The Harlot (25 page)

The laugh he gave was gentle. “Perhaps, but I hold the same opinion as my cock.”

Closing his handsome face between her palms, she shook her head. “I do not have to seduce him in order to hold sway over him.”

Gregor peered at her, then stroked his hand over hers, meshing their fingers. “Magic?”

“I have today influenced what he will sell. As you saw on
the list, it will go to auction soon. If you want your father's land back, you can bid on it.” She thought that would please Gregor, but his frown remained.

“It is dangerous, using magic. Word may have come from Dundee about your escape. Your name will be whispered.”

It was true. A raw sense of clarity descended upon them. “No one has witnessed my actions, only the results.”

Gregor's mood was somber as he considered her words. “Be sure that is how things remain. Promise me you will not use magic when anyone else is there?”

That was difficult to promise, since she might need it to protect herself. “Please do not fret, Gregor.”

He was silent awhile, but his restlessness did not abate, as if a deep unhappiness pervaded his soul. “Has Wallace tried to touch you?”

Jessie drew a deep breath. “Scarcely. The will is there, but he has other concerns at the moment.”

Gregor did not seem convinced. “There is no need to go back. You have brought more than enough information already.”

“We do not know when the land will go to auction,” she answered. “That information will help you, and then you will be rid of this need to avenge your father.”

He considered her silently before he replied. “The date of the sale does not matter. I will wait close to Saint Andrews until it is time. I have told the auctioneer I will pay him well, and he will tell me when the time comes. Please, Jessie. You have more than earned your wages. Leave with me now and you can be on your way to the Highlands in the morning.”

On her way to the Highlands.

A few days ago she would have grabbed the opportunity and would be making merry as she went on her way. Instead, the thought made her heart sink. If she were to leave in the
morning, she would never see Gregor again. That time would come soon enough, she knew, but she wasn't ready yet.

Deep in her heart she felt it was not the right time, because she was just starting to learn things for him.
Or am I just blinding myself to the fact that I have grown to care for this man and cannot bear the idea of bidding him a final farewell?

“His suspicions will be raised if I leave now.” Stubbornly, she rose to her feet and straightened her clothing. “I will go back to the house now. I have to return the papers, or this auction will not go ahead at all. You know that much is true.”

He gave a frustrated sigh and made ready to leave the stall. “I suppose you are right.”

When they arrived at the entrance, she studied him in the better light. “I will keep my ears and eyes open, and meet you here tomorrow night.”

There was a frown creasing his forehead. “Make ready to leave soon.”

“Soon, yes.”

“And you will not seduce him?”

She rolled her eyes. “No, Gregor, I will not seduce him, despite the fact that is what you spent so long training me to do.”

Gregor's mood remained serious. In fact, he seemed almost woebegone as he considered her remark. “I confess that the idea torments me. Wallace is my enemy, and I would not wish him on any woman. In our short acquaintance I have come to realize it was wrong of me to expect that of you.”

For some odd reason Jessie felt as if both tears and laughter were about to assault her. But when she saw his serious expression she quelled the laughter and dabbed at her eyes, blinking away the emotion. “I will be safe. Now let me finish what I promised I would do for you.”

“You are a headstrong woman. I can tell you are set on this, but I would be happier if you left with me now.”

“Those words make me stronger.” Her heart brimmed. “Promise me this—that when we are done with this task you will hold me and kiss me while I wear my blue silk gown one last time, before we say farewell.”

He snatched her against him. “The gown is yours.” He kissed her mouth, softly brushing her lips with his. “I promise.”

She melted into him, her head tipping back.

It was even harder to part than it had been the night before. They lingered there at the corner of the manor house exchanging long kisses, their fingers entwined, their bodies pressed together.

Eventually she drew away and placed her fingers to his lips.

The feeling of elation that had encompassed her slowly ebbed as she parted from him. When she reached the door, she glanced through the small windowpane, a feeling of trepidation rising. Inside, the kitchen was all in darkness. She'd told Gregor she was safe. Was she? Drawing a deep, steadying breath, Jessie opened the door and crept inside.

Once her eyes grew accustomed to the gloom she made her way through the passageways and into the grand hallway beyond. It was then that a feeling of extreme unease took hold of her. Squinting in the gloomy hallway, she looked toward her destination, the room with the cabinet, where the lists must be returned. Under her shawl, she gripped the rolled papers tightly. Then registered the fact that the parlor door had opened.

Cormac emerged. A bottle dangled from his hand, one he had purloined from the master's special supply that he kept in that room, no doubt.

