The Harlot (Taskill Witches 1)

When he looked at her upturned face, however, he found it difficult to move.

“If you are ready to leave,” she said, “I will go to my room.”

“Yes, do that.”

He watched as she left willingly. He should have been pleased by her agreeable behavior, and he assured himself he was, but he could not shake the notion that she did not stay in there anyway, and he might as well let her have the run of the place. She had taken liberties enough, though, and now that they were on an even keel he could not afford to let her become unruly again.

He followed her to the door.

She was seated on the cot, and when he nodded her way, she smiled.

For the first time, when he turned the key in the lock, Gregor felt incredibly guilty.

It was with a sense of achievement that Jessie realized she had made her way into his bed, and it had happened almost by accident. The night before had been a strange one indeed. He’d had a foul mood on him after the incident with Mister Grant, but what had passed between them later melted that away.

Their tumble had been most unusual, and as she thought back on it Jessie became wistful and lingered on the memory. She did not, however, want to linger on thoughts of how his talk of whores and exotic places had made her feel, and so she pushed that aside. It also bothered her that he did not seem convinced by her promises that she would not run away. Would she? No, she did not want to. She would earn her purse honestly, and then her journey north would be a comfortable one. Besides, she enjoyed being with him. What woman wouldn’t?

Instead of thinking on the bothersome things, she stood by the window and thought about his promise to take her out with him the following day. There would be new garments, too. Jessie was feeling so uplifted about it that she even decided she would be good and stay inside her room that afternoon.

As the hours ticked past, however, her old enemy, boredom, reared its head. She paced up and down, trying to resist the lure beyond the locked door.

When she turned at the window, she caught sight of Mister Grant’s secret lover coming across the hilltops on the horizon. A striking figure he made, tall and burly, covering the ground easily with his long stride. Would he come up to Mister Grant’s quarters, she wondered, or did Mister Grant meet him belowstairs? Curiosity got the better of her. She would not venture out, but she wanted to observe the fieldworker’s arrival.

Moments later she had worked her magic on both the first lock and the second, and had the door to the landing slightly ajar so that she could see who came upstairs.

Impatiently she watched, bobbing her head. She thought she heard a sound nearby, and then another, and after a moment she opened the door a little wider to take a peek along the landing—just in time to see Mister Grant’s door swing shut.

Surely he could not have got up here that quickly, and without her seeing? No. She shook the notion off. It was just the door closing. The two men had to be downstairs, perhaps chatting over a tankard of ale. Having determined that, she crept toward the top of the staircase, listening for voices below as she did so.

An uneasy sense of awareness crept over her. She paused.

Then she was grabbed from behind.

“I told you there was someone skulking about. I felt it yesterday and I heard something again on my way in.”

Struggling to break free, Jessie twisted around and saw that it was the fieldworker who had grabbed her. How had he got past her? It was not possible for him to cover the ground and climb upstairs before she got to the door, no matter how fast his strides. Perhaps there was another entrance or stairway? But where?

Beyond him Mister Grant stood, an unhappy frown on his face. “Be careful with the girl,” he said.

The fieldworker continued to hold her, peering at her with a disgruntled expression. “What were you doing, lurking here?”

“I was doing nowt.” She managed to pull herself free, but it left her perilously close to the top of the stairs. The room began to spin. With a squeal she fell back into his arms.

“Sorry, sire.” She stepped away and straightened her skirts. Both men looked at her as if she were mad. “I was merely looking out for my…” What was he supposed to be? “Cousin.”

“It is true,” Mister Grant said. “She was with a man who has lodgings here. I saw them together yesterday.”

Wriggling her shoulders defiantly, she darted for her own doorway. “Yes, and he is due to return at any moment,” she declared.

Stepping inside, she quickly leveled her head enough to redo the spell, relocking the door, then returned to her room.

Impetuosity had got the better of her, as it so often did. As a result she had been seen out there, and if either of them was loose-tongued, Gregor might hear of it. That was bad, for they were on good terms now. Nevertheless, the likelihood of a secret entrance soon filled her mind, and she hurried to the window, pressing her cheek to the tiny panes of glass, peering out at the building.

After a moment she became aware of a presence. Gregor was standing beneath her window, arms folded, looking up at her with an accusing but wry smile.

She jerked away, biting her lip, and then chuckled. He had packages at his feet. It was with a rush of excitement that Jessie realized it must be the clothing he had promised her.

TWELVE