The Libertine (Taskill Witches 2)

She pulled her hand free of his and snatched her glove from the place he had rested it. “You seem to revel in being forthright to the point of rudeness, sire.” Moreover, his words only made the pain worsen. It also made her doubt his skills. “What would you know of my life? My husband’s first wife carried a child. Alas they both perished. He married again to sire an heir. Eight years we have been married without issue and now my husband is ready to disown me.”

Regret swamped her immediately. She’d blurted it out and now she was embarrassed by her confession. Only she and Gavin knew about her shame over this private matter. A man such as Gavin Meldrum, with a sizable fortune and numerous commercial interests, wanted a son. She had proven to be a failure in his eyes. Nevertheless her pride made this difficult for her. She rarely spoke of it, even to her closest friends, although she suspected many friends and acquaintances in Edinburgh whispered about her sorry state of affairs, and some of her friends had even suggested ways in which she might fall pregnant, many of them quite immoral and totally unacceptable to her.

Tugging on her glove, she made ready to leave.

“Why do you attempt to turn away now? Now, when you have finally summoned the will to come here?”

It unnerved her that he knew that it had been a dilemma for her. Of course he did. In all likelihood, she surmised, it was a dilemma for anyone who came here.

They practiced witchcraft, after all.

“The hardest part is over,” he added.

She met his gaze, determined not to be cowed by him, no matter how striking his presence. “Maura said she saw an older woman when she came here last week. I thought it would be the same for me.”

“Ah, so it really is because I am a man that you reject my potential assistance in this matter.”

She opened her mouth to ask why else, and then thought better of it. Everything she said only seemed to mire her deeper in this awkward discussion.

“I was not here last week.” A shadow passed through his eyes. “I am often away on...family concerns.” There was a mysterious, secretive edge to his expression and it made her wonder about the nature of his family concerns. “But I returned less than an hour ago and I was here for your visit. That is because fate has deemed it so.”

Chloris stared at him. Fate. Could it be true?

Moreover, how could it be that she was so strangely intrigued by the man, when she balked at the idea of discussing her intimate matters with him? He was no more than twenty-five years of age in her estimation, and yet he was so strangely age-old, even though he was also rebellious in his ways. She was about to turn thirty years, and she was afraid to be alone with him. It was his air of questionable morals. He was unruly, a wolf in sheep’s clothing. He was also overly frank while he referenced her malady without stricture or concern.

“You are skittish and wary, Mistress Chloris. I understand why. However it is a shame because I sense you truly believe I have the power to help you.” Once again he spoke bluntly, but this time it was somewhat more serious and sympathetic.

She nodded. “Yes, I did believe that you might be able to help me. I know little of your ways,” she added cautiously, aware that many would think her insane walking into the house such as this, “however, as a child I had a nursemaid who had some skills as a healer. She used to take me for walks along the shore and in the meadows, and she would tell me about the plants and herbs and what ailments they could be used for. She was very fond of me, and I of her.”

The man’s curiosity seemed baited. “Tell me something of her ways.”

Chloris thought back to those times. “She wore scarlet ribbons around her wrists. She told me it was to ward off rheumatism.”

“She believed?”

“Yes, she said it eased the pain. Others said that the ribbons were a sign of her...” her voice dropped to a whisper “...her bond with the Devil.”

When she grew quiet he nodded. “You were not afraid of her, though, and that is what has made you brave enough to come here.”

“My need is what made me brave enough. There is no other path available to me.” She lifted her chin. She was not used to sharing such intimate details about herself. “However, it is because of my Eithne, my nursemaid, that I believed it might be worthwhile coming.”

He studied her carefully. “Tell me, what became of your nursemaid?”

Chloris inhaled. It was not what she expected him to ask, for it was the part of the story she would rather not have shared. His gaze held hers, though, refusing to let her ignore the question, demanding the truth. It was obvious that if she denied him any knowledge that he asked for, he would refuse to help her.

She took a deep breath. “A dreadful illness took most of my family, the cough. Some say she protected me from it because she favored me. Others said she was unwilling to help the rest of my family by healing them.” She paused. “Eithne was turned out by my guardian.”

Eithne had been turned out by her cousin Tamhas Keavey, with whom she now visited, but that was not the point. At the time she’d been a child and Tamhas’s ward. He’d been a man in his early twenties and the only one willing to take her in when her parents perished.

The man stared at her, assessing her. “You did not believe she was responsible?”

“No, I didn’t. The ability to cure the illness was beyond Eithne. But she knew things and she whispered for me in her prayers, using words that I didn’t understand.” Seeing the interest in his eyes she went on. “She told me I would be protected from the cough.”

It was so much more than a cough, but she knew they called it that in order to force its darkness back, to stand up to it. Chloris stemmed the other painful memories. Memories of the way her cousin and guardian had called Eithne a slave to the Devil while he cast her out. Chloris had been plagued with doubts, respecting him as she did, but she had never been able to believe it.

Drawn back to the moment, she lifted her head. When she met the man’s stare she had the eerie suspicion he knew what she was thinking. “I was always happy when she held my hand.”

“She was a woman who respected the old ways.” He spoke softly.