The Libertine (18 page)

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Chloris had been attempting to read a book in order to
rest her mind. She sat in the drawing room and her book lay open in her hand,
but her thoughts were far away. Tomorrow she must give Lennox her answer. As she
pictured him, her heart fluttered in her chest like a bird taking flight.
Is that what I am, a bird taking flight?

Her thoughts were confused and contradictory. It was only the
occasional mite of good sense that pulled her back from the wild notion of
running away to join him, of following him wherever he led. Or so she told
herself. Was it honestly good sense to stay in the life that she knew because of
vows that had been meaningless to her husband the day he spoke them?
But they weren’t meaningless to me.

One thing she knew with absolute certainty was that if she
didn’t go to Lennox she would always wonder about what might have been. It was
no easy place to sit, betwixt doubt and the sure knowledge of eternal regret.
These dark thoughts were shot through with instinctive hope, and with the
yearning she felt to be with him. Would it not be better to know happiness with
him for a short while, than never at all?

Chloris did not believe he could be faithful to one woman—even
though he had begged her to believe it—not after the life he had led. All of it
filled her with uncertainty. She barely knew the man.
And
yet I know I love him.

The door sprang open.

Chloris’s book fell to her lap. Seeing Tamhas at the door, she
rose to her feet, closing her book and laying it aside.

Tamhas walked into the room slowly and then paused and
scrutinized her.

Heat rushed to her face. It was as if he knew the matter she
had been contemplating. She urged the thought away, blaming the odd notion on
her state of indecision. “Cousin?”

“I have a letter for you.” He gestured with a sheet of folded
parchment, flicking it in his hand. Then he sauntered over, slowly, never once
taking his eyes off her.

“Oh. Thank you for bringing it to me. That was not necessary.”
She frowned. Was it from Gavin? He had not written to her at all, but then she
didn’t expect him to. Moreover, something in Tamhas’s stance and the way he
regarded her so closely made her uneasy.

“Ah, but it is necessary, for I am eager to share it with you.”
He held out the folded page.

Chloris took it.

The handwriting was not familiar. She turned it over to break
the wax seal. Her mouth went dry when she realized that had already been done.
Tamhas had read it. Discomfort filled her, but why? Urging herself not to pause
nor meet his gaze, she opened it and read.

Mistress Chloris.

I long to hear your answer, but I will not be
able to meet you as planned. Forgive me. Word has reached me of my kin. I
will contact you again when I return. The hope that you will agree to our
arrangement will sustain me. Until then, I remain devoted to you,

Lennox.

The handwriting was not familiar because he had not written to
her before.

Now Tamhas had read it. Tamhas knew that there was something
between her and Lennox. The consequences let loose in her mind, filling her with
horror.

Chloris folded the page with trembling fingers. “You read my
letter.”

Latching onto that injustice, she clung to it. Nausea made her
feel quite unsteady, but she knew she must be brave.

The room was deadly silent, the tension between her and her
cousin sapping it of air. When she lifted her chin and looked at Tamhas, he
folded his arms across his chest expectantly. “I did. Would you care to explain
its contents to me?”

Sarcasm dripped heavily from his words.

“I went to Somerled in the hope of a cure.” It was the
truth.

“A cure?”

“I am barren. I wish to bear my husband a child.”

Tamhas inhaled loudly then snorted a laugh. “You wanted a
child, so you went to Lennox Fingal.”

Chloris bristled. “That was not the way of it.”

“And yet the letter suggests a fair degree of intimacy, would
you not agree?”

“I know you do not approve of their kind, but I went because I
was desperate for help. Master Lennox offered to undertake the rituals himself,
that is why he has written to me about a meeting.”

“Rituals?”

“Magic.” Her face was aflame, but she met his gaze. “A spell to
make me fertile.”

Tamhas regarded her with a scathing glance. “Please do not
insult my intelligence, dear cousin.”

His tone had turned threatening.

Chloris swallowed, for she realized that no amount of
explanation for her original intentions was going to make it any easier. She
wasn’t afraid for herself, however. It was Lennox and his people that she was
afraid for. She’d heard Tamhas rant about them often enough to know her
connection to them must stay secret, for it would only fuel a fire he had well
stoked in his soul—the funeral pyre he wanted for Lennox and his people. Chloris
had often dwelled upon the danger of Lennox visiting her here in Torquil House.
Never once did she imagine the truth would come out this way.

