Shocked, she looked at where the crowd was breaking apart—where the Keavey coachman was counting coins into the chicken keeper’s hand, and where Jean turned on her heel and flounced away.
There was no time to think on it. Jean’s warnings flitted through her mind, but she had to know more. Her body wavered momentarily but when she looked ahead she saw that Jean was striding back to her, the coachman in tow. It was dangerous, but she had to know. She had to pursue it, or forever regret that she had not taken this chance.
Once again his breath was warm at her ear. “Give me a sign and I will be gone. They will not even notice that we have spoken.”
He truly was prepared to wait for her to respond, even though Jean was almost upon them. Jean who had warned her against him moments before. Chloris should have felt panic, she knew it. All she felt was his presence, as if the encounter had sped the entire burgh away and only the two of them existed in this place. She slipped her hand behind her back and reached for him. His fingers entwined with hers, setting alive a chaotic thread of arousal in her. She squeezed his hand.
“Tonight,” she responded, whispering the word that he had whispered to her. Doing so made her feel even more light-headed.
His fingers slid from hers, and her eyelids lowered in relief.
Then he was gone.
Breathing deep to steady her nerves, she suddenly realized she’d agreed to his ultimatum. He would come to her, at midnight. In Tamhas’s house? The dangerous nature of the proposal became all too clear, as if her clarity of mind had returned on his departure. Her thoughts reeled.
What have I done?
CHAPTER FOUR
Tamhas Keavey slipped on his formal cloak and took his seat in the town council chambers. As he did, he nodded his greetings at the men gathered, surveying them all with an eye to allegiances. The prominent townsmen and civic leaders were there, landowners such as himself, as well as those who represented their guilds—the head of the bakers, the craftsmen and merchants. A representative of the university was also present, the illustrious academic trophy that Saint Andrews held in pride, for it brought them attention and prestige, drawing many of the great learned minds of Europe.
The murmured conversations around the table desisted, and a quick glance assured him that everyone was present.
Master MacDougal, the head of the council, rose to his feet and welcomed them, moving on quickly. “As council members we are here today to progress our membership. For many hundreds of years Saint Andrews has been the religious and intellectual center of Scotland, the jewel in its crown. The situation has changed since the union with England.” His expression grew overcast. “It is our duty to protect and build the reputation of our town. On our previous meeting we discussed ways in which we might achieve this, and we agreed that opening the council to more guildsmen would strengthen it.” Master MacDougal smiled. “Word had scarcely been put about and noble craftsmen stepped forward to represent their guilds.”
A murmur of approval went around the table.
MacDougal gestured to the usher by the door, who opened it.
Tamhas craned his neck to see. A gentleman entered. He stated that he owned a printing press associated with the university. Somewhat nervous, the gentleman explained that the press was well established under the university’s protection, and their wish for the future was to become more involved in town matters.
Tamhas found the gentleman’s account of how the printing press might be expanded quite tedious, for it was not an area of interest to him. The council voted and all present accepted the gentleman to represent his guild.
The printer took up a seat at the table.
The following discussion was quite long-winded, and Tamhas was surprised to see that a second application had been put forward and was being heard that day. His interest lifted, for he had not seen anything of personal interest or gain in the previous gentleman. On MacDougal’s word the usher again went to the door.
Tamhas, together with most of the gathering, turned to see who had arrived. The man stepped swiftly into the chambers and bowed his head toward the head of the council.
Tamhas frowned heavily. It was Lennox Fingal. What in God’s name was that heathen doing here?
Surprisingly, MacDougal seemed pleased to see the interloper. “Master Fingal, welcome.” He turned to address the assembled men. “Master Fingal is here today to present the case for his wainwrights to be recognized as the official cart and carriage makers of Saint Andrews.”
Tamhas’s blood boiled. He was so outraged at the idea of Lennox Fingal joining the town council that he scarcely heard a word the man said about his trade and his craftsmen. Fingal was a dubious character at best. There were rumors that he indulged in all manner of heathen acts up at that house in the woods, and his reputation as a shameless libertine amongst the women of the town was well-founded. That was the least of it as far as Tamhas Keavey was concerned. Witchcraft was at the heart of it all, he was sure of it.
When the time came to vote, Tamhas voted against, as did one other. When pressed for the reason, the other man stated that the wainwright trade had not been long in Saint Andrews and was not well enough known, despite the quality of their wares. He suggested that Master Fingal present himself again the following year.
When Tamhas was asked for his opinion, he urged himself to be cautious. He could see the querying look in Master MacDougal’s eyes. Fingal stared at him openly, one corner of his mouth lifted. Was he doing favors for the leader of the council in order to receive a good response to his application?
Drumming his fingers on the table he proceeded with caution. “I am concerned because Master Fingal’s origins are not known to us. In addition, many of us in the burgh are wary of those who are not churchgoers.” Those who are detestable slaves of the Devil instead.
MacDougal frowned. “A compromise can be reached, I am sure.” He thought on it awhile then addressed Lennox Fingal. “We will offer you a seat on the council, not as a guildsman but as a town member.”
Tamhas clenched his jaw lest he shout out in rage. The compromise meant Lennox Fingal would have less say in matters of commerce, but if he got his foot in the door there might be no stopping him.
MacDougal proceeded. “Assuming your comments are well received and of benefit to Saint Andrews, we will once again consider the application for your guild to be officially recognized. Once accepted, each guild is given a tenure of one year as a trial. If your craftsmen become an established part of the burgh in that time and you have contributed well to the council, that arrangement will be made permanent.”
Fingal bowed. “I am most grateful for the opportunity to prove our worth.”