Jessie stepped to the far side of the hallway, into the shadows,
and flattened herself against the wall. Holding her breath, she listened. It was with a sinking feeling that she realized he was turning the key in the lock. If he took it with him, or hid it, she would have to use her magic, and that would take her longer to return the documents.

The soft scuff of stocking feet on the polished wood floor grew nearer, and she closed her eyes and muttered an enchantment. It was something she had never tried before—to slip into the shadows and be as one with them. With her finger, she drew an imaginary curtain closed in front of her. It was something Lennox had done, to scare them witless. There was no telling if it would work, and she forced herself to open her eyes, peer through the hazy cover and watch.

Something caught Cormac's attention, and he walked down the hallway quietly, glancing about as he went. When he looked her way, he peered directly at her, into the gloom.

Her blood froze.

A moment later he turned away and retreated.

He had not seen her! Jessie began to breathe again when she heard the stairs above creaking as he returned to his quarters. She had done it; she had mimicked Lennox's shadow spell. Her heart beat freely once again.

She could only hope Cormac was taking the bottle back to whomever he'd been with the night before, and not looking for her. The sooner she was done with this the better, for he would move on to her when he became bored with the other woman. His leering glances assured Jessie of that.

Once the sound of his movements had faded away, she darted over to the door and found to her relief that the key had been left in place. She entered the room and raced to the cabinet, where she replaced the papers. A moment later she was back out in the hallway.

As she made her way cautiously up the stairs, following in
Cormac's tracks, she wondered whether luck had been on her side. Perhaps he'd been too drink-addled to notice her there in the shadows. Perhaps it was because her magic was growing more powerful and she had hidden herself well. If so, that was Gregor's doing. Her relationship with him was giving her what she needed to learn and grow her craft.

Love, she realized.
I love him.

And it pained her deeply, because this man who had brought her so many precious things would soon be gone from her life.

THE FOLLOWING MORNING MASTER WALLACE
pounced before Jessie even got as far as the fireplace. She had barely stepped through the door when he grabbed her and had her pushed up against the wall.

The pail and her tools fell to the floor with a clatter. “Master Wallace!”

“Let me look at you.” He jerked her chin to face him. There was whisky on his breath and his eyes looked strange, as if he'd had little sleep. “I came to you last night, but you were not in your room.”

Jessie's gut tensed. “P'raps you came when I was doing a task for Mistress Gilroy. What was it you required me for, sire?”

If she continued to weave a web of lies, she might be trapped in it. She struggled to offer him a becoming glance, the way Gregor had taught her to. Why was it suddenly so hard to do what she had done so easily and so well in Dundee? If this were Gregor, it would not be hard, yet she could not force herself to pretend it was, especially knowing what she did.

'Tis a task. Gregor's happiness and my fee are my rewards.

Wallace's hands roamed her waist and hips. “I require you to make this old man happy. Make me smile as I once did, Jessie.”

The drink was talking here. He swayed against her as he grasped her breast through her bodice.

Jessie fought the urge to flinch and struggle out of his grasp. “How can I make you smile, sire?”

His face loomed closer, and then he sniffed her hair. “I knew a lass like you, a long time ago.”

It was the last thing she'd expected him to say.

Again he grasped her breast, squeezing it roughly through her clothing. “She was a pretty woman, with soft skin.” He lifted his hand and ran his knuckles over Jessie's cheek. “Always had a smile for me.”

There was a wistful expression on his face.

Jessie forced a smile, hoping it would assuage him.

“Aye, that's it.” His eyes grew sad. “What I would not do to see her again. Agatha was her name. Aggie they called her.”

Jessie's attention sharpened.
Agatha…
The name sounded familiar and she scoured her memory to place it. Perhaps she had heard it in the kitchens. While Master Wallace rambled on about this woman, she turned her face away and flitted through the various conversations she had witnessed since she had been at the house. No, there had been no mention of anyone called Agatha. Still, it tapped away inside her mind—and then she remembered. Gregor had mentioned the name the day he'd taken her to Strathbahn.

She inhaled quickly, startled at the connection. Agatha was Gregor's mother! Jessie glanced at Master Wallace, who was smiling to himself, his thoughts faraway. Could it be a coincidence? Agatha was a common enough name.

Shifting so that she could get a better look at him, Jessie
noticed there was genuine regret in his expression. He was talking about his sweetheart.

When he saw that she was looking at him, he smiled again. “How old are you, lass?”

How peculiar. He had asked her the very same question the day before. Was that the reason? Because he was thinking of his old sweetheart? Jessie's mind raced. She shrugged. “I am not sure, sire.”

