The Libertine (4 page)

“You would do better to ask Tamhas, for he speaks a lot on the
subject and comments frequently that we would do well to look at ways in which
Scotland might prosper from the union, instead of raving about independence and
civil war.” She leaned in and whispered to Chloris conspiratorially, linking her
arm. “The truth of the matter is that the burgh is not what it was,” she added,
“but Tamhas works with the council to bring more trade here.”

“It seems their efforts are proving fruitful.”

Jean nodded. “I must confess, I find such talk of politics and
trade tedious, but do not tell Tamhas I’ve said that.”

“I promise your secret is safe with me.” Chloris smiled, but
she secretly wished her own husband would talk with her about such matters. As a
landlord in Edinburgh, Gavin was much ingratiated with politicians and men of
commerce, but he refused to discuss any such matters with her because she was a
woman. Tamhas did share those things with Jean, but apparently Jean only feigned
interest to please him.

The shared confidence bonded them somewhat and as they wended
their way through the busy market, Jean continued to link arms with Chloris. The
coachman was always ten paces away, in case they needed assistance. Jean
chattered busily at Chloris’s side. They passed that way happily for half the
length of Market Street, then Jean grasped Chloris’s forearm. “There, the lace
merchant.”

The merchant swept a low bow when he saw them approach. “The
finest Flemish lace for your perusal today.”

He gestured to the selection of garments and samples he had
laid out on a trestle table. Jean examined each and every one, or so it seemed.
It was a task Chloris trusted her own dressmaker to fulfill, but for Jean it was
a pleasure. Chloris encouraged her and soon they had made purchase of a delicate
lace cap as well as placing an order for a length of lace suitable for Jean’s
dressmaker’s use.

When they set off, Jean was in high spirits, but then she froze
and gestured to the other side of the cobbled path. “Quickly, there is someone
we must avoid at all costs.”

Chloris did as instructed but glanced back, her curiosity
aroused. When she saw that it was the man from the house in the woods, she
inhaled sharply.

By firelight he had appeared attractive. In the light of day he
made an even more striking figure than he had the night before. His presence was
startling. From the top of his felt tricorne hat to the polished, buckled boots
he wore, he was devastatingly handsome. Moreover, he cut a path through the
crowd, standing a good head higher than most of those who passed.

Many of those he passed greeted him, which made it seem quite
rude of Jean to move out of his path. Perhaps it was better that they had not
encountered him directly, though, Chloris reflected, for she would not be able
to acknowledge that she knew who he was.

As if aware of the scrutiny he turned his head her way.

His gaze locked on hers. He inclined his head.

Stumbling on the cobbles, she drew to a halt.

“Hold tight to me,” Jean advised. “The stones are uneven.”

Chloris could do no more than nod in response. From under her
lashes she could see that the man continued to observe them, making no pretence
about doing otherwise. His gaze flickered over them, as if he was eager to
determine the nature of their friendship and the purpose of their outing. When
he saw that Jean was guiding her away to the other side of the street while
casting black looks back at him, his sensuous mouth moved. Apparently he was
amused by that.

Inside her glove Chloris’s palm tingled. The sensitive skin
there, where he had caressed her, seemed to be stimulated by a sensual memory at
the sight of him. It was oddly seductive, and it made her senses rush. It also
made her wish he was touching her again. Shocked at her own reaction to the
sight of the man, she asked herself how it could be. His nature, was that why?
His curious powers and his wild ways? Flustered, she turned away, reminding
herself that it was imperative Jean did not see her exchanging glances with the
local Witch Master. However, his nearby presence and the nature of the situation
meant she was quite unable to stop herself playing the innocent in order to
question her cousin’s wife. “Who is it that we must avoid?”

“That man, Lennox Fingal. A questionable man if ever there was
one.” Jean scowled.

Lennox
. His name whispered around
her mind. How well it suited him—strong, direct and memorable. She feigned
confusion, hoping for more information. “Questionable?”

