The Libertine (17 page)

“I promise you I will love you always.”

Chloris felt as if she would faint.

“Leave that other life behind you, be with me.” He reached for
her hand and held it in his.

She squeezed her eyes tightly shut to hold back the tears that
threatened to spill. “I cannot, surely you know that Tamhas would despise me if
I left my husband, and he would come after me to set me right.”

“Aye, I know that.” He squeezed her hand tighter still. “It has
long been my plan to take my people north, where we will be more readily
accepted.”

Startled, she stared at him in wonder. Her lips parted, but he
continued to speak.

“But I also have to be honest with you about how things will
be. Hard. Life in the Highlands is very different to what you have known here in
the Lowlands. But I have kin there and we will be welcome. Those who believe in
the laws of the natural world and draw on its vitality to heal and create magic
are not hunted and persecuted in the Highlands. We will be safe there, but it
will be a simple life that awaits us at the end.” His eyes flickered. “An honest
life.”

An honest life
. She knew he meant
that to contradict the life she was living, where she pretended to be a happy
wife when it was so very far from the truth.

“It will be a difficult journey, though, and danger comes in
many guises. Once we leave Saint Andrews those who speak against us will see our
departure as an admission of guilt. They will send out word and hunt us down to
be brought to trial.”

“It is safer not to run,” she murmured, her belly turning at
the thought of him being hunted down that way.

“I didn’t say that.” A wry smile passed over his expression.
“Troubles lie ahead for the south, too. The Jacobites are growing restless. They
are ready to rise up and fight once again, to restore a Stuart king to the
throne. The English will be ready for it, but our country may once again witness
many fierce battles.”

Chloris inwardly recoiled at the idea of more violence for
Scotland. As a child she had grown up listening to her father relating stories
of feud and resistance. The union with England was not accepted willingly by
most she spoke with in Edinburgh, but she had not heard talk of a new uprising.
“How do you know these things?”

“When I am away I travel from village to village, and I listen.
With King James in exile and supported by the Jacobites, rebellion has been
inevitable.”

Uncertainty surrounded them, and it took many forms. As she
looked at him she knew one thing with certainty. She did love him. If he wanted
her, as he said he did, could she risk her heart and go with him? Hardships
ahead, yes, but there would be hardships aplenty if she stayed with Gavin.

There was more to it than that, though. This could be a whim on
his part. She reminded herself that there were others he had responsibility for,
and they would not readily accept her. “I will bring trouble to you and yours if
I go with you.”

He shook his head, reached out and took her other hand in his.
When she met his gaze, he continued. “It has always been a matter of time. Leave
now and we will go together.”

“If that was your plan, why have you not left before?”

“I stayed only to find my two sisters who have been missing
here in the Lowlands for many years.”

Chloris was dismayed. Not only for his lost siblings and the
obvious pain that caused him, but also because he had not shared this
information with her before. That saddened her. She did not know him well
enough. She knew him as a lover, but there was so much more. Would they ever
have the chance to learn everything there was to know about one another? “I am
so sorry. Tell me more. Why are they lost to you?”

Lennox released her hands. He inhaled deeply and ran his
fingers through his hair, then turned away. It was not easy for him to discuss
the matter with her, Chloris could see that. Was it because she was not of his
kind? Did he discuss it with his people, his coven? That only made her feel
further away from him.

A moment later he turned back, but he had a distant look in his
eye. “Our mother was put to death when we were bairns, on a charge of
witchcraft.”

Chloris covered her mouth with her hand, shocked to the core by
his statement. Shaking her head, she tried to take it in. “Oh, Lennox, I am so
sorry.”

The nature of his family history held so many implications. In
particular it made her even more afraid for him. He had come to Torquil House to
be with her, time and again, the very place where he was in deep danger. Tamhas
would happily see a similar ending served on Lennox and his people. She knew
that without a doubt. Yet so much of what she was learning about him made sense
of the man she did know, his rebellious nature, his strong will and his
tenacity.

“We have always been ready to take our leave, but I had hoped
to find my kin before such time. It has not happened, but I have found you.” He
sighed, then gave her a gentle smile. “There seems a certain destiny in our
meeting at this point in time. Locating my sisters is the only barrier to
perfect contentment.”

“That’s where you had been, wasn’t it, looking for your
sisters, when I first visited Somerled?”

“It was.” He stared at her in silence a moment and she could
feel it, his affection for her. He truly did believe in it. “Chloris, we are
meant to be together. You cannot stay with a man who treated you so badly.”

“It is the way for many women, as well you know.”