Tamhas unfolded his arms, then paced from side to side,
occasionally running his finger over items of furniture as he passed as if
examining them. It was almost as though he was enjoying her discomfort.

Chloris considered the doorway. That would only serve to anger
him all the more. She had to make use of this moment to do all she could to
deflect his attention from those at Somerled.

“Tamhas, I only went to them hoping that it might help...and
they did not harm me. You should not shun them so.”

“Why so concerned for them, cousin of mine?” His eyes narrowed
and he studied her intently. “I’m beginning to wonder if there wasn’t more to
it.” His expression grew angrier still. “You let that heathen beguile you,
didn’t you?”

There was nothing she could say in response to that.

In
his
eyes she was disgraced.

In
her
heart, she knew with
certainty that she loved Lennox.

No one could taint him in her eyes. She also saw with more
certainty than ever that it could never be because people would not allow it,
because they were so different.

Tamhas lunged at her.

She turned away but he arrested her from behind before she ran,
holding her with his hands around her shoulders, his face close against her ear
as he pulled her back against him. “You could have been mistress here,” he said
low against her ear, his voice seething with rage, “I offered you that.”

He moved one hand to her throat, where he stroked her.

The way he acted chilled her. “You’re my cousin and my
guardian, it did not seem right.” She tried to remain calm and not inflame him
further.

His palm was clammy against her skin, his fingers shaking with
withheld emotions, dark emotions. “Yet you let him touch you, didn’t you?”

She closed her eyes, reaching for the right thing to say. “I am
grateful for your protection, and for the good marriage you arranged for
me.”

When she mentioned her marriage he shoved her away from
him.

Chloris gripped the back of a chair to save herself from
toppling over.

“If you are so grateful,” he spat, “you would not have risked
bringing shame on our family. If this is made public my good reputation will be
ruined.”

Turning to him, she shook her head. “I had already brought
shame on my husband because I am barren. I was trying to right that wrong.”

He looked at her in disgust. “Go back to Edinburgh, Chloris.
You’re a fool and I will not let you ruin my good standing in Saint
Andrews.”

It would harm him if it came out, she saw that. Would it work
in her favor? “I will go, but on one condition, that you leave them alone, the
people at Somerled.”

Tamhas stared at her, his expression filled with disbelief.
“You attempt to bargain with me, you ignorant woman?”

Every part of her wanted to run away from him, for there was
madness in his eyes, but Chloris strived to contain her doubts, drawing strength
from her convictions. She met his gaze levelly, determined to face him. “If you
do not agree, I will stay here and I will tell Jean that it was me you wanted.
See how long she stays loyal to you when she knows you tried to bed your own
cousin on the very day she announced she was pregnant with your third
child.”

It was something she could never do, but it was her only
bargaining tool.

It was also a great risk. He could laugh in her face, she
wouldn’t be surprised.

He did not. Instead he looked at her warily and with
mistrust.

Chloris tried to get the measure of him. He was angry, and she
had seen too much of anger in men’s eyes.

“Make ready to leave at dawn,” he muttered. “The carriage will
be waiting to take you back where you belong. Do not attempt to leave your room
until then, your food will be sent up.”

Chloris nodded, turned away and walked as fast as her legs
would carry her. She would return to Edinburgh because she had to. It was not
where she belonged, not anymore. But she would do it to protect Lennox.

As she rounded the door she saw that Maura, the serving girl,
waited outside in the shadows, observing the doorway.

When Maura saw that it was Chloris and not Master Tamhas, Maura
emerged and ran to her. “I’m sorry, mistress,” she whispered. “I tried, but he
took the letter.”

Chloris took the girl’s arm, comforting her while encouraging
her to move on. “Hush, it is not your fault. Come, help me prepare to
leave.”

Maura looked woebegone.

“It is for the best,” Chloris added, “for everyone.”

That was the truth.

It was only her misguided heart that made her feel so wretched
about it.

* * *

Jean appeared fretful.

Tamhas knew why, but he did not want to discuss the matter.

