The Libertine (2 page)

“You wear a wedding band, I see.”

“Yes, I—”

He rested her glove over the doorknob.

Chloris stared at it. She knew what it signified. He no longer
barred the door. If she picked up the glove she would be on her way.

“Tell me,” he continued, “do you wish to be with child, or to
avoid that situation?”

Still he held her hand, keeping her close to him. She should
have been affronted by his forthright questioning, and yet he was so strangely
compelling that she whispered her response. “I wish to...to be with...” It was
his stare, so bold and suggestive, that made her falter. Pulling her faculties
together, she braced herself. “I wish to fall pregnant with my husband’s
child.”

He considered her at length. All the while he stroked the
tender skin on the inside of her wrist with one finger, softly, drawing her to
him.

Try as she might, she could not summon the will to pull her
hand free.

“Tell me your name.” His voice was so melodic, so
seductive.

She swayed.

When she did not respond he inclined his head. “Your given name
will suffice.”

“Chloris,” she whispered.

“Chloris.” He repeated it as if exploring the word that drew
her attention, learning it inside and out. “Chloris.” He said it even slower,
rolling the word around his mouth as if tasting it—as if tasting her.

Her legs went weak under her.

He reached his free hand out.

She flinched, thinking he was about to touch her face.

He paused, then pulled a spring blossom from her hair. Chloris
realized it must have been trapped in the loose tendrils that had escaped her
lace cap during her hasty ride. What surprised her most of all was his actions.
First he examined the small bud as if it were of great importance, and then he
slipped it into his pocket. “You have no child.”

“No. I am barren.”

“I doubt that.” His comment was glibly stated.

She pulled her hand free of his and snatched her glove from the
place he had rested it. “You seem to revel in being forthright to the point of
rudeness, sire.” Moreover, his words only made the pain worsen. It also made her
doubt his skills. “What would you know of my life? My husband’s first wife
carried a child. Alas they both perished. He married again to sire an heir.
Eight years we have been married without issue and now my husband is ready to
disown me.”

Regret swamped her immediately. She’d blurted it out and now
she was embarrassed by her confession. Only she and Gavin knew about her shame
over this private matter. A man such as Gavin Meldrum, with a sizable fortune
and numerous commercial interests, wanted a son. She had proven to be a failure
in his eyes. Nevertheless her pride made this difficult for her. She rarely
spoke of it, even to her closest friends, although she suspected many friends
and acquaintances in Edinburgh whispered about her sorry state of affairs, and
some of her friends had even suggested ways in which she might fall pregnant,
many of them quite immoral and totally unacceptable to her.

Tugging on her glove, she made ready to leave.

“Why do you attempt to turn away now? Now, when you have
finally summoned the will to come here?”

It unnerved her that he knew that it had been a dilemma for
her. Of course he did. In all likelihood, she surmised, it was a dilemma for
anyone who came here.

They practiced witchcraft, after all.

“The hardest part is over,” he added.

She met his gaze, determined not to be cowed by him, no matter
how striking his presence. “Maura said she saw an older woman when she came here
last week. I thought it would be the same for me.”

“Ah, so it really is because I am a man that you reject my
potential assistance in this matter.”

She opened her mouth to ask why else, and then thought better
of it. Everything she said only seemed to mire her deeper in this awkward
discussion.

“I was not here last week.” A shadow passed through his eyes.
“I am often away on...family concerns.” There was a mysterious, secretive edge
to his expression and it made her wonder about the nature of his family
concerns. “But I returned less than an hour ago and I was here for your visit.
That is because fate has deemed it so.”

Chloris stared at him. Fate. Could it be true?

Moreover, how could it be that she was so strangely intrigued
by the man, when she balked at the idea of discussing her intimate matters with
him? He was no more than twenty-five years of age in her estimation, and yet he
was so strangely age-old, even though he was also rebellious in his ways. She
was about to turn thirty years, and she was afraid to be alone with him. It was
his air of questionable morals. He was unruly, a wolf in sheep’s clothing. He
was also overly frank while he referenced her malady without stricture or
concern.

“You are skittish and wary, Mistress Chloris. I understand why.
However it is a shame because I sense you truly believe I have the power to help
you.” Once again he spoke bluntly, but this time it was somewhat more serious
and sympathetic.

She nodded. “Yes, I did believe that you might be able to help
me. I know little of your ways,” she added cautiously, aware that many would
think her insane walking into the house such as this, “however, as a child I had
a nursemaid who had some skills as a healer. She used to take me for walks along
the shore and in the meadows, and she would tell me about the plants and herbs
and what ailments they could be used for. She was very fond of me, and I of
her.”