Anger shot through his eyes. “It is not the way for the women
under my protection.”

Chloris saw and felt his dream, but she knew it for what it
was, a dream, at least where they were concerned. “You want to make me one of
your women,” she whispered.

“Yes.”

Her eyelids lowered. A heavy weight pressed upon her chest,
emotion swelling in her. When he went to say more she put her finger to his
lips. “Lennox, say no more.”

One of his women...

As if she could ever be like those women, gifted and magical.
Chloris thought about Ailsa, who had opened the door to her that first night, so
wild and sure with her misty eyes and knowing ways, even though the threat of
discovery stalked them.

No, he grew bored of the women who weren’t of his kind. The
affairs that he had with the women of Saint Andrews were pastimes to him. That
is what Jean had indicated in her warnings. That was the way of it, and that’s
what would happen between them. If she went to him he would soon tire of her,
and she would be cast aside. Too long she had avoided the truth about her
situation in life, and now that she had faced it so thoroughly she would not shy
away ever again. How it hurt, though, because she craved him badly. Knowing that
he wanted her, too—and it could never be, that it was doomed to failure—only
served to make her feel as if her life was forever ill-fated.

“It is too much, all of it.” She turned away, covering her face
with her hands. Tears threatened to spill from her eyes and she didn’t want to
cry in front of him again.

His arms were around her inside a heartbeat and he kissed the
top of her head. “Why? We will be happy together, I promise you.”

“Stop,” she whispered. Covering his hands with hers, she rested
her head back against his shoulder, allowing herself to absorb the feeling of
being comforted in his arms safely while he made promises that neither of them
could guarantee.

He turned her to face him. “There is council business to take
care of later today. We will meet again tomorrow morn, and you will give me your
answer then.”

There was hope in his eyes, perhaps even a touch of
desperation.

She wanted to say she would, badly. An aching maw in her chest
forced her to the brink of agreeing to his demands. “You would not use magic on
me now, would you?”

“Never. Not for something as important as this. You must come
to me of your own free will, otherwise it is worth nowt.”

He wanted to do the right thing, trusted her to do the same.
She would, but it would not make him happy. Eventually he would understand. He
would mate with a woman of his own kind, and he would know that it was for the
best.

But she wanted him so. Frustration drove her, and she pulled
him by his shirt, drawing him to her.

“Make love to me,” she demanded, one hand lifting her skirts as
high as her thighs.

His eyes lit from within.

The ache in her chest grew. He thought she was agreeing to his
demands.

Before she could deny it he had her in his arms, guiding her to
a spot where they could lie together. “I knew you would see the sense of
it.”

No, she had only seen the truth of it.

But she could not deny herself this one last pleasure.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

During the council meeting Lennox could barely stop
himself glowering at Tamhas Keavey. Keavey kept glancing his way, smiling smugly
as if he was head of the council. Had he ensured Lennox’s short membership? It
mattered not. Lennox was no longer concerned about that. They would be gone
soon. His relationship with Chloris had tipped the scales.

It was, however, tempting to inform Keavey he had not the
slightest clue what was going on around him. That would be fatal, and Lennox
vowed to remain silent even if provoked. He was scarcely able to allow Chloris
to return to Tamhas Keavey’s home that morning. Now he had to sit and watch
Keavey gloat over some perceived one-upmanship on his part.

The last thing in the world he wanted was for Keavey to find
out about his involvement with Chloris. The very reason for the affair in the
first place now appeared so blatantly wrong. It unsettled Lennox greatly. If
Keavey were to find out about the relationship that had grown between them,
there was no telling how he might treat Chloris. She had doubts enough about the
wisdom of leaving her kin to be with him. If Keavey had even the slightest clue
and quizzed her, those doubts would inevitably increase.

The very thought of it made Lennox feel powerless and
frustrated. He loved the woman and he wanted to be with her forever. The only
way to make that happen was to begin a new life together, far away from the
Lowlands and all those who would try to keep them apart. It would happen, he
would make it so.

He scarcely listened when the list was read out and the
Somerled wainwrights were added for a tenure of one year.

How things changed, he mused.

It mattered not a jot.

Lennox returned to Somerled with plans to gather the coven.

As he approached he heard his name being called from a
distance. Alerted by the sound, he saw Lachlan waving at him, as if encouraging
him to make haste. Glenna was a few feet behind. Both of them looked anxious.
Glenna hurried along the path, one hand reaching out to steady herself against a
tree trunk and she realized he had seen them. His blood ran cold, the sight of
them worrying him deeply. Was there trouble at the house? Or worse still, an
ousting of one of their own?

