Chloris covered her mouth with her hand, shocked to the core by his statement. Shaking her head, she tried to take it in. “Oh, Lennox, I am so sorry.”
The nature of his family history held so many implications. In particular it made her even more afraid for him. He had come to Torquil House to be with her, time and again, the very place where he was in deep danger. Tamhas would happily see a similar ending served on Lennox and his people. She knew that without a doubt. Yet so much of what she was learning about him made sense of the man she did know, his rebellious nature, his strong will and his tenacity.
“We have always been ready to take our leave, but I had hoped to find my kin before such time. It has not happened, but I have found you.” He sighed, then gave her a gentle smile. “There seems a certain destiny in our meeting at this point in time. Locating my sisters is the only barrier to perfect contentment.”
“That’s where you had been, wasn’t it, looking for your sisters, when I first visited Somerled?”
“It was.” He stared at her in silence a moment and she could feel it, his affection for her. He truly did believe in it. “Chloris, we are meant to be together. You cannot stay with a man who treated you so badly.”
“It is the way for many women, as well you know.”
Anger shot through his eyes. “It is not the way for the women under my protection.”
Chloris saw and felt his dream, but she knew it for what it was, a dream, at least where they were concerned. “You want to make me one of your women,” she whispered.
“Yes.”
Her eyelids lowered. A heavy weight pressed upon her chest, emotion swelling in her. When he went to say more she put her finger to his lips. “Lennox, say no more.”
One of his women...
As if she could ever be like those women, gifted and magical. Chloris thought about Ailsa, who had opened the door to her that first night, so wild and sure with her misty eyes and knowing ways, even though the threat of discovery stalked them.
No, he grew bored of the women who weren’t of his kind. The affairs that he had with the women of Saint Andrews were pastimes to him. That is what Jean had indicated in her warnings. That was the way of it, and that’s what would happen between them. If she went to him he would soon tire of her, and she would be cast aside. Too long she had avoided the truth about her situation in life, and now that she had faced it so thoroughly she would not shy away ever again. How it hurt, though, because she craved him badly. Knowing that he wanted her, too—and it could never be, that it was doomed to failure—only served to make her feel as if her life was forever ill-fated.
“It is too much, all of it.” She turned away, covering her face with her hands. Tears threatened to spill from her eyes and she didn’t want to cry in front of him again.
His arms were around her inside a heartbeat and he kissed the top of her head. “Why? We will be happy together, I promise you.”
“Stop,” she whispered. Covering his hands with hers, she rested her head back against his shoulder, allowing herself to absorb the feeling of being comforted in his arms safely while he made promises that neither of them could guarantee.
He turned her to face him. “There is council business to take care of later today. We will meet again tomorrow morn, and you will give me your answer then.”
There was hope in his eyes, perhaps even a touch of desperation.
She wanted to say she would, badly. An aching maw in her chest forced her to the brink of agreeing to his demands. “You would not use magic on me now, would you?”
“Never. Not for something as important as this. You must come to me of your own free will, otherwise it is worth nowt.”
He wanted to do the right thing, trusted her to do the same. She would, but it would not make him happy. Eventually he would understand. He would mate with a woman of his own kind, and he would know that it was for the best.
But she wanted him so. Frustration drove her, and she pulled him by his shirt, drawing him to her.
“Make love to me,” she demanded, one hand lifting her skirts as high as her thighs.
His eyes lit from within.
The ache in her chest grew. He thought she was agreeing to his demands.
Before she could deny it he had her in his arms, guiding her to a spot where they could lie together. “I knew you would see the sense of it.”
No, she had only seen the truth of it.
But she could not deny herself this one last pleasure.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
During the council meeting Lennox could barely stop himself glowering at Tamhas Keavey. Keavey kept glancing his way, smiling smugly as if he was head of the council. Had he ensured Lennox’s short membership? It mattered not. Lennox was no longer concerned about that. They would be gone soon. His relationship with Chloris had tipped the scales.
It was, however, tempting to inform Keavey he had not the slightest clue what was going on around him. That would be fatal, and Lennox vowed to remain silent even if provoked. He was scarcely able to allow Chloris to return to Tamhas Keavey’s home that morning. Now he had to sit and watch Keavey gloat over some perceived one-upmanship on his part.
The last thing in the world he wanted was for Keavey to find out about his involvement with Chloris. The very reason for the affair in the first place now appeared so blatantly wrong. It unsettled Lennox greatly. If Keavey were to find out about the relationship that had grown between them, there was no telling how he might treat Chloris. She had doubts enough about the wisdom of leaving her kin to be with him. If Keavey had even the slightest clue and quizzed her, those doubts would inevitably increase.
The very thought of it made Lennox feel powerless and frustrated. He loved the woman and he wanted to be with her forever. The only way to make that happen was to begin a new life together, far away from the Lowlands and all those who would try to keep them apart. It would happen, he would make it so.
He scarcely listened when the list was read out and the Somerled wainwrights were added for a tenure of one year.
How things changed, he mused.
It mattered not a jot.
Lennox returned to Somerled with plans to gather the coven.
