The Libertine

by Saskia Walker

  That, however, was not Glenna’s intention.

  He laughed softly, strolled over and reached in to run his finger around the mixing bowl she had left on the table. “The recommendation to come here did not come from Keavey, I wager.”

  Lennox sucked the sweet treacle dough from his finger as he contemplated it some more, relishing the opportunity.

  Glenna shook her head at him. “It is boredom that drives you to these things.”

  Lennox laughed, but there was some truth in her observation. His life was divided between the hunt for his lost siblings and the need to validate his people. When he failed to move forward with either cause he grew restless. Often enough he sought minor amusements to temper that. But he was angry, angry at those who persecuted his kind. When one of their women willingly offered herself to him it was a way for him to give the menfolk a taste of the destruction and loss he and his siblings had experienced. Because the affair always came out, one way or the other. The woman would tell a friend who told another, who told the husband. Reputations were ruined, hearts were broken and shame rained down. It was a drop in the ocean compared to what he and his kin had endured, and he would never take a woman unless she was willing, but when it had happened before he found perverse release in the repercussions.

  Glenna muttered on. She wasn’t afraid of him, and nor should she be. They spoke their minds to each other, and he could see he was about to get another piece of hers now. She peered at him. “It’s as if you have a death wish, Lennox Taskill.”

  Lennox’s mood altered quickly. Glenna only used his family name when she wanted him to heed her words. Locally he went by the name of Lennox Fingal, and he did not appreciate his real name being said aloud when Keavey’s cousin had only just left. Her comment scraped harshly along his bones, for every day he wished that he had been the one to be stoned and burned in place of his poor mother, who had been put to death for witchcraft when he was a lad. Craving his own demise was the only power he had over the painful memories, but hearing it spoken aloud was not easy for him, even after all these years.

  “Hold your tongue,” he snapped.

  A chair shifted loudly at the table. Nathan bade them good-night and left.

  Lachie stayed, observing the conversation with a frown.

  Glenna waved her hand dismissively. “You spend so much of your time trying to make us welcome in the burgh and yet when a temptation comes along...” She shook her head disapprovingly. “You are wayward and reckless.”

  It was time to set her straight. “You are wrong there. I do not do anything without a thought. Tamhas Keavey is our barrier to a better life, that is why I admitted her. I realized the woman was somehow connected to him. If it were not for Keavey, the ministers from the Kirk would not be watching us, and the council of Saint Andrews would not be suspicious every time I tried to present matters of commerce to them. It is Keavey who puts the bad look on our ability to heal.”

  “Is it worth seeking their approval?” Glenna demanded. “They will accept us while it suits them, but as soon as someone points the finger it all unravels. I’ve lived long enough to see it happen, just as you have. Young witches put to death on the whim of an enemy.”

  Lennox felt the old pain building again. “I will protect you.”

  Glenna cast her eyes to the left, to the place where her husband sat working a bit of wood, as was his way. The slender branch Lachlan had chosen to work upon was set between his thighs and he whittled with one hand, his left. His right arm was useless, strapped to his chest where it was secured by a stitch in his sleeve to the front of his coat. It was down to Tamhas Keavey that Lachlan has lost the use of his arm. Keavey had witnessed Lachie collecting forage from the riverside and called him out. Lachie had resisted, and Keavey had urged his mount to trample the old man where he knelt on the ground. Though they had gathered and pooled their restorative powers, Lachie had refused to be fully healed by his coven in order not to draw more suspicion upon them. When Lennox confronted Keavey, Keavey claimed he’d lost control of his mount. However, he also alluded to the fact the old man seemed to be collecting poisonous leaves. Keavey warned him he was watching and seeking evidence. Lennox denied his accusation, but he knew that if they took one step wrong it would not stop at a useless arm.

