The Libertine (3 page)

Lennox took note, for she was gifted with some level of
foresight, or at least foreboding. Unease built in Lennox. The people who made
up his coven were growing restless. He’d tried to make it different, to free
them of the fear of persecution suffered by hundreds before. The country was on
the cusp of change, he felt it, but he was still haunted by the ghosts of those
who had died for their beliefs, for their power to heal and create magic.

“You’re a strong master,” Glenna continued, “and you’ve guided
us well, but we came together as a coven because we saw wisdom in your words. If
we do not find acceptance, we leave. I hoped...but I don’t believe full
acceptance is possible. We should go north and soon, before the worst
happens.”

Ailsa squeezed his arm. “How pleasant it would be, to roam free
and gather herbs without looking back over my shoulder, fearing I will soon feel
the hangman’s noose around my neck.”

Lennox sighed and wrapped his arm around her shoulder, drawing
her in against him. Obligation weighed him down. Obligation to the past, the
present and the future. “Hush now. You will see the Highlands soon, I promise.”
After I have found my sisters.

Ailsa’s head lifted, the troubled look in her expression
vanishing.

That was pleasing. He slapped her on the rump. “Away up and
warm my bed, wench.”

Ailsa beamed then trailed her fingers down his arm invitingly
before she followed his instruction. He gave a wry smile. At least he was able
to keep one of his coven happy, if only in matters of a basic nature.

Once she’d gone, he turned back to Glenna and Lachlan. “When
there is no hope of finding my sisters, then we’ll be gone. I would understand
if you wish to be on your way ahead of me. Something holds me to this place. It
is the simple wish that I will be reunited with my kin here.”

“Aye, we understand that.” Glenna’s expression softened. “And
we have bound ourselves to you. You are our guide in these difficult times. We
trust you to make the right decision should they come after one of our own.”

Lachie, who rarely offered his opinion, nodded. “We only
comment on your actions when we have concerns.” He worried at his jaw with his
good hand, as he did when he was unsure whether to speak out or not. “Sometimes
you are a mite hotheaded.”

“It is a family trait, and it is the reason I fear for my
sisters, both pure born witches.”

Glenna tapped his arm. “You will find them, mark my words.”

“In the meantime,” Lachie said, “we have to comment if we think
you’re putting yourself at risk, and that cousin of Keavey’s is an attractive
sort.”

“And why were you looking?” Glenna asked.

“No crime in looking,” Lachie retorted with a chuckle.

The fraught mood had been broken, but Lennox still brooded on
their comments. Glenna was correct, to some extent. Boredom drove him to be
reckless, or something of that nature. Frustration drove him, too. Finding his
siblings and keeping them safe had been his goal since they’d been parted as
young ones, and when he was thwarted in his searches he directed his frustration
toward those who sought the ruination of his kind. Keavey was set on keeping
Lennox and his commerce out of the Royal Burgh of Saint Andrews. Others he did
trade with supported the legitimacy of Lennox’s interest in affairs of the
burgh, whereas Keavey spread rumor and suspicion.

And now Keavey’s pretty cousin had offered herself into his
hands.

Risky or no, Mistress Chloris was far too tempting a spoil for
him to ignore.

CHAPTER THREE

“Are you well this morning, cousin?”

Chloris set her fork down in order to respond. She forced
herself to smile across the table at her cousin Tamhas and his wife, Jean. “Much
better, thank you.”

Tamhas observed her briefly before returning his attention to
his plate of bannocks and eggs.

Chloris was relieved. She wasn’t sure how much amiable
conversation she could offer. The night before she’d been unable to attend
dinner as planned. After her visit to the house in the woods her emotions were
in complete disarray and she knew she would be unable to act sociably. Claiming
a dizzy spell after her ride, she had excused herself and gone to her
bedchamber. Jean had the cook prepare a gentle broth, but Chloris could scarcely
even manage that, so preoccupied was she by the strange events of the evening.
Even now, the morning after, she did not feel fully in charge of herself, and if
she did not order her thoughts and maintain her composure her host would notice
and question it.

However, the man at the house in the woods was not easily
dismissed from her thoughts. Distance did not lessen the connection he’d made
with her, or her curiosity.

It was only as she mounted her horse, driven by the urgent need
to turn back toward her cousin’s house, that she realized she did not even know
the man’s name.

It was likely that he withheld his name for self-protection,
she decided. Even though he’d been somewhat discourteous and had touched her and
alluded to more acts in that vein, he was as charming and well mannered as any
polite man in society when he chose to be. Yet his fundamental nature was very
different to her own—wild, unruly and decadent.

Even though she knew he was at risk of being called out for
what he did, Chloris couldn’t actually imagine anyone attempting to challenge
him. There was a sense of power about the man that was astonishing. Something
borne of his witchcraft, no doubt. Deep down she recognized there were men out
there who would indeed challenge him, because he did not swear allegiance to
king or kirk but to some other, forbidden law.

