnae get us.”
“Nay, they willnae.”
Tormand jumped in surprise and felt Morainn do the same as Simon suddenly appeared at their side. “Jesu, Simon,” he muttered. “I think we need to put a bell on ye. How did ye get in without us seeing ye? We have been looking out the window and should have seen ye ride up.”
“There is more than one way to get into your house, Tormand.” Glancing out the window, Simon then looked at Tormand. “Ye have to leave here. Now.”
Tormand eyed the small crowd beginning to gather in front of his home. “There arenae verra many of them.”
“There will soon be a lot more.”
“Weel, with my kin and mayhap a few of your men, we could—”
“Fight them? I really dinnae wish to kill off a lot of the townspeople, idiots though they are right now. This time it is far more than whispers of suspicion, mayhap a few threats and insults, Tormand. Katherine was weel loved and these people are thirsting for blood—yours.” He nodded at Morainn. “And hers.”
“Morainn? Why should they be calling for her blood? No one thinks she is the killer, unless there is something ye havenae told me.”
“They want me because I am the Ross witch. Just as they wanted my mother,” she whispered.
Simon cursed softly. “They want ye because they think ye are helping him either to kill these women or to keep him from hanging for what he has done.”
“Of course,” she muttered. “It doesnae matter that I ne’er e’en saw him until after the second murder.”
“Magda is behind this.”
“Weel, she certainly hasnae helped, but I dinnae think she is the one driving this crowd up the street. Now, pack what ye think ye will need for a wee stay in the hiding place I am about to take ye to.” Seeing the taut, stubborn look on Tormand’s face, Simon knew an argument was coming and there was no time for one. “Sir John also said ye must leave. Ye and Morainn. He said Katherine had warned him about the mood of the people and that she thought it was being poisoned by others.”
“The killers?” asked Morainn.
“Mayhap, but it could be any fool with a way to stir up other fools. I—”
Whatever Simon was about to say was lost as a rock sailed through the window they all stood in front of. Tormand shielded Morainn with his body and winced as shards of glass pricked his skin through his shirt. A quick glance out the hole the rock had made in his expensive glass window, and Tormand could see that there would be even more rocks and the crowd would follow them into his house soon.
“Go.” He pushed Morainn toward the door. “Grab a few things and then we leave.”
“Walin,” she began, as she stumbled toward the door.
“Will be safer here with my kin, Simon, and Walter. Hurry,” he ordered.
The moment she was gone, Tormand looked at Simon. “Can ye get us out of here?”
“Aye. I can hear your brothers and cousins arriving. Get yourself a few things and then I will take ye to the hiding place I have found. As we flee here, your brothers will face the crowd and try to drive them back to their homes.”
Cursing viciously, Tormand ran to his bedchamber and stuffed a few clothes into a bag. He donned his sword and tucked his sheathed knives wherever he could. Although he ached to stand his ground he knew that was pride talking. There was little a man could do against a crowd determined to see him dead. Even four armed Murrays would not be enough to hold the crowd back for long. There was also Morainn to consider. He could not keep her safe here any longer.
Even as they slipped out of the house through a back way where three horses waited for them, saddled and packed with supplies, Tormand could hear his kinsmen yelling at the crowd. He prayed they would not be injured in the bid to give him and Morainn a chance to escape. Simon looked as though he wanted to go join them, sword in hand, but he silently led them through the darkening streets away from the danger.
Simon took them on a long and winding route through the town and out on the west road. Tormand kept a close watch on Morainn, and not because she was not an experienced rider. An angry crowd was frightening, especially when you were the one they were after, but she still looked terrified no matter how much distance they put between them and that crowd. He suddenly recalled her whispering something about her mother and winced. It had been an angry crowd that had made her an orphan and then an outcast. He did not even want to think of the dark memories this had to be stirring up in her mind.
He was just about to ask Simon exactly how far away he was taking them, when a ruined tower house came into view. Tormand frowned as they rode closer, for it looked as though there would be no protection from the weather in such a ruin. Although he had lived rough a time or two he was not fond of doing so, but most of his concern was for Morainn. It was not until they halted and he dismounted that he realized that some very subtle repairs had been made.
