Highland Sinner by Hannah Howell Read Free Book Online

of the crowd to glare at Morainn. “Her kind always comes to where there is death. They can smell it, ye ken.”
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    “Dinnae be even more of a fool than ye already are,” snapped Morainn.
    “Fool am I? Hah, I say. Hah! I ken what ye are about, witch. Ye have come here to gather up the soul of that poor murdered lassie in there.”
    Morainn was about to tell the woman that she was an idiot when the murmuring of the crowd caught her attention. Several people were actually nodding in agreement with Old Ide’s nonsense. There were not that many, but there were far more than she could ever escape from. If Ide did not shut up, Morainn feared there would soon be even more people ready to heed the woman’s lies. Morainn remembered all too well how easily a crowd could be stirred by Ide’s words into a dangerous mob. Ignoring the threat of Ide’s hatred was what had killed her mother.
    “I was but trying to get home,” she said in what she prayed was a calm, soothing tone of voice.
    “Ye didnae need to stop here. Ye could have slipped around us. But, nay, here ye are, lurking in the shadows. I tell ye,” Ide yelled to the crowd, “she is after gathering that poor woman’s soul.”
    She looked at Sir William, hoping to find an ally, but he was looking at her as though he believed she could do exactly as Old Ide claimed she could. “I am nay a witch and I am nay here to catch souls,” she said.
    “Then why are ye e’en in town?” he demanded. “They banished ye, didnae they?”
    “They may have tossed me out, Sir William, but nay one of them complains when I come to heal them or spend what little coin I have in their shops.”
    “That still doesnae explain why ye were hiding here, lurking about in the shadows near my home.”
    “And why dinnae ye ask all of them what they are doing here?” She glared at Old Ide. “Aye, why dinnae ye ask why they flock here like corbies, feeding upon your misery?”
    Morainn wished the words back even as she said them. The crowd was incensed by them and that gave Ide a fertile crowd in which to sow her lies and their fears. There would be no help from Sir William, either. That man looked as if he expected her to start changing into some soul-stealing demon at any moment. Even as she fruitlessly tried to break free of the man’s grip, she attempted to reason with him and the crowd. It was obvious, however, that few of them wished to heed reason. Morainn began to fear that she was about to suffer far worse than banishment this time.
    “Silence!”
    The bellow that cut straight through all the noise the crowd made startled Morainn so much that she put her foot back down on the ground instead of kicking Sir William as she had planned to. Sir Simon and Sir Tormand stood on the front steps of the house, their hands on their swords, glaring at the now subdued crowd. Morainn prayed that they were going to prove to be the saviors she desperately needed right now.
    Nodding once he had the silence he had demanded, Sir Simon spoke in a quieter but still very firm voice as he asked, “What is going on out here? Have ye forgotten that this is a house of mourning?”
    “The witch is here, sir,” said Old Ide, pointing at Morainn.
    “Aye,” said a plump, graying woman who stepped up beside Ide. “Ide says that the witch has come to steal the dead lady’s soul.”
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    The look on Sir Simon’s face made several of the people in the crowd blush and stare down at their feet.
    Morainn was glad he was not aiming that look of utter disdain her way. She could not see Sir Tormand’s face as clearly, but the taut line of his fine profile told her that his expression was probably just as condemning.
    “None of ye should heed such superstitious nonsense,” Sir Simon said to the woman and then he looked at Ide. “And ye