The Harlot (24 page)

“No, I cannot go up there.” Just glancing up made her feel dizzy, and she swayed. The memories crowded in, and she squeezed her eyes shut. “I will fall.”

“My God, that's what it is.” He clasped her in his arms, steadying her. “I thought it was horses you were afraid of.”

“I know.”

“Why didn't you tell me?”

“Because you would think me a fool.”

“You are no fool.” Tipping her head back with his hand under her chin, he looked into her eyes under the faint glow
of moonlight that reached inside. “Then the cart was no better than the horse?”

She shook her head.

“And this?” He lifted her in his arms, and for a moment her feet lost contact with the floor.

He was thinking about that first night, in the tollbooth in Dundee, when he'd lifted her against the wall to gain better access to her. Laughing softly, she thumped his chest with her fist. “If you hold me, it is not so bad.”

That was the truth, but she had not even realized it was the case before she said it aloud.

He set her back down on the ground, but kept her close in his arms. “I wish you had told me.”

The way he studied her made her want to explain. There was no reason not to, now that he knew about her magic. And he
had
returned. “It was because they made me and my sister, Maisie, stand on the pillars at the church gates while they stoned our mother. They thought it would teach us right from wrong. A man forced me to watch, holding me upright when I nearly fainted, to teach me of her evil ways and what became of people who attempted to cure others of their ailments.”

“Oh, my precious.” Gregor held her against him.

She clutched him close and rested her head on his shoulder. “Whenever my feet leave the ground I am put back in that place. My gut churns and the world spins.”

Gregor's grip on her had tightened and she could tell he was about to respond. She shifted and rested her fingers over his lips, looking up at him. She could not bear it if he said anything. If he did, she would grow weak, and she didn't want that. “Please, make love to me instead. That makes me strong enough to fight the world.”

He squeezed her. “I know. I saw it last night.”

At her center, she ached for him. There in his arms she
was sure she needed to couple, more than anything in life. Partly because it gave her the power to sail through the day and address its trials, to influence matters in the house and sway the master. Already she felt the fire kindling. The source of her magic was building within her, set alight by the sure knowledge that they would mate and it would nurture her power. However, she also wanted Gregor Ramsay for a much more basic reason—desire. This man fired her blood like no other had, and it was hard to imagine that it would ever feel the same with another. Soon this task would be done and he would be on his way back to his ship. In the meantime she was grateful for the opportunity of each and every moment they shared.

He nodded over his shoulder, and guided her away from the entrance and into the gloom. “If they knew what you were and that you had removed those papers from the house, they would show less mercy than the crowd in Dundee.” With a sudden, swift move, he kissed her forehead. “I could not stand it if any harm came to you because of this.”

“It won't.” Grasping his hand, she led him to the stall at the end of the stable where hay was stacked for the horses' morning feed. “'Tis dark in here, but I feel sure you will find me,” she whispered, teasing him.

On her hands and knees, she scurried away from him, only to feel him clasp her waist and hold her still. She canted up her skirts and petticoat, then swayed her hips, inviting him closer. When his fingers wended their way around her hips and grasped her bottom, she tossed back her head joyfully. “It was that, you say, that first caught your eye?”

“It was.” He slapped her bared arse playfully, and then lifted her, stretching her knees wider and moving between her thighs. Her back arched and she swayed unsteadily while she waited breathlessly for his first thrust.

He seemed to be in no rush, however, for his hands outlined her bottom, squeezing the flesh possessively. “Ah, your delectable arse. How I missed seeing it these past two days.”

“Please, Gregor,” she begged.

“I intend to fill you, be sure of that.”

Nevertheless, he tortured her for several moments longer by stroking her damp folds, keeping her waiting. The intimate act made every part of her sizzle and burn. When his hand cupped the swollen flesh of her nether lips and he squeezed, hard, she gasped aloud. Then he splayed her wide open. Jessie almost fainted. The extreme state of arousal she was in made her body flash with heat and her skin grow damp. She braced herself for his entry, desperate for it.