Jean leaned closer, lowering her voice. “They say he dabbles in
witchcraft. There are a bunch of them around him and all are suspected of
wrongdoings. Tamhas has been watching him.”

Chloris was not only startled by the vehemence with which Jean
spoke, but also by the information she imparted. Tamhas was watching the man
from the house in the forest? He’d often spoken out against witchcraft, and he’d
been vehement about Eithne leaving, all those years ago. She hadn’t, however,
been aware that he currently had suspicions about the people who met in the
house in the forest. If she had known, she would never have ventured there. “He
does not appear as I might have expected a witch to appear,” she said, giving
her honest reaction.

“That is half the trickery. The man is a rogue, and even if it
is not true about his evil ways...” She paused, and Chloris could see Jean
wasn’t sure, or else didn’t want to believe it. “Even if it isn’t true, he lives
a wild life up there in that house of his. He’s a handsome devil and many women
are eager to be in his bed.”

Jean flushed and cleared her throat, as if stating the
information would somehow tarnish her by association. Chloris had to suppress
her amusement for she had the distinct feeling Jean wondered what it might be
like to be in bed with a man such as Lennox.

“They say a woman is helpless under his spell, if he chooses to
seduce her,” Jean said, blurting out the words. She wriggled her shoulders as if
in distress, but Chloris noticed Jean kept glancing back for another look at
him. “The shameless libertine,” she added, disapprovingly.

Chloris was not in a position to pass comment.

Across the shifting crowd Lennox lifted his hat and inclined
his head at Jean, then at Chloris. His attention lingered on Chloris, and his
gaze made her blood heat.
He’s a handsome devil, and many
women are eager to be in his bed.
Jean had warned her, and those
words stayed with her. It was wise that she’d left his house when she did.
They say a woman is helpless under his spell, if he chooses
to seduce her
.

Nevertheless, Chloris couldn’t help herself, because this
Lennox Fingal was now looking across the crowd at her and her alone, and it
affected her oddly. He was staring into her eyes and beyond and she felt as if
she should have been disturbed by that. For some reason she found her senses
wildly aroused.

His eyes glittered oddly.

Beneath her clothing her skin grew hot. She felt restless,
flooded by self-awareness as she was under his gaze.

Jean rattled on at her side, but Chloris could scarcely take
the words in. “Just look at him, staring at us so rudely.”

He was indeed staring, pure, candid interest in his
expression.

Chloris lowered her head, but she could not keep the smile from
her lips, unbridled pleasure swelling in her. Then the crowded street seemed to
grow busier still and a fearful noise sounded to their right-hand side. The
dense crowd stopped moving.

Half a dozen chickens had escaped their coop and darted about
in front of Jean, clucking loudly. Jean screeched, lifted her skirts and took
flight, as if to pass by the chicken seller. When she did, she bumped against
the owner of the chickens, who was trying to shoo them back toward their
enclosure with one hand. In the chaos, Jean dislodged the basket of eggs the
owner of the chickens had clasped in her other hand. The basket was dropped and
several eggs were broken.

An argument broke out.

Chloris watched in dismay. Jean scolded the woman who was
selling the eggs and refused to pay her for the broken ones, insisting that it
was her fault for letting the chickens run free. The coachman was now at her
side. Then the crowd thickened again and Chloris found herself isolated from her
cousin’s wife by the flow of people, many of whom were gathering in front of her
to observe the argument about the eggs.

That’s when she became aware of his stare, the man Jean had
called Lennox, the Witch Master. He stood off to her left and he looked only at
her, his smile lingering.

It struck her oddly. Did he have something to do with it?
Surely not. But what if it were true about his abilities to effect change? She
tried to shake the thought from her head, but as she stared at him in wonder she
saw a remnant of that strange light flashing in his eyes. For the briefest
moment it seemed as if those eyes of his were even more luminous, as if they
reflected the sunlight itself. That couldn’t possibly be the case, for clouds
flitted across the sun and his eyes were well shaded beneath his hat.

Chloris shivered.

Then it was gone.

