Regret swamped her immediately. She’d blurted it out and now she was embarrassed by her confession. Only she and Gavin knew about her shame over this private matter. A man such as Gavin Meldrum, with a sizable fortune and numerous commercial interests, wanted a son. She had proven to be a failure in his eyes. Nevertheless her pride made this difficult for her. She rarely spoke of it, even to her closest friends, although she suspected many friends and acquaintances in Edinburgh whispered about her sorry state of affairs, and some of her friends had even suggested ways in which she might fall pregnant, many of them quite immoral and totally unacceptable to her.
Tugging on her glove, she made ready to leave.
“Why do you attempt to turn away now? Now, when you have finally summoned the will to come here?”
It unnerved her that he knew that it had been a dilemma for her. Of course he did. In all likelihood, she surmised, it was a dilemma for anyone who came here.
They practiced witchcraft, after all.
“The hardest part is over,” he added.
She met his gaze, determined not to be cowed by him, no matter how striking his presence. “Maura said she saw an older woman when she came here last week. I thought it would be the same for me.”
“Ah, so it really is because I am a man that you reject my potential assistance in this matter.”
She opened her mouth to ask why else, and then thought better of it. Everything she said only seemed to mire her deeper in this awkward discussion.
“I was not here last week.” A shadow passed through his eyes. “I am often away on...family concerns.” There was a mysterious, secretive edge to his expression and it made her wonder about the nature of his family concerns. “But I returned less than an hour ago and I was here for your visit. That is because fate has deemed it so.”
Chloris stared at him. Fate. Could it be true?
Moreover, how could it be that she was so strangely intrigued by the man, when she balked at the idea of discussing her intimate matters with him? He was no more than twenty-five years of age in her estimation, and yet he was so strangely age-old, even though he was also rebellious in his ways. She was about to turn thirty years, and she was afraid to be alone with him. It was his air of questionable morals. He was unruly, a wolf in sheep’s clothing. He was also overly frank while he referenced her malady without stricture or concern.
“You are skittish and wary, Mistress Chloris. I understand why. However it is a shame because I sense you truly believe I have the power to help you.” Once again he spoke bluntly, but this time it was somewhat more serious and sympathetic.
She nodded. “Yes, I did believe that you might be able to help me. I know little of your ways,” she added cautiously, aware that many would think her insane walking into the house such as this, “however, as a child I had a nursemaid who had some skills as a healer. She used to take me for walks along the shore and in the meadows, and she would tell me about the plants and herbs and what ailments they could be used for. She was very fond of me, and I of her.”
The man’s curiosity seemed baited. “Tell me something of her ways.”
Chloris thought back to those times. “She wore scarlet ribbons around her wrists. She told me it was to ward off rheumatism.”
“She believed?”
“Yes, she said it eased the pain. Others said that the ribbons were a sign of her...” her voice dropped to a whisper “...her bond with the Devil.”
When she grew quiet he nodded. “You were not afraid of her, though, and that is what has made you brave enough to come here.”
“My need is what made me brave enough. There is no other path available to me.” She lifted her chin. She was not used to sharing such intimate details about herself. “However, it is because of my Eithne, my nursemaid, that I believed it might be worthwhile coming.”
He studied her carefully. “Tell me, what became of your nursemaid?”
Chloris inhaled. It was not what she expected him to ask, for it was the part of the story she would rather not have shared. His gaze held hers, though, refusing to let her ignore the question, demanding the truth. It was obvious that if she denied him any knowledge that he asked for, he would refuse to help her.
She took a deep breath. “A dreadful illness took most of my family, the cough. Some say she protected me from it because she favored me. Others said she was unwilling to help the rest of my family by healing them.” She paused. “Eithne was turned out by my guardian.”
Eithne had been turned out by her cousin Tamhas Keavey, with whom she now visited, but that was not the point. At the time she’d been a child and Tamhas’s ward. He’d been a man in his early twenties and the only one willing to take her in when her parents perished.
The man stared at her, assessing her. “You did not believe she was responsible?”
“No, I didn’t. The ability to cure the illness was beyond Eithne. But she knew things and she whispered for me in her prayers, using words that I didn’t understand.” Seeing the interest in his eyes she went on. “She told me I would be protected from the cough.”
It was so much more than a cough, but she knew they called it that in order to force its darkness back, to stand up to it. Chloris stemmed the other painful memories. Memories of the way her cousin and guardian had called Eithne a slave to the Devil while he cast her out. Chloris had been plagued with doubts, respecting him as she did, but she had never been able to believe it.
Drawn back to the moment, she lifted her head. When she met the man’s stare she had the eerie suspicion he knew what she was thinking. “I was always happy when she held my hand.”
“She was a woman who respected the old ways.” He spoke softly.
Chloris felt comforted. Had he moved closer? His knees were pressed against her full skirts, but she had not been aware of him moving. “What do you mean when you say that, ‘old ways’?”
“Some call us pagans, heathen, because we believe in the power inherent in the natural world and we seek it in our rituals. Many Christians have benefited, and they will not speak out against us. However, they cannot defend us because they would be in danger of being called out themselves.” He shrugged. “We are forced to live a secretive existence.”