His fingers groped, exploring her cunny. The brush of his knuckles as he turned his hand, reaching inside her, let loose a ragged cry. “Ah, please,” she blurted, “take pity on me.”

“Hush, now, my precious harlot. I have the remedy for what ails you.” He moved the blunt head of his erection along her slippery opening.

Oh, yes.
She shifted her weight, leveled her head. The stiff fabric of her stays and bodice chafed at her breasts, and beneath her knees rough needles of hay tugged at her woolen stockings. But all that faded to nowt when he drove his length into her, stretching her open, filling her.

Dizzying light akin to shooting stars filled her vision. All she could do was pant for breath as the contact took her over. Then he rode her, in and out. Each time he filled her anew, she felt faint with pleasure. Her thighs shuddered. Her cunny swallowed his length each time, and then he pressed home and the blunt head of his rigid shaft massaged her deep inside, making her wriggle and buck.

“You are most eager,” he commented, and there was humor in his tone.

His hand resting on her back did nothing to calm her. The stall had become increasingly hot, as if a storm was building. Beyond the wooden panels that separated them, the horses snuffled and shifted.

“I cannot deny it.” Hot juices ran down her thighs. She shoved her fingers deeper into the hay bale. Her senses were so keen and sharp that each blade of hay seemed to connect with the wild tingling at her center, heightening her restless state. Her arms shook with the effort to remain upright, and her breasts felt unbearably crushed within her stays, the nipples rigid and stinging.

Then she felt his fingers stroking her most sensitive spot. He had bent over her back and reached between her thighs to rub her swollen nub, seemingly determined to bring her off while he held back.

“Gregor!” Her sheath tightened and she hit her peak. It was so sudden and all-encompassing that her forearms gave way and she slumped against the hay bale she had previously braced against.

“Can you take more?” There was amusement in his voice now.

He'd been holding back. That renewed her flame.

Struggling upright, she pushed him onto his back and climbed over him, straddling his hips. Need rolled through her when she stroked his bowed shaft. It jerked eagerly, and she found the surface hot and clammy from being inside her. She mounted him, taking him to the hilt. At first she could scarcely breathe, because it felt so good. Then she arched over him and found his mouth, kissing him fleetingly. Their fingers meshed, and she felt his encouragement in the squeeze of his strong hands.

She was powerful because of this.

His rod pushed up against her center, making her entire
body hum. Quickly she worked him and they raced for the prize, moving urgently in rhythm until he whispered her name and his cock exploded inside her. Bending over him, she worked him still, grinding her hips from side to side as she kissed his face in the darkness. It was the last jerk of his cock that tipped her over the edge and melted her to him.

They rolled free of each other, then together again, facing one another.

“You are radiant, my sweet.” He stroked her hair back from her forehead. “If you know magic like this, why have you worked as a whore?”

Instinctively, she bristled.

“I only want to understand you better,” he added.

“I worked at other things. I was brought up by a family who feared me. Ran away when I was old enough to know how. For a time I lived in the woods and I was happy.” Jessie sighed as she remembered. It had been a good time. Hard, but good. It felt right to be there so close to nature, but when winter came she'd sought help. A widow woman took her in, in exchange for work on her patch, doing things that she could no longer manage.

“Then I worked on the land, in exchange for a bed. Eventually I moved on.” The widow woman had died, and distant neighbors arrived to pick her home clean, casting Jessie out as they did so. One of them had even accused her of making her employer sick.

“I made my way to Dundee, because that's where my father had gone.”

“Your father? You have not mentioned a father before.”

“I did not know him. He left before I was born, went to sea, by all accounts. My mother waited and waited for him to return, as he'd said he would, and eventually she told us we would find him, and went after him. Determined to locate
him, she was.” Jessie laughed softly. “Perhaps she couldn't face the fact he had left her with three bairns.”

