The Libertine (Taskill Witches 2)

“A great deal can be learned and achieved through touch,” he continued, and his voice was low and heavy with suggestion, “and through laying my hands on you, I could ensure that all your desires could be fulfilled.”

Desires? Flustered, she tried to muster an appropriate response.

One corner of his mouth lifted. “You know where to find me.”

CHAPTER TWO

As the door closed Lennox breathed her in, savoring the woman for several long moments after she’d taken her leave. How tempted he’d been to clasp her wrist, to wrap his free hand around her waist and hold her still to the spot. It was only the magic that made her want to run. She’d wrenched the door open as if her life depended on it but she’d been convinced, earlier. Desire held sway with her, too. It was only a matter of time until he had a taste of her, of that Lennox was sure. Moments longer and she would have submitted willingly, but Lennox relished giving her freedom when she was so ready to capitulate. It guaranteed a return that would be worth the wait.

Who was she? She’d been introduced to them by Maura Dunbar, which indicated a connection with Tamhas Keavey, who was Maura’s employer. Lennox and Tamhas held old grievances, and the opportunity to rattle Keavey was always tempting.

The woman was as enticing as a rose coming into bloom, her pale skin like its petals—blushing, soft and inviting to the fingertips—her eyes wide and imploring with bold determination. She was quite a riddle, for she was mature and brave—and just wary enough to tease his interest—yet she was also a woman who had not been fully awakened, of that he was quite sure. That combination was something he found rather intoxicating. He’d become jaded perhaps.

Women who sought him out were either lusty sorts who were all too ready to lie on their backs for him, or they feared him so badly he found it disagreeable to be in their company for long. Not so Mistress Chloris. Whilst she was measured and cautious, she spoke and acted with a level of courage that impressed him. It was quite obvious to him she was emboldening herself in order to attain her goal.

How sweet it would be to help her fulfill that goal. His thoughts ran to bedding her himself, and the prospect was quite delicious. It would be even more pleasurable if she were to need it beyond measure. Lennox poured himself another half glass of claret as he contemplated it. He wasn’t altogether convinced that she was barren. The fact that she seemed convinced of it was important. It made him curious about her circumstances. Was her caution toward the ritual driven by what others might think of her coming to Somerled, or genuine trepidation about magic and carnal matters? He knew with certainty that he would discover more about her. What he saw in her was a woman who had not yet truly awoken to her essential nature. That was an abomination.

She was a pretty woman, too, with hair the color of hay in summer sunshine and hazel eyes spun with green flecks. When she had stated the nature of her concern he’d felt her growing shame. It disturbed him that she was fretting on the issue so, when so many women who came to see him had the opposite complaint, the fear of being saddled with an unwanted bairn that they could not support. Yet he also saw what a fine mother she would make, and how she longed to hold her own child.

Ultimately it was her attempted resistance to him that convinced him she was worth his time. There was a mutual draw between them, it was instinctive and immediate, and he had relished it. He couldn’t help himself. Toying with her was pleasurable, especially so the startled look in her eyes when she became aroused by him. It would be pleasing to watch her unravel while he seduced her.

Their encounter had lifted his mood, which was a mercy. He’d been sour to his people on his return that afternoon, and they did not deserve that. It was often the way. Whenever he heard talk of witchcraft he’d follow the trail of whispers and accusations, hoping it would lead him to his lost kin, his sisters, Jessie and Maisie. Years had passed since they’d been parted. He was always hunting for them, and along the way he’d witnessed too much suffering and pain amongst those who practiced the craft. If the timing was right he was often able to assist the accused, breaking several free before they were put to death. But he was yet to find his sisters, and that meant he returned to Somerled with a heavy heart. Ailsa’s smile disappeared when he returned alone. They all wanted him to find his kin, knowing it was what drove him. Once he did, they would all depart the Lowlands, where the persecution of witches had gone on too long.

He’d been brooding on it in the gloom of the parlor when a timely distraction had arrived in the form of Mistress Chloris. The woman had brought a breath of spring with her. He fished the small hawthorn blossom out of his pocket and turned it in his fingers, once more savoring the woman’s essence. It was not yet the end of April, and the hawthorn didn’t usually come into blossom until May. Most normal folk held suspicions about hawthorn being an unlucky bloom, but Lennox’s people used it in their healing. The fact that Mistress Chloris had unwittingly arrived with it in her hair endeared her to him.

Abandoning his glass and pocketing the hawthorn, he left the parlor and followed the sound of voices and laughter into the scullery beyond. When he opened the door he saw Nathan and Lachlan seated at the large table at the heart of the house, deep in conversation, the crumbs of a hearty repast scattered on the oak table, their ale mugs near empty.

Ailsa hovered nearby, ale jug in her hand. She looked his way as soon as he entered the room, as if she had been awaiting his appearance. By her side Glenna, Lachlan’s wife and the oldest member of the coven, worked at a mixing bowl.

“Ladies.” He nodded his head their way.

Glenna lifted her mixing bowl from the table and held it against her waist with one hand, stirring its contents with the other. She did not answer, but she observed him with an air of disapproval. At her side, Ailsa looked sullen.

He could tell by the set of them that they had something to say.

Nathan waved his way eagerly, interrupting the ominous presence of women with something on their minds. “The carriage for Master MacDougal is near done. He’ll be pleased with the craftsmanship, I warrant. I have stud

ded the velvet seats myself today, and his wife will look as fine as a queen when she rides in it.”

Lennox strolled over, squeezed Nathan on the shoulder, then lifted the ale jug from Ailsa’s hand, using it to refill Nathan’s and Lachie’s mugs. “Good work. It will pay to have the head of the town council and his wife sitting comfortably in such a fine carriage.”

Lachie grinned at Lennox. Nathan was a young and eager craftsman and his pride lay in his work, but Lachie was older and understood more of Lennox’s intent—to gain the approval of the burghers of Saint Andrews.

Lennox chatted on the subject of commissions awhile with the men, but the weight of the women’s stares on him forced his attention back.

When he glanced over his shoulder at them Ailsa nudged Glenna. “Shall I tell him, or will you?”

“Tell me what?” He turned fully to them.

Glenna carried on with her tasks, turning out clootie dumpling mix from her mixing bowl into a damp square of muslin, as if it was imperative to make haste with her work and therefore ignore him. She tied the fabric in a knot and carried it to the pot hanging over the fire to steam.

Lennox withheld a sigh. “Glenna, spit out your thoughts.”

“You take too many risks and you put me in fear of our lives.” She spoke sternly as she worked. “This is a dangerous folly indeed. That woman, you should have turned her away. She is Tamhas Keavey’s cousin, visiting from Edinburgh these past few weeks.”

Lennox smiled. He’d suspected something of that order for she was clearly wellborn. Because Tamhas Keavey and Lennox were all but daggers drawn on each other, this news made the evening’s events so much more interesting. Tamhas Keavey would spew bile if he knew that another of his womenfolk had all but offered herself into Lennox’s hands. The confirmation of kinship with Keavey only sealed his commitment to the task on offer. The seduction of Mistress Chloris would be just the thing to bring ill fortune to Keavey’s household. The very thought of it made him more keen, for it amused him mightily.

That, however, was not Glenna’s intention.