The Harlot (Taskill Witches 1)

Holding tight to Jessie’s hand, he forged a path through the small gathering and out into the hallway. The servants scattered, the mention of witchcraft putting wings beneath their feet, or so it seemed.

“I will send word to the bailie in Dundee,” Forbes shouted after them. “I will inform him you are hereabouts. You won’t get far.”

Gregor’s hand tightened on Jessie’s. “Be ready to run, as fast as your feet can carry you,” he whispered to her.

“I’m ready,” she responded, and when Gregor glanced her way and saw the pride and affection in her eyes, he knew he did not deserve her.

If it was the last thing he did, he would make sure she was safely gone from here. No bailie or anyone else would set hands on her.

TWENTY-FIVE

JESSIE COULD MAKE NO SENSE OF WHAT HAD happened, even though she tried for the entire journey back to the Drover’s Inn. Gregor paused only to give her his frock coat to cover her torn garments and keep her warm. Then he hastened her through the forest to his horse, where he took her by the shoulders and apologized for the fact that she was going to have to climb up behind him once again. She did so willingly and clung to him for the duration. Her stomach churned as he urged the horse to gallop, and she kept her arms around his chest, fingers tightly knotted together.

Even through her distress, she sensed his thoughts were deeply troubled. She assumed it was her fault.

“I’m sorry, the master’s son knew who I was,” she blurted at the back of Gregor’s head. “He was there that night in Dundee. You should not have come into the house. I have ruined it for you now.”

“Hush, you have not ruined anything. It is over, and soon you will be safely on the road to the Highlands with your purse.” For a moment Gregor rested his hand over hers and squeezed reassuringly.

Bewildered by his words, but soothed by his comforting touch, Jessie rested her head against his back. She didn’t want to be on the road, not if it meant saying farewell. Sadness descended on her and her heart ached. For the rest of the journey they traveled in silence.

Back in his lodgings, Gregor was still quiet. Was it the strange, brief exchange between him and Master Wallace that had put him in this thoughtful, withdrawn mood? Ivor Wallace had seemed pleased to see him, and for a moment she’d thought he was about to apologize for what had happened in the past. Then Gregor had walked away. What of his need for justice?

He did not even pause to shut the door when they arrived back at his rooms. She did that, and then gathered water and a cloth and bathed his knuckles. He did not stop her, nor did he wince when she wiped the bloodied skin. Instead he sprawled in the chair. Her hands were trembling when she brought him his bottle of port, but he shook his head.

“Forgive me, Gregor. I have ruined things because Forbes Wallace knew me and what I am. But I have some knowledge, things that you must know.”

“Everything has changed.” He glanced at her and his expression softened. “Rest,” he added, more gently. “You will need it. As soon as it is dawn you must be on your way. You must leave Fife, for word will be put about. You heard what Forbes Wallace said. He will inform the bailie.”

Jessie stared at him, unable to respond, for his words sent a chill through her. She shook her head.

Rising to his feet, he went to his trunk and retrieved the purse he had promised her. He set it on the table. When she opened her mouth to speak, he held up his hand, silencing her, and then pointed at the bed. “I must think on what has happened,” he explained.

Thwarted, she did as instructed.

Gregor did not sleep. Unhappily, Jessie watched him from her place on the bed. After a while he rose from the chair and walked to the window, where he stared out into the night. To see him in such a resigned state tore her apart, for it was her fault he’d had to reveal himself at Balfour Hall.

Eventually she dozed awhile, wearied from the unhappy events of the evening. When she awoke, Gregor was sitting in the chair as before. The sun was beginning to rise. Beneath her breastbone she felt a gnawing ache.

Rising, she went to him and dropped to her knees by the side of his chair. With one hand on his arm and the other on his knee, she attempted to engage with him. “Gregor, please do not think harshly of me. I know I am of little use to you now, but you will still be able to continue with your scheme.”

He smiled at her.

That warmed her. “There will be a way,” she added. “I am sure of it.”

He lifted his fingers and ran them down the length of her hair, absentmindedly. A moment later he laughed softly. Relief flooded through her and she tightened her hand on his knee.

“You believe in good things, Jessie. You reach for every thing life might bring your way with such spirit. I think it is what drew me to you. The hope, the belief, the joy.”

She did not want to talk about herself. She was making progress with him and she was not going to give in. “You believe in things, too. In justice.”

He gave a wry laugh. “No, I have been a misguided fool.”

“You are wrong. Why, just yesterday I found out things that may be useful to you.”

Gregor rolled his eyes and again there was humor in his expression.

“All is not lost,” she quickly added, wondering why his eyes had begun to twinkle as he looked at her. “Ivor Wallace spoke to me. Well, he rambled. He mentioned a name, and I remembered it. Gregor, he was smitten with your mother. That is why he hated your father so. It was not just greed on his part. It was a matter of the heart.”