The Harlot (Taskill Witches 1)

“Forbes Wallace,” Gregor said.

“Who the hell are you?” Forbes demanded.

Your brother. For a wild moment Gregor considered telling him, just to see the look on his face, but he could not stand to hear it said aloud. Any connection he had to the people in this house was something he wished to sever, forever.

“You’re her new pimp,” Forbes declared.

Gregor shook his head, then reached for the dagger at his belt, unsheathing it.

Fear flashed in Forbes Wallace’s eyes.

Gregor grinned just to unnerve him, then stuck the knife into the wooden floorboards and lifted his fists.

Forbes’s glance darted back and forth from him to the dagger.

“I will not fight an unarmed man,” Gregor declared. “Now raise your fists!”

Instead of fighting fair, Forbes came at him, driving for ward like a bull out of control, shoulder directed to Gregor’s chest.

Gregor sidestepped and took him down by tripping him as he passed. With Forbes on his back on the floor, Gregor pounced, landing with his knee on Forbes’s shoulder, pinning him down. The poker was within arm’s reach.

The man bellowed in pain.

“So you prefer to wrestle? That suits me.”

Once again Forbes’s gaze darted to the knife. “Damn you!”

He will go for the knife, and then I will break his neck. Gregor grinned again and twisted his opponent’s arm under him.

Forbes tried to use the chance, rocking in an attempt to dislodge him, one hand grappling toward where the dagger gleamed in the candlelight.

“Fight fair,” Gregor ordered again, driving more pressure through the shoulder he knelt upon.

Again Forbes bellowed in pain. Using his weight, he wormed free and snatched at the dagger, dislodging it. It fell to the floor and he grabbed it.

When he rolled back, his expression triumphant, Gregor lifted the poker and knocked the dagger from his hand.

Astonished, Forbes bellowed for help and attempted to back away.

Gripping the poker, Gregor placed the tip under his opponent’s chin, forcing him to lift his head. Then he peered into his eyes.

“What do you want?” Forbes blurted. “Name your price!” His lip was split and blood poured from it. On the side of his head a red gash showed from his earlier fall.

What is my price? Gregor wondered if he even had a price anymore. Justice? Nay, it was freedom he desired, freedom from the past.

He pressed the poker against Forbes’s throat, feeling the urge to press down upon it with his entire weight.

“Gregor.” It was Jessie’s voice. A quick glance informed him that she had awoken and now stared in horror as he struggled with his opponent.

“Stay back,” he instructed.

Once again he heard her speak, this time in Gaelic. The poker in his hand grew hot, the handle glowing.

She was trying to stop him, and she was using magic.

Dread struck him. If it was witnessed, she would be ousted. “Jessie, no!”

He forbade her with a glance.