His tone had turned embittered, and Chloris felt he had shared something that was fundamental to his character. There was a brooding, almost angry look at the back of his eyes.
In a blink, it was gone.
He smiled, briefly. “Enough of that. We understand each other a little more now.” He inclined his head. “There are rituals that we undertake to increase both virility and fertility.” His gaze raked over her. “If you are willing I will perform the rituals myself, in order to help you.”
He was so close she felt the heat of his body, yet the whispered nature of their conversation suited her more than the blatant words he had delivered before. “What would these rituals entail?”
“I would need to lay my hands upon you.”
She knew by his expression that he meant more than holding her ungloved hand. Could she allow this compelling young man that liberty?
She needed to know more. “Why do you need to do that?”
“To evoke the essence of spring and direct it inside you.”
His whispered words affected her oddly. She felt suddenly hot, her limbs heavy.
His eyes burned more brightly. Was it the reflection of the glowing embers in the hearth?
“By drawing on the essence of something from the natural world we harness the gift of birth and rebirth.” He lifted his hand and opened it to her. It gleamed, as if he held sunlight right there in his palm.
Gasping aloud, she saw what he intended—to demonstrate. A moment later he spoke again, but his words made no sense. He repeated the phrase several times beneath his breath. Chloris could not look away, so intense was his gaze.
Heat swelled in the pit of her belly. Glancing down, she saw that he now held his palm open in front of her skirts. It was directly above
the spot where she burned, and when his hand moved and he whispered those strange words, the heat roiled and gathered within her. Her thighs shuddered, her core tingling.
It was so carnal a sensation and so utterly unexpected that she swayed and her head dropped back. I might faint.
Then he blew across the bare skin of her exposed neck. A gentle breath it was, and yet it felt like the wind through the trees to Chloris. Heavily scented, as if carrying blossoms like the one he had plucked from her hair.
Beneath her corset her chest felt constricted. Panic rushed in on her.
Recoiling, she whispered, “No. No, I cannot—”
“Hush.”
He stepped away, breaking the connection. When he looked back his eyes were normal once again. “Take your leave. Think on what has been said and done here.”
There was no doubt she would think on it, at length, if only she could get away and gather her faculties. She could scarcely function due to the wild throbbing in her loins.
Fumbling for the door handle, she could do no more than mumble her thanks to him in response, rendered speechless as she was by his demonstration of magical power.
Mercifully, the door clicked open.
“Mistress Chloris?”
With her breath captured in her chest, she forced herself to meet his eyes. “Yes?”
“You asked if I could trust you. My instinct told me yes, and once I had touched you...I knew without doubt that I could trust you. That’s why I took off your glove.”
That was why. Her palm tingled in response to his comment, and at the very same moment she knew that he was informing her of something much deeper than the issue of trust between them. What was it—that he could connect with her intimately that way, perhaps read her thoughts and gain the measure of her, by running his fingertips over her skin?
When she responded, she could hear the tremble in her own voice. “I see.”
“A great deal can be learned and achieved through touch,” he continued, and his voice was low and heavy with suggestion, “and through laying my hands on you, I could ensure that all your desires could be fulfilled.”
Desires? Flustered, she tried to muster an appropriate response.
One corner of his mouth lifted. “You know where to find me.”
CHAPTER TWO
As the door closed Lennox breathed her in, savoring the woman for several long moments after she’d taken her leave. How tempted he’d been to clasp her wrist, to wrap his free hand around her waist and hold her still to the spot. It was only the magic that made her want to run. She’d wrenched the door open as if her life depended on it but she’d been convinced, earlier. Desire held sway with her, too. It was only a matter of time until he had a taste of her, of that Lennox was sure. Moments longer and she would have submitted willingly, but Lennox relished giving her freedom when she was so ready to capitulate. It guaranteed a return that would be worth the wait.
Who was she? She’d been introduced to them by Maura Dunbar, which indicated a connection with Tamhas Keavey, who was Maura’s employer. Lennox and Tamhas held old grievances, and the opportunity to rattle Keavey was always tempting.
The woman was as enticing as a rose coming into bloom, her pale skin like its petals—blushing, soft and inviting to the fingertips—her eyes wide and imploring with bold determination. She was quite a riddle, for she was mature and brave—and just wary enough to tease his interest—yet she was also a woman who had not been fully awakened, of that he was quite sure. That combination was something he found rather intoxicating. He’d become jaded perhaps.
Women who sought him out were either lusty sorts who were all too ready to lie on their backs for him, or they feared him so badly he found it disagreeable to be in their company for long. Not so Mistress Chloris. Whilst she was measured and cautious, she spoke and acted with a level of courage that impressed him. It was quite obvious to him she was emboldening herself in order to attain her goal.
How sweet it would be to help her fulfill that goal. His thoughts ran to bedding her himself, and the prospect was quite delicious. It would be even more pleasurable if she were to need it beyond measure. Lennox poured himself another half glass of claret as he contemplated it. He wasn’t altogether convinced that she was barren. The fact that she seemed convinced of it was important. It made him curious about her circumstances. Was her caution toward the ritual driven by what others might think of her coming to Somerled, or genuine trepidation about magic and carnal matters? He knew with certainty that he would discover more about her. What he saw in her was a woman who had not yet truly awoken to her essential nature. That was an abomination.