  It only served to frustrate Lennox all the more. The fact that he could not always protect his people reminded him of his failure to protect his mother, and his sisters. If he went ahead with a plan to get at Keavey through the woman, it would mean going against his coven. Then he recalled Mistress Chloris’s upturned face, her vulnerability as she requested his assistance. He would have to tread carefully, and in secret, but he wouldn’t relinquish the opportunity. Have her he would. “Perhaps you’re right,” he said to Glenna, keen to put an end to her meddling. “Turn Mistress Chloris away if she comes back here.”

  Ailsa sidled over and embraced him, clinging to his arm and warming him through. Glenna continued to work. It indicated the extent of her frustration for she would often busy herself with extra tasks when she was brooding upon something.

  “We should be on our way,” Glenna said eventually. “We should leave these parts. You told us that you grew up without censure, with total acceptance, in the Highlands.”

  That was hard for her, he knew, for she had been born here in the Lowlands.

  “Lennox, I am only angry with you because I feel the clouds rolling in.” She met his gaze then looked away, wiping her hands on her apron.

  Lennox took note, for she was gifted with some level of foresight, or at least foreboding. Unease built in Lennox. The people who made up his coven were growing restless. He’d tried to make it different, to free them of the fear of persecution suffered by hundreds before. The country was on the cusp of change, he felt it, but he was still haunted by the ghosts of those who had died for their beliefs, for their power to heal and create magic.

  “You’re a strong master,” Glenna continued, “and you’ve guided us well, but we came together as a coven because we saw wisdom in your words. If we do not find acceptance, we leave. I hoped...but I don’t believe full acceptance is possible. We should go north and soon, before the worst happens.”

  Ailsa squeezed his arm. “How pleasant it would be, to roam free and gather herbs without looking back over my shoulder, fearing I will soon feel the hangman’s noose around my neck.”

  Lennox sighed and wrapped his arm around her shoulder, drawing her in against him. Obligation weighed him down. Obligation to the past, the present and the future. “Hush now. You will see the Highlands soon, I promise.” After I have found my sisters.

  Ailsa’s head lifted, the troubled look in her expression vanishing.

  That was pleasing. He slapped her on the rump. “Away up and warm my bed, wench.”

  Ailsa beamed then trailed her fingers down his arm invitingly before she followed his instruction. He gave a wry smile. At least he was able to keep one of his coven happy, if only in matters of a basic nature.

  Once she’d gone, he turned back to Glenna and Lachlan. “When there is no hope of finding my sisters, then we’ll be gone. I would understand if you wish to be on your way ahead of me. Something holds me to this place. It is the simple wish that I will be reunited with my kin here.”

  “Aye, we understand that.” Glenna’s expression softened. “And we have bound ourselves to you. You are our guide in these difficult times. We trust you to make the right decision should they come after one of our own.”

  Lachie, who rarely offered his opinion, nodded. “We only comment on your actions when we have concerns.” He worried at his jaw with his good hand, as he did when he was unsure whether to speak out or not. “Sometimes you are a mite hotheaded.”

  “It is a family trait, and it is the reason I fear for my sisters, both pure born witches.”

  Glenna tapped his arm. “You will find them, mark my words.”

  “In the meantime,” Lachie said, “we have to comment if we think you’r
e putting yourself at risk, and that cousin of Keavey’s is an attractive sort.”

  “And why were you looking?” Glenna asked.

  “No crime in looking,” Lachie retorted with a chuckle.

  The fraught mood had been broken, but Lennox still brooded on their comments. Glenna was correct, to some extent. Boredom drove him to be reckless, or something of that nature. Frustration drove him, too. Finding his siblings and keeping them safe had been his goal since they’d been parted as young ones, and when he was thwarted in his searches he directed his frustration toward those who sought the ruination of his kind. Keavey was set on keeping Lennox and his commerce out of the Royal Burgh of Saint Andrews. Others he did trade with supported the legitimacy of Lennox’s interest in affairs of the burgh, whereas Keavey spread rumor and suspicion.

  And now Keavey’s pretty cousin had offered herself into his hands.

