Highland Sinner. Hannah Howell

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      A low growl abruptly pulled Morainn’s attention from the chickens she was feeding. Her gray tabby William crouched on the low stone wall surrounding the rough chicken coop. The cat’s fur was all standing out and its ragged ears were flattened against its head. She looked in the direction it stared, but saw nothing. That did not immediately cause her to relax her guard, however. William might be just a cat, but the animal was never wrong when it sensed, and warned her of, a possible threat.

      Morainn had just finished shutting the chickens in the coop when she heard the sound of horsemen approaching and her heart skipped with fear. “Walin,” she called to the boy playing with a ball behind her cottage, “get in the house now.”

      Walin picked up his ball. “Ye wish me to hide?”

      “Aye, laddie, at least until I ken what the men riding this way are wanting of me.”

      “Mayhap ye should hide, too.”

      “They have already seen me. Go.”

      The moment the boy disappeared into the cottage, Morainn walked to the front of her home intending to meet her uninvited guests at her front door. A flicker of amusement went through her as her cats gathered around her, her big toms to the front on either side of her. She knew they could do little to help her fight against six men, and that such sights made too many people think of such things as familiars, but she did not order them away. If nothing else, she remembered all too well how often a nicely aimed slash of sharp claws had allowed her to get free of some fool man who thought she would welcome his attentions just because he had a coin or two. William in particular hated men and that had proved helpful from time to time.

      When the men were close enough for her to recognize them, Morainn felt her breath catch in her throat. Sir Tormand had come to her and she had to wonder why. Had someone told him that she had visions? Did he seek her help? If so, it would certainly help her to tell him about the visions she had already had. Sir Simon’s presence she could understand, but she wondered why the other four men had come. Such a show of force at her door made her uneasy.

      “Mistress Ross,” Sir Simon said in greeting, as he reined in before her, “we havenae come to cause ye any trouble.”

      “Nay?” She believed him, but still asked, “Then why the other men?”

      Sir Tormand cast a fleeting glare at the other men. “They claimed we needed protectors on the journey here.” He looked at her. “But the truth is they are but curious.”

      “To see the witch?” she asked, glancing at the four very handsome men. “Are ye going to introduce them to me?”

      Tormand sighed so heavily that she almost smiled. She remained coolly polite as he introduced his brothers Bennett and Uilliam and then his cousins Harcourt and Rory. They were all a treat for a woman’s eyes and Morainn found herself made a little uneasy by that. If nothing else, the gossip such a visitation could stir could prove very difficult to bear. Pushing aside her concern, she invited them all into her cottage, idly wondering if so many tall, strong men would actually fit.

      Just as she was about to lead them inside, Tormand paused by William. “That must be one of the biggest and strongest cats I have e’er seen,” he said and started to reach down to pat the cat.

      “’Ware, sir, William doesnae like men,” Morainn cautioned him, and then felt her heart skip in alarm for he was already scratching a strangely placid William behind its ragged ears. “How verra odd,” she murmured, praying this was not some sign, as she did not really want to trust Sir Tormand, at least not too much.

      “Mayhap it just didnae trust the other men it met with.” Tormand kept his tone of voice light and friendly, but inside he found himself wondering just who those other men might be.

      He frowned a little as she led them into her small, neat cottage. The thought of her with any man actually gnawed at him, tasting alarmingly like jealousy. He did not doubt that she was troubled by unwanted attentions from men who felt any woman alone was free for the taking, especially a poor one without any family left, but was there one she wanted?

      The fact that he felt eager for an answer to that question even as he almost dreaded it was a little alarming. He did not mind desiring her, but he did not want to feel any more than that. Tormand was not bothered by her birth or circumstances and he certainly did not care what superstitious fools thought she was, but he was just not ready to change his ways. A lover was what he wanted, no more. He was only one and thirty and in no need of an heir. He had a few more years of play left to get through before he started to look for anything more, anything deeper or lasting. He was not playing now simply because every man needed a rest, he told himself.

      When the little boy Walin was brought forward and introduced, Tormand had to fight to suppress a frown. With his blue eyes and thick black hair, Walin looked a lot like Morainn, but that was not what troubled him the most. There was something about young Walin that strongly reminded Tormand of someone. Tormand could not grasp the memory that tickled at the edges of his mind, however.

      They were soon all crowded around her table, each with a tankard of cider, and a plate of honey-sweetened oatcakes set in the middle of the table. Talk was idle for a few moments and Tormand watched his kinsmen flirt with Morainn. The annoyance he felt over that troubled him so much that he was beginning to think coming to see her had been a very bad idea. Then she fixed her sea-blue eyes on him and he felt his heart skip in welcome.

      This was not good, he mused. Not good at all. Unfortunately, he did not have any urge to flee what was beginning to feel too much like a trap too many of his kinsmen had fallen into—the kind that ensnared a man’s heart.

      “’Tis pleasant to have company to break up the tedium of the day,” Morainn said, “but I dinnae think ye rode here just to introduce your kinsmen, Sir Tormand.”

      “Nay, especially since I didnae invite the fools to ride with me and Simon,” Tormand replied, and sent his grinning kinsmen a brief scowl. “They have decided I need to be protected and stick like burrs.”

      Morainn felt a strong twist of envy in her heart. Even though Tormand was glaring at the others, she knew he cared for them. They were family and she sensed that those bonds were both deep and wide. She had never truly had a family. Once her father had left, shortly after her birth according to her mother, her mother had apparently lost interest in being a true loving mother. She had never harmed Morainn, but the woman had rarely displayed any true affection for her only child. Morainn had spent her growing years being made to feel little more than a burden.

      She hastily shook aside the envy and regrets. Her mother had made sure that her child had always had food to eat, clothes to wear, and a roof over her head. She had also taught Morainn everything she knew about the healing arts, the one thing Anna Ross had actually felt passionate about. That knowledge had allowed СКАЧАТЬ