She was a pretty woman, too, with hair the color of hay in summer sunshine and hazel eyes spun with green flecks. When she had stated the nature of her concern he’d felt her growing shame. It disturbed him that she was fretting on the issue so, when so many women who came to see him had the opposite complaint, the fear of being saddled with an unwanted bairn that they could not support. Yet he also saw what a fine mother she would make, and how she longed to hold her own child.
Ultimately it was her attempted resistance to him that convinced him she was worth his time. There was a mutual draw between them, it was instinctive and immediate, and he had relished it. He couldn’t help himself. Toying with her was pleasurable, especially so the startled look in her eyes when she became aroused by him. It would be pleasing to watch her unravel while he seduced her.
Their encounter had lifted his mood, which was a mercy. He’d been sour to his people on his return that afternoon, and they did not deserve that. It was often the way. Whenever he heard talk of witchcraft he’d follow the trail of whispers and accusations, hoping it would lead him to his lost kin, his sisters, Jessie and Maisie. Years had passed since they’d been parted. He was always hunting for them, and along the way he’d witnessed too much suffering and pain amongst those who practiced the craft. If the timing was right he was often able to assist the accused, breaking several free before they were put to death. But he was yet to find his sisters, and that meant he returned to Somerled with a heavy heart. Ailsa’s smile disappeared when he returned alone. They all wanted him to find his kin, knowing it was what drove him. Once he did, they would all depart the Lowlands, where the persecution of witches had gone on too long.
He’d been brooding on it in the gloom of the parlor when a timely distraction had arrived in the form of Mistress Chloris. The woman had brought a breath of spring with her. He fished the small hawthorn blossom out of his pocket and turned it in his fingers, once more savoring the woman’s essence. It was not yet the end of April, and the hawthorn didn’t usually come into blossom until May. Most normal folk held suspicions about hawthorn being an unlucky bloom, but Lennox’s people used it in their healing. The fact that Mistress Chloris had unwittingly arrived with it in her hair endeared her to him.
Abandoning his glass and pocketing the hawthorn, he left the parlor and followed the sound of voices and laughter into the scullery beyond. When he opened the door he saw Nathan and Lachlan seated at the large table at the heart of the house, deep in conversation, the crumbs of a hearty repast scattered on the oak table, their ale mugs near empty.
Ailsa hovered nearby, ale jug in her hand. She looked his way as soon as he entered the room, as if she had been awaiting his appearance. By her side Glenna, Lachlan’s wife and the oldest member of the coven, worked at a mixing bowl.
“Ladies.” He nodded his head their way.
Glenna lifted her mixing bowl from the table and held it against her waist with one hand, stirring its contents with the other. She did not answer, but she observed him with an air of disapproval. At her side, Ailsa looked sullen.
He could tell by the set of them that they had something to say.
Nathan waved his way eagerly, interrupting the ominous presence of women with something on their minds. “The carriage for Master MacDougal is near done. He’ll be pleased with the craftsmanship, I warrant. I have stud
ded the velvet seats myself today, and his wife will look as fine as a queen when she rides in it.”
Lennox strolled over, squeezed Nathan on the shoulder, then lifted the ale jug from Ailsa’s hand, using it to refill Nathan’s and Lachie’s mugs. “Good work. It will pay to have the head of the town council and his wife sitting comfortably in such a fine carriage.”
Lachie grinned at Lennox. Nathan was a young and eager craftsman and his pride lay in his work, but Lachie was older and understood more of Lennox’s intent—to gain the approval of the burghers of Saint Andrews.
Lennox chatted on the subject of commissions awhile with the men, but the weight of the women’s stares on him forced his attention back.
When he glanced over his shoulder at them Ailsa nudged Glenna. “Shall I tell him, or will you?”
“Tell me what?” He turned fully to them.
Glenna carried on with her tasks, turning out clootie dumpling mix from her mixing bowl into a damp square of muslin, as if it was imperative to make haste with her work and therefore ignore him. She tied the fabric in a knot and carried it to the pot hanging over the fire to steam.
Lennox withheld a sigh. “Glenna, spit out your thoughts.”
“You take too many risks and you put me in fear of our lives.” She spoke sternly as she worked. “This is a dangerous folly indeed. That woman, you should have turned her away. She is Tamhas Keavey’s cousin, visiting from Edinburgh these past few weeks.”
Lennox smiled. He’d suspected something of that order for she was clearly wellborn. Because Tamhas Keavey and Lennox were all but daggers drawn on each other, this news made the evening’s events so much more interesting. Tamhas Keavey would spew bile if he knew that another of his womenfolk had all but offered herself into Lennox’s hands. The confirmation of kinship with Keavey only sealed his commitment to the task on offer. The seduction of Mistress Chloris would be just the thing to bring ill fortune to Keavey’s household. The very thought of it made him more keen, for it amused him mightily.
The Libertine Page 2
