Authors: Saskia Walker
She wrapped her legs around his hips and stroked his shoulders with her hands, hungry for every sensation.
To be united this way with him, after all that had been said and done, made emotions assail her. She blinked back the tears as her hips rolled to meet his, grateful for every blissful, breathless point of contact.
“Gregor, I am undone,” she whispered, as her peak grew imminent.
He lifted his head and met her gaze. “Come to me, my precious harlot.”
The muscles in his neck stood out as he worked her faster, chasing after her.
She cried out, joy spilling though her, and when she came, he would not let her look away as he pumped himself into her, making her entire body burn and throb.
Afterward, he rolled her next to him and she nestled there, gloriously happy.
“The task, Jessie?” he asked, when their breathing and heartbeats had returned to normal.
Say it,
she urged herself. “That you will stay by my side and be my protector, as you were last night, for a while longer.”
His expression remained serious. “I have taken my reward, so I suppose I must accept the task.”
She was about to respond when she saw the twinkle in his eyes. “Does the task offend you?” she teased.
“It will be no easy undertaking, I am aware of that.” He kissed her softly beneath her chin, breathing against her skin as he spoke. His hands covered her breasts, still sensitive, still trembling in the aftermath. “To be a protector, to a wild woman such as yourself⦔
He sighed loudly.
She poked him, forcing him to look at her. “Gregor.”
He laughed. “Of course I will assume the task.”
“Would youâ¦would you truly make your way to the Highlands with me?”
“Aye, Jessie. Why not? You are right in what you say. We turned out to be a good match. Last night all I could think about was pulling you out of that place, and I despise the fact that circumstances got in my way.” His face tightened with regret.
“Hush. You were there for me. We are both safe.”
He laughed. “I warrant it will be no easy task, but there is nothing here for me anymore, and my life at sea seems distant to me now. I may return to it one day, but you and I have become connected, and perhaps it is no bad thing that I find my land legs once more.” He stroked her hair with one hand, and kissed her forehead. “Would you accept me as your protector, if I promise to do a better job of it?”
A disbelieving sigh escaped her, and she touched him with trembling fingers. “You
did
a good job of it.”
Her mind raced over what had happened, and how he had forbidden her to make magic when she was so vulnerable. That he had stopped her exposing her abilities and risking her life meant more to her than the fact he had pulled her from her attacker's arms.
“Tell me, how long do you want me to be your protector for, exactly?”
Her hand went to her mouth and she swallowed hard, attempting to bravely state her desires. His eyes twinkled again and there was affection in them, too. He knew the state she was in.
“A long time,” she ventured.
“That seems like a fair exchange, on one proviso.”
Still unsure, she queried, “What is that?”
“I want you to be
my
harlot,
mine alone.
Do you understand?” Possessive demand flashed in his eyes.
Jessie's breath caught in her throat, her heart swelling. She nodded gratefully, blinking back her emotion. She was about to respond, but the sound of the door to the landing rattling interrupted them, distracting them both. Gregor frowned heavily and looked toward the door, as did she.
“We did not lock it,” Jessie said, pulling her bodice into position.
Before he had a chance to say anything, the door was flung
open and Morag bolted into the room. Both of them stared at her, finding her sudden and panicked appearance surprisingly out of character.
Morag closed the door behind her and waved her hands. “Hurry, you must be gone. The bailie is down there with a crowd of men and they are looking for a woman from Dundee, a woman who practices witchcraft. They think she may be at a posting house along this road. Is it you, Jessie?”
Jessie's heart sank. “Yes, it is me they are after, dear friend.”
Morag nodded, and smiled a curious smile. “I thought it probably was.”
“Curses,” Gregor muttered as he leaped out of the bed.
“Hurry now,” Morag continued, “there is time to get away. I told them there were no women up here. Mistress Muir does not know that you came back. They plan to search the building, but they have started in the stables and outhouses.”
“They will assume, of course, that I am a wild creature living with the animals,” Jessie said as she hunted for her shoes, with no small amount of annoyance.
“You
are
a wild creature,” Gregor commented, “but we must be gone from this place before they find out for sure.”
“Aye, gather your things,” Morag urged, “and I will show you another way out of here.”
Gregor was already kneeling by his trunk. Opening a shirt on the floor, he threw his papers, the coins and parcels and several other items into it, tying the bundle in a knot. Jessie jolted into action and headed toward the other room for her clothing, picking up the purse from the table as she went. But Gregor stopped her. “Leave everything else.”
“My blue gown! I cannot leave without it.”
“I will buy you another if we escape this, and if you behave
yourself I will buy you a wedding gown, as well. But let us leave this place, now!”
Jessie gaped at him.
Gregor laughed and grabbed her by the hand.
