MacDougal pursed his lips and considered Tamhas at length.
“I believed you to be more of a forward thinker than this, Keavey.”
Tamhas tightened his grip on his mug of ale. He wanted to crush it. “I am a forward thinker. I am thinking of our country, our families and their future.”
“That is not what I meant.” MacDougal pushed his ale away. His expression was disapproving. “There is no evidence of witchcraft in Saint Andrews, only hearsay. I understand you are suspicious of anyone who does not have a long history in the town, that is natural caution, but we are responsible men. As members of the council we must set a good example to all. We are leaders, and we must think and act carefully. An accusation of witchcraft against one of our townsmen would bring disrepute on the whole town.”
Tamhas’s frustration grew. “But witchcraft has been rife all over Scotland for centuries, why not here?”
“We are the religious capital of Scotland. That is no small thing.”
Enraged, Tamhas gesticulated with his hands. “And therefore a temptation of the highest order, to such as them.”
“Our good name cannot be tarnished by hearsay.”
“Are you saying you would ignore a person you thought was capable of such heinous acts, for the sake of the reputation of the town?”
“No, I’m not saying that.” MacDougal leaned forward and kept his voice low. “But we would require sound evidence and it would need to be handled discreetly.”
The tension that had built between them diminished a modicum.
“Nowadays caution is key...humanity,” MacDougal continued. “There are many in government who doubt the existence of witchcraft, and who question the death sentences that have been so readily doled out over the course of our history.”
“They are fools,” Tamhas blurted. “I’ve seen three of them hanged and they were evil to the core.”
MacDougal observed him in silence, and Tamhas regretted speaking out again after they were drawing closer to an understanding.
“If Master Fingal has evil intensions it will be revealed in the course of time and we will make a decision on how to act upon it.” MacDougal prepared to leave without having touched his ale. “For the time being, we will watch his performance on the council. By the close of summer, we will either revoke his invitation or his wainwrights will be recognized as a town guild.”
Tamhas gritted his teeth. MacDougal was clearly humoring him, but he had raised his concerns and there was nothing more he could do without evidence.
Evidence I intend to get.
* * *
The next time the coven came together in ritual it was to summon a good harvest for the sake of a local farmer. Griffin had come to Somerled when his family had fallen on hard times after the death of the eldest son, and they needed a good crop to trade or they would lose their tenancy.
Lennox made his way to the clearing where the group met for ritual. Dusk was closing in. The sun was low on the horizon and the sky was streaked with radiant shades of russet and pink. It sent long shadows through the forest and across the place where they gathered. When Lennox took his place and glanced around the assembled group he saw restlessness in their eyes, questions. Something was amiss.
“We are only twelve,” he commented.
“Nathan is still scouting about,” Glenna informed him, “to make sure we are not being observed.” There was an unhappy set to her mouth.
“I would know if there were strangers nearby.” He had already circled the forest on his horse while the others built and kindled a fire on the clearing.
Glenna nodded, but she looked uneasy.
“What troubles you?”
Glenna glanced over at Ailsa and then at Nathan as he made his way through the trees to join them. It was Ailsa who spoke up and when she did Lennox saw distress in her eyes.
“It is Keavey’s men, the ones who visit the tenants at the far reaches of his land. These last two days they made their way through the forest instead of skirting it when they returned to Torquil House.”
“Through the forest?”
“The first time I saw them I thought it was by chance. Then I was out there late this afternoon and they came through again. I was hidden in a thicket between the trees and when I glanced back I saw they were watching Nathan from a distance. I heard them talk amongst themselves.”
There was a hunted look in her eyes, and Lennox knew why. Bad memories of what she’d seen haunted her. It was how she’d looked when he first found her, and it returned when her liberty and her innate craft were under threat of discovery by those who would lead them to the gallows.
“They were trying to observe what Nathan was harvesting. Once I knew, I caused a distraction in the trees and they moved on. But I fear they will return, and often. They are watching us, Lennox.” Unhappiness poured from her.
“Do not fear, for this ground is protected by my magic.”
“Is your magic strong enough to protect us all?” It was Glenna who asked.
“I will strengthen the bond this very night. They will observe nothing in the forest. In our domain we will be safe.” He locked eyes with each and every one of them in turn, giving them his promise. “Be on your guard if you’re elsewhere or in the town, however.”
He reached out his hands and the circle followed, each joining hands. “Let us move quickly and call on nature’s bounty for the sake of Farmer Griffin.”
Lennox felt their concerns diminish as they pooled their craft.
He threw his head back and breathed deeply, allowing the tides of time and nature to flow through him. Beneath his feet, he felt the richness of the earth and channeled his thoughts to it. When he began to chant the ancient words aloud, the coven followed. Some of them stood still, some swayed gently. The essence of each and every person gathered there rippled around the circle, into him, and connected with the ground they stood upon. When it grew strong and vital he raised his arms, then knelt and thrust his hands into the earth. Behind him the circle closed and a charge like lightning ran up his back. Heat and light flooded from his fingertips into the ground. He lowered his head, humbly offering himself, requesting nature’s good fortune to benefit the kindly farmer who had asked for their help. Again their pooled essence shot from his fingertips into the ground.
