The Libertine

by Saskia Walker

  Chloris reflected on the image of Lennox. There was a wildness about him. That was undeniable. There was a noble air about him, too, something in his posture and his manner that showed he would fear no man. That was where the dark thrill lay, she suspected, the rebellion she saw in his eyes. She’d never known anyone like that. The men in her life, her husband and her cousin Tamhas, were powerful because of what they owned and the ability they had to supply others with shelter or food, or not, as they chose. Lennox was not a wealthy man, and yet there was something almost regal about him. It was little wonder that he attracted women.

  I must be cautious. Once again she warned herself to think about her goal, to fulfill her obligation to her husband by having a child. It was wrong to think upon the man’s looks and his bearing and his potential to woo women when she was about to let him undertake some mysterious, unchristian ritual on her. Besides, he might not even appear.

  When the chambermaid came to turn down her covers and offered to assist her disrobing, Chloris declined. It wouldn’t be seen as odd, because Chloris seldom accepted assistance. The girl looked at her with sympathy as if she assumed Chloris was reserved, which suited Chloris. Her servants in Edinburgh were used to her ways and no longer offered. For reasons she kept private Chloris had learned to deal with the task of undressing—managing all manner of hooks and ribbons and layers of fabric—alone.

  The serving girl stoked the fire, then left.

  Once she was gone Chloris took a deep breath. The serving girl was, in all likelihood, the last person she would see that night and she would not have to deal with Master Lennox. He would forget or have second thoughts perhaps. That should have been a relief. It did little to quell her emotions. The truth of the matter was that she would wait up all night, hoping for the chance to partake of the magic he offered. If he did not come, that would be more painful still.

  The hands on the clock neared the midnight hour and she lingered by the window, peeping out from behind the curtains. As the clock chimed, she saw him pacing across the lawn in the moonlight. She clutched at the curtains, staring down in disbelief. Several times over she wondered if she’d imagined his promise. What man in his right mind would enter the home of someone set on having him and his people persecuted?

  He paused and lifted his head, apparently looking up at the windows. What a startling figure he made, so tall and sure of himself. He was as much at ease prowling in the moonlight as he was stalking about in the busy market earlier that day. It should have made her wary. It only made her curious, eager to know more about him.

  Swallowing hard, she opened the curtains wide and showed herself. When he lifted his hand in acknowledgment, she dropped the curtain and paced back and forth again.

  What would happen should he be discovered entering the house? He might not even make it as far as her room. Part of her wished that he wouldn’t. The rest of her was ready to run to the door and open it for him if he knocked.

  How would he even know which room was hers?

  The thought sent a shiver through her. She had no idea of the extent of his powers. She’d heard tales, of course, dark stories about the dreadful things that accused witches had done. Was Master Lennox as powerful and unruly as the ministers said when they warned of those who indulged in witchcraft? If he was, he could do many things.

  Therefore he could enable her to have a child. Salvation.

  She darted over to the door and listened, straining for any sound that would indicate the household had been alerted to the presence of an intruder. Silence was all she heard. Would he enter by means of magic? That had not occurred to her, but when she thought on it she supposed he might. Doubts assailed her. Magic, work of the Devil? What had she agreed to? She stepped over to the mantel shelf over the fireplace and clutched at it to steady her.

  A moment later the door clicked and she saw a sliver of light by the doorway.

  The candle on the mantelshelf flickered.

  The sliver of light vanished and stillness descended again.

  Chloris wondered if she had imagined it, so imperceptible was the movement, but then she discerned the outline of a tall, dark figure standing in the gloom by the doorway.

  He was here. The Witch Master was now inside the room.

  Her fingers clutched tighter to the shelf. Her blood had already been racing, but when she sensed his presence—so brooding and so mysterious—here in her private chamber, her heart thumped against the wall of her chest. They were alone. She took a deep breath, attempting to keep her thoughts in order. It was difficult to do so. Her chest was constricted, her corset and bodice unbearably tight.

  Once again she wondered if she’d gone insane, agreeing to have him come here. It was bad enough that she had sought his kind out. Why had she succumbed to his offer in the marketplace? His presence here in her private quarters was outrageous, and it flustered her immensely, even more than she had imagined it would.

  Then he stepped closer, into the light by the fireplace, and those questions faded into the background. She was captured by the look of him. Unruly, yet poised and elegant. He had the quality of a sleek parlor hound that could turn into a wild hunter at whim. When he looked at her with those intense eyes, her reason faltered.

  “Good evening, Mistress Chloris.” He bowed his head.

  “Sire.” Her voice wavered. She knew she must press on, and quickly. She’d readied her words and forced them out. “You have risked much coming here, thank you.”

  A shadow of a smile passed over his lips. “You asked for my help, but you were wary of being seen coming to my home. That is understandable. We can talk here in privacy.”

  She nodded, but somehow felt safer not meeting his piercing gaze. Instead she risked only fleeting glances in his direction, remembering what Tamhas had said about his eyes, and what she thought she had seen in the market. Was it true? She meant to proceed quickly, lest they be discovered conversing in secret in the midnight hour. However, curiosity had its hold on her. “You seem to know your way about the place. You found my chamber quickly.”

