It was then that she heard the key turn.
He had locked her in.
Jessie stared in horror, then thrust aside her plate. “Open the door!”
Darting over, she pounded on it with her fist.
“Hush. I do not want you wandering about in case you are seen.”
Angered, she stomped her foot. “You cannot keep me locked in here like an animal.”
The only response was the sound of his boots fading into the distance.
Apparently he did not trust her.
It did not matter. No lock would hold her, not unless she wanted it to. She had informed him of that in Dundee, but he honestly had not believed it. Jessie shook her head, amused by that, and returned to the cot and the meal.
Most people feared her when they got any sort of hint she may know witchcraft. Not Mister Ramsay, and he’d seen a whole inn shouting for the bailie to condemn her. He had traveled, and there was a worldliness about him that attracted her. It was no excuse for him to lock her up, however.
Her thoughts wandered back to that night in Dundee, and for the first time she addressed how close she had come to her end. Since she had cured Eliza the winter before, it seemed that the women around her had secretly feared her. Jessie had tried to help someone, which meant her outing and condemnation were only a matter of time—all because she had healed with her witchcraft.
Jessie’s mother had warned her and her siblings that people would fear them, because those who did not understand the craft thought it evil. It was beyond their grasp to offer tolerance. Her current protector was above that. Mister Ramsay did not seem at all threatened by the possibility of magic, and there was great comfort in that for Jessie.
For a few days she need only do as he asked, and she would be safe and well fed. Not to mention pleasured. Her cunny was warm and heavy still, and her bottom tingled most satisfyingly. That made her smile. Mister Ramsay was an intriguing man, and the way he had pushed her and bent her to his will was most arousing. It was not what she was used to, and despite her annoyance at being locked up, she found herself anticipating his return.
When she had finished the meal she wiped her mouth and rubbed her hands together. First, she would remain quiet and rest awhile in order to ensure that he had gone from the place. Then she would use the time to find out what he kept in that precious trunk of his.
Gregor urged his mount to a fierce gallop, grateful for the wind in his face and the distance from his new cohort. He sought freedom—freedom from the pressing need to plunge into the wench’s sweet softness and do nothing but enjoy her.
Not only was she the most delicious honey pot he’d ever wanted to ease his cock into, but she seemed determined to make him lose his mind. The fresh air eventually pacified his lust, at least for the time being. With distance between them he was able to conclude that her performance had all but turned him into a demented fool. He was more certain than ever that he had to keep some detachment from her in order to be able to think straight.
The horse was making short work of the distance. Freshened by the canter, Gregor slowed his mount to a more sensible pace. He was able to move a lot quicker without the burden he’d had the previous day. Jessie had turned their escape from Dundee into one of the slowest journeys he had ever completed, what with her arguing and recriminations. Then, when they finally reached Saint Andrews, she had stared aghast at the horse, and when Gregor hauled her up behind him, she’d clung to him like a limpet. With a disturbed bleat, she’d locked one arm around his waist and the other over his shoulder.
Once they were on their way, he’d glanced over his shoulder as he urged the horse to a trot. “Is it necessary to cling to me quite so tightly?” he had asked. “I can scarcely move the reins.”
She grumbled beneath her breath.
“Apparently it is.” It amused him, though, because she had been surly toward him when they traveled by foot, her arms folded across her chest, the occasional angry stare thrown in his direction. Once up on the horse it seemed she could not get close enough to him.
Her body had been warm, and her breath huffed against the back of his neck, instantly kindling his carnal interest. Occasionally she had whimpered, and he assumed it was the horse she was afraid of. Her grip did not loosen, and after they had been traveling awhile she’d requested to walk beside the horse to ease her cramped limbs. It was an excuse. He knew it was.
Gregor smiled as he remembered. Just when he thought she was as tough as an old boot, she’d showed fear and fatigue. Today all of that was forgotten as she returned to her former mischievous self. One thing he was certain of was that he would never forget Miss Jessie Taskill. Even though he had known her only a day and a half, he was sure of it.
As he neared the landscape he knew so well his thoughts became more subdued. The ground beneath the horse’s hooves was good land, fertile. The hills rolled away from him toward the sea. On the horizon, he saw a boat. The sea here was teeming with herring, the catch that kept the folk along the coast in coin.
The sight of the boat also made him think of his ship, the Libertas. It wasn’t the first ship he’d signed up on, but he had spent nine years aboard the Libertas, a trade vessel under the command of a Scottish-born captain. The crew was a mix of Scots and Dutch, united by their long-held mutual dislike of the English, who sought to rule the trade routes.
Some called the crew of the Libertas brigands, for they allied themselves with no one. But they were more inclined to think themselves free traders. Then, three years ago, their old captain was taken down by gout that had been wrongly treated by a surgeon in Tangier. When the rot set in he’d lain on his deathbed and called for his two most trusted men to take charge, Gregor and his fellow shipmate, Roderick Cameron. The captain had no son or heir that he knew of, and had signed it over to them in good faith. Together they had taken over the running of the vessel, with the captain’s blessing. To this day they shared the duties and the captainship.
Gregor and Roderick had treated the Libertas crew well, paying them better than they had been before, and maintaining their loyalty. That had enabled them to make their fortune in contraband trade. They carried dangerous and valuable cargo from places others feared to venture.
It was a good life, a life he thrived upon, and Gregor had split with Roderick and the Libertas only to avenge his father. His partner had set sail for North Africa, where the goods they shipped could be sold all over Europe. More trade would be picked up along the way.
In six months time he would reset the compass for Dundee. Gregor and Roderick had agreed that they would make contact when the ship returned, and all being well, Gregor would rejoin the Libertas when his business was attended to. If he was not yet ready, he would send word.
For the first time in many years he was back in Fife, for as long as it would take.
When he mounted the hill that overlooked the village of Craigduff, he drew his mount to a halt to gaze down at the place of his childhood. The cottages clustered around the small harbor were as familiar as the back of his hand. This was the village where his mother had been born, the place where he himself had attended classes in the mornings and church on Sundays. The place where