Then she gestured to the serving girl, who stood by awaiting
Jean’s instruction to serve dinner. “Please could you go upstairs and rouse
Mistress Chloris, I fear she must be unwell because she has not come to
dinner.”

“That will not be necessary,” Tamhas replied. He’d assumed that
Jean would have found out from one of the servants, but apparently no one wanted
to share the gossip with the mistress of the house.

Jean frowned. “What do you mean?”

Tamhas signaled at the serving girl, indicating she should
leave. “Chloris will not be joining us because she is returning to Edinburgh in
the morning.”

Jean sat back in her chair. “I had no idea. Why has she made
the decision so suddenly?”

His wife appeared to have grown fond of his cousin. Well, it
was too late now, their friendship would not flourish. “I ordered her to be
gone.”

Jean looked aghast.

“I’m afraid Cousin Chloris has abused my trust.”

Jean stared at him, her brow furrowed.

“Don’t breathe a word of it to anybody, but I intercepted a
letter from that scoundrel, the Witch Master. It was quite obvious from the
contents of the letter and Chloris’s reaction that they had been meeting.”

Jean turned quite pale.

“It is almost as if she has done this to provoke me. She knows
what I think of them.”

“I warned her,” she said. “I told her that no woman was safe in
his company.”

Tamhas studied his wife carefully. Had she known anything about
the affair? “The morning rides she took, did she ever speak to you of them?”

“Only that they invigorated her.” Jean’s cheeks flushed when
she realized what she had said.

Tamhas gave her a warning glance. “You had no suspicion?”

Jean shook her head. “No. I was very careful to warn her
because I myself found him a most intimidating personage.” She paused and her
eyes flickered, as if she regretted what she’d said. “So it is unlikely that she
would have confided in me.”

She looked away.

Tamhas sensed her discomfort. What had she let slip? “Whatever
do you mean you found him an intimidating personage?”

“I misspoke, husband.” She could not look his way, which only
confirmed her guilt.

Tamhas rose to his feet, his blood boiling. “Tell me, or I’ll
beat it out of you, bairn or no bairn.”

Jean lifted her gaze to meet his, terrified, as well she should
be. “When I first came here, I encountered him. I spoke with him awhile, that is
all.”

The door opened, and the serving girl carried in a platter of
food.

“Get out,” he shouted.

The girl scurried off.

Tamhas returned his attention to his wife, who was now cowering
in her chair. “I meet with the bailiff tomorrow to discuss ousting them. Before
I do so you will tell me exactly what happened, and when.”

Jean hung her head. “I invited him here, many years ago, to see
to the ghost that lingers in the west wing.”

“Did you let him touch you?”

“No, I promise you, I did not.”

“Continue, tell me everything.”

Tamhas pressed his lips together and forced himself to listen
to every detail of her silly tale, even though he wanted to silence her, for it
only reinforced his determination to see Lennox Fingal destroyed.

When she finished he let her sit in silence for a while, as
punishment.

“We will never speak of this again, and there will be no need
to.” When she lifted her head to meet his gaze, he continued. “I intend to burn
the vermin out of Fife myself.”

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

The long boat creaked as it crossed the gray, shifting
waters of the Tay.

Restless and uneasy, Lennox peered across the expanse of water
at Dundee. It was not a place he was familiar with, but he knew of its dark
history. A busy port, the walled city had been the site of many battles. He’d
heard tell of how it was thoroughly bombarded by the English navy from the sea,
and then crippled again during Cromwell’s civil war on the land. There hadn’t
been a witch trial there for many a year now, though, and Lennox could scarcely
bear to contemplate the fact that it could be his own sister who would suffer
the same fate as those who went before.

If she hadn’t already been put to
death.

He clenched his hands together and bowed his head, willing it
not to be so.

“’Tis a good day to be doing trade in Dundee, sire.” The
ferryman stood alongside the narrow wooden seat where Lennox sat while they
crossed the water, leaving his two scrawny young oarsmen to do the hard
work.

The day did not look promising at all, neither was Lennox in
the mood for a genial chat. As he was the only passenger, he didn’t have a
choice. The ferryman had stationed himself beside Lennox. His feet were widely
placed, his stance easily managing the currents as they crossed the estuary.

Lennox mustered an appropriate response. “That it is.”

