The Harlot (Taskill Witches 1)

The fact that he had not turned away from her, that he had observed and accepted her in her most natural form, made her release the most overwhelming she had ever experienced. For the first time since she had been split from her kin, she did not feel alone. Never before had she been accepted, and never before had it mattered so much that she would be. At first there had been wariness in his expression, but he had thought on it, she could tell, and when he’d opened to her, oh, the release she felt!

I will treasure this for the rest of my days, however many they shall be. An image of her dead mother flashed through her mind, as it often did when she thought beyond the next moment. With one hand resting on her chest, Jessie stilled her breathing, and then forced herself to turn away and lift the latch on the door.

As she closed the door behind her and clicked the latch into place, a shiver ran over her. She pulled her shawl closer, but her senses warned her it was not cold that touched her now, but the presence of another.

The sound of her own breathing filled her ears. She barely dared turn around, and when she did, her heart sank.

In the darkness, a figure loomed.

Silently, Jessie willed Gregor to be gone, to hurry away from the grounds. If he lingered, discovery was a possibility. She would do everything she could to protect him from that.

“Well now,” the man said from the shadows, “what would the new serving girl be doing outside at this time of night?”

Cautiously, Jessie stepped closer, blocking the way to the door. She knew the voice, and she steeled herself to engage with him lest he look outside instead. “I was after a breath of air, Mister Cormac, sire.”

As she moved, he did, too, stepping into the fall of the moonlight from the window. It was indeed Cormac, and he was stripped to the waist, his naked chest gleaming pale in the dim light. His breeches were half-undone, and he held a glass in his hand. Not a servant’s cup, no; it was one from the master’s own shelf. When he closed on her, the smell of fine wine was heavy on his breath.

Drunk. Was it a blessing or a curse?

“A wild one, you are, Jessie. I knew it as soon as I saw you.” He threw back the dregs in the glass and set it on a nearby table. Quick as lightning his hands moved to her neck, where he snatched up a skein of her hair and wrapped it around his fist, tugging on it.

It was a blessing, because Gregor would be safely gone by the time Cormac was done with her.

Pausing, he examined her expression. She knew what he sought there. She had met men like him before and knew that he wanted to witness her fear, to see her submission brought about for the sake of survival. Tugging hard, he jerked her head back. Her scalp stung, but the pain only strengthened her will. With his free hand he stroked her throat, then groped her through her nightgown, pulling it open so that he could view the dip between her breasts.

An enchantment leaped into her mind. Something that would distract him, a chair tipping over, or the bottle he had set down spilling. I cannot risk it, not yet. But his fingers on her breast made her stomach churn. Her lips moved, the words forming.

Then a voice from the corridor interrupted.

“Cormac?” It was a soft feminine inquiry. “Are you there?”

He had another woman warmed for the night already. Hope kindled in Jessie. He grunted, then threw an answer over his shoulder in the direction of the hallway. “Hasten back to my bed.”

However, his gaze still raked Jessie as he spoke, and it lingered in the dip between her breasts, exposed by her nightgown.

Roughly, he bared her breasts. “Make ready for me,” he called, even while he tore Jessie’s nightgown fully open to examine her more closely.

Damnation. He would have her and then return to the woman who awaited.

“You will bring that wine you promised me?” The woman apparently had conditions.

Cormac cursed and let Jessie loose.

She staggered, clutching at her nightdress to cover herself.

He smirked and then reached for the bottle and the glass. “Later, Jessie,” he promised, as he left.

Not if I have anything to do with it, she vowed.

In the shadows, she stayed quiet until his footsteps receded. While she waited, it occurred to her that Gregor’s masterful touch had spoiled her, and it would be hard to warm to another lover after him. That was a major fault for a woman who made her living by opening her legs to men who paid for the favor. She sighed. A moment later, when all was quiet in the hallway beyond, she made her way to her own quarters, and as she did she was begging good fortune to light her way and keep Cormac at bay until she had what she needed of this place. Once her purse was full she could indeed move on from the trade, just as Gregor had promised.

Meanwhile, she could not afford to be soft in the head.

Or the heart.

TWENTY-ONE

“AH, JESSIE.” MASTER WALLACE ROSE TO HIS FEET when she entered his parlor the following morning.