“The trunk and whatever is left in it is yours,” he said to Morag.
She led them into an empty room farther down the landing, a small dressing room next to the door to Mister Grant's room, where she opened what looked like a cupboard and pointed inside.
“So this is how Mister Grant's lover comes to him,” Jessie declared.
“Aye,” said Morag. “Mister Grant pays highly for this room.”
A tiny peephole in the stone wall let in enough light to reveal a narrow set of winding stairs that dropped steeply into the shadows.
“Oh, no,” Jessie whispered. The stairs were barely wide enough to place her feet and there was no railing to hold, only the rough stone walls. It was so dark below that she could not see the steps.
Gregor did not give her time to think about it. “Stay behind me and put one hand on my shoulder as you follow. You will not be able to fall.”
That he treated her fear with such consideration made her want to cry, but it also made her strong. “Go,” she declared, clutching at him.
Down the stairs they hurried, and even though she was afraid of what might await them beyond, she was not as afraid of the steep stairs as she might have been, because of his guidance.
Morag brought up the rear, closing the doors as she went. At the bottom of the staircase Gregor paused. A narrow corridor
led to a door at the back of the inn. Beyond that the stables were located.
From outside came the sounds of dogs barking and voices shouting. Jessie's heart beat wildly.
Morag listened and then nodded. “They are searching the outhouses. Turn quickly to the left when you go out there. If you drop down by the fence at the pigpen they will not be able to see you as you make your way out of the grounds.”
Gregor paused briefly and gave Morag a hearty kiss on the cheek. Gathering herself, Jessie did the same. “Thank you, dear friend. Farewell!”
Gregor had his hand on the door handle.
Jessie was ready, ready to hide their trail by magic, and ready to take the road to the Highlands together. Gregor opened the door, holding tight to her hand. The last they saw of Morag she was dabbing her eyes with her apron.
They ducked down and scurried over to the pigpen, avoiding the outhouses. When they got to the end of the fence that marked the pigpen, they paused. A quick dash and they would be shielded by the stables as they made their way over the hill and to the open lands beyond, but for a short way they would have no cover at all.
As they hesitated, a man emerged from an outhouse carrying a musket. Within a heartbeat he would see them. Jessie tugged on Gregor's hand, and when he looked her way, she put her fingers to her lips.
Moving her hand, she whispered her enchantment, calling for calamity, and pointed into the pigpen.
One pig squealed as if startled, then another did the same and both ran at the wooden gate, flattening it. As they charged out of the pen, the man dropped his musket in fright and turned on his heel, taking cover inside the stable.
Gregor stared at the spectacle. His eyebrows shot up. Then
he peered at her, most astonished, and shook his head in disbelief.
“Hurry, go now,” she said, quelling the urge to chuckle.
Once they were well beyond the hill at the back of the inn and safe from discovery, Jessie began to laugh. She could not help teasing him about it. “Well, Gregor, I must confess, your face made me wonder if you regretted taking me on.”
He frowned. “It will take some time to get used to this ability of yours. I will have to become more familiar with it, I'm aware of that.”
“You do not wish to take advantage of my abilities?” She acted most surprised.
He drew her against him as they walked, his arm about her waist. “Most of all, I want to take advantage of
you.
”
Jessie's heart burned in her chest.
“Perhaps, with time,” he added, “I will think of some uses for the magic.”
No one had ever even wanted to understand her magic before. Anyone who had suspected it feared her. Such was the prevailing mood about witchcraft in the Lowlands. But they were headed to the Highlands, and he had promised to be her protector. She knew him well enough to know that he would not promise such a thing without considering it fully, including all that she was and had been.
Never before had Jessie felt safe. They were miles from anywhere with no horse or cart, and little to their name but for those odd stones and papers of his, but she felt safe and content.
“Did you mean what you said,” she quizzed, “about the gowns that you would buy me?”
Gregor slapped her on the rump and smiled her way. “I'll need me a Highland-born wife, if I am to be accepted there.”
“Aye.” Jessie restrained her smile and responded most demurely, for he had taught her well in those lessons of his. “That you will.”
I am indebted to Cindy Vallar, Jody Allen and Sharron Gunn for their knowledge and guidance on Scottish history, for their generous hearts and their willingness to help other writers with their research. And also to Beth Trissel, whose knowledge on herbal lore has been both an inspiration and an education.
My thanks go to classical Gaelic singer Fiona Mackenzie for helping me with my Gaelic translations, and for her wonderful and inspiring music.
Finally, thank you to Portia Da Costa, for her friendship, support and encouragement during the writing of this novel.
THE HARLOT
ISBN: 978-1-4592-0536-9
Copyright © 2011 by Saskia Walker
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