The Harlot (Taskill Witches 1)

For a moment she grappled for the appropriate response. She froze, then grabbed up the rolled papers and hurried back down the steps, snatching her skirts free of his hand while she did so. Adopting a horror-stricken expression, she gazed at him woefully. “Sire, you shame me!”

He smacked his lips together in a most lewd way. “In good time you will know what true shame is. I will see to it myself.”

Jessie managed to lower her eyelids and hang her head in an appropriate show of submission. Meanwhile, her thoughts shot to Gregor. More than ever, she knew why he had required a whore for this task. A less experienced maiden would have been out the door with a scream and halfway to Saint Andrews by now.

Master Wallace put out his hand and took the rolled parchment from her. A moment later he had the thing spread out upon the table, weighted at each corner with stones. She was just about to curtsy and leave when he gestured her closer. “Look at this, my dear. This is what your master owns.”

Jessie stared down at the paper, once again annoyed at her limitations. “Beg pardon, sire, but I cannot read.”

Undeterred, he pointed out the town of Saint Andrews at the top corner of the map, and some of the villages along the coast. She saw it then, which part of the drawing was land and which was sea. It was quite a clever thing. While she peered at it, her curiosity grew. Meanwhile, Master Wallace began to point out the extent of his holdings. There was a gloating quality to his demeanor, and it struck her how he wore his wealth with no regard to others and their status. Was he trying to impress her in order to have her bend over for him more readily? That was a possibility, but it only made her think how circumspect Gregor was with his wealth. She knew he had money and shares in a ship, but he only ever made a thing of it in order to illustrate a point or issue a sound promise of payment, not to fill a young girl’s head with fancy dreams and expectations.

“It is a fine amount of land, sire,” she commented, when Wallace looked at her expectantly.

Seemingly pleased, he put his arm about her waist and drew her closer. “It is indeed, and yet I am torn, my dear. I wish to support our quest for independence and have the English gone from Scottish soil. In order to do so I need to free funds, which means parting with my land. Either way, I lose something precious to me.”

He shook his head wearily.

Jessie wondered briefly if Mistress Wallace was more interested in her Bible than in listening to her husband’s pontifications. Meanwhile, he rambled on about grazing land and rough pasture and things that made little sense to her.

“Be grateful that you do not have such worries,” he concluded eventually. “These matters press heavily upon me at the moment.” He gave a sidelong glance at the swell of her breasts, as if regretful. “And distract me from otherwise more pleasant pastimes.”

He patted her bottom with one hand.

Just then the door sprang open and Mistress Gilroy stood there in the doorway. “Jessie, are you done here?”

Jessie took the opportunity to step away and fetch her pail. She curtsied and took h

er leave. As she scurried out, she noticed that the housekeeper and the master of the house stared across the room at each other quite blatantly, and Mistress Gilroy looked most angry and disapproving.

Once again the housekeeper had taken it upon herself to protect Jessie’s so-called honor. It was with some amusement that Jessie considered her reasons. Was Mistress Gilroy one of his conquests? Or was she secretly wishing she had been?

Either way, Jessie counted herself lucky. She had successfully gained his attention, avoided more of his groping and most important of all, she was able to confirm what Gregor had previously thought to be the case: Master Wallace was about to sell land. And she was in the right place to find out which lands, and when.

Gregor’s mood was as heavy as if he was too far from land to aim for safe harbor and there was nowt but fouled water to drink. The events of the past few days—and nights—had left him somber, for they had made him think and feel too much. He lay on his bed and despised the fact that he missed Jessie’s presence alongside him. The discussion he’d had with Mister Grant the night before did nothing to quell his desire to see Jessie. It should have, and yet all he could think about was being with her again and ensuring that she was safe and had come to no harm under Wallace’s roof.

Gregor paced the wooden boards of his quarters until he could stand the waiting no more. Jessie was not due to leave the house and meet him until near midnight, but it was well before sunset when he rode to the nearby woodland to observe Balfour Hall from the hilltop. He secured his horse and then hastened to the edge of the forest, where he took cover in the long grass and peered down at the manor house.

Brooding on it, he was unsure which disturbed him most—the lurid images of Jessie and Wallace that assailed him, or his own reaction. His thoughts were a mess of guilt at having sent her in there.

He swung wildly between hope that his father would finally be revenged and self-ridicule over his concerns that a woman he barely knew, a woman of the streets who often showed signs of delusion, was safe and comfortable.

Who would comfort her if those fretful nightmares she had recurred? The thought of her alone in that house while the night made her return to that dark time made him feel crazed, as if the very notion of her fearful and unhappy was a dagger to his chest.

Eventually the sky darkened. Steeling himself, he moved to the appointed place—an old oak at the very edge of the well-tended gardens. There, he waited.

And waited.

The sound of creatures in the undergrowth attested to his absolute stillness, and yet the tension he bore kept them at bay.

Where are you? Scouring the building mentally, he wished her by his side. Finally, he saw a flash of white against the stone walls—her nightdress—as she emerged from the servants’ entrance. It was hard to resist striding out to meet her. He steadied himself with one hand against the gnarled tree trunk, and checked the building to be sure that no one watched or followed.

Moments later, Jessie joined him under the canopy of summer leaves, which shaded them from the moonlight.

“Gregor,” she whispered.

“Here.” He grabbed her shoulders, examining her in what little light there was. With a weary sigh he silently cursed the passing clouds. He knew he should be glad of them for cover, but he could not welcome them when all he wanted to do was see her. “Are you safe?”

Even as he asked the question, he dreaded the answer. He had sent her in there with the task of seduction, and yet he found he could not bear the thought of Ivor Wallace touching her. What madness was this?