The Harlot (27 page)

GREGOR ARRIVED AT THE MEETING SPOT
panting for breath, his lungs fit to burst. Jessie was nowhere to be seen. Scrubbing his hands through his hair, he glared at the moon and cursed. He hated himself for letting the time pass by.

With the utmost haste, he darted through the stables and outhouses. She had gone. He had let her down. The thought of her waiting here, and eventually returning to her quarters, no doubt confused about why he had not come, made his mood turn black. The night before she had been so grateful that he came. It was obvious to him that she'd thought he wouldn't, and no doubt this evening he'd proved that he was unreliable, when he had promised her so much.

He stared over at Balfour Hall. She was in there. Striding to the servants' entrance he opened the door and stepped inside the Wallace household. Where in God's name were her sleeping quarters? If only he had thought to ask.

But he would hunt her down.

He would shout her name from the rooftops if necessary.

The door beyond was ajar and he could see a hallway that was brightly lit. He proceeded in that direction. Before he entered the hall, he forced himself to pause in the doorway and listen. In the distance he heard the sound of voices. Men, two or more of them, shouting and laughing.

Something caught his eye. At his feet he saw a vivid blue shawl abandoned on the floor. He recognized it, and the sight made ice run the length of his spine.

A woman's scream rang out from beyond.

Jessie.
Gregor bolted in that direction.

The noise led him, and when he reached the doorway and caught sight of what was happening inside the room beyond, he was all but blinded by rage. Jessie was standing on the table, staggering, her dress torn. Someone was taunting her, a poker held aloft in his hand. Pure outrage shot through Gregor.

It took immense effort to stifle the urge to blunder in, shouting and throwing punches without direction. His hand went to the dagger at his belt. Swallowing down the bile in his throat, he forced himself to gain the measure of Jessie's assailants. From his vantage point he could see that there were two of them. A large man, well dressed, and a slighter fellow.

The slighter one spoke. “Master Forbes, she will not put up so much of a fight when she falls.”

Forbes Wallace.

Jessie wavered wildly, kicking at the man who grabbed her ankle. Her eyes were rolling and Gregor saw purple light flashing there. She was attempting to use her magic.

No, Jessie. Don't do it.

When he saw her faint, Gregor pushed the door open with such force it landed against the wall with a loud bang. The candles in the room flickered wildly and something fell from a table and crashed to the floor with the sound of breaking glass. He strode into the room.

As the man with the poker turned his way, Gregor grabbed the rod from his hand, taking him unawares. Turning it on him, Gregor delivered a sharp blow to the side of his head. The man staggered and then fell to the floor.

When Gregor caught sight of his sweet Jessie collapsed on the table with her dress torn asunder, and he realized their intention, his heart thundered.

The other man came forward, eyes flashing wildly, fists raised.

Gregor cast the poker aside and pushed up his sleeves, relishing the prospect of a fight.

He allowed his opponent to throw the first punch, for the man did not look much more than bone and gristle. When it came he ducked it, and meanwhile delivered a blow from beneath, landing it in his opponent's gut.

The man doubled over with a loud grunt, and Gregor followed through with a swinging blow directed upward, making contact with his jaw. His opponent staggered backward against a cabinet, where he slithered to the floor, out cold.

The larger man was rising to his feet again. Gregor allowed him to stand, because he looked forward to the prospect of taking them from under him once more. As he looked at him, Gregor's attention sharpened. He knew him. This man had been there that first night he'd seen Jessie, in Dundee. He'd been the customer who stood by while the betting went on.

“Forbes Wallace,” Gregor said.

“Who the hell are you?” Forbes demanded.

Your brother.
For a wild moment Gregor considered telling him, just to see the look on his face, but he could not stand to hear it said aloud. Any connection he had to the people in this house was something he wished to sever, forever.

“You're her new pimp,” Forbes declared.

Gregor shook his head, then reached for the dagger at his belt, unsheathing it.

Fear flashed in Forbes Wallace's eyes.

Gregor grinned just to unnerve him, then stuck the knife into the wooden floorboards and lifted his fists.

Forbes's glance darted back and forth from him to the dagger.

“I will not fight an unarmed man,” Gregor declared. “Now raise your fists!”

Instead of fighting fair, Forbes came at him, driving for ward like a bull out of control, shoulder directed to Gregor's chest.

Gregor sidestepped and took him down by tripping him as he passed. With Forbes on his back on the floor, Gregor pounced, landing with his knee on Forbes's shoulder, pinning him down. The poker was within arm's reach.