She’d all but run from the place the evening before, but she’d
lain awake thinking about everything he’d said to her. Her mind and body had
been filled with the experience, not only the potential of what he’d said, but
the odd thrill there had been in it, despite the danger of consulting with those
who practiced dark, perhaps even evil ways.

There was also a devastating allure about the man and when she
had eventually drifted into a fitful sleep her dreams were restless and filled
with images of him. The fact he had been so eager to help her, so interested in
her, made her wonder if he planted those images in her mind. Was he capable of
such things? She had no idea, but she’d never before spent every moment
recalling each word of a conversation with relish, reliving every moment—every
glance, every touch—in her mind.

She was afraid of him, but also fascinated. That he was a
compelling personage was unquestionable, but still she wondered at the effect
he’d had on her. Moreover, she still couldn’t decide if it was wise or foolish
to return and partake of his ritual. Hope and curiosity made her want to try it.
Wariness and fear battled the desire to do so.

As she attempted to eat her breakfast, she questioned whether
she could put herself wholly in his hands, open to him and trust him to
undertake this act—this ungodly, heathen act—to save her marriage, to redeem her
in her husband’s eyes. She had yearned for a child all these years, and now it
had become a matter of life and death. A tide of doubt had forced her to pull
free from his spell, for his intimate actions not only made her believe in his
abilities, they also made her aware of his potential power over her. She
remembered the way it had felt. A wave of arousal assailed her.

Flustered, she raised her hand to her throat. The heated
physical reaction to her own thoughts shocked her. That a man could affect her
so intensely was beyond her experience, and he had done so when she was alone
with him as well as in mere memories. She had escaped and she knew she should be
glad of that, turning away from a dangerous situation that she shouldn’t have
entered into in the first place. Instead, she was craving something entirely
different, more of the same. It was as if she were being pulled in by the
mystery, by the promise and the thrill.

A moment later her dangerous thoughts were interrupted. The
nursemaid entered the room with young Rab and Tam, Tamhas and Jean’s twin sons,
dressed and ready for their morning in the nursery. Chloris was grateful. She
always warmed at the sight of them. Barely three years old and adorable little
men they were already. They always appeared somber and serious when presented to
their parents, but Chloris had also observed them running amok in the gardens
and it was those times she enjoyed the most. Often she would join them, taking a
seat to observe and encourage their games.

Jean kissed both boys on the forehead and straightened their
neckties and collars. When the boys turned to face their father, Tamhas mopped
his mouth with a handkerchief, then nodded at the nursemaid and waved his hand,
dismissing them. Rab and young Tam bowed their heads to their mother and then to
Chloris, and then the nursemaid ushered them out. Chloris observed the family
scene wistfully.

Jean caught Chloris’s eye when she turned back to her breakfast
and nodded over. “I warrant you are missing Gavin.”

“Yes, I am.” It was the necessary response of a dutiful wife.
In truth she felt strangely adrift. She’d been born in Saint Andrews but her
place was in Edinburgh now. Besides, she was not sure Jean was entirely
comfortable with her staying with them at Torquil House on such an extended
visit.

Mention of her husband also made Chloris feel an all too
familiar sense of failure. Gavin had sent her to the country to make her health
more robust, so that she could bear him a child. It was his sole desire these
days, which meant her role in his life went unfulfilled. Anger and frustration
often characterized his mood toward her, whereas they’d been friends at first.
He’d never been an affectionate man, but more often than not she saw disapproval
in his eyes when he looked at her now. It haunted her. More so since she had
left Edinburgh for Saint Andrews, because Gavin’s final words had been
terrifying, more threatening than anything he had said or done before, and that
set her on this outlandish path of action where she was willing to try anything
to make it happen.

“I have to sit for the town council today,” Tamhas informed
them as he rose to his feet. “I will send the carriage back for you if you wish
to visit the market.”

“Yes, we shall.” Jean’s expression brightened considerably.

Chloris’s heart sank. She would be expected to accompany Jean,
when what she longed for was some time alone to unravel her thoughts.

Jean was speaking again, and Chloris forced her attention
back.

“I am in need of lace to trim a new gown. I want to look at it
myself, and my dressmaker informs me that there is a good selection available
from a new merchant. He imports the best Flemish samples and brings his wares to
the market.” Jean looked at Chloris expectantly. “Will you help me in my
selection?”

“That would be most enjoyable.” Perhaps the distraction would
help her muddled thoughts, and Jean was making an effort toward her. There had
been some awkwardness from them initially, for Chloris had been Tamhas’s ward
before he’d met Jean.