  “Aye, I have been inside the house before. Not that Tamhas Keavey knows of it, I warrant. Your cousin’s wife invited me here, secretly.” He observed her as he spoke, almost as if he wanted to study her reaction. “It was shortly after she became mistress of the house.”

  Chloris was startled on several accounts and found herself unable to respond with an appropriate answer. It appeared that he’d known all along that Tamhas was her cousin. It would not take much investigation, she supposed. Perhaps she had even given it away the night before. She’d been taken by surprise on meeting him and had not thought clearly. The fact that there was some previous involvement between him and Jean made her unbearably curious. It went some way in explaining Jean’s response to him in the marketplace that morning. Most of all it unnerved Chloris that Jean had apparently invited him here, just as she had. Why?

  Unbidden, Jean’s words of warning ran through her mind again—her comments about his immoral nature, his ability to seduce. Chloris’s face heated as she recalled Jean’s flustered state while she explained why they had to avoid him. She’d said it was because of his reputation. Was there more to it? Had Jean herself been involved with him?

  Her visitor gave a soft laugh, as if he sensed his statement had confused her. “Mistress Jean is a kindly woman, but somewhat gullible. As a young bride,” he continued, sidling closer as he spoke, “Mistress Jean was convinced of a ghostly presence in the west wing. She asked me here to seek it out and send it on its way. Alas, it was a wasted visit, for I could not discern any such presence.”

  “Ah, yes.” Chloris nodded, relieved to get to a reason for his previous visitation. “The illusive wandering spirit, there has always been talk of it amongst the servants. As my cousin’s ward I spent several years living here at Torquil House, before I left for Edinburgh, and there were no sightings while I was resident. I suspected it was a fanciful tale woven by one of the servants.”


  He did not seem surprised. “Oftentimes we are called upon when there is no real reason for our intervention.”

  The way he said it—with careful emphasis—made her wonder.

  “Superstition, hearsay, fear, mistaken assumptions...all of these things bring troubled ones to us.” He gave a wry smile. He had drawn to a halt an arm’s length away from her. “And the very same things are often turned and used against us.” There was a bitter undercurrent to his tone, but he quickly gestured with his hands, breaking the tension. “So, you have given thought to our discussion?”

  Questions still flitted through her mind. Making haste was imperative, though. The threat of discovery made her uncomfortable. Especially now that she knew the real reason for Jean’s concern. Jean had kept a secret from Tamhas all these years, and his mood at dinner was some indication why. “I have made my decision. I want you to undertake the ritual tonight.”

  He cocked his head on one side, considering her. “I’m surprised. I wasn’t expecting you to agree so soon.”

  For a moment she felt he was disappointed by her eagerness. Every time he spoke, he surprised her.

  “I thought I might have to convince you,” he added. He looked her over with an appreciative glance.

  The way he studied her made her feel unsteady. The man was a force of nature, to be sure. “I considered your words carefully, and although I am somewhat nervous about the ritual itself, I want to proceed.”

  He quirked an eyebrow.

  Apparently it was necessary to give him just cause. Her gaze lowered. “I would not have come to you if I had not been convinced of my need for help. I have long since known that I am flawed, as a woman.”

  She paused in order to swallow down the shame she felt. It was not in her nature to discuss her problems openly with a man, let alone a stranger. She was a proud woman and this had taken some effort on her behalf. “If you can help me I would be most grateful.”

  “No one is perfect, Mistress Chloris. Keep that in mind.” His mouth twitched in amusement. “We each strive to be more able and useful. It was brave of you to come to us, under the circumstances.”

  She lifted her chin, meeting his gaze directly. “And it was brave of you to come here to this house.”

  Once the comment was out, the exchange affected her oddly. Was it because they considered each other silently? A moment of mutual respect, she assumed. Chloris wasn’t used to a man like him, one who could so easily control a situation—either by mastery, seductive magic or surprising moments of respect. As a woman, she rarely encountered any of those things in her husband, who was an altogether different type of man.

  Why am I even thinking like this, comparing them? It was wrong of her and she clutched her fisted hand to her breastbone, ashamed of her wayward thoughts.

  She turned away and picked up the pouch of coins she had readied, offering it to him. “Please, tell me if this is enough for your fee.”

  He weighed the pouch in his hand and then set it back down on the table without looking inside or counting the coins. “I suggest you determine how much the fee should be when we complete our endeavor. If you are pleased with the results, you can decide the amount.”

  Was that because he was so sure of his magic? “If that is what you would prefer.”

  He nodded.

  His poise was breathtaking. The way he stood, so still yet so apparently ready to pounce into action, made her feel restless. “And now we begin?”

  She asked the question and yet she did not know what she was doing.

  His mouth lifted at one corner. “The ideal situation would be to perform the ritual in nature’s bower, at first dawn or shortly afterward, when we could engage with the ebb and flow of the natural world more readily. But we can initiate it here, now.”

  Her level of concern rose. “Initiate?”

  “It may need more than one meeting.”

  “Oh, I had not realized.” Chloris was set on it, but she had hoped it would be done that night. She could not risk her hosts discovering her actions. Doubts assailed her. What if the nature of his ritual was disturbing to her? Would she be able to continue?