It was magic that had made him run. That was something they knew by instinct. Still, she had followed the trail south. “When we came to the Lowlands, however, things changed. My mother's talent for magic and healing brought trouble.”

Gregor drew Jessie closer and kissed her face.

For a moment she allowed herself to feel only that, the tenderness of his embrace and the succor he offered.

“What of your father?”

“Oh, I asked about him in every inn in Dundee, but none knew him, or at least none that would admit to it.”

“I will ask, when my ship returns. If he is still alive I can help you find him.”

Jessie pressed a finger to Gregor's lips. “I fear the moonlight has touched your mind and addled it,” she teased. “If he is still alive, he will be a stranger to me. I have long since given up hope. The best I can do is return to the Highlands, where we were once happy and safe, and where Lennox and Maisie may be waiting for me.”

“Your kin?”

“Maisie is my sister, and my twin. Lennox was several years older than us.”

“Twins often have a bond.”

She nodded, once again touched by Gregor's sensitivity on such matters. He was curious about her siblings, and yet he had said he had none. “Sometimes I feel her close to me, as if her thoughts and mine collide. I think she has fared better than I have, but I know that might just be hope and wishes leading my thoughts.” Jessie pressed her hand to her heart when the familiar ache passed through her.

“And your brother?”

“He was a wild one.”

“Wilder than you?”

“Oh, aye.” Lennox sometimes appeared to her in dreams, and those dreams were always filled a dark sense of foreboding. “He had the gift even as a lad, and he played with it more than we did, learning fast.” It had brought him trouble, as it had her, perhaps even more so. She pushed away the clouds that hovered, offering Gregor a smile. “It's been a long time now I've been trying to earn a purse to carry me back to my beginnings.”

“And whoredom was the best way?”

Was that a note of disapproval in his voice? Now, after all that had gone between them? The notion intrigued her. Was he jealous, curious, or simply disapproving? The latter was not unusual; most people considered whores no better than vermin. Yet he had been much more possessive of her since she had left his side. The times they had met secretly at Balfour Hall were even more passionate than before. These two nights had been her happiest ever, yet the two of them were on a knife's edge. The threat of discovery lurked, her condemnation far too recent to ignore, and even when they were free of this task and Gregor's burden had been lifted, that moment would bring pain, because he would be gone. “You disapprove of whores, even though you use them?”

“I am curious about your reasons, that is all.”

“People pay less attention to harlots, and wherever I went suspicion about my craft followed. Besides, I had run out of choices…there was no other option.” It smarted, for she had pride, even though she'd had to bury it. She and Gregor were being honest with one another now, however, and Jessie saw no reason to pretend her life had not been hard.

But he was listening to her silently, and her discomfort about her confession grew. “Surely you cannot hate me for being a whore, when you seem to enjoy using me as such.”

“No.” There was regret in his voice. Why?

“If I had not been a whore,” she added, “you would not have found me.” She reached for him, wishing she could see him better in the gloomy stall, watching for his reaction. As she did, her heart beat a little faster.

He narrowed his eyes, but she could just see his faint smile. “You are a provocative woman, Jessie. Do you want me to be angry?” He rested his thumb against her chin, his mood thoughtful. “Or jealous, perhaps, the way I was when you dallied with Mister Grant?”

They were dancing around one another again, just as they had the night before, and she had to work hard to feign denial a moment longer. “Why would you be jealous? I am a servant to you, no more. You were annoyed about Mister Grant only because you had invested time and money in me. You need me to seduce your enemy. That's my task.”

In a flash he was over her, pinning her down with the weight of his body. “Leave this place. I want you to come back with me now.” He rained passionate kisses on her neck while he rocked his hips against hers. “I know enough already. There is no need for you to seduce Wallace.”

Jessie smiled into the darkness and drew her lower lip between her teeth, her hips rising to meet his. “Why, Mister Ramsay, I think you are allowing your cock to think for you.”