The man bellowed in pain.

“So you prefer to wrestle? That suits me.”

Once again Forbes's gaze darted to the knife. “Damn you!”

He will go for the knife, and then I will break his neck.
Gregor grinned again and twisted his opponent's arm under him.

Forbes tried to use the chance, rocking in an attempt to dislodge him, one hand grappling toward where the dagger gleamed in the candlelight.

“Fight fair,” Gregor ordered again, driving more pressure through the shoulder he knelt upon.

Again Forbes bellowed in pain. Using his weight, he wormed free and snatched at the dagger, dislodging it. It fell to the floor and he grabbed it.

When he rolled back, his expression triumphant, Gregor lifted the poker and knocked the dagger from his hand.

Astonished, Forbes bellowed for help and attempted to back away.

Gripping the poker, Gregor placed the tip under his opponent's chin, forcing him to lift his head. Then he peered into his eyes.

“What do you want?” Forbes blurted. “Name your price!” His lip was split and blood poured from it. On the side of his head a red gash showed from his earlier fall.

What is my price?
Gregor wondered if he even had a price anymore. Justice? Nay, it was freedom he desired, freedom from the past.

He pressed the poker against Forbes's throat, feeling the urge to press down upon it with his entire weight.

“Gregor.” It was Jessie's voice. A quick glance informed him that she had awoken and now stared in horror as he struggled with his opponent.

“Stay back,” he instructed.

Once again he heard her speak, this time in Gaelic. The poker in his hand grew hot, the handle glowing.

She was trying to stop him, and she was using magic.

Dread struck him. If it was witnessed, she would be ousted. “Jessie, no!”

He forbade her with a glance.

“They will hang you for the crime,” she warned, horror in her eyes.

The poker grew even hotter and he hurled it into a corner of the room. With his fist, he delivered a final blow to his opponent's jaw, stunning him.

Gregor rose to his feet and flexed his fingers.

Jessie had risen to her hands and knees but was still on the table, eyes wide, body shivering violently.

“Come, we're leaving.” As he grabbed her in his arms and placed her safely on her feet, voices issued from the corridor
outside and a door at the opposite end of the room sprang open. A man with a candle raised strode in.

Ivor Wallace. The landowner had aged, but Gregor knew him the moment he walked into the room.

“What goes on here?” he demanded, surveying the scene. Meanwhile, a cluster of onlookers gathered in the doorway—an elderly woman in a nightdress, whom Gregor recognized as Mistress Wallace, and several hastily dressed servants.

Ivor Wallace's gaze shifted to Gregor.

Gregor felt the old familiar hatred well within him as he stared at this man who had destroyed everything in his world eleven years before. “I am Hugh Ramsay's son.”

It was no explanation, but for Gregor it had to be said.

Wallace's head jerked in recognition, and as he did so Gregor saw it—the set of his eyes, the shape of his jaw and cheekbones, the heavy brows. As much as it made him sick to admit it, the likeness was there. This man was his father, and looking at him now, Gregor knew there was no denying it. Foreign emotions assailed him and he ground his teeth together. Secrets and lies had molded his history, and for a moment he hated them all, even his mother and Hugh, for destroying each other, for keeping the truth from him.

Ivor lifted his candle and stepped closer.

“You are Agatha's son?” As he asked the question, the taper in his hand shook, the flame flickering wildly.

He knew.
The recognition that shone in his eyes revealed the truth to Gregor. Ivor Wallace knew he was his son.

He scrutinized Gregor, and as he did his expression changed. Hope flared in his eyes, a smile lifting his lips.

Behind him, Wallace's wife stifled a cry with her hand at her mouth, and then blessed herself with the sign of the cross.

She knew. They all knew, except him.

All the hatred Gregory had felt after Hugh's death came back tenfold. It was as if he was that angry lad who wanted nothing more than to fight this man with his fists, to force upon him some small part of what he deserved.

Then he felt Jessie shift at his back, and he moved his hand to still her. Once again it occurred to him that she was his beacon amid this chaos. Jessie was the only good thing that had come from this sorry mess.

Forbes had regained consciousness, and he wiped the blood from the corner of his mouth as he lifted himself on an elbow. “Keep away from the woman,” he warned. “She is wanted by the bailie in Dundee under a charge of witchcraft.”

Gregor steeled himself. Jessie was his only concern now.

He grasped her hand, holding it tightly in his.

