The Harlot (16 page)

Desire kept nudging into his thoughts, making a mockery of his intentions. Jessie's womanly wiles had got the better of him.
She's a whore,
he reminded himself, trying desperately to force his thoughts onto the grand plan he had been building these past eleven years.

After what seemed far too long, he saw her wending her way back to him, hiking up the hill toward the woods. Never had he met a woman more sturdy and determined. Yet it was that very thing that also made her headstrong and wild, difficult to manage and rebellious. How easily she had broken free of him. At the present moment, they were attuned in purpose. With her, that could change at any moment.

Drawing to a halt before him, she put her hands on her hips,
panting and puffing from her climb. Those blue eyes of hers were gleaming like gems. Her chest rose and fell, her breasts swelling enticingly from her bodice, the color in her cheeks high. What had she done down there?

After she caught her breath, she locked eyes with him. “What is his name?”

Was it time to trust her with more details? She would have to know soon enough. “Ivor Wallace.”

She considered Gregor at length. “Tell me what he did to you. I want to know.”

Curses.
It was the last thing he expected her to say. Women had to know everything. It did not suit him to share more than he already had. He shook his head. “No. I cannot explain.”

“You must, Gregor. I need to know.” She stepped closer. “I need to feel your anger and your fire in order to help you with this.”

He studied her and found her expression serious—serious and sharp, as sharp as he had known she would be that first night. For all her mischief, her disobedience and the bawdy games, there was much to Jessie Taskill. In that moment he knew that he had only begun to explore the deeper parts of her, the parts she did not show to everyone. Why did he want to be the one to discover every secret she held?

“I
want
to help you with this.” With one hand she reached out to touch him, wrapping her fingers around his upper arm through his frock coat, squeezing him as if encouraging him. “I've been down there and it will be easy for me to return and gain entry, but you must help me determine my true cause—your cause. I am bonded with you, and I can take your fire and use it.”

That statement was delivered as if it was a simple fact, and yet it carried so much meaning, more weight than she perhaps knew.

With a rueful smile, he drew her closer to him with his hands around her back. “The heavy purse I offered you is not enough of a motive?”

She lifted her shoulders in a shrug and rested her hands on his chest, looking up at him most earnestly. “It is enough, of course it is.” A frown gathered her slender eyebrows together. “How can I explain?”

She glanced away and then back, and he could tell she was thinking hastily. This was important to her. He stayed quiet, allowing her to find her way.

“I can take the purse, just as I can bed a man and take his money. But if that man causes me to desire him…” She walked her fingertips up to his collarbone, then pinched his chin and widened her eyes at him. “I can enjoy it, and thus make more of it for us both.” She chuckled, pleased with her point of comparison. “And then, of course, I'd take his purse for what I am owed.”

Gregor moved his hands to her waist, which he clasped possessively. Amused, he shook his head. How easily she could distract him. “I find that your explanation clouds my judgment.”

His lust was rising, and he was fast forgetting his cause. “I take your comments as an indication that you enjoy what we have had together?”

She nodded.

“In that case it is more of this mutual pleasure that fills my head now.”

Jessie slapped her hand against his arm. “Oh, hush now. You know that much is true, or you'd be a fool not to.”

She paused a moment and eyed him up and down. “Now, tell me what went on that has driven you to this. It will help me. Please. I told you my sorry tale, and you accepted me into
your arms still. It cannot be any worse than that, and even if it was, I need to know.”

Did
she need to know? Perhaps she did.

Unbidden emotions knifed through him.

Could he put it into words? He did not want to share his grief with her. Yet she had hit upon a truth. He needed to face what had happened. He needed to feel it again, in order to press on with this. Lately he had felt his purpose falter, as if he had been distracted from it by the elements of the task itself.

Yes, it would do him good to remember, to feel the anger once more. He looked down into her eyes, and there was such an earnest appeal in them that he grabbed her against him and kissed her forehead, then gazed over her head toward the place beyond the forest, the valley where Strathbahn lay.

“I'll show you,” he responded gruffly, and before she had a chance to respond, he grasped her hand and led her back to where they had left the horses.

GREGOR FELL SILENT AS THEY RODE ONWARD.

Jessie respected that, remaining quiet despite the vast number of questions that popped into her head. All the while she observed him in sidelong glances. He remained inscrutable. It unnerved her. Moments before they had been together in thought and goal—hand in glove, and twice as intimate. Now that he had agreed to reveal more of his motives, it was as if he had set her apart from him.

She could explain that to herself easily enough. He was taking her away from his enemy's stronghold so that he could tell her what had happened without that looming manor house intruding on their discussion. She could understand that. It was not a happy home. That knowledge she'd gleaned quickly during her hasty foray around its boundaries.

