The Harlot (Taskill Witches 1)
That he treated her fear with such consideration made her want to cry, but it also made her strong. “Go,” she declared, clutching at him.
Down the stairs they hurried, and even though she was afraid of what might await them beyond, she was not as afraid of the steep stairs as she might have been, because of his guidance.
Morag brought up the rear, closing the doors as she went. At the bottom of the staircase Gregor paused. A narrow corridor led to a door at the back of the inn. Beyond that the stables were located.
From outside came the sounds of dogs barking and voices shouting. Jessie’s heart beat wildly.
Morag listened and then nodded. “They are searching the outhouses. Turn quickly to the left when you go out there. If you drop down by the fence at the pigpen they will not be able to see you as you make your way out of the grounds.”
Gregor paused briefly and gave Morag a hearty kiss on the cheek. Gathering herself, Jessie did the same. “Thank you, dear friend. Farewell!”
Gregor had his hand on the door handle.
Jessie was ready, ready to hide their trail by magic, and ready to take the road to the Highlands together. Gregor opened the door, holding tight to her hand. The last they saw of Morag she was dabbing her eyes with her apron.
They ducked down and scurried over to the pigpen, avoiding the outhouses. When they got to the end of the fence that marked the pigpen, they paused. A quick dash and they would be shielded by the stables as they made their way over the hill and to the open lands beyond, but for a short way they would have no cover at all.
As they hesitated, a man emerged from an outhouse carrying a musket. Within a heartbeat he would see them. Jessie tugged on Gregor’s hand, and when he looked her way, she put her fingers to her lips.
Moving her hand, she whispered her enchantment, calling for calamity, and pointed into the pigpen.
One pig squealed as if startled, then another did the same and both ran at the wooden gate, flattening it. As they charged out of the pen, the man dropped his musket in fright and turned on his heel, taking cover inside the stable.
Gregor stared at the spectacle. His eyebrows shot up. Then he peered at her, most astonished, and shook his head in disbelief.
“Hurry, go now,” she said, quelling the urge to chuckle.
Once they were well beyond the hill at the back of the inn and safe from discovery, Jessie began to laugh. She could not help teasing him about it. “Well, Gregor, I must confess, your face made me wonder if you regretted taking me on.”
He frowned. “It will take some time to get used to this ability of yours. I will have to become more familiar with it, I’m aware of that.”
“You do not wish to take advantage of my abilities?” She acted most surprised.
He drew her against him as they walked, his arm about her waist. “Most of all, I want to take advantage of you.”
Jessie’s heart burned in her chest.
“Perhaps, with time,” he added, “I will think of some uses for the magic.”
No one had ever even wanted to understand her magic before. Anyone who had suspected it feared her. Such was the prevailing mood about witchcraft in the Lowlands. But they were headed to the Highlands, and he had promised to be her protector. She knew him well enough to know that he would not promise such a thing without considering it fully, including all that she was and had been.
Never before had Jessie felt safe. They were miles from anywhere with no horse or cart, and little to their name but for those odd stones and papers of his, but she felt safe and content.
“Did you mean what you said,” she quizzed, “about the gowns that you would buy me?”
Gregor slapped her on the rump and smiled her way. “I’ll need me a Highland-born wife, if I am to be accepted there.”
“Aye.” Jessie restrained her smile and responded most demurely, for he had taught her well in those lessons of his. “That you will.”