Free Highland Sinner by Hannah Howell Page A

is also the fact that the killer could follow Tormand if he went somewhere else and then women would begin to die there.”
    “Are ye so verra certain that this is all connected to him in some way?” asked Harcourt, his amber eyes holding the hard look of a warrior ready to go to battle.
    “We have no proof,” replied Simon, “but I do believe it is. There are a few lasses left in this town whom he hasnae bedded.” A smile flickered over Simon’s mouth when Tormand grunted in annoyance over that remark. “But none of them have been killed. ’Tis why the belief that it is naught but coincidence is fading a little more each day, and with each death. Two of the women’s husbands dinnae openly accuse Tormand, but they do naught to quell the growing suspicions, either. The only husband who might have spoken up for him has returned his wife’s body to their lands and he will undoubtedly stay there awhile, if only to comfort his wee sons.”
    “The more ye talk the less there seems we can do to put a stop to this.”
    “We can only keep hunting. Aye, ’tis maddening that we have gained so little from all our work, but one thing I have learned from all my years of solving such puzzles is that a mistake will be made. Something will be found that will lead us closer, mayhap e’en to the killer’s door. Someone will see something or Page 32
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    hear something that will help us find this beast. Or the killer will become so arrogant that he will no longer take such care not to be found.”
    “Or we can take something ye found near one of these women to the Ross witch and let her do a seeing,” said Walter, shrugging as everyone stared at him.
    Simon pulled the bone hairpins he had found out of his purse and studied them. “’Tis a thought, Walter.
    One I believe Tormand has had, especially since he has seen the witch.”
    Walter grimaced, making his face even more homely than it usually was. “That may nay be good.”
    “Ye kenned what she looked like?” Tormand asked his squire.
    “But first,” Simon said, quickly interrupting what was obviously going to be an argument, and looking at Tormand, “we need ye to make a list of all the women ye have bedded in this town and those living near at hand. Mayhap the ones who travel with the court as weel.”
    “The women who arenae dead willnae like me telling what they may have kept secret from everyone,”
    said Tormand.
    “I fear there has been little secrecy about your many frolics. I believe I could probably make a fairly accurate list myself simply from the gossip I have heard, but a few women may have been discrete. Do ye ken, they treat bedding ye almost as if it is some trophy they have won?”
    Tormand felt a blush heat his cheeks and glared at his kinsmen when they all snickered, before turning his glare upon his friend. “Then I will make a list, but nay tonight.”
    “Nay. Tonight is for resting both our bodies and our wits.”
    Despite the need for rest, it was late before Tormand finally crawled into bed. Selfish though it was, he had kept his bedchamber to himself, leaving the other men to sort out where they would sleep. With Simon or Walter constantly at his side, Tormand had discovered that he savored this time alone to gather his thoughts and to shake off the frustration of hunting down a killer who was as elusive as smoke.
    His gut told him that he would soon have to run and hide. Simon was good at solving such puzzles, at hunting down the guilty, yet even Simon was finding nothing to lead them to the murderer. There would be another killing, of that Tormand had no doubt, and the killing would continue until he was standing on the gallows, dying for crimes he had not committed.
    He flung his arm over his eyes and struggled to force all thought of the murders from his mind. There was no gain in losing sleep over it all. A faint smile curled his mouth as the image of Morainn