  “Trust me, Mistress Chloris.” His eyes glinted. “The power we invoke is only that which is around us at all times, the cycle of the seasons, the power of nature to flourish and multiply. I will call upon the spirit of spring, when the land is most fertile, and I will draw her vitality into you.”

  His words alone made her feel aroused. She had never heard such things, and his knowledge was compelling. As was his presence.

  “I must, however, warn you. If we were outside, the magical forces I engender would dissipate into the air around us, but here, in this space, it may linger.”

  Breathlessly, she queried his meaning. “Linger?”

  “You may feel...stimulated.” His gaze covered her, as if he relished the idea of seeing it. “I thought it fair to warn you.”

  Chloris was fairly sure he could tell she was already stimulated. Was he teasing her with his warning? Objection parted her lips, but before she had a chance to speak he turned away and removed his coat.

  Chloris stared, disbelievingly, as he slung it over a nearby chair, revealing broad shoulders under the fine linen of his shirt. He wore no waistcoat, and the shirt fell from his shoulders loosely. When he turned to face her again Chloris attempted to avert her eyes. She could not. His powerful chest was exposed through the soft material—the opening at his neck showing bare skin. She glanced beyond him, at the door, dreading what might happen if he was discovered here.

  “You are cautious,” he commented, “which I can understand. You are a proud woman, but I sense you are mistrustful, too, for some reason.”

  “Oh. I—”

  “For the ritual to take hold, you must believe, you must trust.”

  “It is not you that I am mistrustful of.” She shook her head quickly. “Forgive me. I am wary because I am afraid for both of us, meeting here. My host would not approve. Perhaps I should not have let you come.”

  “Fear not.” He smiled, and that smile seemed to warm her from the inside, comforting her deeply.

  “I am truly grateful for your efforts.” She lowered her eyelids, wishing she had not said that much. She’d blurted out her thoughts because she did not want him to leave.

  Stepping closer, until he was right against her, he put his head to one side. “May I remove your pearls?”

  Startled, her hand went to her throat, where she wore a triple strand of pearls that had belonged to her mother. Pearls were not as fashionable as they had been in her mother’s time, but she often wore them in order to be close to her mother.

  “Allow me.” He eased her hand away and then stroked his own around the back of her neck, paddling his fingers against the catch.

  Her chin lifted. She couldn’t help it. His touch was subtle yet so invigorating, like nothing she had ever experienced before.

  When her head fell back he gazed down at her exposed neck and the swell of her bosom. He was so blatant. He looked at her indolently and without censure, apparently without concern for manners and the fact that she was a married woman. Nevertheless, she had agreed to this, to whatever contact he would have to make, and the consequences of that contact would just have to be endured. And there were consequences. She felt the tension building inside her all the while, and the air around them seemed heavy with desire, making her feel even more self-aware and shameful.

  His gaze sharpened. “Turn your head to the side.”

  When she looked away, he pressed harder at the back of her neck and the collar at her throat clicked open. When the choker slipped from its place he gathered it in his hand. But his hand remained at the back of her neck, the choker gathered in his fist. “Unfettered, that is much better.”

  As he took his hand away, he ran the back of one knuckle the length of her throat. “You are very beautiful.”

  She knew she ought to question his actions and ask what would happen next, for then s
he would be prepared. But she was unable to.

  “If it were up to me,” he added in a low suggestive tone, his gaze devouring her, “I would have you completely unfettered, naked and glorious.”

  Chloris gasped.

  He put a finger to her lips, silencing her objection.

  “Forgive me. I cannot help admiring you. You are a desirable woman, and I am a man, after all.” His mouth pursed in a sensual smile.

  A man? Why did that suddenly seem so much more dangerous than him being a witch?

  He removed the shawl she had around her shoulders, dropping it onto the ground nearby. “Open your heart and mind to me.”

  His voice was so low and husky it tugged at her nerves.

  Then he pulled the kerchief free from her bosom, casting it aside.

  Chloris swayed unsteadily. “Please, you shame me.”

  “I will need to lay my hands upon you. There is no shame in this. You are a woman, a woman who desires her fulfillment.”

  Fulfillment. Deep in the pit of her belly a pang of need sprung loose in response to that comment. It was not bearing a child she thought of then, however, but a different kind of fulfillment. He stirred it in her. Was it because she had never heard a man say such things? Or was it because he was there, and he was undeniably alluring?

  “Are you ready?”

  She nodded.

  He circled her and, as he did, he spoke in a tongue that she didn’t recognize. Chloris felt the heat in the room build. She turned her head to watch him and saw a man deep in concentration. His eyes were hooded, which only made him look more handsome.

  Again he spoke, his tone growing more forceful.

  The fire crackled, flames leaping high in the grate.

  He moved closer to her. Dropping to his knees before her, he bent to place a kiss on her slippered feet, first the right, then the left.

  Chloris stared down at him, astonished. All the while he chanted beneath his breath. A strange draft moved through the room and on it the scent of damp earth and sap. Instinctively, Chloris glanced over at the window, thinking it open. It was not.