“Nineteen. That's how old Agatha was.”

Am I nineteen?
It was one of many questions that haunted her, estranged as she was from the basic facts of her early life. Still, her mind raced with curiosity about the identity of the woman he was thinking of. “Was Agatha a local lass?”

“From Craigduff, she was.”

“Did you marry her?”

“No, oh, no. Alas, she married another, but I've never forgotten her.” A wistful smile lingered around his mouth, and he stared down at Jessie's breasts with unseeing eyes as he groped at her, his actions undone by his curious state of mind.

The man was scarcely able to stand. Decisively, Jessie grasped his elbow and ushered him toward his armchair. Mercifully, he let her lead him, and when he sat down he slumped back in the chair. Jessie noticed that he looked somehow diminished. He mumbled beneath his breath and stared into the distance. A life of regret had made him this way, perhaps—a bitter man, greedy, unhappy and living on memories.

For a moment, she pitied him.

Then she turned away, went to the fireplace and completed her task with utmost haste. She left without a further word to him, for she was not eager to draw his attention back to her.

As she went about the rest of her duties, Jessie's thoughts raced. Had Ivor Wallace's dealings been driven in part by
jealousy? Did he harbor a grudge against Gregor's father, because his sweetheart had married him instead?

The more she thought about it, the more she longed for the hours to pass so that she could talk to Gregor and tell him about the discovery she had made. Would he be relieved to know the reason behind Wallace's actions? Would it enable him to forget what had happened to his father?

No, she knew him well enough now. Gregor's need for revenge ran deep, and it would not be assuaged by this. In fact, the news might only strengthen his cause. Nevertheless, Jessie could not shake the feeling that this had been Wallace's motive to destroy the happiness at Strathbahn—a long-lost sweetheart, and hatred for the man she had married.

 

Each day it grew harder for Gregor to keep away from Balfour Hall. He barely slept, because he knew it was wrong of Jessie to bring those documents outside. Despite the fact they had revealed so much useful information to him, he wished she had not taken the risk. What if someone had discovered her carrying papers about in the night? What if she'd been found as she returned them?

They would punish her. The thought made him murderous.

Restlessly he paced the room, refusing food when Morag brought it. When she lingered, Gregor eventually looked at her directly.

“Pardon me, Mister Ramsay. I was wondering, will Miss Jessie be returning?”

There was a wistful look in her eyes. Even the serving girl missed her presence. And why wouldn't she? Jessie had filled these rooms with life and spirit.

“She will, and soon.” Aside from anything, Gregor did not think he could stand another day of this interminable waiting,
wondering what in hell's name was going on with Jessie up at Balfour Hall. She would leave with him tonight even if he had to gag her and tie her to the horse.

Morag smiled, dropped a quick curtsy and was gone.

Gregor was disturbed by the girl's question, for it forced him to consider his own feelings on the matter. When he had first taken these rooms it was his life at sea that he missed, the boards beneath his feet, the roll of the ship and the adventure of never knowing quite what the day would bring. That lust for the seafaring life was all but buried in him now, because it was Jessie he longed for when he was not with her. It rattled him to find himself so concerned about a woman he had known for scarcely a week. She was a whore, a condemned woman who practiced witchcraft.

But it is Jessie.

How was it that she'd filled his life so quickly? He thought about her constantly, to the point of obsession. Wandering barefoot to the servant's room, where he had so cruelly locked her in, he stared at the meager furnishings. At first he thought the room bore few reminders of her presence, and then he spotted her old clothing folded neatly beneath the cot. Hauling the bundle out, he sat on the edge of the cot and handled the garments, remembering with a smile how fetching she had looked in the torn bodice, with her black hair tumbling over her shoulders and mischief in her eyes. Wistfully, he bunched the fabric in his hands. Resting his elbows on his knees, he buried his face in the garments.

Jessie, sweet Jessie.
The lingering scent of her made him harden. Images of her in the splendor of release flitted through his mind. He recalled how she had been that fateful night when he'd first realized her witchcraft was real. Radiant and powerful, she'd looked like a goddess. Being inside her was magical enough, but seeing her that way—with her passionate
nature so vividly apparent—meant he could not doubt her ability to work magic. She was far beyond everything he had thought she was, and he'd already decided she was the most lush, captivating creature he'd ever had the good fortune to encounter.

It was then that it occurred to him she could have left his room, just as she could have broken out of the tollbooth in Dundee. She'd told him that. Of course, he hadn't believed her. Now that he knew her secret, the pieces began to fall into place. He glanced about the servant's quarters. She could have left here at any point.