Lennox scarcely listened as the man meandered on about the
weather.

“Take care when you’re in Dundee, sire,” the ferryman said,
eventually nudging Lennox’s shoulder in order to get his attention.

Lennox lifted his head just enough to look at the ferryman from
beneath his hat. “Why so?”

“There are witches about.” The man raised his woolly eyebrows
dramatically.

Lennox attempted to look disturbed by the suggestion. “Witches
you say?”

“Aye, they captured one of them last week. A woman it was.”

The nature of the conversation did little to quell Lennox’s
impatience. Bracing himself, he forced himself to ask the most difficult
question of all. “Have they tried her?”

The ferryman shook his head. “They didn’t have the chance. The
vixen escaped their clutches and disappeared.” He fluttered his fingertips.
“Away into the night she went.”

Lennox stared up at the man. Escaped? Could it be true, that
Jessie had slipped from their fingers and was free once again? He considered his
response, measuring his words carefully before he spoke. “You mean she is free
and walking amongst us, the witch?”

“Closer than you might think.” The ferryman leaned down and
lowered his voice to a whisper. “She passed this way. Innocent of that I was,
but she sat upon this very boat four nights since.” He jerked his head back,
indicating that she had gone toward Fife, from whence Lennox had come.

Lennox grappled with the information, looking back across the
stretch of water they had already covered, fighting the urge to order the man to
turn his boat about. It would draw suspicion if he did. Besides, four days or
more had passed. She would be long gone. “One woman?”

The man nodded.

What of Maisie? “You think she’s loose in Fife now?”

The ferryman—who obviously assumed Lennox’s interest was based
in fear or wariness—gave him a lopsided smile. “She could be anywhere by now,
spreading her evil ways.”

Was Maisie still in Dundee? Lennox had to be sure.

The burden he carried began to feel a mite less crushing,
however. Jessie had escaped and was traveling in Fife, on land that was more
familiar to him than Dundee. He stood a chance of finding her. On his return he
could send his people to the villages to seek out word of a stranger who had
passed that way. Tomorrow. In the meantime, he would find out what he could of
Maisie in Dundee.

Hope fired his blood. Jessie was free. Maisie was likely in
hiding. He would not rest until he found them both, but he breathed a bit easier
than he had in the hours since Lachie and Glenna told him that Jessie had been
captured by the bailiff of Dundee.

“Shrouded in a heavy shawl she was,” the ferryman continued,
“so I could not see her face.” The boat was nearing the shore. As the ferryman
straightened up he marked himself with the sign of the cross. “Thank the Lord I
was protected that night when I carried evil across the Tay into Fife.”

Lennox stared at the man, trying to reconcile—as he always
did—the image of evil and what most of them honestly were, curers, healers. They
would protect themselves by magic if they had to, of course, and the lure of
greater power turned one or two bad. But in the main they were peaceful people.
They did not deserve the brutal, vile treatment they received when they were
called out.

It brought about a deep sense of bitterness in Lennox, a sense
of injustice and anger that was rooted deeply in his character. Despite his will
to be accepted and be allowed to uphold their beliefs, his thoughts did
sometimes turn dark. If their persecutors were not careful, those who practiced
the old craft would rise up as one and wreak havoc. He had the capability to
become what they said he was, and sometimes it was so close to the surface that
he knew it was a necessity to gather his brethren and head to the Highlands
before he became everything they feared. Most of all it was the fact he had
found Chloris—whom he loved—that now gave him the strength to endure and move
on.

The boat thudded heavily against the narrow wooden jetty. The
ferryman reached out for a sodden rope that was piled on the end of the landing
point and used it to haul his vessel in alongside the jetty.

“Thank you for safe passage, good man.” Lennox rose to his
feet, fished the requisite fee out of his pocket and handed the coins over. “I
will be availing myself of your services to return to Fife on the morrow.”

Nodding his head, he climbed onto the jetty and set off at a
pace.

* * *

“Aye, I was here when they brought her in.” The jailer
was a large, unkempt man who regarded Lennox with a wary stare. “The witch whore
they called her. The Harlot of Dundee, one and the same.”

Lennox lifted a brow. Jessie had garnered herself quite a
reputation. Before he’d even reached the tolbooth he’d heard about the lusty
young witch who had escaped her jailer. They talked of it readily in the inns
around the harbor.