He twitched the reins and urged his horse to gallop, quickly
closing the distance between them. “What is it?”

Lachie eased Lennox’s mount when he drew to a halt, stroking
the horse’s neck as he spoke. His face was flushed and his eyes bright. “Word
has reached us that a woman is being held in the tolbooth in Dundee. She is on a
charge of witchcraft.”

A fist formed in Lennox’s gut. It always did when he heard of
innocents being persecuted. Then Glenna shook her head, her eyes widening, and
Lennox knew there was more to it. He climbed down from his horse.

Lachie continued. “They say her name is Jessica Taskill.”

Lennox gripped the pommel on his saddle, astonished. So long it
was that he had hunted for Jessie and Maisie, and with no word. They had
vanished—much as he had—into the fabric of the land, but he had always hoped
that one day he would find them. Not this way. Not knowing Jessie was on trial
for her craft.

Quelling his fear as best he could, he pushed his hands through
his hair and leveled his mind. “How long ago?”

Glenna shook her head. “I’m sorry, Lennox. That was all the
news there was. We can only assume it was not long since, or...or more details
would have been passed on.”

She spoke with obvious discomfort, as if unwilling to make him
think about the immense possibility of his sister’s end.

“That’s true enough,” Lachie added. “People are all too ready
to gloat over the details. The news is fresh. Heed Glenna’s words and hurry to
her side.”

Lennox nodded. Looking out across the land he reached his arms
out with the deepest reserves of his divination—the most precious instincts
carried by those gifted with the craft—and he felt sure she was still alive. He
summoned a wish for a protective force to surround her until he got there.

He met Lachie’s watchful, concerned stare. “Give Shadow a quick
rubdown and a feed.”

Lachie lifted the reins. “If you ride to Newport on the Tay you
can stable Shadow there and secure a ferry to cross the water into Dundee.”

Lachie urged the horse on to the stable while Glenna hurried
alongside Lennox as they headed into the house. “I have readied a saddlebag with
supplies. Is there anything else that you need?”

His thoughts turned back to Chloris, his mind racing. “A quill,
ink and paper.”

Glenna glanced at him with curiosity.

“I will explain.” He had been intending to inform them that
Chloris would be joining them soon and why. The time was nigh for him to lead
them all north to safe haven in the Highlands. In his heart and mind he
determined that would be with Jessie and Maisie in tow. He took strength from
that ideal. Wits, magic and brute force may be needed to loose Jessie before she
was put up for trial, but he would make it happen and soon. He would be across
the Tay and in Dundee before the day was out.

First he had to alert Chloris of his unavoidable departure. A
note had to get to her before the day was out. He could not risk her arriving at
the meeting point with her answer or worse still, prepared to leave with him,
while he was away.

Dark thoughts rose at the back of his mind—doubts borne of his
concern about leaving her under Keavey’s roof a moment longer than necessary—but
he had no other choice than to ask her to wait until she heard from him again,
and to not doubt his promises to her.

* * *

Tamhas Keavey spied the young woman approaching his
estate from an upstairs window. At the time he was being measured for a new
frock coat and he had stationed himself by the window so that he could admire
his land in the morning sunshine during the tedious task. That’s when he caught
sight of her passing through the gates.

His sight was sharp and, although he could not recall her name,
he recognized her. She was one of the pitiful women that allied herself with
that heathen, Lennox Fingal. A lusty sort she was, with long raven hair and eyes
that left him in no doubt that she was capable of evil—eyes that were not of
this world. A witch, he had little doubt.

What was she doing on his land? Curiosity and suspicion built
steadily as he saw her darting toward the house. She did not walk on the gravel
track as most visitors did. Instead she sought the shelter of the trees and
moved from one to the next with apparent caution. It was clear to him that she
did not want to be seen.

“Enough,” he said, and gestured the tailor away.

Both the tailor and his assistant froze midmaneuver. “Begging
your pardon, sire, but I have only half the measurements I need for a good
fit.”

“My measurements are still the same as they were last time you
measured me. I am well aware that you come up here and repeat this ridiculous
performance just so that you can add another charge to my account.”

The tailor flushed and stammered. “I assure you, sire—”

“I have urgent matters to attend to. Use the measurements you
have on record.”

Without waiting for the tailor’s response, Tamhas Keavey turned
away and strode out of the room. Quickly, he went along the corridor and down
the stairs to the ground floor. The young woman had been headed for the
servants’ entrance. Was she in league with one of his workers? If that was the
case it might be useful to know. Even the slightest bit of evidence of their
craft would give him an excuse to go up to that lair they had in the forest with
the bailiff and his men. Together they would uncover their evildoings for the
purpose of bringing them to their just end. If one of his manservants was
tupping the wench, all the better. A few well-placed coins would get him some
snippet of information to warrant the bailiff’s investigation of Lennox Fingal’s
property.

