The Harlot (9 page)

“It appears that you have. In that case, you will be rewarded.”

She could hardly breathe, for the blunt head of his cock was at her opening and pushing inside. Once he had entered her, his hands moved around her hips. Easily, he lifted her upper thighs, shifting her hips to gain better access. In doing so, he lifted her feet from the floor.

The first slow thrust opened her, and he paused before pressing deeper, slowly filling her, measure by measure. In that position she was powerless to move, powerless to do anything but receive him. His member was so large and rigid that it pressed firmly against her aching center, and set loose a wave of pleasure the likes of which she had not experienced before. Her breasts burned, and she scratched at the rough table with her fingernails.

When she gave an ecstatic cry, he pulled back and then thrust deep.

“You are a temptress, all right, Jessie Taskill,” he told her. “Now hold tight, for this must be done.” He lifted her hips higher still, and began driving into her mercilessly, the pent-up desire between them manifest in every push and shove, and every thrust was welcomed as her body clutched at his length.

She was already close to coming because he had made her wait, and then she felt his heavy ballocks slap her tender folds, and her breath was caught in a long, low moan. The prolonged arousal followed by the exquisite sensation of his turgid cock filling her cunny made reaching her climax so much sweeter.

“Oh, yes,” he murmured when she hit her peak, “I feel you, Jessie.” He pressed her down at the small of her back and worked his cock hard, pushing them both over the edge.

He pulled free as his seed spilled, but worked her with his hand even after he was spent, exploring her hot, tender folds while she wilted over the table. It made her pleasure linger and blossom again, and she burned and throbbed from her cunny to her chest as a second wave of release washed over her. When he finally let her be, Jessie was glad the table was holding her up.

“IS IT TRULY NECESSARY FOR YOU TO LOCK ME
up when you go away in the afternoons?” Jessie put her hands on her hips and eyed him ruefully, standing at the doorway to the small servant's room most unwillingly. She hated to be kept locked up and the thought of another afternoon spent that way made her good spirits plummet.

They had passed an agreeable morning together after their early encounter over the table. Jessie had secretly enjoyed discussing good manners with him, and he'd also spent some time describing the size and nature of his enemy's household. She'd listened attentively and carefully committed each detail to memory. Then he'd readied himself to leave and had ushered her to her quarters. That felt like a betrayal after what had gone before.

“You know the answer to that question,” he responded, and frowned. “I have invested time in you and I do not want my investment to run away on some wild notion of returning to Dundee to hunt for a long-gone purse.”

The suggestion that her purse was gone frustrated her
further, and Jessie folded her arms across her chest, glaring at him from beneath her lashes.

“You are safe here, which should be appealing to you,” he stated angrily, lifting his hands in frustration, “and I want to keep it that way. Or would you prefer to be carted back to your cell and tried as a witch? No? I thought not.”

For her own safety.
She'd heard that before and it brought back bad memories. Thwarted in every way, she pouted.

Gesturing into the room, he added, “Stay hidden and forget you were ever in Dundee.”

Grudgingly, she walked into the servant's room and stood with her arms still folded across the chest, waiting for him to slam the door on her and lock it.

“Smile, my pretty. I will bring you a new garment or two on my return.” He gestured at her borrowed dress.

Much to her annoyance, that promise captured her attention, and there was something in his voice that suggested he felt guilty for locking her up. And so he should. She mustered a half smile, although it was hard.

“That's better. Now rest. I will return soon.”

Taken by the urge to ask something that had been on her mind, she called out to him as he went to close the door and lock it. “Mister Ramsay?”

He paused, but kept his hand on the doorknob. “Yes?”

“What is your given name?”

He considered her at length, and then sighed. “You take liberties with me that I should not allow.”

She clasped her hands together. “I know I do, but I cannot help being curious.”

The way he looked at her reflected his doubt on the matter. He wanted to keep her in her place, and he wanted his privacy. Why, he hadn't even once used the name of his enemy while
describing his house and land. Would he refuse to tell her his own name?

“Gregor.”

It felt like a victory, but she was cautious. She nodded. “Thank you.”

Gregor.
She repeated it silently while she watched the door shut. The name fitted him well.

The key turned in the lock. She frowned heavily.

His footsteps faded away. Still she stared at the door.

“Gregor Ramsay,” she said to the closed door, the very look of it making her anger swell. “Why do you still have to lock me up,
Gregor
Ramsay?” She'd been well-behaved, she'd shown willingness to learn and they'd shared much pleasure that morning. There was more trust between them, but it did not extend to leaving her alone without a lock and key.