As he approached he heard his name being called from a distance. Alerted by the sound, he saw Lachlan waving at him, as if encouraging him to make haste. Glenna was a few feet behind. Both of them looked anxious. Glenna hurried along the path, one hand reaching out to steady herself against a tree trunk and she realized he had seen them. His blood ran cold, the sight of them worrying him deeply. Was there trouble at the house? Or worse still, an ousting of one of their own?
He twitched the reins and urged his horse to gallop, quickly closing the distance between them. “What is it?”
Lachie eased Lennox’s mount when he drew to a halt, stroking the horse’s neck as he spoke. His face was flushed and his eyes bright. “Word has reached us that a woman is being held in the tolbooth in Dundee. She is on a charge of witchcraft.”
A fist formed in Lennox’s gut. It always did when he heard of innocents being persecuted. Then Glenna shook her head, her eyes widening, and Lennox knew there was more to it. He climbed down from his horse.
Lachie continued. “They say her name is Jessica Taskill.”
Lennox gripped the pommel on his saddle, astonished. So long it was that he had hunted for Jessie and Maisie, and with no word. They had vanished—much as he had—into the fabric of the land, but he had always hoped that one day he would find them. Not this way. Not knowing Jessie was on trial for her craft.
Quelling his fear as best he could, he pushed his hands through his hair and leveled his mind. “How long ago?”
Glenna shook her head. “I’m sorry, Lennox. That was all the news there was. We can only assume it was not long since, or...or more details would have been passed on.”
She spoke with obvious discomfort, as if unwilling to make him think about the immense possibility of his sister’s end.
“That’s true enough,” Lachie added. “People are all too ready to gloat over the details. The news is fresh. Heed Glenna’s words and hurry to her side.”
Lennox nodded. Looking out across the land he reached his arms out with the deepest reserves of his divination—the most precious instincts carried by those gifted with the craft—and he felt sure she was still alive. He summoned a wish for a protective force to surround her until he got there.
He met Lachie’s watchful, concerned stare. “Give Shadow a quick rubdown and a feed.”
Lachie lifted the reins. “If you ride to Newport on the Tay you can stable Shadow there and secure a ferry to cross the water into Dundee.”
Lachie urged the horse on to the stable while Glenna hurried alongside Lennox as they headed into the house. “I have readied a saddlebag with supplies. Is there anything else that you need?”
His thoughts turned back to Chloris, his mind racing. “A quill, ink and paper.”
Glenna glanced at him with curiosity.
“I will explain.” He had been intending to inform them that Chloris would be joining them soon and why. The time was nigh for him to lead them all north to safe haven in the Highlands. In his heart and mind he determined that would be with Jessie and Maisie in tow. He took strength from that ideal. Wits, magic and brute force may be needed to loose Jessie before she was put up for trial, but he would make it happen and soon. He would be across the Tay and in Dundee before the day was out.
First he had to alert Chloris of his unavoidable departure. A note had to get to her before the day was out. He could not risk her arriving at the meeting point with her answer or worse still, prepared to leave with him, while he was away.
Dark thoughts rose at the back of his mind—doubts borne of his concern about leaving her under Keavey’s roof a moment longer than necessary—but he had no other choice than to ask her to wait until she heard from him again, and to not doubt his promises to her.
* * *
Tamhas Keavey spied the young woman approaching his estate from an upstairs window. At the time he was being measured for a new frock coat and he had stationed himself by the window so that he could admire his land in the morning sunshine during the tedious task. That’s when he caught sight of her passing through the gates.
His sight was sharp and, although he could not recall her name, he recognized her. She was one of the pitiful women that allied herself with that heathen, Lennox Fingal. A lusty sort she was, with long raven hair and eyes that left him in no doubt that she was capable of evil—eyes that were not of this world. A witch, he had little doubt.
What was she doing on his land? Curiosity and suspicion built steadily as he saw her darting toward the house. She did not walk on the gravel track as most visitors did. Instead she sought the shelter of the trees and moved from one to the next with apparent caution. It was clear to him that she did not want to be seen.
“Enough,” he said, and gestured the tailor away.
Both the tailor and his assistant froze midmaneuver. “Begging your pardon, sire, but I have only half the measurements I need for a good fit.”
“My measurements are still the same as they were last time you measured me. I am well aware that you come up here and repeat this ridiculous performance just so that you can add another charge to my account.”
The tailor flushed and stammered. “I assure you, sire—”
“I have urgent matters to attend to. Use the measurements you have on record.”
Without waiting for the tailor’s response, Tamhas Keavey turned away and strode out of the room. Quickly, he went along the corridor and down the stairs to the ground floor. The young woman had been headed for the servants’ entrance. Was she in league with one of his workers? If that was the case it might be useful to know. Even the slightest bit of evidence of their craft would give him an excuse to go up to that lair they had in the forest with the bailiff and his men. Together they would uncover their evildoings for the purpose of bringing them to their just end. If one of his manservants was tupping the wench, all the better. A few well-placed coins would get him some snippet of information to warrant the bailiff’s investigation of Lennox Fingal’s property.
