Highland Sinner. Hannah Howell

my wee wise laddie. I shall try to study the ones I have had more intently.” Even if they do leave me both terrified and aching with lust, she thought ruefully. “Aye, I must, for I think he is stepping closer to the gallows every day.”

      “Morainn!” called a woman from somewhere in the front of the cottage.

      “Out in the garden, Nora!” Morainn smiled when her oldest and most faithful friend walked into the garden. “’Tis good to see ye. Let me clean up and we can have some cider, mayhap sit in the shade.”

      “That would suit me,” said Nora, as she lightly tousled Walin’s thick curls.

      It did not take long for Morainn to join Nora in the shade of the huge beech tree near the corner of her cottage. She handed her friend a tankard of cool cider and joined her on the rough bench made of old logs. Sipping at her cider, Morainn watched Walin play with the cats for a moment and then turned to Nora.

      “I am verra pleased to see ye, but I didnae really expect another visit from ye until next week,” Morainn said.

      Nora just blushed and held out her left hand.

      Morainn gaped at the little silver band her friend wore. “James finally asked ye to wed him? Ye are betrothed?” When Nora nodded, Morainn laughed and hugged her. “There is to be a proper wedding, aye?”

      “Och, aye. No hand-fasting for the likes of me. I am marrying up, ye ken, and I want nary a one in the town to question the right of the marriage.”

      The glint of stubbornness in Nora’s dark eyes told Morainn the woman meant every word. “James’s family accepts ye then?”

      “They do. They are good people and I dinnae fault them for trying to get my mon to look higher for a wife. I am nay some swineherd’s brat, but I am nay as weel-born as they are. Nor do I bring land to the marriage or even much of a dowry at all. But, they do ken love. James’s parents share it, ye see, and they couldnae deny their son the blessing of it.” Nora sat up straighter and looked Morainn right in the eye. “I told them that ye will be my attendant.”

      “Och, nay, Nora,” Morainn began to protest.

      “Aye, and I am proud to say that they gave me no argument, so ye need nay fret that ye will be unwelcome. The only question they had was, weel, about Walin. Ye ken that near everyone whispers that he is your bastard child.”

      “I ken it. It stings sometimes and can cause me a wee bit of trouble with men, but I would ne’er give him up.”

      “And so I told them. I also told them the truth about how he came to be living with ye. Do ye ken, the fact that ye kept the lad despite the trouble it has caused ye and the harm it has done to your good name—”

      “What good name? Ross witch?”

      Nora ignored that and continued, “And the fact that ye were still struggling to survive yourself seemed to win them o’er to your side immediately. That and the fact that ye were but thirteen when ye were tossed out to live all on your own. And done verra weel, too. They hadnae realized that ye were so verra young. 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.”

      “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