The man’s curiosity seemed baited. “Tell me something of her
ways.”

Chloris thought back to those times. “She wore scarlet ribbons
around her wrists. She told me it was to ward off rheumatism.”

“She believed?”

“Yes, she said it eased the pain. Others said that the ribbons
were a sign of her...” her voice dropped to a whisper “...her bond with the
Devil.”

When she grew quiet he nodded. “You were not afraid of her,
though, and that is what has made you brave enough to come here.”

“My need is what made me brave enough. There is no other path
available to me.” She lifted her chin. She was not used to sharing such intimate
details about herself. “However, it is because of my Eithne, my nursemaid, that
I believed it might be worthwhile coming.”

He studied her carefully. “Tell me, what became of your
nursemaid?”

Chloris inhaled. It was not what she expected him to ask, for
it was the part of the story she would rather not have shared. His gaze held
hers, though, refusing to let her ignore the question, demanding the truth. It
was obvious that if she denied him any knowledge that he asked for, he would
refuse to help her.

She took a deep breath. “A dreadful illness took most of my
family, the cough. Some say she protected me from it because she favored me.
Others said she was unwilling to help the rest of my family by healing them.”
She paused. “Eithne was turned out by my guardian.”

Eithne had been turned out by her cousin Tamhas Keavey, with
whom she now visited, but that was not the point. At the time she’d been a child
and Tamhas’s ward. He’d been a man in his early twenties and the only one
willing to take her in when her parents perished.

The man stared at her, assessing her. “You did not believe she
was responsible?”

“No, I didn’t. The ability to cure the illness was beyond
Eithne. But she knew things and she whispered for me in her prayers, using words
that I didn’t understand.” Seeing the interest in his eyes she went on. “She
told me I would be protected from the cough.”

It was so much more than a cough, but she knew they called it
that in order to force its darkness back, to stand up to it. Chloris stemmed the
other painful memories. Memories of the way her cousin and guardian had called
Eithne a slave to the Devil while he cast her out. Chloris had been plagued with
doubts, respecting him as she did, but she had never been able to believe
it.

Drawn back to the moment, she lifted her head. When she met the
man’s stare she had the eerie suspicion he knew what she was thinking. “I was
always happy when she held my hand.”

“She was a woman who respected the old ways.” He spoke
softly.

Chloris felt comforted. Had he moved closer? His knees were
pressed against her full skirts, but she had not been aware of him moving. “What
do you mean when you say that, ‘old ways’?”

“Some call us pagans, heathen, because we believe in the power
inherent in the natural world and we seek it in our rituals. Many Christians
have benefited, and they will not speak out against us. However, they cannot
defend us because they would be in danger of being called out themselves.” He
shrugged. “We are forced to live a secretive existence.”

His tone had turned embittered, and Chloris felt he had shared
something that was fundamental to his character. There was a brooding, almost
angry look at the back of his eyes.

In a blink, it was gone.

He smiled, briefly. “Enough of that. We understand each other a
little more now.” He inclined his head. “There are rituals that we undertake to
increase both virility and fertility.” His gaze raked over her. “If you are
willing I will perform the rituals myself, in order to help you.”

He was so close she felt the heat of his body, yet the
whispered nature of their conversation suited her more than the blatant words he
had delivered before. “What would these rituals entail?”

“I would need to lay my hands upon you.”

She knew by his expression that he meant more than holding her
ungloved hand. Could she allow this compelling young man that liberty?

She needed to know more. “Why do you need to do that?”

“To evoke the essence of spring and direct it inside you.”

His whispered words affected her oddly. She felt suddenly hot,
her limbs heavy.

His eyes burned more brightly. Was it the reflection of the
glowing embers in the hearth?

“By drawing on the essence of something from the natural world
we harness the gift of birth and rebirth.” He lifted his hand and opened it to
her. It gleamed, as if he held sunlight right there in his palm.

Gasping aloud, she saw what he intended—to demonstrate. A
moment later he spoke again, but his words made no sense. He repeated the phrase
several times beneath his breath. Chloris could not look away, so intense was
his gaze.

Heat swelled in the pit of her belly. Glancing down, she saw
that he now held his palm open in front of her skirts. It was directly above the
spot where she burned, and when his hand moved and he whispered those strange
words, the heat roiled and gathered within her. Her thighs shuddered, her core
tingling.

It was so carnal a sensation and so utterly unexpected that she
swayed and her head dropped back.
I might faint.

