The Harlot (Taskill Witches 1)

The two men were closer still. She swayed. Cormac was pointing, his leering face split into a horrid grin. Beyond him, Forbes had lifted a poker from the fireplace and was walking toward her with it.

Cormac snatched at her ankle.

Master Forbes closed on her with the poker.

Cormac jerked her ankle, lifting her foot from the table.

The whole room began to spin.

Her belly heaved, and darkness descended.

TWENTY-FOUR

GREGOR ARRIVED AT THE MEETING SPOT panting for breath, his lungs fit to burst. Jessie was nowhere to be seen. Scrubbing his hands through his hair, he glared at the moon and cursed. He hated himself for letting the time pass by.

With the utmost haste, he darted through the stables and outhouses. She had gone. He had let her down. The thought of her waiting here, and eventually returning to her quarters, no doubt confused about why he had not come, made his mood turn black. The night before she had been so grateful that he came. It was obvious to him that she’d thought he wouldn’t, and no doubt this evening he’d proved that he was unreliable, when he had promised her so much.

He stared over at Balfour Hall. She was in there. Striding to the servants’ entrance he opened the door and stepped inside the Wallace household. Where in God’s name were her sleeping quarters? If only he had thought to ask.

But he would hunt her down.

He would shout her name from the rooftops if necessary.

The door beyond was ajar and he could see a hallway that was brightly lit. He proceeded in that direction. Before he entered the hall, he forced himself to pause in the doorway and listen. In the distance he heard the sound of voices. Men, two or more of them, shouting and laughing.

Something caught his eye. At his feet he saw a vivid blue shawl abandoned on the floor. He recognized it, and the sight made ice run the length of his spine.

A woman’s scream rang out from beyond.

Jessie. Gregor bolted in that direction.

The noise led him, and when he reached the doorway and caught sight of what was happening inside the room beyond, he was all but blinded by rage. Jessie was standing on the table, staggering, her dress torn. Someone was taunting her, a poker held aloft in his hand. Pure outrage shot through Gregor.

It took immense effort to stifle the urge to blunder in, shouting and throwing punches without direction. His hand went to the dagger at his belt. Swallowing down the bile in his throat, he forced himself to gain the measure of Jessie’s assailants. From his vantage point he could see that there were two of them. A large man, well dressed, and a slighter fellow.

The slighter one spoke. “Master Forbes, she will not put up so much of a fight when she falls.”

Forbes Wallace.

Jessie wavered wildly, kicking at the man who grabbed her ankle. Her eyes were rolling and Gregor saw purple light flashing there. She was attempting to use her magic.

No, Jessie. Don’t do it.

When he saw her faint, Gregor pushed the door open with such force it landed against the wall with a loud bang. The candles in the room flickered wildly and something fell from a table and crashed to the floor with the sound of breaking glass. He strode into the room.

As the man with the poker turned his way, Gregor grabbed the rod from his hand, taking him unawares. Turning it on him, Gregor delivered a sharp blow to the side of his head. The man staggered and then fell to the floor.

When Gregor caught sight of his sweet Jessie collapsed on the table with her dress torn asunder, and he realized their intention, his heart thundered.

The other man came forward, eyes flashing wildly, fists raised.

Gregor cast the poker aside and pushed up his sleeves, relishing the prospect of a fight.

He allowed his opponent to throw the first punch, for the man did not look much more than bone and gristle. When it came he ducked it, and meanwhile delivered a blow from beneath, landing it in his opponent’s gut.

The man doubled over with a loud grunt, and Gregor followed through with a swinging blow directed upward, making contact with his jaw. His opponent staggered backward against a cabinet, where he slithered to the floor, out cold.

The larger man was rising to his feet again. Gregor allowed him to stand, because he looked forward to the prospect of taking them from under him once more. As he looked at him, Gregor’s attention sharpened. He knew him. This man had been there that first night he’d seen Jessie, in Dundee. He’d been the customer who stood by while the betting went on.