Concerned murmurs passed among the crowd gathered at the doorway, and several more heads peeked around the door before disappearing once again.

Coolly, he glanced at Forbes—his half brother. The man disgusted him. And when he looked again at his natural father, Gregor knew that he would finally be able to let go of his cause. The past would be buried in the past, where it belonged.

“Yes, I am Agatha's son, and I know who you are. But you will never see me again.”

The old man's expression altered quickly, and he staggered. There was a broken, sad look in his eyes. Gregor saw the truth of it; he could not have hurt him more had he knocked him to the floor and torched his precious manor house.

He squeezed Jessie's hand and turned away.

At his back, he heard Ivor Wallace's voice. “You've turned out a fine young man, Gregor.”

Pain flared in Gregor's chest.
No thanks to you.

Holding tight to Jessie's hand, he forged a path through the
small gathering and out into the hallway. The servants scattered, the mention of witchcraft putting wings beneath their feet, or so it seemed.

“I will send word to the bailie in Dundee,” Forbes shouted after them. “I will inform him you are hereabouts. You won't get far.”

Gregor's hand tightened on Jessie's. “Be ready to run, as fast as your feet can carry you,” he whispered to her.

“I'm ready,” she responded, and when Gregor glanced her way and saw the pride and affection in her eyes, he knew he did not deserve her.

If it was the last thing he did, he would make sure she was safely gone from here. No bailie or anyone else would set hands on her.

JESSIE COULD MAKE NO SENSE OF WHAT HAD
happened, even though she tried for the entire journey back to the Drover's Inn. Gregor paused only to give her his frock coat to cover her torn garments and keep her warm. Then he hastened her through the forest to his horse, where he took her by the shoulders and apologized for the fact that she was going to have to climb up behind him once again. She did so willingly and clung to him for the duration. Her stomach churned as he urged the horse to gallop, and she kept her arms around his chest, fingers tightly knotted together.

Even through her distress, she sensed his thoughts were deeply troubled. She assumed it was her fault.

“I'm sorry, the master's son knew who I was,” she blurted at the back of Gregor's head. “He was there that night in Dundee. You should not have come into the house. I have ruined it for you now.”

“Hush, you have not ruined anything. It is over, and soon you will be safely on the road to the Highlands with your
purse.” For a moment Gregor rested his hand over hers and squeezed reassuringly.

Bewildered by his words, but soothed by his comforting touch, Jessie rested her head against his back. She didn't want to be on the road, not if it meant saying farewell. Sadness descended on her and her heart ached. For the rest of the journey they traveled in silence.

Back in his lodgings, Gregor was still quiet. Was it the strange, brief exchange between him and Master Wallace that had put him in this thoughtful, withdrawn mood? Ivor Wallace had seemed pleased to see him, and for a moment she'd thought he was about to apologize for what had happened in the past. Then Gregor had walked away. What of his need for justice?

He did not even pause to shut the door when they arrived back at his rooms. She did that, and then gathered water and a cloth and bathed his knuckles. He did not stop her, nor did he wince when she wiped the bloodied skin. Instead he sprawled in the chair. Her hands were trembling when she brought him his bottle of port, but he shook his head.

“Forgive me, Gregor. I have ruined things because Forbes Wallace knew me and what I am. But I have some knowledge, things that you must know.”

“Everything has changed.” He glanced at her and his expression softened. “Rest,” he added, more gently. “You will need it. As soon as it is dawn you must be on your way. You must leave Fife, for word will be put about. You heard what Forbes Wallace said. He will inform the bailie.”

Jessie stared at him, unable to respond, for his words sent a chill through her. She shook her head.

Rising to his feet, he went to his trunk and retrieved the purse he had promised her. He set it on the table. When she opened her mouth to speak, he held up his hand, silencing
her, and then pointed at the bed. “I must think on what has happened,” he explained.

Thwarted, she did as instructed.

Gregor did not sleep. Unhappily, Jessie watched him from her place on the bed. After a while he rose from the chair and walked to the window, where he stared out into the night. To see him in such a resigned state tore her apart, for it was her fault he'd had to reveal himself at Balfour Hall.

Eventually she dozed awhile, wearied from the unhappy events of the evening. When she awoke, Gregor was sitting in the chair as before. The sun was beginning to rise. Beneath her breastbone she felt a gnawing ache.

