The Libertine (Taskill Witches 2)

Jean was speaking again, and Chloris forced her attention back.

“I am in need of lace to trim a new gown. I want to look at it myself, and my dressmaker informs me that there is a good selection available from a new merchant. He imports the best Flemish samples and brings his wares to the market.” Jean looked at Chloris expectantly. “Will you help me in my selection?”

“That would be most enjoyable

.” Perhaps the distraction would help her muddled thoughts, and Jean was making an effort toward her. There had been some awkwardness from them initially, for Chloris had been Tamhas’s ward before he’d met Jean.

Within the hour the carriage had returned and the two women had readied themselves for the outing. As the coachman set off and the carriage jolted along the lane in the direction of Saint Andrews, Chloris noticed that Jean seemed much enlivened by the prospect of visiting the town. Wisps of her chestnut hair escaped her bonnet as she turned her face eagerly to the carriage window. With one hand she held back the curtain for a better view, while the other toyed with the brooch that fastened her cloak at her collarbone neck. Her eyes were bright, and the pale pink glow on her skin was most becoming. It made Chloris smile, for she, too, had found the Keavey household oppressive as a young woman. Not so now, when her life situation had changed drastically. Torquil House was akin to a refuge. Jean was younger than Chloris and appeared to struggle with her role as mistress of the house. She had been married to Tamhas for over four years and had quickly fallen pregnant with twin boys. Chloris did not feel jealousy. It was a kind of wistful sadness she experienced, because she could not fulfill her female obligation to her husband in the same way.

Jean caught her smiling and returned it. “I am enjoying your company, cousin,” she said, projecting her voice over the rattles and creaks of the carriage. “It is not often that we have visitors.”

It seemed to be an offering of friendship, for which Chloris was grateful. “And I yours. I appreciate you allowing me to visit.”

Her comments seemed to put Jean at ease. Was that what she needed, to feel it was her choice to have Chloris as visitor?

Jean brushed her cloak with her hand, apparently busying herself. “It was difficult for me at first,” she continued. “Tamhas speaks most fondly about you, and I know you were close after the demise of your family.”

Chloris attempted to hide her surprise. Had Jean made a deliberately provocative statement in order to gain an honest response, to get the truth? Jean looked quite sincere. “It was a challenge for him, taking responsibility for a grieving young woman. And it was most kind of him to do so, and to find me a respectable match when the time came.”

Jean’s eyebrows lifted. Apparently that was not what she’d expected to hear. It made Chloris curious. She did not want to pursue it lest it upset Jean. They had only just found common ground. Chloris did not want to lose that.

Was it true, though, that Tamhas spoke fondly of her? It was far from her experience. When she had been foisted on him as his ward, there were many difficult times. When she grieved her loved ones, he became annoyed. He ignored her and traveled abroad, leaving her to her books and memories. When Tamhas eventually returned, he was sure of himself and ambitious. He assumed control of her, then expected things she could not agree to. He began to hint at their union—first, a union of the flesh. If she pleased him, he might wed her. The pressure of such a proposition for an innocent, grieving woman with no guiding female in her life was immense. Tamhas gave her time, determined, it seemed, to have her. Ultimately Chloris could not warm to the terms, or to him. When his initial plan for her failed, Tamhas treated her as a pawn that he could barter with in order to gain prestige and power. By then she was already beyond the ideal age to wed and it took a while longer before he struck an agreement with Gavin Meldrum of Edinburgh. It was with relief that Chloris accepted Gavin’s proposal, unaware that the situation she would encounter in Edinburgh would be even worse than what she had known at Torquil.

It was because of her past relationship with Tamhas that Chloris had not visited Torquil before. Not until Gavin had insisted. However, Chloris found her cousin to be a more mellow master of the house, now that he was older and married. His ambition still drove him, but in matters of the household he seemed content to leave that to his wife.

As the carriage progressed toward the long-established heart of Saint Andrews Chloris observed the familiar streets. Thankfully they did not pass the house where she’d been born and lived, until the dreadful illness came upon her parents and many of their servants. Chloris had not been back to the place since then.