Impatiently, she paced the floor. She would have to escape the room by magic again, but she couldn't risk going out there if he had not left the inn. Being confined this way was something she detested. It went back to her childhood. When she and her siblings were orphaned, she'd found herself imprisoned every night by those who had taken her in.

She wondered if her brother and sister had fared any better than her, as they grew up. They were all three torn apart and kept that way, after their mother's burning. It was for the good of their souls, Jessie was told. The hard knot of grief she nursed ached every time she thought of her kin. She did not even know where they had been sent, but images of Maisie kicking and screaming as she was lifted into a carriage with the curtains pulled closed haunted Jessie. Who had taken her? Someone wealthy enough to have his own crest on the door of the carriage, that's all she knew.

Deep in her heart she felt that Maisie and Lennox would be drawn back to the Highlands, as she was, to the place they
were born. If it took her last breath she would find them. She sat down on the cot and let her thoughts continue to wander back in time.

No fancy carriage had come for her. Jessie had stayed in the village where their mother had been stoned and burned. Every time she was forced to walk past the place where it had happened she'd had to fight back tears. The grief was overwhelming, but soon enough she learned to hide it, for it angered her keepers.

A local teacher had taken her in. Mister Niven was his name. It was a charitable act undertaken as a result of pressure from the local minister, rather than willing kindheartedness. But the teacher's wife had been afraid of the witch's offspring. She never left Jessie alone with her children. Mister Niven's wife would not even let her take lessons with them and used her as a servant instead. At night she locked Jessie in the outhouse, telling her it was for her own safety—much as Mister Ramsay did.

For a long time Jessie had been too afraid to use her magic to escape, after what she'd seen them do to her mother. Then the confinement angered her. That brewed for a long while. Ultimately, it was as much boredom as rebellion that had forced her to react.

She would escape by magic and roam about at night, and it was then that she began to learn things. Stealthily, she eavesdropped on the teacher and his wife, and learned just how afraid the wife was of her.

“I heard what they do. Those that practice the evil ways of witchcraft congregate in the woods when the moon is high to plot against us good Christian folk,” the woman had said one night, as Jessie listened. The teacher's wife then begged her husband to be rid of the witch's child that had been thrust upon them. “Demon's spawn they are. How can you let one
of them get close to our own?” Mister Niven had wearily agreed, but said he could not anger the minister lest he lose his work at the schoolhouse.

Jessie had listened, learning all the while. There were others like her somewhere, and they met in the woods at night! Her heart had filled with hope, hope that still forced her footsteps onward years later, and had done so even during the times when her life in the gutter was so dark there seemed nothing to live for. Oftentimes she'd been ready to lie down and wish herself to sleep forever. Stubbornness had taken root in her, though, and she nurtured it. She had vowed to find them, her kin.

“They're at it like wild animals, fornicating under the moon.” That was another thing she had overheard.

It took Jessie a while to learn what “fornicating” meant, but once she had, she instinctively knew it was not wrong to feel desire and to act upon it. That's what people like her did, and they felt no shame. Shame was something that was taught by those who despised nature and did not want to be connected with it.

“Evil they are.” The teacher's wife had told her that much to her face, spitting the words at her as if in doing so she would be protected from the evil.

Even as a child, Jessie had denied it. Her mother had taught her different.

We are not evil, we are nature's children. It is they who subscribe to the devil, not us, though they will accuse us of it. They do not under stand our ways, that is all.

That was true. Every day of her life had only proved that to her, yet still Jessie longed to find her true path—and still she found herself locked up against her will!

Darting over to the door, she put her ear to it. All was quiet
in Gregor's room. Dropping to her knees, she whispered into the lock.

She blew into the cavity and pictured a key as she whispered the ancient enchantment. A moment later light shifted around the lock and then moved inside it in a thrusting, rolling manner, as if her spell had taken form and become bright and visible.

Startled, she drew back, observing. It wasn't anything she had seen before. When the lock opened, it was with a musical chime, and the door swept toward her as if ushering her out.

Astonished, Jessie put her fingers to her mouth.

My magic, it flourishes.
Why?

She had felt it burgeoning these past months, and the urge to perform enchantments had come over her more frequently. It was harder to resist courting danger by exploring her craft. It was if she was coming of age. That's how she had explained it away. Much like the time when her body had reached full womanhood and she'd craved the touch of a man to satisfy her. Yet she could not explore her magic, because of the danger.

