Highland Sinner. Hannah Howell

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      “Weel, that was fun,” muttered Tormand an hour later, as he followed Simon into one of the tunnels Clara’s lovers had slipped through on far too many nights.

      Ranald had been nearly as bad as Tormand had feared. It was plain for anyone to see that the man was angry, perhaps even honestly grieving, and that he saw Tormand as a perfect target to aim that fury at. If not for Simon’s uncanny ability to interrupt and end such tense confrontations, Tormand suspected that he and Ranald would have been at sword point now, fighting in the great hall of the very house where Clara had died.

      “I briefly wondered if he had actually loved Clara, but, nay, I think he but grieves the loss of her influence,” Simon said, as he walked along very slowly, holding a bright lantern as he studied the ground in front of him. “Whore she may have been, but she did have some influence. She also gained a lot of useful information from the men she took to her bed, the kind of information that helped Ranald a lot. He must also still suffer from the sight of what was once his beautiful wife. Still, I shall look harder at the possibility that he killed her.” Simon suddenly halted. “Aha, look at this,” he murmured as he crouched down.

      Tormand crouched beside Simon and looked closely at the spot his friend studied so intently. “Blood?”

      Simon lightly touched a finger to the spot, licked his finger and, ignoring Tormand’s grimace of distaste, nodded. “Definitely blood. We are in luck. The stone floor in this tunnel didnae allow it to sink into the ground and ’tis cool enough down here to keep it from hardening into nay more than a stain.” Simon stood up. “I think we have found our trail.”

      His hope that a quick solution to this mystery might be found rose as Tormand followed Simon. The trail led them out of the passage into the back alley and continued north. It disappeared behind the stables run by the most popular inn in town where the constant traffic of people and horses had wiped it clean. Simon took nearly an hour searching in all directions to see if he could find the trail on his own before he went to get a dog. Tormand stayed close by his side, although his hope for a swift solution was beginning to fade away rapidly.

      As soon as Simon’s dog Bonegnasher caught the scent they moved quickly and once again Tormand found his hopes rising. The race ended at a deserted hovel at the edge of town. Tormand could smell the blood as he and Simon stepped inside. He did not need Simon’s skills to know that they had found the place where Clara had been tortured. The killer had not bothered to clean up after butchering the woman. Tormand felt the sting of bile in the back of his throat, but forced himself to stay with Simon. The way Simon so calmly and carefully looked over the bloody scene made Tormand determined to overcome his own squeamishness.

      He did not have the strong gifts so many of the women in his family possessed, especially since his branch of the clan was not actually blood related, but he did have a small skill at sensing emotion, at times almost scenting it in the air. It was not easy here where the air was so thick with the stench of blood, but Tormand closed his eyes and tried to reach out to the echoes of the feelings left behind by those who had been here before him. It was a trick one of his more gifted cousins had shown him and it did allow him to make the most use of his meager talent. The sharp tang of fear was no surprise, but once he pushed beyond that, Tormand sensed other things. Lingering in the air was the anger and hatred he had suspected was behind the mutilation. Those feelings were tainted with something he could only assume was madness.

      “Get anything?” asked Simon.

      Tormand opened his eyes, realizing that Simon had probably guessed that he had some little gift a long time ago. “Fear, anger, hatred. There is a coldness to the latter two. But, there is also something else. I think it is madness.”

      “Most certainly.”

      “Did ye find anything?” Tormand asked, as he followed Simon outside and took a deep breath in the hope of clearing the stench of death from his nose.

      “Nay more than that this is where the crime was committed. By the time Clara was carried out of here she was already dying.” Simon held out his hand. “I also found this.”

      Tormand frowned at the small hairpin Simon held. “Clara’s?”

      “Nay, this is a common bone one. Clara would never wear such a thing.” Simon put it in his pocket. “It could have belonged to a woman who once lived here, but I will keep it all the same.”

      “So we have failed.”

      “Aye and nay. We havenae found the killer, true enough, but I didnae expect to. Nay, that will take time.”

      “Another woman could die.”

      “I fear so, but there is naught we can do about that.”

      “We must just wait until it happens?”

      “We cannae set a guard on every woman in the town, Tormand. Nay, we just keep hunting, my friend. Hunting until we catch and cage this bastard.”

      And pray I dinnae hang first, Tormand silently added.

      Chapter 3

      Morainn struggled to ignore the way the shopkeeper crossed himself as she entered the small dim room where he displayed his wares. She was tempted to leave, СКАЧАТЬ