Within the hour the carriage had returned and the two women had
readied themselves for the outing. As the coachman set off and the carriage
jolted along the lane in the direction of Saint Andrews, Chloris noticed that
Jean seemed much enlivened by the prospect of visiting the town. Wisps of her
chestnut hair escaped her bonnet as she turned her face eagerly to the carriage
window. With one hand she held back the curtain for a better view, while the
other toyed with the brooch that fastened her cloak at her collarbone neck. Her
eyes were bright, and the pale pink glow on her skin was most becoming. It made
Chloris smile, for she, too, had found the Keavey household oppressive as a
young woman. Not so now, when her life situation had changed drastically.
Torquil House was akin to a refuge. Jean was younger than Chloris and appeared
to struggle with her role as mistress of the house. She had been married to
Tamhas for over four years and had quickly fallen pregnant with twin boys.
Chloris did not feel jealousy. It was a kind of wistful sadness she experienced,
because she could not fulfill her female obligation to her husband in the same
way.

Jean caught her smiling and returned it. “I am enjoying your
company, cousin,” she said, projecting her voice over the rattles and creaks of
the carriage. “It is not often that we have visitors.”

It seemed to be an offering of friendship, for which Chloris
was grateful. “And I yours. I appreciate you allowing me to visit.”

Her comments seemed to put Jean at ease. Was that what she
needed, to feel it was her choice to have Chloris as visitor?

Jean brushed her cloak with her hand, apparently busying
herself. “It was difficult for me at first,” she continued. “Tamhas speaks most
fondly about you, and I know you were close after the demise of your
family.”

Chloris attempted to hide her surprise. Had Jean made a
deliberately provocative statement in order to gain an honest response, to get
the truth? Jean looked quite sincere. “It was a challenge for him, taking
responsibility for a grieving young woman. And it was most kind of him to do so,
and to find me a respectable match when the time came.”

Jean’s eyebrows lifted. Apparently that was not what she’d
expected to hear. It made Chloris curious. She did not want to pursue it lest it
upset Jean. They had only just found common ground. Chloris did not want to lose
that.

Was it true, though, that Tamhas spoke fondly of her? It was
far from her experience. When she had been foisted on him as his ward, there
were many difficult times. When she grieved her loved ones, he became annoyed.
He ignored her and traveled abroad, leaving her to her books and memories. When
Tamhas eventually returned, he was sure of himself and ambitious. He assumed
control of her, then expected things she could not agree to. He began to hint at
their union—first, a union of the flesh. If she pleased him, he might wed her.
The pressure of such a proposition for an innocent, grieving woman with no
guiding female in her life was immense. Tamhas gave her time, determined, it
seemed, to have her. Ultimately Chloris could not warm to the terms, or to him.
When his initial plan for her failed, Tamhas treated her as a pawn that he could
barter with in order to gain prestige and power. By then she was already beyond
the ideal age to wed and it took a while longer before he struck an agreement
with Gavin Meldrum of Edinburgh. It was with relief that Chloris accepted
Gavin’s proposal, unaware that the situation she would encounter in Edinburgh
would be even worse than what she had known at Torquil.

It was because of her past relationship with Tamhas that
Chloris had not visited Torquil before. Not until Gavin had insisted. However,
Chloris found her cousin to be a more mellow master of the house, now that he
was older and married. His ambition still drove him, but in matters of the
household he seemed content to leave that to his wife.

As the carriage progressed toward the long-established heart of
Saint Andrews Chloris observed the familiar streets. Thankfully they did not
pass the house where she’d been born and lived, until the dreadful illness came
upon her parents and many of their servants. Chloris had not been back to the
place since then.

Jean pointed out the households she knew of, merchants and
traders who Tamhas engaged with. As the streets grew more narrow so they grew
busier, with farmers driving sheep and goats alongside the path. They grew
closer to the sea, the air becoming sharper, and Chloris breathed the aroma in.
It took her back to her childhood, to the fonder, earlier memories when she
would be taken down to see the sea.

The coachman pulled up at a stable yard and secured their
carriage there. Then he assisted the two women as they stepped down and he
walked ahead of them at some distance, clearing a path.

Gulls wheeled overhead, their distinctive cries drawing her
attention to their flight. How they soared as they observed the activity below,
eager for pickings amongst the traders’ carts and wares. Chloris chuckled when
Jean pointed out a brazen gull that flew low over the stalls, scouting. Jean’s
mood must have reached her, for Chloris felt more alive than she had done in
some time.

Or was there some other reason for it?
The question flitted through her mind as memories of her illicit endeavor
the night before crept up on her again. Now that she had put some distance
between her and Torquil House she felt more at ease recalling her impetuous
visit to the abode in the woods called Somerled
.
The
whole experience had invigorated her. Safely away from the place, there was a
thrill in remembering how brazen she’d been, how daring. Even if she did not
pursue the purchase of a magic favor, she knew she would never forget her
strange encounter with the master of Somerled. The intrigue and excitement she
felt when recalling his actions were foreign emotions, and yet she knew it was
the furthest thing from what she should have felt. How could she hold her head
up in front of the minister on Sunday, knowing that she had sought out persons
who were considered evil—no better than vermin—by good, God-fearing folk?

By her side, Jean was making observations on the chaos of the
market.

Chloris nodded. “I do not recall Market Street being as busy as
this. It appears Saint Andrews flourishes under the union with England?”