The Harlot (Taskill Witches 1)

How peculiar. He had asked her the very same question the day before. Was that the reason? Because he was thinking of his old sweetheart? Jessie’s mind raced. She shrugged. “I am not sure, sire.”

“Nineteen. That’s how old Agatha was.”

Am I nineteen? It was one of many questions that haunted her, estranged as she was from the basic facts of her early life. Still, her mind raced with curiosity about the identity of the woman he was thinking of. “Was Agatha a local lass?”

“From Craigduff, she was.”

“Did you marry her?”

“No, oh, no. Alas, she married another, but I’ve never forgotten her.” A wistful smile lingered around his mouth, and he stared down at Jessie’s breasts with unseeing eyes as he groped at her, his actions undone by his curious state of mind.

The man was scarcely able to stand. Decisively, Jessie grasped his elbow and ushered him toward his armchair. Mercifully, he let her lead him, and when he sat down he slumped back in the chair. Jessie noticed that he looked somehow diminished. He mumbled beneath his breath and stared into the distance. A life of regret had made him this way, perhaps—a bitter man, greedy, unhappy and living on memories.

For a moment, she pitied him.

Then she turned away, went to the fireplace and completed her task with utmost haste. She left without a further word to him, for she was not eager to draw his attention back to her.

As she went about the rest of her duties, Jessie’s thoughts raced. Had Ivor Wallace’s dealings been driven in part by jealousy? Did he harbor a grudge against Gregor’s father, because his sweetheart had married him instead?

The more she thought about it, the more she longed for the hours to pass so that she could talk to Gregor and tell him about the discovery she had made. Would he be relieved to know the reason behind Wallace’s actions? Would it enable him to forget what had happened to his father?

No, she knew him well enough now. Gregor’s need for revenge ran deep, and it would not be assuaged by this. In fact, the news might only strengthen his cause. Nevertheless, Jessie could not shake the feeling that this had been Wallace’s motive to destroy the happiness at Strathbahn—a long-lost sweetheart, and hatred for the man she had married.

Each day it grew harder for Gregor to keep away from Balfour Hall. He barely slept, because he knew it was wrong of Jessie to bring those documents outside. Despite the fact they had revealed so much useful information to him, he wished she had not taken the risk. What if someone had discovered her carrying papers about in the night? What if she’d been found as she returned them?

They would punish her. The thought made him murderous.

Restlessly he paced the room, refusing food when Morag brought it. When she lingered, Gregor eventually looked at her directly.

“Pardon me, Mister Ramsay. I was wondering, will Miss Jessie be returning?”

There was a wistful look in her eyes. Even the serving girl missed her presence. And why wouldn’t she? Jessie had filled these rooms with life and spirit.

“She will, and soon.” Aside from anything, Gregor did not think he could stand another day of this interminable waiting, wondering what in hell’s name was going on with Jessie up at Balfour Hall. She would leave with him tonight even if he had to gag her and tie her to the horse.

Morag smiled, dropped a quick curtsy and was gone.

Gregor was disturbed by the girl’s question, for it forced him to consider his own feelings on the matter. When he had first taken these rooms it was his life at sea that he missed, the boards beneath his feet, the roll of the ship and the adventure of never knowing quite what the day would bring. That lust for the seafaring life was all but buried in him now, because it was Jessie he longed for when he was not with her. It rattled him to find himself so concerned about a woman he had known for scarcely a week. She was a whore, a condemned woman who practiced witchcraft.

But it is Jessie.

How was it that she’d filled his life so quickly? He thought about her constantly, to the point of obsession. Wandering barefoot to the servant’s room, where he had so cruelly locked her in, he stared at the meager furnishings. At first he thought the room bore few reminders of her presence, and then he spotted her old clothing folded neatly beneath the cot. Hauling the bundle out, he sat on the edge of the cot and handled the garments, remembering with a smile how fetching she had looked in the torn bodice, with her black hair tumbling over her shoulders and mischief in her eyes. Wistfully, he bunched the fabric in his hands. Resting his elbows on his knees, he buried his face in the garments.

Jessie, sweet Jessie. The lingering scent of her made him harden. Images of her in the splendor of release flitted through his mind. He recalled how she had been that fateful night when he’d first realized her witchcraft was real. Radiant and powerful, she’d looked like a goddess. Being inside her was magical enough, but seeing her that way—with her passionate nature so vividly apparent—meant he could not doubt her ability to work magic. She was far beyond everything he had thought she was, and he’d already decided she was the most lush, captivating creature he’d ever had the good fortune to encounter.

It was then that it occurred to him she could have left his room, just as she could have broken out of the tollbooth in Dundee. She’d told him that. Of course, he hadn’t believed her. Now that he knew her secret, the pieces began to fall into place. He glanced about the servant’s quarters. She could have left here at any point.

It was the promise of the purse that kept her here, he told himself.

Was it, though? The night before, he’d offered to pay her so that she could be on her way. But she’d insisted she wanted to see it through, to ease his sadness about his father. Compassion played its part.

She understood him, because her family had been torn apart just as his had. That made them both what they were—hardy, determined individuals, people who would survive no matter how bad their luck. Was this why he felt such a strong bond with her? Because they had this in common? Was this also why she understood his need to resolve things, to right the wrongs of the past? That had to be the explanation for the way he felt, which was positively wretched. He regretted that he had chosen Jessie, because he had put her at risk. She was vulnerable because of everything she was. And I have sent her into a viper’s nest.

Gregor ground his teeth as he thought on it, cursing his poor choices. He was torn between a goal that he had spent eleven long years working toward, and concern for a woman he had known for just a few days.

As he sat there contemplating the situation, sunlight slowly filled the r

oom. Something reflected the light and caught his eye. Between his feet, wedged between two floorboards, something glinted. He bent down to take a closer look. It was two shillings, by the looks of it. The coins were on their sides and had been pushed down between the boards.