The Libertine (Taskill Witches 2)

Tamhas, who seemed to relish sharing this sorry tale, glared at his wife. “Not like this, this was a smell only demons would carry.”

When Jean didn’t look convinced, he avoided her question—a question that appeared to be quite sensible, to Chloris—and hurried on. “My grandfather, he told me what to look out for, and I see it amongst those who are gathered around Lennox Fingal. They hunt for strange leaves in the forest and they gather in numbers, but when you come upon them they split so that you cannot count how many there are. If only I could catch sight of thirteen of them at once then I would have the evidence to oust them.”

It shocked Chloris that he was so deeply driven on the matter. She already knew he didn’t approve of anything that might be construed as witchcraft—she had known that when she went to Somerled—but she didn’t know his goal for Lennox and his kind was prosecution and death.

“They’re not family,” he continued, “all those people that gather in the woods with him. No, they are similarly afflicted by servitude to the Devil. No good Christian should have to live with such creatures practically on the doorstep.”

The fraught nature of the situation she had agreed to made Chloris want to run from the room, and as soon as the servant appeared again she bade Tamhas and Jean good-night and took her leave.

Alone in her chamber, she paced back and forth, checking the clock on the mantel every few moments. Leaving their company only gave her more time to fret upon it, and now her doubts were manifold. Tamhas had said they were no better than animals. Was it true?

Chloris reflected on the image of Lennox. There was a wildness about him. That was undeniable. There was a noble air about him, too, something in his posture and his manner that showed he would fear no man. That was where the dark thrill lay, she suspected, the rebellion she saw in his eyes. She’d never known anyone like that. The men in her life, her husband and her cousin Tamhas, were powerful because of what they owned and the ability they had to supply others with shelter or food, or not, as they chose. Lennox was not a wealthy man, and yet there was something almost regal about him. It was little wonder that he attracted women.

I must be cautious. Once again she warned herself to think about her goal, to fulfill her obligation to her husband by having a child. It was wrong to think upon the man’s looks and his bearing and his potential to woo women when she was about to let him undertake some mysterious, unchristian ritual on her. Besides, he might not even appear.

When the chambermaid came to turn down her covers and offered to assist her disrobing, Chloris declined. It wouldn’t be seen as odd, because Chloris seldom accepted assistance. The girl looked at her with sympathy as if she assumed Chloris was reserved, which suited Chloris. Her servants in Edinburgh were used to her ways and no longer offered. For reasons she kept private Chloris had learned to deal with the task of undressing—managing all manner of hooks and ribbons and layers of fabric—alone.

The serving girl stoked the fire, then left.

Once she was gone Chloris took a deep breath. The serving girl was, in all likelihood, the last person she would see that night and she would not have to deal with Master Lennox. He would forget or have second thoughts perhaps. That should have been a relief. It did little to quell her emotions. The truth of the matter was that she would wait up all night, hoping for the chance to partake of the magic he offered. If he did not come, that would be more painful still.

The hands on the clock neared the midnight hour and she lingered by the window, peeping out from behind the curtains. As the clock chimed, she saw him pacing across the lawn in the moonlight. She clutched at the curtains, staring down in disbelief. Several times over she wondered if she’d imagined his promise. What man in his right mind would enter the home of someone set on having him and his people persecuted?

He paused and lifted his head, apparently looking up at the windows. What a startling figure he made, so tall and sure of himself. He was as much at ease prowling in the moonlight as he was stalking about in the busy market earlier that day. It should have made her wary. It only made her curious, eager to know more about him.

Swallowing hard, she opened the curtains wide and showed herself. When he lifted his hand in acknowledgment, she dropped the curtain and paced back and forth again.

What would happen should he be discovered entering the house? He might not even make it as far as her room. Part of her wished that he wouldn’t. The rest of her was ready to run to the door and open it for him if he knocked.

How would he even know which room was hers?

The thought sent a shiver through her. She had no idea of the extent of his powers. She’d heard tales, of course, dark stories about the dreadful things that accused witches had done. Was Master Lennox as powerful and unruly as the ministers said when they warned of those who indulged in witchcraft? If he was, he could do many things.

Therefore he could enable her to have a child. Salvation.

She darted over to the door and listened, straining for any sound that would indicate the household had been alerted to the presence of an intruder. Silence was all she heard. Would he enter by means of magic? That had not occurred to her, but when she thought on it she supposed he might. Doubts assailed her. Magic, work of the Devil? What had she agreed to? She stepped over to the mantel shelf over the fireplace and clutched at it to steady her.

A moment later the door clicked and she saw a sliver of light by the doorway.

The candle on the mantelshelf flickered.

The sliver of light vanished and stillness descended again.

Chloris wondered if she had imagined it, so imperceptible was the movement, but then she discerned the outline of a tall, dark figure standing in the gloom by the doorway.

He was here. The Witch Master was now inside the room.

Her fingers clutched tighter to the shelf. Her blood had already been racing, but when she sensed his presence—so brooding and so mysterious—here in her private chamber, her heart thumped against the wall of her chest. They were alone. She took a deep breath, attempting to keep her thoughts in order. It was difficult to do so. Her chest was constricted, her corset and bodice unbearably tight.

Once again she wondered if she’d gone insane, agreeing to have him come here. It was bad enough that she had sought his kind out. Why had she succumbed to his offer in the marketplace? His presence here in her private quarters was outrageous, and it flustered her immensely, even more than she had imagined it would.

Then he stepped closer, into the light by the fireplace, and those questions faded into the background. She was captured by the look of him. Unruly, yet poised and elegant. He had the quality of a sleek parlor hound that could turn into a wild hunter at whim. When he looked at her with those intense eyes, her reason faltered.

“Good evening, Mistress Chloris.” He bowed his head.

“Sire.” Her voice wavered. She knew she must press on, and quickly. She’d readied her words and forced them out. “You have risked much coming here, thank you.”

A shadow of a smile passed over his lips. “You asked for my help, but you were wary of being seen coming to my home. That is understandable. We can talk here in privacy.”