Jean pointed out the households she knew of, merchants and traders who Tamhas engaged with. As the streets grew more narrow so they grew busier, with farmers driving sheep and goats alongside the path. They grew closer to the sea, the air becoming sharper, and Chloris breathed the aroma in. It took her back to her childhood, to the fonder, earlier memories when she would be taken down to see the sea.

The coachman pulled up at a stable yard and secured their carriage there. Then he assisted the two women as they stepped down and he walked ahead of them at some distance, clearing a path.

Gulls wheeled overhead, their distinctive cries drawing her attention to their flight. How they soared as they observed the activity below, eager for pickings amongst the traders’ carts and wares. Chloris chuckled when Jean pointed out a brazen gull that flew low over the stalls, scouting. Jean’s mood must have reached her, for Chloris felt more alive than she had done in some time.

Or was there some other reason for it? The question flitted through her mind as memories of her illicit endeavor the night before crept up on her again. Now that she had put some distance between her and Torquil House she felt more at ease recalling her impetuous visit to the abode in the woods called Somerled. The whole experience had invigorated her. Safely away from the place, there was a thrill in remembering how brazen she’d been, how daring. Even if she did not pursue the purchase of a magic favor, she knew she would never forget her strange encounter with the master of Somerled. The intrigue and excitement she felt when recalling his actions were foreign emotions, and yet she knew it was the furthest thing from what she should have felt. How could she hold her head up in front of the minister on Sunday, knowing that she had sought out persons who were considered evil—no better than vermin—by good, God-fearing folk?

By her side, Jean was making observations on the chaos of the market.

Chloris nodded. “I do not recall Market Street being as busy as this. It appears Saint Andrews flourishes under the union with England?”

“You would do better to ask Tamhas, for he speaks a lot on the subject and comments frequently that we would do well to look at ways in which Scotland might prosper from the union, instead of raving about independence and civil war.” She leaned in and whispered to Chloris conspiratorially, linking her arm. “The truth of the matter is that the burgh is not what it was,” she added, “but Tamhas works with the council to bring more trade here.”

“It seems their efforts are proving fruitful.”

Jean nodded. “I must confess, I find such talk of politics and trade tedious, but do not tell Tamhas I’ve said that.”

“I promise your secret is safe with me.” Chloris smiled, but she secretly wished her own husband would talk with her about such matters. As a landlord in Edinburgh, Gavin was much ingratiated with politicians and men of commerce, but he refused to discuss any such matters with her because she was a woman. Tamhas did share those things with Jean, but apparently Jean only feigned interest to please him.

The shared confidence bonded them somewhat and as they wended their way through the busy market, Jean continued to link arms with Chloris. The coachman was always ten paces away, in case they needed assistance. Jean chattered busily at Chloris’s side. They passed that way happily for half the length of Market Street, then Jean grasped Chloris’s forearm. “There, the lace merchant.”

The merchant swept a low bow when he saw them approach. “The finest Flemish lace for your perusal today.”

He gestured to the selection of garments and samples he had laid out on a trestle table. Jean examined each and every one, or so it seemed. It was a task Chloris trusted her own dressmaker to fulfill, but for Jean it was a pleasure. Chloris encouraged her and soon they had made purchase of a delicate lace cap as well as placing an order for a length of lace suitable for Jean’s dressmaker’s use.

When they set off, Jean was in high spirits, but then she froze and gestured to the other side of the cobbled path. “Quickly, there is someone we must avoid at all costs.”

Chloris did as instructed but glanced back, her curiosity aroused. When she saw that it was the man from the house in the woods, she inhaled sharply.

By firelight he had appeared attractive. In the light of day he made an even more striking figure than he had the night before. His presence was startling. From the top of his felt tricorne hat to the polished, buckled boots he wore, he was devastatingly handsome. Moreover, he cut a path through the crowd, standing a good head higher than most of those who passed.