Only when he was satisfied did he break with the ritual and rise to his feet.
He noticed that the ritual had restored unity to the coven. Grateful that it had brought some peace, he thanked them. Glenna smiled and the men embraced the women.
Nathan spoke up. “Do you want me to stay?”
“See to the others, take them back to Somerled.”
Nathan encouraged them and the crowd dispersed, meandering back toward the house in the woods. Only one remained. Ailsa.
When Lennox went to her side he quickly saw that the distress in her eyes was now tempered by a plea. A plea for understanding. “You are hurting, Ailsa?”
“Aye. I’m afraid.”
“Do you wish to leave Somerled?”
She shook her head. For a long moment she was silent, and when she spoke her voice faltered. “Lennox, you came for me. When my sister was charged and taken to the gallows and my life was over, you came. You took my hand and led me to safety.”
Before him, Lennox saw a woman humbled. He rarely saw her that way these days, for she had grown strong and boisterous within the safety of the coven. “I know what it’s like to lose kin,” he answered.
She nodded, a tear dropping from her eyelashes to her cheek as she did so. “It was only a matter of time until all of Berwick turned on me as they had my sister. Had you not come, I would have been unprotected. You saved me, Lennox.”
Lennox saw it then. Far beyond the responsibility, her loyalty was deeply bedded, but she was opening her heart in ways he had never seen her do before. A prickly lass she’d been and it moved him to see her so humbled.
He cupped her face in his hands, gently wiping away her tears
with his thumbs. “It is what I do. When I hear tales of brethren I seek them out. If I cannot help them, I will try to help the ones they’ve left behind.”
She reached her hand to cover his and her lower lip trembled.
“As a lad I ran,” he confessed, “in fear of my persecutors. If someone had come to rest their hand upon my shoulder I might have tracked down my sisters, but I did not. I do not want anyone to feel what I have felt, but so many of you have and will.”
Her eyelids dropped. Still, she wanted to know that she was more to him than the rest, he sensed it in her. “Ailsa, I will always try to protect you, but you must be strong.”
When she lifted her eyelids, her eyes shone. “Lennox, you are everything to me, you are my laird.”
“Hush now.” He rested a kiss on her forehead, treasuring her as he had treasured all those he’d brought together. He did not deserve their loyalty, and yet it was freely given, for they trusted in the one who guided them, the one who nurtured them and their craft.
“The fear, it runs amongst us,” Ailsa whispered, “and when one of us is directly threatened we all feel it. But you grow distant, you only want to win over the town council.”
She spoke the truth. His attentions were divided, just as they always had been. And life had yet again played a cruel trick on him, for his intentions toward Mistress Chloris were shifting of their own accord, and that, too, played its own part in what he wanted and the actions he took. “I see it, I know it.” He sighed. “It’s hard for me because part of me yearns to stand amongst them, to be recognized for what we are, not feared.”
Her eyes flashed in the moonlight. “That part of you will lead us to ruin.”
“I will not let it happen, rest easy. All around us people have questioned the fear of witchcraft. Some simply do not believe it, they say the law was written by a madman who feared everything. I long to find my way to a middle ground where we are accepted for what we are. If it does not happen, we will go north to the Highlands.”
Solemnly, she regarded him. “You are a strong man, but you are ruled by your emotions.”
“Would you want me to change that?”
She shook her head.
“Right then. Away back to the house, I have work to do.”
Still she hesitated. “Shall I warm your bed for your return?”
There was tension in her voice. They had not lain together for some time. Was she testing him?
Lennox shook his head. “It will be late when I return.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
As spring came into full bloom and the foliage in the glens became more colorful and plentiful, their illicit meetings became a daily occurrence. Despite the danger, Lennox was completely bound up in Chloris, more absorbed with her than he had ever been with any woman. He woke every day before dawn broke, his body eager and ready for her. Images of her writhing beneath him, moaning like a wanton as he gave her his length, made him instantly hard, fueling his blood with fire as he made his way to the meeting spot and awaited her arrival.
Under the continued guise of an early morning ride Chloris would meet him in the forest. Sometimes it would scarcely be enough for him, and he was often tempted to go to her at night again, risking discovery for a taste of her—just to feel her relinquish herself to him, her body becoming supple in his embrace. It was hard, but he restricted himself to their morning meetings. Sometimes she would ask him to reinforce his ritual magic for the sake of her fertility. More often than not she would just run into his arms and they would be entwined as one.
As time went by Lennox found he grew increasingly concerned in the moments before her arrival in the forest. It was not that he was afraid she would not come. He knew with full certainty that she would. However, he did not want their illicit rendezvous to be discovered. Upsetting Keavey had been his primary aim. At first he had relished the image of Keavey discovering that his precious cousin had offered herself to the local Witch Master. Not once, but repeatedly.
