Highland Sinner (22 page)

“Hush, loving,” he whispered as he brushed his mouth over hers when she cried out in pain. “It will pass.”

“How can ye ken that for sure?” she asked, both concerned by the stinging pain and fascinated by the way their bodies were joined. “Have ye bedded a lot of virgins?”

The very last thing Tormand wanted to talk about when he was finally seated deep inside a woman he had craved for what felt like years was the other women he had known. Then he recalled his vow to be truthful with her no matter how uncomfortable it might be. He knew it was the only way he could gain her trust and he had to accept that her trust was very important to him. Some would say he already had her trust or they would not be naked together, but Tormand knew passion could push aside a lot of doubts and concerns, if only for a little while.

“Nay,” he replied as he gently stroked her body, trying to restore the desire that had warmed him before he had ended her innocence. “I ne’er took a woman’s innocence before. Ye are my first.”

Morainn badly wanted to ask him why he had suddenly broken his own rules, but the fog of desire was filling her head again. As his kisses and caresses reawakened that wildness inside of her, she clutched his body tight against hers and began to shift against him in need. She knew he could give her what her body was again crying out for. When he drew away, she cried out in protest and then he pushed back inside of her and she cried out again in delight. This was what she needed. This was what her dreams had promised her.

Tormand tried hard to keep his movements slow and gentle, not wishing to hurt her any more than he already had, but Morainn was having none of it. She clung to him and began to meet his thrusts and parry them with a greed that he could not resist. Groaning as he succumbed to his need, he began to drive them both toward the release they needed so badly without worrying anymore about how tender she might be after her breeching.

When her body tightened around his and he felt her inner heat clench rhythmically around him, he cried out from the force of his own release as he drove home one last time. The laugh that escaped him when she drummed her small heels on his back as her release tore through her was a sound of pure exultance.

The way her body greedily accepted his seed robbed him of all thought and strength and as the last shudder of his release went through him he collapsed upon her. He retained just enough of his senses to fall slightly to the side so that he did not crush her.

Awareness came to Tormand slowly, and he eased himself off the soft body sprawled beneath him.

Morainn lay on her back, her arms falling to her side as he rose and dislodged their limp grasp on him.

She looked asleep and a closer inspection revealed that she was. He grinned as he climbed out of bed and fetched a cool damp cloth to clean them both off. When she just scowled in her sleep as he washed her clean of all signs of her lost innocence and their lovemaking he had to bite his lip to keep from laughing aloud. Then he yawned, tossed the cloth aside and crawled back into bed. Tugging her warm body up against his, Tormand decided that a short rest was a good idea. Neither of them had been getting the sleep they needed.

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A scream shattered his sleep and Tormand bolted upright in his bed. He was just reaching for his sword when he realized there was someone in the bed with him and that someone was thrashing and moaning. A heartbeat later his sleep-dulled mind cleared enough for him to remember what had happened before he had closed his eyes for a short rest. He turned to reach for Morainn even as his door was kicked open.

Ignoring the men who rushed into his bedchamber, Tormand turned all of his attention to pulling Morainn free of her nightmare.

Hastily pulling the blanket up around Morainn even as he struggled to still her thrashing, Tormand called to her, “Morainn! ’Tis but a dream. Wake, lass. Wake up now. Come, open your eyes.” At the sound of his voice she ceased fighting his hold enough that he was able to gently shake her and speak quietly to her until her eyes opened.

Morainn stared at Tormand for several moments before she realized he was not part of some dream. She still shook from the terror of what she had seen and pressed herself up against him, seeking his warmth.

Just as she was beginning to breathe a little easier, she felt someone watching her and her fear returned.

She instinctively reached for the knife under her pillow only to realize that she was not in her own bed.

A candle was lit and Morainn looked around. All the Murrays and Simon were standing around the bed in various states of undress. Walter lurked in the doorway and a frightened Walin clung to the man’s leg.