Marching through the kitchens, he pushed the cook out of his way as he headed past her along another corridor to the rear entrance, where servants came and went and deliveries were made. He arrived in time to see one of the servants, a girl called Maura Dunbar, accept a letter from the hands of the strange-eyed wench.
“I’ll take that,” he stated, snatching it from Maura’s hand as he stepped between them. The strange-eyed woman acted fast. She snatched the letter back from his hand and made an attempt to run. Entertained by her game, Tamhas grasped her wrist and held her tightly. “The letter or your life. It is your choice.”
Relishing his power and eager for a sign he could use, he watched her carefully.
She turned to face him and stared at him. Those eyes of hers darkened, anger shining from them. She glared at his hand on her wrist. “Let me go. I will not give it to you, the letter is not yours.”
“Ah, but it is, for you have delivered it to my house.”
“It is not for you.” She tugged this way and that, attempting to break free of his grasp. As she did her eyes glowed brighter, as oddly luminous as the garden pond shot through with sunlight at dawn.
Tamhas found himself unnerved by the strangeness of her appearance. Those eyes that had made her memorable now seemed to roil and surge with dark forces, and he knew for certain that she was evil to the core. He almost lost his grip on her, but then his deeper cause made him hold fast. “You will obey me,” he bellowed.
He reeled her in against him, then clasped her around the throat with his free hand. She lashed out with one hand—the other keeping the letter locked tight to her chest—scratching at him with clawed fingers. When she drew blood on his face, he pushed her to arm’s length. Fighting him tooth and nail, she kicked him in the shins, but he was a bulky man in comparison to her slight form and she could not get the better of him by brute resistance alone.
That’s when she gasped for breath and then muttered words in a strange tongue.
Witchcraft. His hand tightened on her throat.
“Maura, you are witness to this.” He glanced back and saw that Maura was huddled against the door frame, clutching at it, her eyes rounded and afraid as she observed the scene. “Look at her, remember it well, for you will be called upon to describe this demonic woman’s change in appearance to the bailiff.”
The witch clamped shut her eyes.
Maura whimpered, but when he sent a warning glance her way she nodded.
“Witchcraft it is,” he stated, perversely delighted to see some evidence that his long held suspicions were well-founded, “and I will oust the lot of you. I’ll march each and every one of you to the gallows myself.”
The girl’s eyes flashed open, and for one moment he thought looking into her eyes alone would be enough to ensorcel a man. Yet he found he was compelled to stare into those eyes, eyes dark with fury and yet so sure, so knowing as she looked upon him. “Dear lord,” he muttered, “you are the Devil’s own handmaid.”
He’d intended to toy with her awhile, but something about those eyes made him think that the quicker he got rid of her, the better. For a moment he was tempted to put an end to her there and then, but that was not the way. “Think on this, witch. I could take you into the bailiff now, for Maura and I have both seen your eyes turn and we’ve heard your despicable satanic words as you call on your dark lord, but sending you to your death is not enough for me. I will bring down the lot of you.”
The girl swayed and her hair flew up around her head, her trapped voice hissing curses as she struggled against the hand around her throat. As she did, he saw her grip on the letter loosening.
Snatching it from her hand, he thrust her aside. “Count your blessings I did not break your neck. Now get off my land, away back to your lair. Enjoy it while you
can because you will soon breathe your last, the lot of you.”
Once she was let free her appearance returned to normal.
Tamhas despised that most of all, for it was pure trickery.
The woman did not, however, run.
Instead she stood still and proud. She stared down at the letter as if she were thinking of working her magic on it, but then her hand went to her throat where the imprint of his fingers was visible on her pale skin—just as the mark of the hangman’s rope would also be, and soon.
“I pity you,” she whispered. “Filled with hatred as you are, you will never be a happy man.” Then she turned her back on him and walked away.
Tamhas stared at her back as she retreated. He had expected an attempt to slap him or spit in his face. Yet her final words had been unnerving due to their calmness.
Gathering himself, he glanced down at the crumpled letter in his hand, and he quickly forgot the messenger when he saw that it was addressed to his cousin Chloris.
Frowning, he turned the letter over, broke the seal and opened it.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Chloris had been attempting to read a book in order to rest her mind. She sat in the drawing room and her book lay open in her hand, but her thoughts were far away. Tomorrow she must give Lennox her answer. As she pictured him, her heart fluttered in her chest like a bird taking flight. Is that what I am, a bird taking flight?
Her thoughts were confused and contradictory. It was only the occasional mite of good sense that pulled her back from the wild notion of running away to join him, of following him wherever he led. Or so she told herself. Was it honestly good sense to stay in the life that she knew because of vows that had been meaningless to her husband the day he spoke them? But they weren’t meaningless to me.
One thing she knew with absolute certainty was that if she didn’t go to Lennox she would always wonder about what might have been. It was no easy place to sit, betwixt doubt and the sure knowledge of eternal regret. These dark thoughts were shot through with instinctive hope, and with the yearning she felt to be with him. Would it not be better to know happiness with him for a short while, than never at all?
The Libertine Page 17