As time went by Lennox wasn’t ready for that to occur. There was too much pleasure to be had—to be shared. It wasn’t how it started, but Lennox soon found that he wanted all of her. To touch her, taste and hold her forever locked in his embrace. So while he waited for her to arrive each morning he sought her out, glad when he saw her riding his way, always eager to lose himself between her soft, silken thighs. She’d made him come alive when he was weary of life, weary of fighting for a doomed cause and forever hunting for lost brethren. Chloris had given him something else. At first he thought it a momentary, sensory distraction. He simply could not get enough of her and fully intended to slake his lust for her repeatedly before this thing ended. Then he realized that she affected him in a deeper, more resonant way.
Somehow his involvement with Chloris was making him think more deeply about the driving forces in his life, and how much he owed those around him. It had been a long slow battle, and his search for respectability for the people he was responsible for was taking too long. Too many innocents had been put to death in the Lowlands. Glenna and Lachie were right. They should have taken to the North, to the Highlands and safety there, years before. He was torn, though, because he might never find his sisters if he moved his people north. He had thrust roots down here in Fife in order to find his sisters, and he had become part of the fabric of the place. It wasn’t his birthplace. He’d been born in the Highlands, taken Fingal as his name after the place that was his true home.
The burden carried by the Taskills was not easily shrugged off. His mother had led them south to find their father. An ill-destined journey it had been. Their kin in the Highlands warned them against it, but his mother was a stubborn sort. To her detriment. In the Lowlands their craft was feared and shunned. Witches and healers were put to death, stoned and burned for their craft. Their mother became one of them.
He’d been split from his sisters, bound and gagged and thrown in an old stone quarry where he’d been left to die. But anger kept him alive. He used his craft and his wits to survive and fight his way out. The need to spite those who damned him was great, but it was also foolhardy, for he knew it might bring punishment or death to his sisters. Hollow and defeated he let his feet lead him, seeking work and food along the way, until he was back in the safe haven of the Highlands.
His mother’s sister and his cousins had nursed him back to health, gentle people who lived with their hearts tied to the land and seasons. They sighed and fretted over what had returned to them, for Lennox Taskill had been a broken youth.
When he grew well he watched and waited for Jessie and Maisie, but his twin sisters were too young. Their feet would not know the way home as his had done. Within the year he was back in the Lowlands, his mission to find his sisters. First he returned to the place where his mother had been put to death, faced it, allowing the sorry memories to stoke his will to survive—and to help others of their kind to survive. He discovered that Jessie had been kept there in the village in the charge of the schoolmaster, until she’d broken free of her owners and run. Of Maisie there was no word at all. Vanished. Both of them. All these years later and he was still trying to find them.
Establishing himself in Saint Andrews, he’d forged a bond with others of his kind, people who became his new family, people who watched out for him as he did them. Most of them had been born in Fife and they had helped him settle there. However, there was a part of him that would always belong to the Highlands, for he had been born there and all his childhood spent there, learning the old ways under his mother’s guidance. Moving south had brought nothing but trouble, but it was hard to break with the hunt for Jessica and Margaret.
Scotland was on the cusp of immense change. He felt it, but he could not clearly discern its direction. There was some resistance building to the persecution of witches. That gave him hope. But how long until the change came, and would people like Tamhas Keavey ever accept it? His coven was eager to find the safe haven, and they trusted him. What of his sisters? If they were al
ive would they have headed north, too, homeward bound? No word had come from Fingal, so Lennox had to assume they were still lost to him and the Taskill family.
They would be nineteen now, young women. How he longed to know what had become of them. Every few weeks he traveled the land, whenever he heard mention of strange goings-on, whispers about witchcraft and women who were gifted. He sensed that his sisters may not have had the opportunity to hide themselves in the community and live a life where they could conceal their craft, or to use it to help others.
He thought on it while he guided his horse through the woodlands toward the bluebell glen. Looking across the landscape he ached for stability, for kin. A woman like Chloris in his bed every night? Yes, that, too.
She was waiting for him, which chased away the darkest of the memories, if only for a while. He climbed down from his saddle and let Shadow roam free.
As Lennox approached, he gazed at her. Even though her eyes were wide and she was nervous, her inner strength drew him—everything about her called on him, and it was an intoxicating and unique experience.
The way her hair was pinned close to her head immediately made him want to pull it free of the lace cap that held it there, in order to watch as it fell over her shoulders. Her pale blue gown was simple, and yet everything about it emphasized her softness, her vulnerability. The stiff bodice was hard and unyielding, which only drew his gaze to the swell of her bosom at its edge. Her skirts were not overly full, unlike some of the wealthy women in Saint Andrews, but the folds gathered below the waist served to emphasize her elegance, her womanly poise. The lace at her cuffs drew his attention to her wrists, and then he noticed how she clasped and unclasped her fingers as he grew close. She was eager for him.
She smiled his way as he approached.
“You grow more beautiful with each passing day.”
“And you grow ever more charming, but I am wise to your wily ways.” Her smile was teasing.
“It is the truth.”
The Libertine Page 12