Rising, she went to him and dropped to her knees by the side of his chair. With one hand on his arm and the other on his knee, she attempted to engage with him. “Gregor, please do not think harshly of me. I know I am of little use to you now, but you will still be able to continue with your scheme.”

He smiled at her.

That warmed her. “There will be a way,” she added. “I am sure of it.”

He lifted his fingers and ran them down the length of her hair, absentmindedly. A moment later he laughed softly. Relief flooded through her and she tightened her hand on his knee.

“You believe in good things, Jessie. You reach for every thing life might bring your way with such spirit. I think it is what drew me to you. The hope, the belief, the joy.”

She did not want to talk about herself. She was making progress with him and she was not going to give in. “You believe in things, too. In justice.”

He gave a wry laugh. “No, I have been a misguided fool.”

“You are wrong. Why, just yesterday I found out things that may be useful to you.”

Gregor rolled his eyes and again there was humor in his expression.

“All is not lost,” she quickly added, wondering why his eyes had begun to twinkle as he looked at her. “Ivor Wallace spoke to me. Well, he rambled. He mentioned a name, and I remembered it. Gregor, he was smitten with your mother. That is why he hated your father so. It was not just greed on his part. It was a matter of the heart.”

“Aye, it was.” Gregor's smile was sad, and she noticed then that his eyes glistened. He took her hand in his. Kissing her fingertips, he whispered softly, “Sweet Jessie. It was revenge that Wallace sought, and that is not an honorable pursuit.”

“Does it not help you to understand, knowing that he is an old man with regrets, a man who lives on his memories of the girl he should have married, but didn't?”

Gregor rested his head back in the chair and briefly covered his face with his hand. “It should be punishment enough. You are right there.”

Jessie's emotions tangled. “Please don't be angry with me.”

Again he kissed her fingertips. “Jessie, I'm not angry with you.”

She wasn't convinced. Bravely, she pressed on. “Tell me then, what is it that troubles you so? Is it because I failed?”

“You did nothing wrong. Far from it.” He gazed at her for the longest moment. “I learned something rather unpleasant about myself last night. I learned that the apple does not fall far from the tree.” He scrubbed his eyes with the palm of his hand. “Eleven long years I have sought revenge. Revenge is something I was told was wrong, when I was growing up, and yet I have been driven by it. It's in the blood, you see.”
He met her gaze, but seemed to stare right through her for a moment. “What you have told me now has confirmed it. It seems that I have been seeking revenge on my own father.”

Jessie's thoughts raced as she absorbed what he said. “Oh, Gregor.” Now she understood. She huddled closer against his thigh and rested her cheek there a moment. “What a terrible shock that must have been.”

He stroked her head, and for a moment she allowed her eyes to close, and absorbed that deep and silent connection between them. It had been a time of revelations indeed, but they would both come through it, and what she knew above all was that this rapport they had was worth fighting for.

“Everything that I have worked for,” Gregor murmured, “my reason for living these past years, it all means nothing.”

She lifted her head. “No. You found out the truth, and that is what you needed to know.”

“Perhaps.” There was pain in his eyes. “I hate that I am like him.”

A soft laugh escaped her. “You are not like him, of that much I am certain.”

That laugh seemed to work magic, without her attempting to do so. The pained look in his eyes softened.

“I pitied him yesterday,” Jessie admitted. “Briefly. You are not like Ivor Wallace, but you needed to know the truth to make sense of what happened to the man who brought you up.”

He squeezed her hand. He seemed more accepting, and she was glad of that. “I thought myself alone, and yet found I have a family, after all, one that I will never want.”

It pained her so to hear that. She had no one, but secretly longed for loved ones that she could claim as her own.

He sighed. “The day is dawning. You must be on your way soon, my sweet.”

She shook her head. “If I take that purse and leave this place now, where will you go?”

He lifted one shoulder. “I have months until my ship returns, but I suppose I will go back to sea when it does, if I am still needed. Perhaps there will be freedom in being adrift once more.”

Months before his ship returned.
Months she would gladly spend by his side. “We have been good together,” she said tentatively, “have we not?”

The expression in his eyes altered, desire glinting there, and her heart was mightily glad of it. “Aye, we have.”

“Perhaps we make a good partnership. Perhaps we should stay together awhile longer.” Her voice faded to a whisper, so afraid was she of putting that desire into words.

Gregor laughed softly and looked at her with fondness. “A vengeful blackguard and a condemned witch?”

“I suppose we are those things, but we are also a man and a woman, and together we can be more.”