Then he blew across the bare skin of her exposed neck. A gentle
breath it was, and yet it felt like the wind through the trees to Chloris.
Heavily scented, as if carrying blossoms like the one he had plucked from her
hair.

Beneath her corset her chest felt constricted. Panic rushed in
on her.

Recoiling, she whispered, “No. No, I cannot—”

“Hush.”

He stepped away, breaking the connection. When he looked back
his eyes were normal once again. “Take your leave. Think on what has been said
and done here.”

There was no doubt she would think on it, at length, if only
she could get away and gather her faculties. She could scarcely function due to
the wild throbbing in her loins.

Fumbling for the door handle, she could do no more than mumble
her thanks to him in response, rendered speechless as she was by his
demonstration of magical power.

Mercifully, the door clicked open.

“Mistress Chloris?”

With her breath captured in her chest, she forced herself to
meet his eyes. “Yes?”

“You asked if I could trust you. My instinct told me yes, and
once I had touched you...I knew without doubt that I could trust you. That’s why
I took off your glove.”

That was why. Her palm tingled in response to his comment, and
at the very same moment she knew that he was informing her of something much
deeper than the issue of trust between them. What was it—that he could connect
with her intimately that way, perhaps read her thoughts and gain the measure of
her, by running his fingertips over her skin?

When she responded, she could hear the tremble in her own
voice. “I see.”

“A great deal can be learned and achieved through touch,” he
continued, and his voice was low and heavy with suggestion, “and through laying
my hands on you, I could ensure that all your desires could be fulfilled.”

Desires?
Flustered, she tried to
muster an appropriate response.

One corner of his mouth lifted. “You know where to find
me.”

CHAPTER TWO

As the door closed Lennox breathed her in, savoring the
woman for several long moments after she’d taken her leave. How tempted he’d
been to clasp her wrist, to wrap his free hand around her waist and hold her
still to the spot. It was only the magic that made her want to run. She’d
wrenched the door open as if her life depended on it but she’d been convinced,
earlier. Desire held sway with her, too. It was only a matter of time until he
had a taste of her, of that Lennox was sure. Moments longer and she would have
submitted willingly, but Lennox relished giving her freedom when she was so
ready to capitulate. It guaranteed a return that would be worth the wait.

Who was she? She’d been introduced to them by Maura Dunbar,
which indicated a connection with Tamhas Keavey, who was Maura’s employer.
Lennox and Tamhas held old grievances, and the opportunity to rattle Keavey was
always tempting.

The woman was as enticing as a rose coming into bloom, her pale
skin like its petals—blushing, soft and inviting to the fingertips—her eyes wide
and imploring with bold determination. She was quite a riddle, for she was
mature and brave—and just wary enough to tease his interest—yet she was also a
woman who had not been fully awakened, of that he was quite sure. That
combination was something he found rather intoxicating. He’d become jaded
perhaps.

Women who sought him out were either lusty sorts who were all
too ready to lie on their backs for him, or they feared him so badly he found it
disagreeable to be in their company for long. Not so Mistress Chloris. Whilst
she was measured and cautious, she spoke and acted with a level of courage that
impressed him. It was quite obvious to him she was emboldening herself in order
to attain her goal.

How sweet it would be to help her fulfill that goal. His
thoughts ran to bedding her himself, and the prospect was quite delicious. It
would be even more pleasurable if she were to need it beyond measure. Lennox
poured himself another half glass of claret as he contemplated it. He wasn’t
altogether convinced that she was barren. The fact that she seemed convinced of
it was important. It made him curious about her circumstances. Was her caution
toward the ritual driven by what others might think of her coming to Somerled,
or genuine trepidation about magic and carnal matters? He knew with certainty
that he would discover more about her. What he saw in her was a woman who had
not yet truly awoken to her essential nature. That was an abomination.

She was a pretty woman, too, with hair the color of hay in
summer sunshine and hazel eyes spun with green flecks. When she had stated the
nature of her concern he’d felt her growing shame. It disturbed him that she was
fretting on the issue so, when so many women who came to see him had the
opposite complaint, the fear of being saddled with an unwanted bairn that they
could not support. Yet he also saw what a fine mother she would make, and how
she longed to hold her own child.

Ultimately it was her attempted resistance to him that
convinced him she was worth his time. There was a mutual draw between them, it
was instinctive and immediate, and he had relished it. He couldn’t help himself.
Toying with her was pleasurable, especially so the startled look in her eyes
when she became aroused by him. It would be pleasing to watch her unravel while
he seduced her.