Cautiously, she had circled Balfour Hall, studying the make and mood of the place and observing its many doors and windows from the bushes and shrubs in the fancy gardens. It was easy enough to see what went on where, with the drawing Gregor had made for her lodged in her memory. At each
hidden observation point she created a spell, marking the spot by drawing a cross in the dirt with a stick.

“Bheir mi-gniomh dhan taigh seo,”
she'd whispered, drawing chaos to the places she had marked. When anyone passed those signs in the dirt, trouble would break out within the household.

Each time she laid the spells she was increasingly awed at the growing strength of her magic. The places she had marked glowed, intense heat coming from them as she whispered her enchantments. Instinctively, she knew that it was because of her involvement with Gregor. The bond she felt with him and the pleasurable tumbles they had shared fed her ability. Every day that passed she noticed the change.

The knowledge made her more confident, and she took pride in her work. She had been thorough and had woven a web of such spells all the way around the building. Soon enough, they would need extra hands to manage the house, and then she would arrive on the doorstep, readied by Gregor for her task.

Balfour Hall was a grand place, grander than any she had ever been inside. But its walls were laden with its unhappy history and the legacy of tormented souls within. She did not relish the thought of abiding there, and that, above all, was why she needed to know Gregor's reasons for this task.

Jessie wanted to feel what he felt on the matter. For that, he apparently needed to take her beyond the forest. He was not happy about it, but he had agreed. As soon as they were out from beneath the soothing cover of the canopy his mood turned dark. She sensed that even without speaking to him. He had been unsettled when she returned from the manor house, and now it was as if any shred of good humor had vanished. It was to be expected, for she already knew his reasons were
deep, complex, and obscured by fancy talk of business and retribution.

The hills rolled out before them, lush and green in the summer sunlight. The landscape was unbroken by either lane or passerby, and Jessie noticed that the grass was greener than any she had ever seen. It lured her, and she felt the urge to stop her horse and dismount, to roll on the ground and absorb the glory of nature into her body. It was only the fact that she knew Gregor would not approve—especially in his current disgruntled mood—that she resisted. There would be other times.

Here and there they passed stone boundaries and clusters of sheep. Gregor glowered at the poor creatures, as if they were his enemy.

Eventually they came within sight of a tumbledown farmhouse and outbuildings—a shell of a house nestled in the pretty valley. Jessie was about to comment on it when she noticed the set of his mouth.

More than that, it was the pain in his eyes that struck her. Her chest tightened.

This was the place he was bringing her to.

Peering at the remaining stones, she could see that the house had been uninhabited for many years. The door frame was charred as if by fire, and the roof was stripped bare. The patch of land that had once been a garden was barren.

“What is this place?”

He continued to stare over at the sparse wreckage for several long moments before he replied. “Strathbahn. My home.”

She looked at it again, then back at him. This was going to be difficult. His reluctance to speak had grown along the way. Now misery and fury marked his expression in equal measures. Jessie was beginning to feel the true depth of his need for revenge.

The horses wandered the last few feet, and when Gregor dismounted, she followed. He did not even stop to secure the animals, and she hurriedly gathered their reins and tethered them to a post at the boundary wall of the old farmhouse.

It was as if the place called to him now, and he walked as if drawn by a rope. She hurried after him. By the time she caught up, he had ducked his head and gone through the doorway.

Inside, the place was just as desolate and uncared for, with weeds growing through the walls and dried bracken in the corners where it had been blow in windy weather. Two remaining beams overhead showed signs of fire, the charred logs stretched precariously across the open space. Gregor stood staring fixedly at the hearth, or what remained of it.

Jessie picked her way carefully across the rubble. “You lived here with your mother?”

He shook his head. “The cough took her from us when I was four years of age. Agatha was her name. My father used to take me to visit her grave every Sunday after the service. Aside from that I scarcely remember her. However,” he added bitterly, “I'm glad that she did not survive to witness what happened to us.”

The bitterness he felt seemed to give him some strength. He forced his head up and she noticed he glared at the charred beams with hatred. His handsome mouth was tightly shut, his eyes narrowed as he stared at the place. Had his enemy done this? Had Ivor Wallace burned down their home?

“It was my father who brought me up.”

Jessie could feel the depth of his emotion, the pain and sorrow that swelled within him, filling the broken-down house with bad feeling. “Your father?”

“Yes. Hugh Ramsay was his name. He was a good man, and he brought me up well, teaching me everything he knew.
But sometimes good people are vulnerable, because they are kind and try to help others.”

Jessie could scarcely breathe. His words and the tense set of his shoulders boded badly, and she feared she had done the wrong thing, forcing him to explain.

“This land had been owned and worked by our line for three generations. Every day he told me that he worked it so that I could be proud of it, as he was. Then, one day, he stopped saying that.”

“I was eighteen or so when I realized that he was worried.” Gregor continued to speak, but it took effort and he spoke slowly. “The best of our cattle died, you see. He did not tell me until much later that they had been poisoned.”

Gregor paused. Jessie realized how hard that must have been.