“You are no ordinary woman,” he whispered.

Her heart sank, and then he lifted her chin with one finger and smiled into her eyes. “A woman, yes, oh, yes.” His gaze covered her possessively as he spoke. “And a witch.” He put one finger against his lips, holding that secret safe. “You have surely bewitched me, Jessie.”

Her heart thudded wildly as hope rose within her. “You see it, don't you? Together we could build something better than either of us, something worth having.”

“Perhaps.” He seemed amused by her, and she feared he was only humoring her. “My fierce and prickly harlot…how difficult it must have been for you to state that aloud.”

Startled as she was, it took her a moment to realize that he understood what she was saying. And more than that, that he understood her so well.

“Harlot of mine, you have made me feel again, and I hated you for doing so, that day at Strathbahn.”

“Do you still hate me for it?”

“No. How can I?” Gently, he caressed her cheek. “I have not treated you much better than your pimp, sending you into that place.”

Lifting up onto her knees, she moved between his legs, her hands pressing against his chest as she looked up at him beseechingly. “I did it for you, because I have grown to…to care for you.”

“I do not deserve it.”

Jessie smiled. “Perhaps you don't. Perhaps I should be more cautious with my affections.” She stroked her fingers down his shirt to the band of his breeches and then moved them from side to side. Instantly, she felt his response. He placed his feet a little wider, and the bulge in his breeches grew beneath her arm. His eyelids lowered, and his handsome mouth curved in an appreciative smile.

She tipped her head to one side. “This arrangement reminds me of our first encounter, in that cell in Dundee.” She moved her hand over his swollen shaft through his breeches.

“It does?”

“Yes.” She rubbed her palm up and down his impressive length, her own arousal building when she felt his cock leaning toward her, stretching the fabric. “In fact, I am compelled to make you an offer.”

She looked at him from beneath her lashes and licked her lips. Brimming with ardent wishes, she carefully measured her words with him.

“An offer? Go on.”

His response made the flame at her center flare. “If I pleasure you with my mouth, you will undertake a task for me.”

“And that task would be?”

“Ah, I will tell you the nature of the task afterward, as you did me.”

He laughed softly. “This sounds like a risk.”

“I was willing to take the risk. Are you?” She lifted the lace that barely held his breeches closed, and tugged on it.

His lips parted.

She paused.

He nodded.

Jessie smiled and moved into position as she undid the laces and his cock sprang free. Her cunny clenched. “Oh, but I think you're ready for this.”

“When it comes to you, Jessie, my cock is always ready.”

Chuckling softly, she took his crown into her mouth and licked the underside.

His eyes narrowed and his teeth clamped together.

She moved her hands to his ballocks and lifted them, cradling them. When her tongue reached the base of his shaft, she squeezed and tugged on his sac gently. His cock jerked. The sight of it made her cunny clamp, and a trickle of hot juice slid down between her thighs.

“Jessie,” he murmured.

For a moment her eyes closed, and memories flitted through her mind. The first time she had done this she'd had no idea what it would come to mean. It was a canny trick, to pleasure a man with her mouth, but she had come to adore this man and that part of him that pleasured her so and joined them together as she had never been joined before. She did not want that to end.

His hands locked over the arms of the chair, and she saw that the pulse in his throat beat fast.

“It is not enough,” he muttered, and grasped her around the back of the neck, forcing her to stop.

Dismayed, she held his shaft in her hand and lifted her head.
With the back of her other hand, she wiped her mouth. “Not enough?”

His eyes were filled with lusty intent. “I need to be inside you.”

Her cunny melted. She could not withhold her pleasure and gave a throaty chuckle in response to his declaration. Stroking his length, she flashed her eyes at him to let him know how much it pleased her.

With a low curse he stood and drew her up alongside him.

Gratefully, joyfully, she kissed his mouth, cheek and jaw.

With a heartfelt sigh, he lifted her off her feet.

She wrapped her arms around his neck, smiling up at him. He carried her to the bed and rolled her onto her back, pushing up her skirts as he did so, and climbing between her legs. His fingers roved over her mound until he found her swollen bud. “I missed you in my bed.”

Those words thrilled her. “And I missed being here.”

Even while he stroked her nub, making her moan and writhe beneath him, his cock stretched her open and slid into her slippery entrance.

Measure by measure, he filled her, until she felt him at her very center and she sighed with relief and clutched at him.

He buried his head at her throat, kissing her there while his hips worked his length into her in shallow thrusts.