Highland Sinner. Hannah Howell

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СКАЧАТЬ stared at Tormand for a moment before sheathing his sword. He sat down, poured himself a tankard of ale, and drank it all down. A shudder went through his tall, almost too lean frame, and then he poured himself another tankard full of ale.

      “Ye were there?” Simon finally asked in a much calmer tone of voice.

      “Aye.”

      Tormand drank some ale to prepare himself and told Simon everything he knew. He had not even finished his tale before he began to realize that he actually knew very little. All he could swear to was what he had seen—someone had killed Clara—and what he knew in his heart—that someone was not him. He did not know how he had been captured and taken to the room. He did not even know how Simon had become involved. It could have been simple bad luck, but Tormand’s instincts told him that it was much more than that. Although he had no proof of it, he felt certain it was all part of a plan. He just had to figure out what that plan was.

      “Why did ye go to see Clara?” he asked Simon. “Did her husband return, find her body, and then send for you?”

      “Nay. I received a summons I believed had come from Clara.” Simon shrugged. “It told me to arrive at her house with some of my men at a very precise time and to do so as furtively as possible.”

      “And ye acted on that? Did ye ken Clara weel enough for such a summons to make ye hie to her side?”

      “I didnae ken her as weel as ye did,” drawled Simon. “But, I did ken her weel enough. She was a cousin of mine.” He smiled faintly at the shock Tormand could not hide. “Dinnae fear that I will demand ye meet me at sword point to defend her honor. She had little left to defend. The woman had been lifting her skirts for the lads, any lad with a fair face, since not long after her first flux. She was ne’er sweet, rarely honest, and felt the world owed her homage simply because God had gifted her with a bonnie face. Nay, I did as she asked because I hoped she was about to give me proof of her husband’s many crimes, ones I have been looking into most carefully for months now. It was a faint hope as she benefited from his dealings, but I couldnae ignore it.”

      “Do ye think he may have killed her?” Tormand began doubting that possibility even as he asked Simon the question.

      “Nay. She was useful to him and, e’en if she had thought to betray him, she was cunning enough to keep him from discovering it, to make sure she could never be connected to that betrayal. As I said, I doubt she would e’er have betrayed the mon, for she fully enjoyed spending the coin he gained from all his crimes and lies. Yet, it can be no surprise that, upon seeing her butchered body, his was the first name that leapt to mind.”

      “But then ye found my ring in her hand.”

      “Aye.” Simon grimaced and dragged a hand through his thick black hair. “I couldnae believe it of ye and, yet, why was it there? And then I recalled that ye were once her lover. Jesu, I feared some madness had seized you and, like some rabid dog, ye needed to be cut down. I think a madness overcame me e’en to briefly consider that ye could do such a thing. ’Tis as if whoever did that to Clara left the stench of their insanity befouling that room and I breathed too deeply of it.”

      Tormand nodded. “I ken exactly what ye mean. When I realized that Clara must have been alive during some of the horrors inflicted upon her, I did wonder if someone had tortured her because they thought she had some information they needed.”

      “That is a possibility, although it doesnae explain why such an effort was made to make it look as if ye had committed the crime. There may be some cuckolded husbands who would like to see ye dead, but I cannae see why they would do something like this to strike out at you.”

      “I dinnae cuckold husbands. Nay knowingly.” Tormand hated the defensive note that entered his voice, but forced himself to ignore it. “Yet, I cannae shake the feeling that Clara was killed because of me, because she had once been my lover. It seems vain to think it—”

      “Nay. Ye were set there to be blamed for it and thus it must have something to do with you.” Simon rested his forearms on the table and stared into his tankard of ale. “Her husband didnae do it and he would have been a good suspect to look to. I ken where he was, ye see, and I ken he couldnae have come home, slaughtered Clara, and then returned to his mistress’s house near to ten miles away. As to torturing her for information? Weel, the mon certainly has enemies and many competitors who might think a wife would ken something about her husband’s business, something that would make it easier to crush him. But, I doubt Clara would have held fast to any knowledge she had beyond the first threat to her face. After that would have come a swift death, a stab to the heart or a slash across the throat. And in neither instance would ye have been dragged into the matter.” He looked at Tormand. “Aye, I think this is about you. The question is why?”

      “And who.”

      “Once we ken the why we can begin to look for the who.”

      Tormand felt sick. No woman deserved to die as Clara had simply because she had once shared his bed, or he hers. What sort of enemy was it that crept around slaughtering innocents in order to reach the one he truly wished to harm? It made no sense to Tormand. If a man wanted him dead but was too cowardly to do it himself, he could simply hire some other men to do his killing for him. Sadly, there were a lot that would take the job. If the plan was to blacken his name beyond fixing before he died, Tormand was certain that that too could be done without slaughtering a woman. This murder put his enemy at the risk of being caught and hanged, the very fate the man apparently wanted Tormand to suffer. But, then, what had been done to Clara carried the strong taint of madness and who could ever make sense of that?

      “My sins come back to haunt me now,” Tormand muttered.

      “Ye believe ye have sinned, do ye?” asked Simon, a faint smile curling his mouth.

      “Gluttony be a sin,” said Walter.

      “Thank ye, Walter,” drawled Tormand. “I believe I am aware of that.” He grimaced. “Aye, I have heard it said often enough from my mother, my sisters, my aunts, and near every other female in my clan.”

      “And, I suspicion, a few of the men.” Simon smiled more broadly when Tormand scowled at him. “Weel, ye truly have been a wee bit, er, gluttonous.”

      “I like frolicking about atween the sheets with a warm woman. What mon doesnae?”

      “Most men at least attempt to be somewhat, weel, prudent? Fastidious? Particular in their choices?”

      “All the lasses I have bedded have been bonnie and clean.” Mostly, he added to himself.

      “Your problem has always been too many choices, too much offered too freely.”

      “Aye,” agreed Walter. “The lasses do flock to the rogue.”

      “And the rogue accepts most of that flock all too readily,” said Simon.

      “I thought ye were my friend, Simon.” Tormand felt an odd mix of hurt and insult.

      Simon laughed softly. “Och, I am that, more fool me, but that doesnae mean I must blindly approve of all ye do. Aye, and mayhap I feel the touch of envy now and then. Tell me, Tormand, did ye like Clara even a little bit?”

      Tormand sighed. “Nay, but the lusting blinded me for a wee while. She was verra skilled.”

      “I СКАЧАТЬ