“I worked the land with him, but he kept secret how badly he was suffering. At first he was forced to sell Wallace part of the far fields. That's what he really wanted, the land. Wallace's goal was to own the whole area, and he would turn people out of their homes if he had to. Bad deeds were done at his hands.”

Gregor had wandered closer to the hearth and put his hand on the stone mantel above it. “His methods to obtain the land of others were underhanded. He destroyed crops and stole cattle. Then Wallace would come in like a benevolent neighbor and offer coin where it was needed. We were not the first, but with my father he was particularly cruel, for they had been friends once.”

“When he forced Da to sign over the remaining land and our home, he told him that he had arranged the whole pitiful downfall. Laughed in his face, he did.”

Jessie ached for Gregor. She went to reach out to him, but
it was as if she was not there. His reflections had taken him back to that time, far away from her.

“My father could not live with the shame. Nor could he face me. He'd lost all we had to Wallace. I came home from Craigduff that night and it was all over. He left me a letter, explaining what had happened, and he left me an apology for letting Wallace ruin our lot.” Gregor lifted his hand, pointing to a burned beam overhead. “I found him here.” His voice had dropped, scarcely above a whisper. “He'd hanged himself.”

“Oh, Gregor, no.” Jessie reeled with shock.

It was as if a veil had been lifted, and now she could understand him—and understand him she did. This was what had driven him to make enough of a fortune to come back here and seek his revenge. As a bairn she had not been able to be strong for her mother, and she could see that Gregor carried a similar burden, only his was much greater. She'd been a helpless child when her mother was put to death. He'd been older and perhaps could have helped, had he known. She stared at the charred beam, imagining how he might have felt, seeing his beloved father hanging there.

“I thought perhaps your enemy had torched the place,” she murmured.

“No. I did.” His voice had turned to ice. Steely determination shone in his eyes.

A dark tremor ran through her.

“After I buried him, I came back here and set fire to the place. I decided that if Wallace wanted it, he would not have it the way we'd left it.” He shrugged. “It was not until years later that I realized he did not care for the house. He didn't use it or offer it to tenants. It was all about power to him.”

“The more land he had to his name, the higher his position in life?”

Gregor nodded, but still did not look her way.

Jessie's heart ached for him, and her belly churned as she felt all his grief. Beyond that, she saw all too clearly what it had done to him, how the anger had controlled his life. He needed this to be over, to gain retribution so that he could truly bury his father.

It was as if he was back there; she could see that in his eyes. As if he was the one who had to let down his father's corpse. She saw him there with his father's crumpled body on the floor at his feet, grief blinding him, the loss building into something that would take him many years to control, to understand and to vow to revenge. Would the revenge he sought ever be enough to heal those wounds? she wondered.

Jessie had grown fond of him, and it was in her nature to reach out to those who were suffering, even though that often brought trouble her way.
I will help him with this. I will make it right.

“Gregor.” She squeezed his arm.

Turning to face her, he stared at her vaguely at first, as if he did not recognize her. When he finally focused on her, his eyes narrowed. “Are you happy, now that you know?”

He was angry.

Jessie peered up at him with deep concern. “I had to under stand your quest for vengeance. I have thought of such things myself, often, after what happened to my mother. The truth of the matter is that revenge on your enemy will not change history.”

That was quite clearly not something he wanted to hear, for he glowered at her. Jessie had not faced a challenge such as this, not ever. She reached for his arm again, eager to calm his thoughts and comfort him.

“You wanted to know,” he muttered, and jerked his arm away. “Now you can do what you promised you would do.
Gain his ear, inform me what land he is selling and I will buy it. This will be over once I claim back what is ours.”

It was as if a door had been slammed in her face.

“Gregor, wait.”

But he turned away from her, walked out of the house and strode rapidly across the walled area to his horse, mounting quickly and slapping the beast on the rear. Jessie watched in dismay as the horse galloped off, back in the direction from which they had come. Grabbing her skirts in her hands, she followed, cursing herself for having quizzed him. He had not wanted to come here, and yet she had to know, even though it had put him in a foul mood. And now she had to get back on her own mount without assistance.

Flustered, she tried to repeat the enchantment she'd made earlier, the one that kept her rear end in the saddle, whatever happened. It was the only way she could bring herself to ride, so great was her fear of falling. She knew that for most people the distance to the ground was pitiful, but for her it took her back to an unhappy moment. The moment when she had been forced to stand on a stone wall outside the village kirk and watch her mother be put to death.

The horse was restless, eager to be gone with its companion. As she looked beyond it, she saw Gregor and his mount about to disappear beyond the hilltop. Panic struck her, for she would have to find her own way if he did not slow down and wait for her.

“I will not fall,” she chanted under her breath, eyes closed and forehead pressed against the flank of the horse. “And I vow that I will not let Gregor down, whatever foul mood I have brought about through my wretched curiosity.”