They were all looking at her in bed with Tormand, naked. Morainn almost wished it was the enemy in her dream she faced. It would be dangerous, but at least she would not feel so painfully embarrassed. Then she recalled what she had been dreaming about and hastily shook aside her humiliation. What she had seen in her dream was of far more importance than her shame over being caught in bed with Tormand.

“She hasnae buried her husband,” Morainn said, shivering as she saw the sight of the bloody, mutilated man hanging from chains. “She has only just finished killing him. I had thought she already had, but nay, she just considered him as good as dead. He is dead now.”

“Did ye get a name?” asked Simon.

“Only part of it. Edward. She called him Fat Edward and in the vision I saw him hanging in chains and he is verra fat. Or was.” Morainn closed her eyes as she struggled to hold the horrible image of the dead man in her mind’s eye. “Red hair and nay a pretty red, either. Freckles everywhere.” She shivered again and Tormand pulled her a little closer to him. “I am nay sure what he may have done to her, but I get no sense of true cruelty or evil in the mon. Yet, she killed him verra slowly and he suffered in great pain for a verra long time.”

“Did ye see where? Did ye see anything that might tell ye where and when this may have happened? I ken several men named Edward and none of them are small men. If I had a hint of where the body is, it could save me a great deal of searching.”

“All I saw was the room where he was hanging in chains. A dungeon, I think, for it was all damp stone and the light flickered as though it was coming only from a fire or torches.” She rubbed at her forehead, hating the need to try to remember clearly such a bloody dream, but she tried and then tensed. “A large door with a snarling dog, nay, wolf on it.”

“I ken where that is. ’Tis where Edward MacLean lives. He calls his home Wolf Hallow. ’Tis but a short ride north of town.”

“This time I am coming with ye,” shouted Tormand, as the men ran out of the room, Walter hastily taking Walin back to his bed.

When Tormand leapt out of bed, Morainn flopped back down onto the soft feather mattress and
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groaned. He turned to frown at her in concern, studying her carefully even as he continued to get dressed. She was looking a little pale, but he could see no sign that she had suffered with this dream as badly as she had suffered with her visions.

“Are ye weel, Morainn?” he asked.

Morainn groaned again and pulled the blanket over her head. “I have just been found in your bed by everyone in this house, even Walin. And I was found here naked.”

He forced himself to bite back an urge to laugh. “I got the blanket around ye before they saw anything.”

She sat up and glared at him. “They saw me.” Then she paled and put a hand over her mouth. “And how can I be so cold of heart, so verra selfish? There is some poor mon hanging dead in his own home, a mon who suffered all the torments of hell at the hands of his own wife and I am fretting because your friends and family now ken that I have shared your bed.”

Tormand sat down on the bed, pulled her into his arms and stroked her back. “Ye arenae cold or selfish.

This has all happened so quickly, ye have had no time to e’en think it all through. One moment ye are having a nightmare and the next ye are sitting in bed with six half-dressed and weel-armed men standing around. And ye cannae take on the weight of these murders, loving. It will crush ye. As for those fools seeing ye in my bed, dinnae fret over it. And Walin? His only interest was to see that ye were nay hurt.”

He gave her a kiss and then got up to finish dressing and arming himself.

“Mayhap ye shouldnae go,” she said quietly. “What if it is a trap or the ones who think ye guilty are out there and looking for a fight?”

“I will be with five armed men who have blooded themselves in battle. I will be fine.” He gave her another kiss and ran out the door, calling back, “Walter will stay here to watch over ye and Walin.”

Morainn cursed and fell back in the bed again. At least while the men were gone she would have time alone to conquer her embarrassment. Discovery had been inevitable, she told herself. It would have been impossible to keep the fact that she was sharing a bed with Tormand a secret in such a crowded house.

She prayed Walin was too young to understand fully what her place in Tormand’s bed meant and she really did not wish to answer questions posed by a curious little boy.

