The Harlot (Taskill Witches 1)

Jessie stifled her urge to sigh loudly or stick her tongue out at the master of the house. She had spent a restless night brooding over the contradictions she was currently facing. Gregor wanted her to leave soon, and she wanted that, too, but if she did they would soon say goodbye and part. Yet neither did she want to be here where threats of danger surrounded her and using magic could result in her being condemned once again. The thing that made her strong enough to press on was the sure knowledge that she could influence the master’s list and that could benefit Gregor.

Wallace had a lecherous grin on his face and he was headed her way. The eyeful he had gained the day before had obviously whetted his appetite.

She dropped a curtsy. “Good morning, Master Wallace.”

She hurried to the firepl

ace, where she knelt down and began to sweep out the ashes. Master Wallace was at her side within moments, one elbow resting on the stone mantel. His feet were widely planted, the buckled shoes close to her where she knelt on the floor. If she glanced up at him, she would get an eyeful of his breeches, which was exactly his intention. The man wanted her to peer at the spot where they were straining over his weapon, and she did so, briefly, for the thrill that would afford the old miscreant.

It was lucky, she supposed, that he had not come to her room the night before. Or if he had, it was while she was gone from there. That had worried her awhile, and then she realized he would think she was hiding from him, which would only strengthen her role as a novice when it came to matters of physical congress.

“How old are you, Jessie?”

“I am not certain, sire.” That was the truth. There’d been no one around to tell her such things when she was a child. Deep in her heart, it was one of the facts she was hoping to discover when she went to the Highlands. Maisie would know. Maisie had been brighter than she and had no doubt kept count.

Wallace was talking again, and Jessie urged herself to listen.

“I wager you have many young men sniffing after you.”

Here it comes.

“I do not know what you mean, sire.” She afforded him a glance from under her eyelashes, delivering it with a puzzled expression.

“You are a shapely young woman, sturdy. You bait a man. There will be many who are eager to split your virginal crack with their pricks.”

He was a real charmer.

Jessie rested back on her haunches but kept her eyes downcast. In the moment’s hesitation that she thought an inexperienced woman might have after hearing such a blatant and lewd comment, she congratulated herself for pulling off the role she had been prepared for. “Please, sire,” she bleated, feigning panic, “you make me afraid.”

That he was attempting to shock her was obvious. Much like the valet of the house, he wanted to see fear in her face and he wanted to break her. It was the way of most men, for it was the privilege of their sex. While she would not gratify Cormac, she was obliged to do so in this case in order to remain in the room and influence the list Wallace was preparing.

“I have given you nothing to be afraid of yet.”

Jessie risked another glance up at him. There was an unsavory glint in his eyes, something that revealed his need to possess and destroy. She’d seen the likes of it before, and avoided such men if she had the option. Sometimes she could not, when Ranald was involved, but any whore who wanted to protect herself was wary of such a man.

“Oh, my,” she blurted, and moved as if to wipe up a tear. She did not have long before Mistress Gilroy would appear, and she hadn’t yet set her enchantment. If only he had stayed by the desk. It was where she needed to be.

Master Wallace reached over and grasped her hand. Pulling it away from where she dabbed at the corner of her eye, he drew it to the front of his breeches and forced her palm flat against the ridge of his erection there. “Is this what you’re afraid of? Too large for you to take, p’raps?”

Jessie had the rebellious urge to declare that she had enjoyed much larger and he should be ashamed of himself for his lack of charm. Instead, she kept her face averted, wriggled and twisted and let out a squeal of horror. She knew what he wanted to hear and—reluctantly—she delivered it. “Oh, Master Wallace, that thing is monstrous large. Please do not make me touch it.”

Much as she expected, the offending item swelled beneath her hand.

“I’ll do more than have you touch it, my dear.”

Just then the door sprang open and a cold draft blew through the room. Master Wallace’s grip on her hand loosened and she jerked away, snatching up her brush and holding it like a shield. If he tried anything else, he would be covered in ashes from the grate.

It was not, as expected, the housekeeper who entered the room; it was Mistress Wallace. Jessie saw her chance, lifted her pail and wandered away toward the desk.

“What do you want?” Wallace demanded as he turned to his wife.

She looked on her husband with obvious distaste, her mouth pinched, her eyes narrowed. “I have received word that Forbes will be here soon. You must promise me that you will make no final decisions until he arrives.”

Both of them were indifferent to Jessie’s presence, so she took the opportunity to cast her eye over the papers on the desk. The map was there, as were several other documents, two of which had wax seals and ribbons on them. Her eyes flashed shut, and she whispered her enchantment beneath her breath. In the same way her mother would lure a buyer’s attention to the herbs and berries they had picked in the forest, Jessie drew attention to the land she named. “Thoir an aire do Strathbahn.”

Once it was done, she busied herself retrieving several documents that had fallen on the floor when the door had opened. Now that the spell was laid, Master Wallace would have an overwhelming need to add Strathbahn to his list, if it wasn’t already there. As Jessie tidied, she thought through what would happen next. There was only one way to determine it had been successful. That night she would need to take the papers to Gregor and have him read them. It would be simple enough. She could collect the documents from this room before she met him, and return them afterward.

She made ready to leave.