  Risky or no, Mistress Chloris was far too tempting a spoil for him to ignore.

  CHAPTER THREE

  “Are you well this morning, cousin?”

  Chloris set her fork down in order to respond. She forced herself to smile across the table at her cousin Tamhas and his wife, Jean. “Much better, thank you.”

  Tamhas observed her briefly before returning his attention to his plate of bannocks and eggs.

  Chloris was relieved. She wasn’t sure how much amiable conversation she could offer. The night before she’d been unable to attend dinner as planned. After her visit to the house in the woods her emotions were in complete disarray and she knew she would be unable to act sociably. Claiming a dizzy spell after her ride, she had excused herself and gone to her bedchamber. Jean had the cook prepare a gentle broth, but Chloris could scarcely even manage that, so preoccupied was she by the strange events of the evening. Even now, the morning after, she did not feel fully in charge of herself, and if she did not order her thoughts and maintain her composure her host would notice and question it.

  However, the man at the house in the woods was not easily dismissed from her thoughts. Distance did not lessen the connection he’d made with her, or her curiosity.

  It was only as she mounted her horse, driven by the urgent need to turn back toward her cousin’s house, that she realized she did not even know the man’s name.

  It was likely that he withheld his name for self-protection, she decided. Even though he’d been somewhat discourteous and had touched her and alluded to more acts in that vein, he was as charming and well mannered as any polite man in society when he chose to be. Yet his fundamental nature was very different to her own—wild, unruly and decadent.

  Even though she knew he was at risk of being called out for what he did, Chloris couldn’t actually imagine anyone attempting to challenge him. There was a sense of power about the man that was astonishing. Something borne of his witchcraft, no doubt. Deep down she recognized there were men out there who would indeed challenge him, because he did not swear allegiance to king or kirk but to some other, forbidden law.

  She’d all but run from the place the evening before, but she’d lain awake thinking about everything he’d said to her. Her mind and body had been filled with the experience, not only the potential of what he’d said, but the odd thrill there had been in it, despite the danger of consulting with those who practiced dark, perhaps even evil ways.

  There was also a devastating allure about the man and when she had eventually drifted into a fitful sleep her dreams were restless and filled with images of him. The fact he had been so eager to help her, so interested in her, made her wonder if he planted those images in her mind. Was he capable of such things? She had no idea, but she’d never before spent every moment recalling each word of a conversation with relish, reliving every moment—every glance, every touch—in her mind.

  She was afraid of him, but also fascinated. That he was a compelling personage was unquestionable, but still she wondered at the effect he’d had on her. Moreover, she still couldn’t decide if it was wise or foolish to return and partake of his ritual. Hope and curiosity made her want to try it. Wariness and fear battled the desire to do so.

  As she attempted to eat her breakfast, she questioned whether she could put herself wholly in his hands, open to him and trust him to undertake this act—this ungodly, heathen act—to save her marriage, to redeem her in her husband’s eyes. She had yearned for a child all these years, and now it had become a matter of life and death. A tide of doubt had forced her to pull free from his spell, for his intimate actions not only made her believe in his abilities, they also made her aware of his potential power over her. She remembered the way it had felt. A wave of arousal assailed her.

  Flustered, she raised her hand to her throat. The heated physical reaction to her own thoughts shocked her. That a man could affect her so intensely was beyond her experience, and he had done so when she was alone with him as well as in mere memories. She had escaped and she knew she should be glad of that, turning away from a dangerous situation that she shouldn’t have entered into in the first place. Instead, she was craving something entirely different, more of the same. It was as if she were being pulled in by the mystery, by the promise and the thrill.

  A moment later her dangerous thoughts were interrupted. The nursemaid entered the room with young Rab and Tam, Tamhas and Jean’s twin sons, dressed and ready for their morning in the nursery. Chloris was grateful. She always warmed at the sight of them. Barely three years old and adorable little men they were already. They always appeared somber and serious when presented to their parents, but Chloris had also observed them running amok in the gardens and it was those times she enjoyed the most. Often she would join them, taking a seat to observe and encourage their games.