It was the promise of the purse that kept her here,
he told himself.

Was it, though? The night before, he'd offered to pay her so that she could be on her way. But she'd insisted she wanted to see it through, to ease his sadness about his father. Compassion played its part.

She understood him, because her family had been torn apart just as his had. That made them both what they were—hardy, determined individuals, people who would survive no matter how bad their luck. Was this why he felt such a strong bond with her? Because they had this in common? Was this also why she understood his need to resolve things, to right the wrongs of the past? That had to be the explanation for the way he felt, which was positively wretched. He regretted that he had chosen Jessie, because he had put her at risk. She was vulnerable because of everything she was.
And I have sent her into a viper's nest.

Gregor ground his teeth as he thought on it, cursing his poor choices. He was torn between a goal that he had spent eleven long years working toward, and concern for a woman he had known for just a few days.

As he sat there contemplating the situation, sunlight slowly
filled the room. Something reflected the light and caught his eye. Between his feet, wedged between two floorboards, something glinted. He bent down to take a closer look. It was two shillings, by the looks of it. The coins were on their sides and had been pushed down between the boards.

Realization hit him: it was the two shillings he had given her in Dundee, when she had asked him to prove that he was good for his word. He had never once wondered where she had secreted the coins, but when he saw them hidden there, carefully concealed and covered over in dust, it made his gut ache. Every penny counted to this woman. She'd had to hide this bit of money as she would have had to hide her earnings, living with a greedy pimp and a bunch of other whores.

Gregor stood up, dropping her ragged possessions onto the cot. Jessie had suffered enough. From what little she had revealed of herself, he knew that persecution of one sort or another had haunted her all her life. If Wallace knew what she was, he would torment and persecute her, as well.

Gregor did not want life to be that way for Jessie Taskill anymore. Once he acknowledged that, he hated himself for the dangerous position he had put her in.

Within moments he was readying to leave. It was too early, yet he wanted to go up there and remove her from Balfour Hall before she put herself at any more risk on his behalf.

Jessie had refused to leave the night before, but he would hear no more of that talk. She'd set her sights on completing this task, and had convinced him she could protect herself, but he could not bear the uncertainty a moment longer. The urge to walk in, floor Wallace with a prize punch, and remove his woman overtook all his carefully crafted notions of subtle and devastating revenge, plans he'd spent years thinking up.

Gritting his teeth, Gregor made an effort to pace himself. If Wallace became aware that Jessie was connected to him,
that would only bring more trouble her way, and Gregor would never forgive himself for that. With more than a little unwillingness he reminded himself that she would meet him at midnight. He would take her away from Balfour Hall then—even if she was kicking and screaming while he did so. With that in mind, he attempted to wait.

Time moved far too slowly. Never before had a day dragged by so interminably for Gregor Ramsay and by midafternoon he was on his way.

It was past sunset when he secured his mount in the forest above Balfour Hall. Staring down at the house, he tried to catch sight of her. That made him even more restless, and the urge to storm down there threatened to unhinge him. He could not take that risk. Instead he began to walk back toward the village, striding quickly to divert himself from doing anything rash.

By the time darkness fell he found that his feet had led him to the kirk and the small graveyard on the hill above Craigduff, where he'd spent his last hours years ago, before departing from Scotland. It was there he had watched his father's coffin being lowered into the grave beside his mother's.

He peered at the church, a dark profile against the night sky. When the breeze lifted and the clouds scudded away he saw a familiar path between the gravestones and opened the gate.

Moonlight scarcely lit the area, but his memories served him well and he wended his way through the graves to the exact place. His father had taken him there every Sunday after they attended the service, to pay their respects to his mother. Through each and every season they had come, and as Gregor thought back on it he could almost hear the congregation making their way home after the service, while he and his father stood there, their hats in their hands as they
looked down at the grave of the wife and mother they still mourned.

Resting on his haunches, he rubbed his hand over the grave stone. His father's name had been added. There had barely been enough funds to buy the coffin, let alone pay for the burial, but he had sent his first wage to the stone merchant with a letter requesting the work be carried out. Gregor was glad to see that it had been done.

Mired in his memories, he was startled when he heard shuffling footsteps close by. With a quick glance over his shoulder he saw it was an old woman hunched over a stick, her head and shoulders swathed in shawls. She tottered and swayed and hummed to herself under her breath. Gregor assumed she was taking a shortcut through the graveyard to her home. He was several strides away from the path she was on, and estimated that if he remained as he was, she would not notice him.