Their Private Arrangement (Taskill Witches 1.50)

Morag attended to her duties for the rest of that morning as best she could, while the alewife and the other servants gossiped and watched for the return of the lawmen, but they did not come back. When midday came around and she was sure that all had returned to near normal inside the inn, she returned to Mr. Grant’s rooms to reassure them.

Mr. Grant studied her cautiously. “Stay with us awhile, if you will.”

Duggan looked directly at her with a wistful gaze.

At first she thought that they wanted more reassurance, but as she looked from one to the other of them she saw that something weighed upon them. They were relying on her to protect them from discovery—that much she knew. As a lowly serving girl at the inn she often saw and heard more than those who took their lodgings there. Those who had secrets to hide and needed the loyalty of a reliable go-between. Levelheaded as she was, Morag judiciously assisted those who were kind to her. Mostly, she thought nothing more of it. Not today. It had been the strangest day of her life, and she had the feeling it was not yet over.

She took a seat where Mr. Grant indicated, on a stool by the fireplace.

“There is a matter we wish to discuss with you,” Mr. Grant stated. “You’re a sensible young woman, and I feel sure you know that Duggan and I are closer than most men.”

He looked at her expectantly. They both did.

She shook her head quickly. “No, I am not sensible, sire.” She glanced from one of them to the other. “But I confess that I know of the unusual nature of your relationship.”

“It does not repel you?” Mr. Grant asked.

Again she shook her head. “I do not claim to have knowledge of such

things, but there are many things in this world that I do not know about and I decided a long time ago that it is not my place to judge something that I do not fully understand.”

Mr. Grant smiled her way, and there was fondness in it. “You are a good-natured woman, with your feet firmly planted on the ground.”

She blushed at that, finding herself pleased. At that moment Duggan moved closer. Standing alongside Mr. Grant, Duggan watched her with caution.

“Others think more harshly of us, even though we harm no one,” Mr. Grant continued. “They call our bond indecent. The punishment they would dole out is cruel. The pillory, jail, or the death penalty.”

The harsh images he conjured made her shiver. Morag wrapped her hands around her upper arms and allowed herself a lingering glance at Duggan. When she did, it drove the fears deeper.

Mr. Grant drew her attention back, continuing slowly with his explanation. “If we were to be called out we would be scorned, hated, for that which we call love.”

She shook her head, denying it, even though she knew it to be true. The thought of her menfolk suffering such things made her sick in her belly.

“But we know these things, and there is no changing that,” he added. “What we really need to know is what you see, Morag, when you look at us?”

Morag was not used to being asked for her opinion on anything further than what turn the weather might take that day, or if the stable hands had the horses ready, and she was quite startled. She looked across at the two of them and meshed her fingers together over her apron. The room fell somehow overburdened, as if the immensity of what was being said weighed heavily upon the place itself. She felt as if they were tethered yet held apart. Three isolated folk who had been strangely drawn together in this room, the goings-on at the inn that day making them more aware of what was at stake.

“I want your honest reaction,” he added, “please do not be afraid. It is important.”

“I see that you two are together in spirit, heart and deed, more so than some wedded couples are.” It was the honest truth.

Duggan glanced at Mr. Grant with hope in his eyes, but Mr. Grant focused solely on her.

“That is true, and you are a decent woman to notice such things.” He paused and grew even more serious as he continued. “What about the fact that we sometimes lie together as a wedded couple might, does that disturb you?”

Morag’s fingers meshed together more tightly. She felt her face grow hot.

Mr. Grant fidgeted with his necktie. “Honesty, remember, we need to be open about such things if we are to remain…friends.”

Again Morag was startled by his remark. Friendship was not something a man of his status would normally think of regarding a servant such as herself. “It is odd, sire, but I found myself quite pleasantly roused by the notion that you two are bedded down together.”

Saying that aloud made her feel agitated. It was the truth, strange though it was. She felt lusty whenever she considered it, and hung her head in shame. Here was Mr. Grant trying to have a serious discussion with her and all she could think about was how it made her want to know more of them. It made her desires heap one upon the other.

However, she was glad she had spoken her thoughts aloud, for when she dared to glance his way she saw that passion flared in Duggan’s eyes. Staring across at him, it seemed as if he was proud of her. Did he like the way she had spoken her mind? Most men did not, but then these two were like no other men she had ever met.

Duggan crossed the room to her side, drew her to her feet and stroked her upper arm through the rough wool of her sleeve. “You’re a canny lass.”

The flattery was almost too much to bear, for she was not used to it.