Marching through the kitchens, he pushed the cook out of his
way as he headed past her along another corridor to the rear entrance, where
servants came and went and deliveries were made. He arrived in time to see one
of the servants, a girl called Maura Dunbar, accept a letter from the hands of
the strange-eyed wench.

“I’ll take that,” he stated, snatching it from Maura’s hand as
he stepped between them. The strange-eyed woman acted fast. She snatched the
letter back from his hand and made an attempt to run. Entertained by her game,
Tamhas grasped her wrist and held her tightly. “The letter or your life. It is
your choice.”

Relishing his power and eager for a sign he could use, he
watched her carefully.

She turned to face him and stared at him. Those eyes of hers
darkened, anger shining from them. She glared at his hand on her wrist. “Let me
go. I will not give it to you, the letter is not yours.”

“Ah, but it is, for you have delivered it to
my
house.”

“It is not for you.” She tugged this way and that, attempting
to break free of his grasp. As she did her eyes glowed brighter, as oddly
luminous as the garden pond shot through with sunlight at dawn.

Tamhas found himself unnerved by the strangeness of her
appearance. Those eyes that had made her memorable now seemed to roil and surge
with dark forces, and he knew for certain that she was evil to the core. He
almost lost his grip on her, but then his deeper cause made him hold fast. “You
will obey me,” he bellowed.

He reeled her in against him, then clasped her around the
throat with his free hand. She lashed out with one hand—the other keeping the
letter locked tight to her chest—scratching at him with clawed fingers. When she
drew blood on his face, he pushed her to arm’s length. Fighting him tooth and
nail, she kicked him in the shins, but he was a bulky man in comparison to her
slight form and she could not get the better of him by brute resistance
alone.

That’s when she gasped for breath and then muttered words in a
strange tongue.

Witchcraft
. His hand tightened on
her throat.

“Maura, you are witness to this.” He glanced back and saw that
Maura was huddled against the door frame, clutching at it, her eyes rounded and
afraid as she observed the scene. “Look at her, remember it well, for you will
be called upon to describe this demonic woman’s change in appearance to the
bailiff.”

The witch clamped shut her eyes.

Maura whimpered, but when he sent a warning glance her way she
nodded.

“Witchcraft it is,” he stated, perversely delighted to see some
evidence that his long held suspicions were well-founded, “and I will oust the
lot of you. I’ll march each and every one of you to the gallows myself.”

The girl’s eyes flashed open, and for one moment he thought
looking into her eyes alone would be enough to ensorcel a man. Yet he found he
was compelled to stare into those eyes, eyes dark with fury and yet so sure, so
knowing as she looked upon him. “Dear lord,” he muttered, “you are the Devil’s
own handmaid.”

He’d intended to toy with her awhile, but something about those
eyes made him think that the quicker he got rid of her, the better. For a moment
he was tempted to put an end to her there and then, but that was not the way.
“Think on this, witch. I could take you into the bailiff now, for Maura and I
have both seen your eyes turn and we’ve heard your despicable satanic words as
you call on your dark lord, but sending you to your death is not enough for me.
I will bring down the lot of you.”

The girl swayed and her hair flew up around her head, her
trapped voice hissing curses as she struggled against the hand around her
throat. As she did, he saw her grip on the letter loosening.

Snatching it from her hand, he thrust her aside. “Count your
blessings I did not break your neck. Now get off my land, away back to your
lair. Enjoy it while you can because you will soon breathe your last, the lot of
you.”

Once she was let free her appearance returned to normal.

Tamhas despised that most of all, for it was pure trickery.

The woman did not, however, run.

Instead she stood still and proud. She stared down at the
letter as if she were thinking of working her magic on it, but then her hand
went to her throat where the imprint of his fingers was visible on her pale
skin—just as the mark of the hangman’s rope would also be, and soon.

“I pity you,” she whispered. “Filled with hatred as you are,
you will never be a happy man.” Then she turned her back on him and walked
away.

Tamhas stared at her back as she retreated. He had expected an
attempt to slap him or spit in his face. Yet her final words had been unnerving
due to their calmness.

Gathering himself, he glanced down at the crumpled letter in
his hand, and he quickly forgot the messenger when he saw that it was addressed
to his cousin Chloris.

Frowning, he turned the letter over, broke the seal and opened
it.