“This is it,” said Simon, as Tormand helped Morainn out of the saddle.
“Rough,” Tormand murmured as he slipped an arm around Morainn’s shoulders, politely ignoring the fact that she was unsteady after what many would consider a short ride.
“A wee bit, but nay as bad as it looks. Come inside.”
Feeling that Morainn was steadier, Tormand took her by the hand and followed Simon. At first it looked just as great a ruin inside as it did on the outside, but then they turned a corner and Tormand silently sighed in relief. Behind the thick door Simon opened was a sizable living space divided into a cooking area, a sleeping area, and even a tall wooden screen blocking one corner that he assumed was where they could be private if either of them needed to be. A wide bed was up against one wall and there were kegs of drink and other supplies stacked against another. Tormand was both pleased and dismayed. He welcomed the attempt to make his retreat comfortable, but it also looked a little too much like a gentle prison where he would have to hide for a long time.
Morainn wandered around the wide room, astonished by how clean and well supplied it was. After pressing her hand briefly on the bed, she realized there was even a feather mattress. Tormand and she would be hiding away like outlaws, but they would do so comfortably.
“When did ye arrange this?” she asked Simon, as she set her small bag of belongings down next to a chest at the foot of the bed.
“I began preparing it the moment I heard the first whisper of blame placed at Tormand’s feet. I have seen too many innocent men die because a judgment of guilt was made too quickly.” He shrugged. “Wherever I am, I make certain I ken where there are hiding places, places where one can wait safely until the truth is found and they can return home without fear. Although, some have returned home only to pack up and leave, for they cannae bear living among those who would think so poorly of them, would be willing to see them die for crimes they had not committed.”
“One’s peace and trust are all gone,” said Morainn. “Ye can never fully shake the fear that those people will turn against ye again and the next time ye willnae be able to escape.”
“Exactly. Now, I shall take the horses to a safe place not far from here. The small crofter’s hut where the dogs made so much noise?” He looked at Tormand.
“Aye, I recall it. They hushed quickly. Do ye think the ones who live there can be trusted to hold fast to a secret?” Tormand asked.
“Oh, aye,” Simon replied, conviction heavy in his voice. “They have a son in my service and think I am a great mon for giving the lad such a fine chance to better himself.” He smiled faintly. “They dinnae heed me when I tell them I gave their son a place in my service because he is big, skilled with a blade, and verra clever.”
“I suspect there are far too many poor lads who are much akin to him and yet ne’er get a chance to live any other way but the hard life in a wee crofter’s hut.”
“Mayhap. But this one saved my life.”
“A coin or two would have been thanks enough in many people’s eyes.” Tormand looked around the room. “This is a good place to hide. I but pray we willnae be hiding here for too long. How are we to let ye ken if Morainn sees anything of importance in her dreams or has some vision?”
“I will be returning to my own wee home at the edge of town. I believe ye can slip in and out of it with little danger of being caught.”
“Who will care for Walin?” Morainn asked. “I slipped into his room to tell him I would be leaving for a wee while, but, in truth, I am nay sure he was fully awake e’en though he answered me. I just need to ken that he will be safe.”
“He will be watched as carefully as he has been all the while ye have been at Tormand’s house,” said Simon. “If that proves unwise, we will bring him to my home. May do so anyway, although I dinnae have the room to house all those hulking Murrays as Tormand does. Dinnae worry over the boy, Morainn. He will be fine. In truth, without ye around, I dinnae think anyone will give him a thought save us, not e’en the killers.” He looked back at Tormand. “I would like ye to make a list of all the women ye are friendly with. There is quill, ink, and something to write on in that small chest.” He pointed to a plain little box set near a table and chair in a far corner of the room.
“Ye think Kat was killed because of me?” asked Tormand, fearing that himself, and not liking the fact that Simon had also considered the possibility. He had just begun to convince himself that her friendship with him could not have been the cause of her death. “I would have thought everyone would ken she was ne’er my lover.”