Magic was and always would be her secret gem, an invisible jewel that she couldn't exchange for comfort, but made her feel blessed. It frustrated her, too, because she could not use it for fear that others would call her out in spite, fear and even jealousy. It was her gift and her curse. She had long since accepted that.

There was something different about this spell, though. It glowed brightly, as if alive—as if her magic was more powerful than it had been the day before. How odd. Jessie shrugged and stepped across the threshold into Gregor Ramsay's rooms, glancing about eagerly for something to occupy herself with.

First she returned to the trunk that stood by his bedside.
Once again it was locked. Once again she opened it. Nothing had changed since the day before. Returning it to its former state of security, she sat on the bed. Plucking at her bodice, she gazed around the room. There was so little to distract her. Well, there was so little to distract her when he was not here. She smiled as she thought on that. Mister Gregor Ramsay himself was very much a distraction.

She flung herself back on his bed. Smiling, she moved her hand to feel the dips his body had made, then rolled next to that spot. She closed her eyes and breathed in his scent from the bolster. Savoring it, she remembered the pleasurable tumble they had shared that morning and how pleasant it had been to share breakfast with him afterward.

It was an unfamiliar feeling, but for some reason she missed his presence when he went out. It wasn't just being locked up that irked her today, it was the simple fact that he had once again gone and left her. She'd quickly grown used to the sound of his sardonic laughter and his teasing words, and his brooding glances never failed to draw her attention and stoke her fires. There were brooding glances aplenty when he was around.

The quarters seemed so empty without his presence filling them. Not so long ago she would have been glad of the comfortable, warm rooms to lounge in while food and drink was brought to her. There was promise of a wage at the end of it all, as well. She should be content to wait. It was better than being on the streets seeking a customer.

Yet she could not stop herself wanting to leave the room, and wondering why he could not take her with him when he went out. She was being hunted down in all likelihood, but she could easily have disguised herself. He had proved himself a master in that area, and she might even be useful to him in whatever tasks he was undertaking.

There had to be a reason why he left her here, where he feared she would run away, instead of keeping her safely by his side at all times.

Her eyes snapped open.

Was it another woman he had gone to visit, someone he would not ask to undertake the sordid task of seducing an enemy? A sweetheart, perhaps, a noblewoman he courted with aspirations to marry?

The thought of it made Jessie's frustration swell and fester. That in turn let loose a powerful need for rebellion.

Sitting up, she stared through the bedchamber and into the room where the door to the landing was located. She sprang from the bed. By the time she was halfway to that door she had already mustered the enchantment that would open that lock, too.

 

Gregor paced up and down impatiently in the hallway of the most prominent auction house in Saint Andrews. His notary had given him the name of the auctioneer who dealt with most of the major land transfers in Fife, from Saint Andrews as far south as Kircaldy.

The scribe whose desk was located in the hallway where he waited lifted his quill from the papers he was working on and frowned at Gregor. It was the third time he had done so. Gregor forced himself to take a seat.

Although he had left his quarters at the Drover's Inn in a calmer state than he had the day before, he had gradually become agitated. The cause was, of course, the same: Jessie. He should be thinking about his business matters, but no. Once he had engaged in intimate congress with her it only seemed to make his lust increase. What was it about this woman that made it so difficult to stop thinking about her?

Then she'd made him feel guilty for doing what any man of
sound mind would do—lock her up for her own safety. The worst of it was that the downturn of her pretty mouth and those sad eyes pleading with him affected him more than they should, unaccountably so. Her crestfallen expression haunted him for the entire journey to Saint Andrews. He cared too much for her comfort. And he shouldn't have told her his given name. She was a common whore whom he had hired to undertake a task.

Strangely, though, Jessie did not seem to fit that description, at least not to his mind. Never had he met a more uncommon woman. There was something unusual and oddly appealing about her. She had the cheek of the devil, but even when that was the case he couldn't stop himself from admiring her spirit. She was like no other woman he had encountered.

Even as he rode into Saint Andrews and passed down the busy high street he thought of her and her lusty ways. He knew with certainty that she would do well at the task he had set her, so long as she could keep herself in check. When she was in a temper she was harder to control than an entire crew of men who were overdue their issue of rum. It was that cheeky tongue that he had to teach her to harness. He had to offer her more tangible rewards, perhaps.