Their encounter had lifted his mood, which was a mercy. He’d
been sour to his people on his return that afternoon, and they did not deserve
that. It was often the way. Whenever he heard talk of witchcraft he’d follow the
trail of whispers and accusations, hoping it would lead him to his lost kin, his
sisters, Jessie and Maisie. Years had passed since they’d been parted. He was
always hunting for them, and along the way he’d witnessed too much suffering and
pain amongst those who practiced the craft. If the timing was right he was often
able to assist the accused, breaking several free before they were put to death.
But he was yet to find his sisters, and that meant he returned to Somerled with
a heavy heart. Ailsa’s smile disappeared when he returned alone. They all wanted
him to find his kin, knowing it was what drove him. Once he did, they would all
depart the Lowlands, where the persecution of witches had gone on too long.

He’d been brooding on it in the gloom of the parlor when a
timely distraction had arrived in the form of Mistress Chloris. The woman had
brought a breath of spring with her. He fished the small hawthorn blossom out of
his pocket and turned it in his fingers, once more savoring the woman’s essence.
It was not yet the end of April, and the hawthorn didn’t usually come into
blossom until May. Most normal folk held suspicions about hawthorn being an
unlucky bloom, but Lennox’s people used it in their healing. The fact that
Mistress Chloris had unwittingly arrived with it in her hair endeared her to
him.

Abandoning his glass and pocketing the hawthorn, he left the
parlor and followed the sound of voices and laughter into the scullery beyond.
When he opened the door he saw Nathan and Lachlan seated at the large table at
the heart of the house, deep in conversation, the crumbs of a hearty repast
scattered on the oak table, their ale mugs near empty.

Ailsa hovered nearby, ale jug in her hand. She looked his way
as soon as he entered the room, as if she had been awaiting his appearance. By
her side Glenna, Lachlan’s wife and the oldest member of the coven, worked at a
mixing bowl.

“Ladies.” He nodded his head their way.

Glenna lifted her mixing bowl from the table and held it
against her waist with one hand, stirring its contents with the other. She did
not answer, but she observed him with an air of disapproval. At her side, Ailsa
looked sullen.

He could tell by the set of them that they had something to
say.

Nathan waved his way eagerly, interrupting the ominous presence
of women with something on their minds. “The carriage for Master MacDougal is
near done. He’ll be pleased with the craftsmanship, I warrant. I have studded
the velvet seats myself today, and his wife will look as fine as a queen when
she rides in it.”

Lennox strolled over, squeezed Nathan on the shoulder, then
lifted the ale jug from Ailsa’s hand, using it to refill Nathan’s and Lachie’s
mugs. “Good work. It will pay to have the head of the town council and his wife
sitting comfortably in such a fine carriage.”

Lachie grinned at Lennox. Nathan was a young and eager
craftsman and his pride lay in his work, but Lachie was older and understood
more of Lennox’s intent—to gain the approval of the burghers of Saint
Andrews.

Lennox chatted on the subject of commissions awhile with the
men, but the weight of the women’s stares on him forced his attention back.

When he glanced over his shoulder at them Ailsa nudged Glenna.
“Shall I tell him, or will you?”

“Tell me what?” He turned fully to them.

Glenna carried on with her tasks, turning out clootie dumpling
mix from her mixing bowl into a damp square of muslin, as if it was imperative
to make haste with her work and therefore ignore him. She tied the fabric in a
knot and carried it to the pot hanging over the fire to steam.

Lennox withheld a sigh. “Glenna, spit out your thoughts.”

“You take too many risks and you put me in fear of our lives.”
She spoke sternly as she worked. “This is a dangerous folly indeed. That woman,
you should have turned her away. She is Tamhas Keavey’s cousin, visiting from
Edinburgh these past few weeks.”

Lennox smiled. He’d suspected something of that order for she
was clearly wellborn. Because Tamhas Keavey and Lennox were all but daggers
drawn on each other, this news made the evening’s events so much more
interesting. Tamhas Keavey would spew bile if he knew that another of his
womenfolk had all but offered herself into Lennox’s hands. The confirmation of
kinship with Keavey only sealed his commitment to the task on offer. The
seduction of Mistress Chloris would be just the thing to bring ill fortune to
Keavey’s household. The very thought of it made him more keen, for it amused him
mightily.

That, however, was not Glenna’s intention.

He laughed softly, strolled over and reached in to run his
finger around the mixing bowl she had left on the table. “The recommendation to
come here did not come from Keavey, I wager.”

Lennox sucked the sweet treacle dough from his finger as he
contemplated it some more, relishing the opportunity.

Glenna shook her head at him. “It is boredom that drives you to
these things.”