  Jean kissed both boys on the forehead and straightened their neckties and collars. When the boys turned to face their father, Tamhas mopped his mouth with a handkerchief, then nodded at the nursemaid and waved his hand, dismissing them. Rab and young Tam bowed their heads to their mother and then to Chloris, and then the nursemaid ushered them out. Chloris observed the family scene wistfully.

  Jean caught Chloris’s eye when she turned back to her breakfast and nodded over. “I warrant you are missing Gavin.”

  “Yes, I am.” It was the necessary response of a dutiful wife. In truth she felt strangely adrift. She’d been born in Saint Andrews but her place was in Edinburgh now. Besides, she was not sure Jean was entirely comfortable with her staying with them at Torquil House on such an extended visit.

  Mention of her husband also made Chloris feel an all too familiar sense of failure. Gavin had sent her to the country to make her health more robust, so that she could bear him a child. It was his sole desire these days, which meant her role in his life went unfulfilled. Anger and frustration often characterized his mood toward her, whereas they’d been friends at first. He’d never been an affectionate man, but more often than not she saw disapproval in his eyes when he looked at her now. It haunted her. More so since she had left Edinburgh for Saint Andrews, because Gavin’s final words had been terrifying, more threatening than anything he had said or done before, and that set her on this outlandish path of action where she was willing to try anything to make it happen.

  “I have to sit for the town council today,” Tamhas informed them as he rose to his feet. “I will send the carriage back for you if you wish to visit the market.”

  “Yes, we shall.” Jean’s expression brightened considerably.

  Chloris’s heart sank. She would be expected to accompany Jean, when what she longed for was some time alone to unravel her thoughts.

  Jean was speaking again, and Chloris forced her attention back.

  “I am in need of lace to trim a new gown. I want to look at it myself, and my dressmaker informs me that there is a good selection available from a new merchant. He imports the best Flemish samples and brings his wares to the market.” Jean looked at Chloris expectantly. “Will you help me in my selection?”

  “That would be most enjoyable
.” Perhaps the distraction would help her muddled thoughts, and Jean was making an effort toward her. There had been some awkwardness from them initially, for Chloris had been Tamhas’s ward before he’d met Jean.

  Within the hour the carriage had returned and the two women had readied themselves for the outing. As the coachman set off and the carriage jolted along the lane in the direction of Saint Andrews, Chloris noticed that Jean seemed much enlivened by the prospect of visiting the town. Wisps of her chestnut hair escaped her bonnet as she turned her face eagerly to the carriage window. With one hand she held back the curtain for a better view, while the other toyed with the brooch that fastened her cloak at her collarbone neck. Her eyes were bright, and the pale pink glow on her skin was most becoming. It made Chloris smile, for she, too, had found the Keavey household oppressive as a young woman. Not so now, when her life situation had changed drastically. Torquil House was akin to a refuge. Jean was younger than Chloris and appeared to struggle with her role as mistress of the house. She had been married to Tamhas for over four years and had quickly fallen pregnant with twin boys. Chloris did not feel jealousy. It was a kind of wistful sadness she experienced, because she could not fulfill her female obligation to her husband in the same way.

  Jean caught her smiling and returned it. “I am enjoying your company, cousin,” she said, projecting her voice over the rattles and creaks of the carriage. “It is not often that we have visitors.”

  It seemed to be an offering of friendship, for which Chloris was grateful. “And I yours. I appreciate you allowing me to visit.”

  Her comments seemed to put Jean at ease. Was that what she needed, to feel it was her choice to have Chloris as visitor?

  Jean brushed her cloak with her hand, apparently busying herself. “It was difficult for me at first,” she continued. “Tamhas speaks most fondly about you, and I know you were close after the demise of your family.”