The jailer frowned. “What of it?”

The man had obviously been admonished by the bailiff of the
burgh. Together they were responsible for keeping the prisoners here until they
could be tried, and this man had failed. Lennox fished for coins from the pocket
of his greatcoat and offered them to the man. “Tell me all you can.”

“Why are you so interested? What concern is it of yours?” The
man was wary, despite the fact he stared at the coins Lennox held out with
hungry eyes.

Lennox had prepared his excuse. “I have my suspicions that the
woman who was brought here is someone who did me an injustice in the past.” The
lie passed his lips readily enough, for it was one he had used before when
trying to discover the whereabouts of his sisters. He glanced down at the coins
lest the truth be seen in his eyes.

The jailer nodded and took the coins.

“Her and her sister,” Lennox added. He knew that only one had
been brought here under a charge of witchcraft, but this man might know
something of Maisie, as well.

“Sisters?” The man grumbled beneath his breath. “It does not
surprise me that there is more than one of them, for I heard they gather
together in a flock like animals.” He frowned heavily. “I would not like to meet
two of them. One was enough of a handful, a wild one she was.”

Lennox wondered if the man was exaggerating in order to cover
up his failure to keep Jessie under lock and key. However, he also had to face
the fact that he had no idea how his sisters had fared. Jessie had been the most
fae of them, and when they were children they often had to search in the
woodlands for her when she wandered off. It was hard for him to picture his
sisters, who would be well over eighteen by now. The last time he’d seen them
they were children. The two girls had been forced by the villagers to stand on
the pillars by the gate to the Kirk and watch while their mother was stoned to
death. This cruel act was done in order to teach them the error of their
mother’s ways, to redeem them. The church gate was open to them—they could make
the choice to turn away from what was called evil and wrong.

Even remembering it made the old familiar pain gnaw at his
guts. He’d tried to stop it, let loose chaos through his magic, cursing them.
But there were too many of them and they made the strongest man take Lennox
before he could do any more damage.

“She wasn’t here long,” the jailer said, drawing Lennox back to
the moment, “but I will tell you what I remember.” He pointed at the bruise on
his forehead, indicating that he’d had a knock to the head.

Lennox nodded, encouraging him.

“She swore she’d done no magic, she did.”

The thought of her fear, enough to bring about the denial of
her magic, made Lennox sick. It was little wonder, though, after all she had
witnessed, their own mother being put to death. While there was comfort in the
fact that she had escaped, he regretted that he had not got here earlier. What
he wanted most of all was to have been the one to liberate her. He wanted to
take her home to his people. When he’d quizzed the innkeeper that morning, he
was told that she was known in Dundee and had lived there for a year or more. It
was little wonder that he felt at least one of his sisters was still in the
Lowlands. One of the final things their mother had said to them, when she knew
of her own impending witch trial, was that they never should have left the
Highlands. There, they were safe.

“Will you show me where she was kept?”

The jailer looked at him oddly but lumbered along the
corridor.

Lennox was closer than he had ever been, since they were torn
apart as children, and yet he hoped that she had gone far away. North, to the
Highlands. Torn between the fear for her safety and grateful that she had been
loosed, he felt increasingly tormented. He glanced at the huddled figures in the
cells as they passed. None were witches.

The jailer gestured into a cell and raised his candle outside
the bars so that it shed a little light, enough that Lennox could see. When
Lennox looked at the sorry circumstances his sister had been kept in, like an
animal, the dark cloud in his soul grew larger.

Angered, he could scarcely contain his feelings. “They say she
outwitted you?”

The jailer scowled.

“Come now. All along my route people are talking about her
escape.”

“She was helped.”

Lennox cocked his head, waiting to hear more. Had Jessie
gathered a coven around her the way he had? He could only hope that was the
case. “Not by her sister?”

The jailer shook his head. “It was a man, strong brute he was.
Dressed as a minister he did and I left him with her in good faith, to share the
Lord’s words with her sorry soul.”

A man had broken her free? A protector?

Lennox was about to turn away when he felt it—her residual
vitality permeating the dank tolbooth. He wrapped his hands around the bars and
imagined her there.

Where are you now, sister of
mine?