She leapt out of bed, snuffed the candle someone had lit, and then collected up her clothing, donning her shift for modesty’s sake. There were still a few hours before dawn and she needed to get some sleep.

Holding her clothes against her chest, she slipped out of Tormand’s room and went back to her own.

Morainn suspected Tormand expected her to stay in his bed, but she would not do so until he said so plainly.

Once huddled beneath the covers of her bed with her cats curled all around her she began to feel calmer, certain that she would be able to go back to sleep. The sound of Walter’s distinct tread only added to her growing sense of calm, for she knew, just as Tormand had told her, she and Walin had not been left unprotected. There were a few things she had seen in her dream that she had not had time to tell the men, but there would be time on the morrow. Telling them that the evil woman had smiled at her in the dream as Morainn had screamed would only worry them.

“That is a sight I could have happily lived a long life without ever seeing,” murmured Harcourt.

Tormand was pleased to see that his cousin was looking a little pale. The remains of poor Edward
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MacLean had caused his own stomach to revolt strongly and he had only barely controlled the urge to empty his belly on the bloodstained floor of the dungeon. The smell of blood and death was so strong they were enough to gag a man. The killers must have tortured Edward for a very long time. The once very large man was only a shadow of the food-loving man he had once been. They had nearly skinned the man alive, broken all his fingers and toes, and castrated him. Tormand was sure there were other injuries, but the man was so filthy and so covered in blood he could not see what they might be and did not want to. He also suspected it was mostly the castration of the man that had drained all the blood from their faces and left them all so pale.

“I cannae think of anything this mon may have done to his wife that would have earned him this death,”

said Simon, as he began his ritual of carefully searching the area around the dangling body of Edward.

“He was an irritant, boastful, somewhat of a pig, and none too bright, but I ne’er saw him lift a heavy hand to anyone or e’en speak unkindly about anyone. He was, in truth, quite jovial in the manner of a not particularly intelligent fellow who found his own humor very amusing.”

“Did ye e’er meet his wife?” asked Tormand.

“Once,” replied Simon. “A shadow of a woman, quiet and easily forgotten. I would ne’er have thought her capable of such brutality.”

“Mayhap that is how she has gotten away with it for so long.”

“But where were his people?” asked Rory. “With a house of this size there should be a maid or two, a cook, and such as that. No one came to the door and I saw no one as we made our way down here.”

“She could have sent them away,” said Simon. “E’en if she didnae do it right away, I doubt anyone would have heard the poor man down here. I think she and her hulking great companion are also long gone.”

“Aye, they are too cunning to stay so close to a murder. She would ken that, as soon as we saw Edward, we could guess who she is. Do ye ken her name, Simon?”

“Nay. As I said—she was utterly forgettable. I will find someone who kens who she is though.”

“And then what?”

“First I will see if she has any kin near at hand or, more important, any kin that have recently been murdered. As soon as I gather as much information as I can on this mon’s wife, we return to our hunting.

What I am truly hoping for is that someone can give us a good description of who her large companion might be.”

“The huge shadow that can move about silently in the darkness and disappear like mist on a sunny morning?” asked Harcourt.

“Aye, that one.” Simon started to walk out of the dungeon. “He cannae have remained in the shadows all of his life. Someone has had to have seen him. Let us search the rest of this house and see if we can find anything that will help us.”

“What about that poor old fool Edward? Do we just leave him hanging there?”

“For now.”

After several hours of fruitless searching, Tormand rode beside Simon as they headed back home. It bothered him to leave poor Edward MacLean hanging in the dungeon, but Simon wanted to come back
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with a few of his men and deal with the body then. He hoped Simon gave the men some warning of what they were about to see before they went down those dark steps into that blood-soaked room of torture and death. Tormand had hoped they would find some trail to follow, but he was getting used to disappointment in this hunt. If the mad pair they hunted suffered from a blood lust of some sort, he hoped it was well fed for now.