The Harlot (Taskill Witches 1)

“As I pointed out when I first took rooms here,” he continued, “I wish to keep my business private. That still stands, and it is of the utmost importance.”

Jessie noticed how handsome he looked, with his hair wet and his shirt open, revealing a broad expanse of chest. His face was clean-shaven.

“My word is good, Mister Ramsay,” the woman responded.

So Ramsay was his name, Jessie noted, and then yawned loudly, announcing her presence as she stepped into the larger room.

“Ah, Jessie.” Mister Ramsay looked amused at her arrival and her skewed garment.

The woman glanced Jessie’s way with a frown. She was a mature matron who wore a drab brown dress and an apron. Her head was swathed in a cap.

“This is the alewife here at the Drover’s Inn, Mistress Muir. Jessie is…my cousin, and she will be residing with me for the next few days, at least. She is my ward.”

Jessie listened to his explanation, mightily amused by her elevated status. As the cousin of a man with a good purse, she would be well treated here. Perhaps this would not be such a tedious task, after all.

The alewife looked Jessie over and then set her tray on the table. She made ready to leave, as if pacified by his explanation.

“Oh,” Mister Ramsay added, “could you arrange for more hot water to be brought? My cousin had a long and tiring journey.”

Water? Jessie shuddered.

The alewife shot her a dubious glance and then nodded and took her leave.

“What if I do not want hot water?” Jessie quizzed, once the woman was gone. Rebellion often stirred her blood and that trait had been roused by the situation she found herself in.

“You’ll have it and be grateful.”

“The water might carry disease.” The smell of the food had reached her and she wandered over to the table.

“It might. You’ll have to take your chances with the water, much as I took my chances with you.” A wry smile passed over his face. “One thing I am sure of is that I would like a closer look at the woman I have bought, and for that we need to be rid of at least several layers of dirt.”

Jessie pouted. Then she noticed the plate of bannocks on the tray and it made her mouth water with anticipation. There was broth, too.

“Sit,” he instructed. “Eat.”

She pulled out the second chair at the table and took a bannock. It was still warm and she ate hungrily, then pulled the bowl of broth closer, snatching up the spoon. It was tasty, and there were good-size shreds of mutton in it. Her belly responded gratefully, rumbling loudly.

Mister Ramsay watched her eat for a moment. He was most likely amused by her uncouth ways. Perhaps he thought her a simpleton who needed to be pitied and cared for. He had mentioned tutoring. That annoyed Jessie. She did not need tutoring on the subject of how to seduce a man. However, she supposed that if he was willing to pay her keep for the duration she would simply have to set him right in good time.

He turned his attention to the bunch of papers he held. Jessie took the opportunity to study him from under her lashes. His heavy frown made his stern looks seem even darker and more threatening than before, and the scar that ran from cheekbone to mouth was stark in the morning light. It had been an ugly wound. Where had he gained it? she wondered. And how fared the man who had given it to him?

She did not know her sponsor well yet, but she was willing to bet the other man had paid. Perhaps even with his life. “I am much elevated, sire,” she commented, as she finished the meal, “finding myself your cousin now.”

“Would you rather I told her you are a whore, one currently being hunted down under a charge of witchcraft?” The glance he afforded her was slight, and disapproving. “I’m sure she would have welcomed you with open arms, had I told her your true circumstances.”

Jessie shrugged. The comment annoyed her, but only because he had so obviously not welcomed her conversation. The rest was only the truth, and Jessie never shied from that.

“Taking a whore into your quarters is not so unusual, believe me.” She gave a dry laugh. “Not unless the innkeeper is particularly pious and can afford to select her customers based on their morals, which, judging by the circumstances, she cannot.”

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“It was for my protection as much as yours. My business must remain private.” He set his papers down on the table. His tone was surly, and he raked her over with a look that suggested he wasn’t altogether happy about her presence, or the sound of her voice.

That annoyed her immensely, especially since he had forced her to come here. She pushed the bowl away and glowered at him. “How long have I committed myself to? I am not happy about being plucked from Dundee.”

The longer she left her earnings with Ranald, the more grounds he had for keeping them. She knew him too well. He would deny all knowledge of them if she did not get back soon.

Mister Ramsay blinked at her knowingly. “You were about to be tried as a witch. In case you did not realize, that means certain death.”