CHAPTER ONE
Saint Andrews, Scotland
1715.
Even as she urged her mount through the forest, Chloris Keavey questioned her judgment and sanity, for the place she sought was an ominous, gaunt dwelling where those who practiced witchcraft gathered under the protection of their leader. It was a dangerous undertaking, and when she caught sight of the building a shiver ran through her. Stone built and covered in ivy, the house merged into its setting as wild and foreboding as the forest itself.
“I pray that my quest is not ill-fated,” she murmured, steeling herself for what she might encounter. Chloris approached with a mixture of wariness and determination, for it was both a last resort and a terrible risk. The people who gathered there practiced forbidden magic, despite the threat of persecution and death that hung over their kind. Who was most insane—those who defied the law laid down by King James VI of Scotland over a hundred years earlier, or her for willingly seeking them out?
A breeze swept up around her, stirring the tall trees that surrounded the dwelling. Early spring leaves and blossoms were more abundant at this spot, which meant the trees cast the building in shadows as they swayed in the breeze. Evening was on its way. A candle set in a small window to one side of the heavy wooden door was the only welcoming sign she saw.
Dismounting, she looped her horse’s reins around the branch of a tree then approached the house. Now that she was closer she saw the barns and wooden outhouses beyond, nestled deeper in the trees. It was there that the commerce was undertaken, the cart and carriage construction. The work that proved a respectable mask for the other practices that went on there. Over the door she saw that a word had been carved into the wooden plinth. Somerled. It did not sound like a warning, but neither was she clear on its meaning.
When she rapped on the door a young woman appeared. The woman lifted the candlestick from the window, held it aloft and eyed Chloris with caution. “What or who is it that you are seeking?”
Was she a servant, or was she one of them? Chloris wondered. There was no cap covering the woman’s head and her hair was hanging loose about her shoulders. Her eyes were unusual, being a misty-gray color. In all other respects she appeared none other than a normal young woman.
“I have been advised that a...” Witch. Chloris paused. She knew she must avoid saying the word. “...that a knowledgeable one abides here. Someone who might be able to advise me on an intimate matter.”
“What intimate matter might that be?” The young woman looked beyond Chloris, as if checking she was alone.
Chloris had been told she would have to state her cause to gain entry, so she was prepared. It was hard to voice the nature of her problem, however, especially to a stranger. The sense of discomfort she felt was great, and yet the woman before her scarcely blinked when she said it aloud. “I’ve been told that your leader can influence a woman’s...fertility.”
“Who told you this?”
“Maura Dunbar.”
Mention of her contact by name drew a nod from the woman. She stood back and ushered Chloris into the hallway. “Wait here a moment and I will announce you.”
Chloris stood in silence and then looked back at the door. Evening was already closing in. She would have to be back at Torquil House in time for dinner or her absence would raise suspicion. It was still possible to leave, to disappear into the encroaching evening and return to the safety of her cousin’s home. No. I need to be here. They might be able to help me. The risk was great, but her options were few. Anything, absolutely anything, was worth an attempt, and Chloris Keavey, wife of Gavin Meldrum of Edinburgh, was determined to be a brave soul.
Before she had the chance to think on it any longer the young woman returned, nodded and led her into a parlor. Chloris followed, warily. Once inside she discovered it was far from what she might have expected, being both pleasantly furnished and warm, with the fragrant aroma of a peat fire filling the room.
Apart from the fire there was only one candle, the one that was held by her escort. The young woman nodded beyond the fireplace. “I’ll leave you to your dealings.”
She was gone inside a blink, taking her candle with her.
As the door clicked shut Chloris looked about the room. With only the glowing embers in the grate to see by, it took a few moments for her eyes to adjust. Then she noticed that the parlor was comfortable, with solid wooden chairs arranged around the fire and a well-stacked bookshelf at the nearside of the hearth. On the far side she spied a generous stack of peat. The flagstones in front of the fireplace had been well polished and glinted in the firelight.
Almost immediately she knew she was not alone.