The Harlot (Taskill Witches 1)

With a longing sigh, she concentrated her thoughts on the lock and summoned her freedom in the ancient tongue. “Thoir dhomh mo shaorsa.”

The lock clicked and the door swung open.

She rose to her feet and sidled into the quarters beyond. No one was about. She looked at the door on the landing, which the alewife and the servants had used earlier that day. It was all that stood between her and freedom. She could escape now and be on her way. But she didn’t want to.

The mysterious Mister Ramsay had captured her attention that morning. It infuriated her that she was being held, but she could not resist the challenge of breaking his focus while he attempted to teach her about seduction. Curiosity about his enemy and the dispute between them also riddled her. As she glanced about, she spied his bed through the doorway beyond and she approached it. The bolster was bruised by his head and the bedcovers hung down where he had discarded them. She pictured him there, at rest. No, she was not ready to leave just yet.

Glancing around the bedchamber, she noted that this ro

om was much more comfortable than the one she had awoken in. There were heavy damask curtains at the window and around the bed. In the servant’s quarters, the curtains were thin and aged, and the cot had only a thin blanket.

The trunk by his bed was locked. He obviously kept the key on his person. She knelt beside it and worked her magic. Lifting the lid, she quickly rifled through the clothing. Beneath it she found several rolls of papers tied with ribbons. Casting them aside, she moved on to what appeared to be more interesting contents beneath—heavier goods wrapped in worn fabric. There were two parcels, and she lifted one out. It contained coins, a hefty sum. She was tempted to purloin a few. After several long moments of temptation, she decided it would not be worth the risk in case he had counted them. I know where they are, should he try to double-cross me.

Pleased by that, she rearranged the parcel and lifted up the second. It, too, was heavy, although not as weighty as the coins. When she unwrapped it she found it full of what at first appeared to be bits of broken glass or stones. Of different colors, they would make pretty gems were they not quite so rough. She frowned. Perhaps that’s what they were—unpolished gems? Jessie had never seen such a thing and she held one up to the light, looking at it with curiosity. If he had traveled to foreign places, he might have brought these stones back. It made her want to ask him about the places he had been. And the women he had encountered.

There was a small velvet purse as well, and inside it she discovered several small white stones. These she had seen before, and knew they were of great value. “Pearls,” she whispered.

Restoring the contents to their former arrangement, she closed the lid and locked it. Reassured of her sponsor’s wealth, she decided she could rest easy about what he owed her. If he didn’t pay her, she knew where to find recompense.

She sat down on the bed, then rolled across it.

It was so much more comfortable than the narrow cot she had rested on the night before and that afternoon. This was a good horsehair mattress and there were pillows and a sturdy bolster for comfort. Her cot was a piece of sacking nailed to a wooden frame, and she would much prefer this bed. Reaching out for the blankets, she found them soft and well made. Wriggling into the place where he had dented the mattress the night before, she breathed in his manly scent and sighed.

What would he think if he walked in now and discovered her in his bed? He might punish me again.

She chuckled to herself. She had never been treated that way before—well, not as a grown woman. The fact that it had happened with a lover, while they were in the midst of a lusty display of her talents, astonished her. His hand on her behind had not only distracted her from playing the part, it had heightened her need for relief. Even thinking about it now made her body ripple against the mattress. She pulled her knees up, feet flat to the bed, and let her skirts gather at her waist. With both hands, she stroked the inside of her thighs, imagining that he was standing there looking at her. He would shake his head at her, and tell her she was doing it wrong.

“Oh, my,” Jessie whispered, astonished at how quickly the notion of his chastisement made her lust flare. It was not something she’d ever imagined would happen to her, but when he took her in hand, she was fit for nowt that involved thinking.

As for him, he’d looked like a man possessed. His body was rigid with strength, with restraint. He’d handled her without mercy, allowing her to feel his mood and forcing her to rise to his challenge. As she thought back over it, the need to touch herself went from a suggestion to a demand. Her hands moved down to the creases at the top of her thighs, and with her thumbs she opened up her folds, allowing the cool air to reach her inflamed bud.

Rocking her hips, she imagined him at the end of the bed. Those brooding eyes of his grew darker when he was in a state of arousal, and she knew that he had enjoyed punishing her. Why, he’d moved his hand to her furrow to push her further into ecstasy. That was no punishment, and they both knew it.

If only he had instructed her to sit upon his lap that morning and finish them both. His erection was polelike, and she’d have enjoyed nothing more than following that instruction. The thought made her cunny clench. Deep inside, at the pit of her belly, the ache of longing swelled.

Her bud was swollen, and she swiped her fingers through the juices that were gathering between her folds, and circled it, remembering as she did the way he had licked his fingers clean after they had been inside her. There was no doubt he had enjoyed that. Pumping her fingers faster, she bit her lower lip.

When she reached her pinnacle, it was with the image of Mister Ramsay striding over to her side, opening his breeches as he did so. Her breath caught, her cunny tightening until release flooded her.

As she floated back to earth, a soft chuckle escaped her. Oh, yes, if that morning had been anything to judge by, she would be sleeping in this bed soon enough.

After Gregor returned to his lodgings and stabled his mount, he paused beneath the window that he had previously identified as Jessie’s room. He half expected to find it hanging open, his new cohort having broken free and made her escape. It looked to be intact, and he made his way inside.

The quarters were exactly as they had been before, and yet he could not shake the strange feeling that she had not remained where he had deposited her. When he retrieved the key and unlocked the door to the servant’s room, however, he found her sitting on her cot, untangling her hair with her fingers. It was then he realized he should have purchased her a comb. She had no such feminine fripperies, and it might have kept her amused.

She gave him an admonishing look. That was inevitable. Her initial angry response had mellowed somewhat over the afternoon, but he could tell he was about to hear her thoughts on the matter. He waited expectantly.

“’Tis not right,” she snapped, rising to her feet and folding her arms across the chest as if readying for a fight, “to lock a person up this way.”

Gregor gave a weary sigh. “I may not know you well, Jessie Taskill, but I have already learned that you are easily bored. The chance to run amok around the Drover’s Inn would be too much of a temptation for you. It is for your own protection that I kept you in here. You need to learn to hide from view until people have forgotten that there is a condemned woman who may be about these parts.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “You rescued me from one cell, to keep me in another.”

Apparently, she had not listened to a word he’d said.

Gregor turned away, taking off his coat as he went. A tirade of angry abuse followed him. Gregor bore it all stoically, while considering that it might have been easier to let her run free, and then hunt her down upon his return.

When supper arrived they ate in silence, occasionally glaring at each other across the table.