Lennox laughed, but there was some truth in her observation.
His life was divided between the hunt for his lost siblings and the need to
validate his people. When he failed to move forward with either cause he grew
restless. Often enough he sought minor amusements to temper that. But he was
angry, angry at those who persecuted his kind. When one of their women willingly
offered herself to him it was a way for him to give the menfolk a taste of the
destruction and loss he and his siblings had experienced. Because the affair
always came out, one way or the other. The woman would tell a friend who told
another, who told the husband. Reputations were ruined, hearts were broken and
shame rained down. It was a drop in the ocean compared to what he and his kin
had endured, and he would never take a woman unless she was willing, but when it
had happened before he found perverse release in the repercussions.

Glenna muttered on. She wasn’t afraid of him, and nor should
she be. They spoke their minds to each other, and he could see he was about to
get another piece of hers now. She peered at him. “It’s as if you have a death
wish, Lennox Taskill.”

Lennox’s mood altered quickly. Glenna only used his family name
when she wanted him to heed her words. Locally he went by the name of Lennox
Fingal, and he did not appreciate his real name being said aloud when Keavey’s
cousin had only just left. Her comment scraped harshly along his bones, for
every day he wished that he had been the one to be stoned and burned in place of
his poor mother, who had been put to death for witchcraft when he was a lad.
Craving his own demise was the only power he had over the painful memories, but
hearing it spoken aloud was not easy for him, even after all these years.

“Hold your tongue,” he snapped.

A chair shifted loudly at the table. Nathan bade them
good-night and left.

Lachie stayed, observing the conversation with a frown.

Glenna waved her hand dismissively. “You spend so much of your
time trying to make us welcome in the burgh and yet when a temptation comes
along...” She shook her head disapprovingly. “You are wayward and reckless.”

It was time to set her straight. “You are wrong there. I do not
do anything without a thought. Tamhas Keavey is our barrier to a better life,
that is why I admitted her. I realized the woman was somehow connected to him.
If it were not for Keavey, the ministers from the Kirk would not be watching us,
and the council of Saint Andrews would not be suspicious every time I tried to
present matters of commerce to them. It is Keavey who puts the bad look on our
ability to heal.”

“Is it worth seeking their approval?” Glenna demanded. “They
will accept us while it suits them, but as soon as someone points the finger it
all unravels. I’ve lived long enough to see it happen, just as you have. Young
witches put to death on the whim of an enemy.”

Lennox felt the old pain building again. “I will protect
you.”

Glenna cast her eyes to the left, to the place where her
husband sat working a bit of wood, as was his way. The slender branch Lachlan
had chosen to work upon was set between his thighs and he whittled with one
hand, his left. His right arm was useless, strapped to his chest where it was
secured by a stitch in his sleeve to the front of his coat. It was down to
Tamhas Keavey that Lachlan has lost the use of his arm. Keavey had witnessed
Lachie collecting forage from the riverside and called him out. Lachie had
resisted, and Keavey had urged his mount to trample the old man where he knelt
on the ground. Though they had gathered and pooled their restorative powers,
Lachie had refused to be fully healed by his coven in order not to draw more
suspicion upon them. When Lennox confronted Keavey, Keavey claimed he’d lost
control of his mount. However, he also alluded to the fact the old man seemed to
be collecting poisonous leaves. Keavey warned him he was watching and seeking
evidence. Lennox denied his accusation, but he knew that if they took one step
wrong it would not stop at a useless arm.

It only served to frustrate Lennox all the more. The fact that
he could not always protect his people reminded him of his failure to protect
his mother, and his sisters. If he went ahead with a plan to get at Keavey
through the woman, it would mean going against his coven. Then he recalled
Mistress Chloris’s upturned face, her vulnerability as she requested his
assistance. He would have to tread carefully, and in secret, but he wouldn’t
relinquish the opportunity. Have her he would. “Perhaps you’re right,” he said
to Glenna, keen to put an end to her meddling. “Turn Mistress Chloris away if
she comes back here.”

Ailsa sidled over and embraced him, clinging to his arm and
warming him through. Glenna continued to work. It indicated the extent of her
frustration for she would often busy herself with extra tasks when she was
brooding upon something.

“We should be on our way,” Glenna said eventually. “We should
leave these parts. You told us that you grew up without censure, with total
acceptance, in the Highlands.”

That was hard for her, he knew, for she had been born here in
the Lowlands.

“Lennox, I am only angry with you because I feel the clouds
rolling in.” She met his gaze then looked away, wiping her hands on her
apron.