“I dinnae ken, Tormand. ’Tis possible but, coming so close on the heels of finding out that those murderers had killed Edward MacLean, I have to wonder if there was some other reason they went after poor Kat. Something that has nothing to do with ye. I am going to look into some of Kat’s dealings and see if there is something there that may explain this. Howbeit, a list would help me if only so I could warn any of the women who are near at hand.”
Morainn watched the two men wander off after Simon said a polite farewell to her and reassured her that Walin would be cared for. She then turned her attention to unpacking the things she and Tormand had brought with them. The hiding place Simon had made for them was far better than what she had expected, but she heartily wished it had not been necessary to use it.
As soon as she finished the chore of unpacking, she stepped behind the privacy screen to wash up and prepare for bed. The fright at Tormand’s house and her first lengthy ride on a horse had left her aching and tired. She had never contemplated all the danger she might put herself in when she had first helped Tormand and Simon, but she knew she would not have changed her course even if she had.
At least she was not alone, she thought as she heard Tormand return. She had been through just such a fright ten years ago and never wished to suffer through another time of being alone and frightened, expecting death around every corner. As she stepped out from behind the screen, she smiled at Tormand, who stood there wearing only his braies and holding out a small tankard of wine for her.
“I am sorry ye have been dragged into this,” he said.
“Nay, dinnae be sorry,” she said, and lightly kissed his cheek. “It has done me good to use my gift in this way. S’truth, I can now actually call it a gift without wincing. I just wish it had been of more help. Do ye think that is why Simon hasnae had me hold another hairpin?”
“I think that if ye hadnae had that dream about poor Edward MacLean, Simon may weel have had ye try to have another vision. Now, however, he has a trail to follow and he will do it in his usual way. If he finds that isnae working fast enough, he may weel have ye hold another.”
“He is verra precise in gathering information, and so much of it.”
“As he said, he has seen too many innocent men die. Simon has a verra strong sense of justice and, if naught else, he is deeply offended when the wrong person is made to pay for a crime. That means the guilty one gets away, doesnae it?”
“Ah, aye, I suppose it does. Ye dinnae like this, do ye? This hiding bothers you.”
Taking her empty cup from her hand, he began to lead her to the bed. “It does. Pride is all it is. And, right now, listening to the voice of pride could get me hanged. I just have a fear that I may end up suffering as my brother James did.” Seeing her curiosity, he told her all about James’s trials as a man falsely accused of killing his wife, even as he pushed her down onto the bed and settled himself in her arms.
“I dinnae think ye will be here for three long years, Tormand.”
“Nay? Is that a prophecy or just a hope?”
“It is a verra strong feeling that this will soon end, that those monsters who are taking such delight in murdering people will soon be found and punished.”
“I believe I will accept it as a prophecy.” He tugged her nightgown over her head and tossed it aside, enjoying the blush that covered her face. “I will also count my blessings.”
“Which are?”
“I have a comfortable place to hide and a soft woman sharing it with me. Two things my poor brother didnae have.”
“Lucky you.”
“Verra lucky me,” he murmured, as he shed his clothes and returned to her welcoming arms. “Verra lucky me, indeed.”
Morainn was just about to tell him that she was not just another soft woman like so many others he had known, when he kissed her, smothering her scolding words. She was soon swept up in the passion he could so easily stir inside of her and forgot her complaint. The heat of desire burned away all the dark memories the sight of an angry crowd had brought into her mind. His lovemaking soothed her fears, desire pushing it away as her body and heart gave itself over to the magic of his kisses and caresses.
Sated and drowsy, Tormand held Morainn close to his side. She had fallen asleep right after their lovemaking had ended in sweet satisfaction for both of them. The fact that he still hungered for her, that that hunger grew instead of diminished, told him a lot about how he felt about her; he was just not sure he wanted to listen.
Once the killers were caught and hanged, he would look more closely at what he felt and needed from Morainn, he promised himself. There was time after their troubles were over to delve into such things as emotions and needs. He closed his eyes and smiled a little. For now he would just enjoy the bone-deep pleasure he found in her arms and savor the feeling of having his every need and hunger satisfied as they had never been satisfied before. It was the one thing that would make hiding from his enemies instead of fighting them more a gift than a penance.