He raised an eyebrow, making a connection with her.

It felt as if he were reminding her of their previous
encounter, where—as he so rightly pointed out—she had sought him out. To her
right side waves of laughter and jeering emanated from the area of the argument,
the onlookers relishing the entertainment. Flustered and guilty, Chloris tried
to catch sight of her cousin’s wife, her heart racing while Jean’s word of
warning flitted through her mind—his notorious reputation with women, his
dissolute ways, the rumors about dark beliefs.

When she looked back again, he was gone.

How did he disappear from view so quickly? While Chloris
wondered on it she felt something tickle across the back of her neck.
Instinctively, she reached back to brush the loose strands of hair away from her
nape. Her body tensed. It wasn’t her hair. It was him. His breath on her,
followed by the briefest touch of his mouth on her skin.

Even before she glanced over her shoulder, she knew it was
him.

A hand rested briefly on her waist, as if to reassure her.

His face was so close to hers that when she looked back at him,
her legs grew weak. Dangerously handsome and so willful, he was all but pressed
against her back.

“Careful,” he whispered close to her ear. “Look toward your
hostess while I speak to you.”

From the corner of her eye she saw that he nodded over at Jean.
Chloris did as he said, her senses reeling from his presence so close against
her back. It made her entire body tingle, her skin racing, her nerves alive and
chaotic.

“You look very beautiful today, Mistress Chloris. If I might be
so bold to mention it.”

Him making bold enough to comment on her appearance? Chloris
withheld a smile. The man was bold in every way. A whispered comment was the
least of it. But his hand remained on her waist, and it felt as if he was
claiming her through that simple touch. She almost felt him scooping her up,
walking away with her in his arms while everyone stared the other way. The wild
notion shocked her. Where had it come from, and why did it make her want it to
happen? Her vision blurred. She blinked, forcing herself to look as if she were
watching the squabble unfolding before them. It was difficult because she could
feel him, his hand at her waist, his legs against her skirts and his breath on
her skin.

“Have you thought about our discussion?”

She had thought of little else, but she couldn’t admit that. To
tell a man like him such a thing would empower him. Yet Chloris could not deny
the arousing charge she experienced with him so close at her back, whispering to
her, while all around were oblivious to their secret connection. It was madness
but it was a delicious diversion all the same.

She turned her head slightly, to be sure he heard her whispered
reply. “I have. However, I am afraid it is not wise for me to come to you again,
because my hosts would disapprove.”

“Your cousin Tamhas Keavey?” He gave a low chuckle.

She pursed her lips. She had not stated her family name the
night before, yet he knew it. A man like him would have ways of finding out
exactly who she was, she supposed.

“If you are afraid to come to Somerled,” he continued, “I could
come to you in secret. It would be less dangerous for you.”

Chloris was astonished by his suggestion. “How? At Torquil
House?”

That sounded even more dangerous. Perhaps that was his way,
though—to court danger to amuse himself.

“I could easily come to you in the night. I know the lay of the
place. It would be possible.”

Chloris felt light-headed. An image of him in her private
chamber drifted through her mind. Him, approaching her. Him, touching her again.
Her grasp on her surroundings was slipping away as she considered his words.
“For the ritual you described?” she murmured.

“Of course. Why else?”

Was that amusement she heard in his voice again?

“You would be more comfortable in your quarters,” he added. He
ran one finger down her spine from her hairline to where her gown began,
reminding her of what he had said about laying hands on her.

Her head lolled back in reaction to his touch. It made her
bones melt and filled her mind with thoughts she could scarcely believe she was
having. Imagining herself turned in his hands she recalled that magical heat he
had conjured in her very center, and she felt dizzy.

“I will call upon the rich vitality of the earth and the power
of the seasons to flourish inside you.”

The seductive tone of his voice as he said those intimate words
made her body heat, rapidly. More images assailed her, shocking her. She saw
their two forms entwined while he imbued her body with magical prowess. She saw
him hold her, set her alight. She swayed. Then she felt him begin to draw
away.