The Harlot (Taskill Witches 1)

Just as it had earlier that day with his father, her repugnance multiplied. This is because I have tied myself to one man. This is because I have fallen in love with Gregor. She did not want to be sullied by another, because she could not risk seeing disappointment in his eyes, the way she had that night when he had found her conversing with Mister Grant.

Cormac hesitated. “If she practices witchcraft, does she summon demons and the like?”

Jessie acted fast. She turned to him and hissed.

Cormac leaped away from her, walking backward with his hand raised as if to defend himself, his eyes wide.

Master Forbes chortled loudly, and then gestured at Jessie. “Get on with it, strip her.”

Cormac stood his ground. “But…”

“She is only trying to scare you, man.” He spat the words at his servant. Then he looked at her. “Eliza told me that you were good for a few herbs and such, but that you had no real power.”

Jessie’s chin lifted. Perhaps the scales were tipping in her direction. Eliza had never seen what she could really do, and now, after her magic had been nurtured and fed by physical, spiritual and emotional love, her talent was much more immense. The thought gave her strength. “And you chose to believe that,” she responded, “when it is obvious that I had the power to escape the bailie before the night was out?”

Momentary doubt flickered in his eyes, and then his mouth tightened and he strode over to her. Grabbing her dress at the bodice, he shook her to and fro while he delivered a slap to her face with his free hand. “Insolent bitch.”

The sting was nothing compared to the revulsion she felt when he began to drag her across the hallway. She struggled to escape, but he was a heavy, large man and he was determined to have her.

Cormac had gathered himself and reached for two candles, lifting them aloft as the small procession headed to the dining hall. There, Master Forbes pushed Jessie down on the long, polished mahogany table, holding her with one hand against her throat, the weight of his body crushing her thighs and hips.

She kicked and punched at him, but that only seemed to make him more keen.

“Cormac, quickly, hold her arms,” Master Forbes instructed.

Magic was the only way. Even if it meant she was ousted. Being stoned to death, or even hanged, would be preferable to submitting to this brute.

Cormac set the candlesticks on the mantel, where their reflection in the mirror lit the room more brightly. Jessie squirmed and wriggled, looking for a way to escape, preparing to use an enchantment. At the far end of the room, a door stood open. She remembered passing through it as she went about her chores. It led into the library, where there was another door. She was in a state, and as she tried to whisper her trusted Gaelic protection enchantment, the words tangled.

Cormac had joined his master and grabbed her arms, pulling them over her head and holding them with his weight.

Forbes’s grip tightened on her throat. With his other hand he ripped open her bodice, tearing the fabric to expose her breasts.

She screamed.

“Bitch.” He forced her head to one side on the table and covered her mouth with his hand.

She struggled, attempting to bite him, but he was already pushing up her skirts. A sensible whore would get it over with, and she had done, in the past. Not this time. Instead she could only think of Gregor. Gregor would not want this. She was ready to leave and be gone from this house with its burden of guilt and cruelty. Her eyelids dropped. She whispered the words in her mind.

A moment later Cormac stumbled backward, and her arms were freed. She delivered a blow to the side of Forbes’s head and then scrambled away from him.

He staggered, but still he blocked her path.

Instinctively, she turned and clambered onto the table on her hands and knees. Her skirts were hampering her. The table was some ten strides long, but she would have to stand. Inhaling a deep breath, she got her feet under her then stood up. As she did, she caught sight of herself in the mirror.

So high up.

The realization sent her into a dizzy spin. She was right back there, back on the pillar outside the church, and she could hear the crowd baying for her mother’s death, hurling stones at her collapsed body on the ground while they called her evil.

Maisie was too far away to reach, and Lennox had been thrown into the back of a cart, bound at wrists and ankles because he had cursed them so mightily that they were afrai

d of the lad and called him a demon.

“Lift your head and look at your mother,” a harsh voice had instructed her.

But Jessie could not look at what they were doing to her mother. She had already seen enough of them, for they were pious souls turned into vicious animals.

“She’s afraid!” It was Cormac.