The Harlot (Taskill Witches 1)

Their arrival in the tavern shortly thereafter did little to convince Gregor he had not made a mistake. Jessie had covered her head with the shawl and walked close beside him, but several men who stood by the ale counter turned in their direction, as if the mere scent of a woman had alerted them to her presence. He touched Jessie around the waist, indicating she was his. It did not stop them from leering. Gregor’s humor darkened.

Beyond them, the serving girl, Morag, walked behind the ale counter with a massive jug in her hands. She craned her neck to see what the commotion was about. When she noted it was him and that he had brought his cousin with him, she grinned.

“Sit there,” he muttered over his shoulder, and nodded at a rickety table in a dark corner. He ushered Jessie to it and then gestured for Morag to bring ale.

“Good evening, Mister Ramsay, Miss Jessie,” Morag said when she delivered the ale.

Jessie grasped the girl’s hand. “Feel the fine stuff of this shawl,” she said, and offered Morag the trailing hem of it.

Gregor frowned as they whispered together about the garment, and wished he had not bought the damned thing. When Morag bent over the table to study the weave with Jessie, he saw that one of the farmhands at the counter had stepped into the middle of the room to get a better look, staring at the women with a foolish grin on his face.

“Jessie,” he warned under his breath.

She immediately stopped speaking and adopted a suitably chastised expression. Morag quickly assessed the mood and left. Still the men loomed, making Gregor wish he had kept her upstairs.

Jessie looked at him expectantly.

“We have work to do.” In an attempt to ignore the rabble and their interest in Jessie, he reached into his pocket and pulled out the piece of paper he had brought with him, together with a stub of charcoal. On one side were the notes he had made after his visit with Robert. Gregor turned it over and began to draw the outline of Balfour Hall. When Jessie saw what he was doing, she leaned forward on her elbows to observe. Marking the entrance with a cross, he named it, and then placed an arrow to show the servant’s entrance, and named that by writing above it.

Jessie’s face fell and she put her hand over the words he had just written. She shook her head. There was frustration in her eyes.

She cannot read. “I am sorry, I did not know.”

She shrugged and her eyelids lowered, but he could tell it mattered to her.

“You had no opportunity for schooling?” If so, it was shameful, for she had a sharp mind.

She shook her head. “Although there is a jest there, for part of my childhood was spent living with a teacher’s family.”

Puzzled, he waited for more of an explanation, but it was not forthcoming. He was about to suggest she put part of her earnings toward learning, for it would be a good investment, but he thought better of it. Once again he wondered what she was saving her coin for.

“No matter, there is always a way.” Many seafaring men could not read or write and knew very little of such things. He picked up his stub of charcoal again and drew a carriage at the front entrance, and a woman with an apron at the rear.

Jessie nodded when she saw what he had done, and her expression brightened. They were in tune again, and he went to add some details to the map.

“Excuse me, sire,” a voice interrupted.

Glancing up, he saw a well-dressed man. Gregor quickly rolled up the parchment and tucked it into his pocket.

“I feel sure I know you,” said the intruder, “but I cannot place your name.”

The man was fair-haired and possibly five or six years older than himself.

Gregor’s blood ran cold. “No, I do not think we have ever met.”

For some reason Jessie seemed amused as she looked from one to the other of them. That did not help Gregor’s mood. He gave a dismissive shake of his head toward the man.

“Grant is the name, James Grant. I’m a collector of taxes for the crown. Perhaps that is how we know each other.”

There was indeed something familiar about the man, and his

name echoed through Gregor’s mind. Cursing silently, he knew they should have stayed hidden. It was important that Ivor Wallace did not hear of his return. Again, Gregor shook his head. “I think not. I am a traveler and new to this part of Scotland.”

The man looked confused. “In that case, forgive me.”

It was his frown and the way he ducked his head that pinned it for Gregor. He did know him from somewhere. Was it Craigduff, perhaps? That was not good. Perhaps Jessie was not the only one who should remain in hiding.

“We never should have come down,” Gregor muttered as he watched the man retreat.