The Libertine (21 page)

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Tamhas Keavey’s horse reared up, almost dislodging him
from his saddle. He held tight to the reins, cursing as he was forced to
counterbalance his weight against the rise of the horse. When its front hooves
landed with a thump, the horse backed up, neighing loudly and tossing its head.
Below the animal’s hooves Tamhas caught sight of a glimmer of light in the mud.
Tamhas glanced left and right, but could see nothing on the ground.

“They have laid traps,” he shouted back over his shoulder. “It
is their evil spells. We will find a way to get past.”

He ground his teeth together, furious with the situation. It
had taken him a long while to convince the bailiff and the prominent members of
the council to agree to this plan. He’d had to bring in the minister to speak
about the evil ways of those who practiced witchcraft. Resistance was higher
than he expected, many claiming Lennox Fingal was a decent man, a man who had
brought new custom to the burgh. Others said that the practice of hanging and
burning was unchristian in itself. One man had even gone so far as to say that
the law about witchcraft would be changed, stating that there would be shame
about what had gone on during the time of the witch trials and it would cast a
shadow on Scottish history. Another had openly admitted he had sought them out
to treat his gout. He described the simple herbs that a young woman had offered
him. They were ground up and made into a liquor for him to sip, and he said that
helped purify his blood and cure his condition. Others were most impressed by
his tale.

They were fools, the lot of them.

Three of Tamhas’s men had already been dislodged from their
horses along the route, and now it seemed he, too, struggled to get near the
accursed place. Tamhas could see the house through the trees, though,
candlelight glinting in the window even though it was daylight. Behind him he
could hear whispers of concern, the men exchanging their thoughts on the matter,
but Tamhas ignored them, determined not to let a little bit of the Devil’s
trickery stop him from delivering these heathens to justice. He yanked on the
reins and forced his mount to move away from the troubled spot, skirting several
tall trees as he attempted to lead the men to their destination.

When they finally forged a path close to the clearing in front
of the house, Tamhas saw that the door stood open. The inhabitants were gone.
The candles in the window burned low, as if they had been left there all night.
His chance to bring them to justice had gone, too. “Damn them all to hell. That
is where they belong.”

The bailiff drew his horse alongside Tamhas, then turned back
to shout instructions to the gathered men. “Secure your mounts at the forest
edge. We may need to examine the tracks that have been left here.”

Tamhas looked down at the clearing. The ground had been heavily
churned, and recently, the tracks of several large carts heading out by the
looks of it. Frustrated, he dropped from his horse. He ventured up the steps and
pushed the door wide-open.

“Traps might have been set,” a man called out.

Now they think so, now when it is too
late.
Tamhas clenched his jaw, then gestured briefly in
acknowledgment and made his way into the building.

The place was stripped. Doors stood open, empty drawers hanging
out of the dressers. The large items of furniture were still there, but few
personal belongings. Fingal and his cohorts had left in a hurry. With the
bailiff’s men following behind, Tamhas went through every room in the house.

In the parlor he found ashes still smoldering in the grate.
Evidence, no doubt. Turning the remains over with the poker he stared into the
grate. It was Lennox Fingal’s determination to establish himself in Saint
Andrews that had convinced Tamhas they would stay, no matter what. There was
some small sense of satisfaction that Lennox Fingal had been forced to accept
defeat on that point, but it was not enough to pacify Tamhas’s need to destroy
the vermin. They had gone because they knew he was on their trail. Had his
cousin Chloris sent word?

Tamhas cursed beneath his breath as he considered her foolish
behavior, how it angered him. He’d had her watched, though, and he was sure
she’d not had the opportunity to leave and pass the word before she left for
Edinburgh. Yet somehow they had been one step ahead. He had not gone to all this
trouble—engaging the support of the council, the bailiffs and his men—to end it
now.

“They fled,” he informed the men as they gathered outside, “but
not long since. The fire is still warm.” He turned to face them, glad to see
several of them still had the bloodlust in their eyes. “I will ride after them
and bring them to justice. Who is with me in my quest?”

“Are you sure of that, Master Keavey?” the bailiff said. “If
they are gone from the burgh it is no longer our concern. We can spread the
news, warn others who might encounter this unholy coven. But I say we celebrate
the day they have left this place, for we will no longer be subject to any
wrongdoing on their part.”

Tamhas frowned. The bailiff’s job was to secure the burgh for
which he was responsible, so Tamhas could not fault him for his view on the
matter. It did not tally with his own, however. Cousin Chloris and her weakness
for the Witch Master still needled at him, and the fact that his wife had let
slip she’d had dealings with the blaggard only angered him all the more. He was
determined to sniff Lennox Fingal out, to oust him as a servant of Satan and see
him strung up.

“I understand your position, Bailiff. However, it is in my
nature to be sure that they will not return. My peace of mind and my family’s
safety demand that of me.” He looked beyond the bailiff at the gathered men.
“Who rides with me?”

Some of the men stayed silent, unsure about the value of the
ongoing chase. However, there were enough who were still eager to give him
support. He looked their way. A dozen or more of them said “aye.”

Before they left he examined the tracks once more. “They are
headed inland, away from the coast.”

“Sire,” one of the older men called out, and drew his attention
away.

Peering down at the sight, Tamhas frowned. Then he saw what the
man had seen, the hoofprints of a large mount traveling a different path.
Glancing first at the sky and then at the landscape on the horizon, he gained
his bearings. The carts had, as he first thought, headed inland—to who knew
where. This lone rider had gone a different direction. To Cupar or beyond?

Beyond. It was a journey he knew well—for it crossed Fife to
Edinburgh.

Words from that revealing letter he had intercepted crossed his
mind.
The hope that you will agree to our arrangement will
sustain me. Until then, I remain devoted to you.

Could it be that Lennox Fingal was set on having Chloris? Had
he ridden after her? Anger built steadily in Tamhas as he considered the
possibility.

What arrangement did that letter refer to? Chloris had said it
was a magic ritual, but there was more to it. “Damnable stupid bitch,” he
muttered beneath his breath, “I would have sired a child for you if you had been
more amenable toward me.”

The implications continued to unfold.

If Chloris’s husband discovered what had gone on while his wife
was under Tamhas’s protection, a large share of Tamhas’s wool trade in Edinburgh
might be at risk, for it was Gavin who had established the majority of his
commercial contacts.

That threat, and the real possibility of shame brought on his
family because of Cousin Chloris’s dalliance, meant that there was only one
possible path for Tamhas to take—to follow the lone rider.

He had a dozen men, and Lennox Fingal was alone. Even with
witchcraft on his side, he was well outnumbered. With a sense of satisfaction,
Tamhas headed to his horse, assured that he was finally going to see justice
done.

* * *

Lennox rode as if he could beat time by doing so,
watching the sun’s passage across the sky, trying to stay ahead of it and only
slowing when the path became more treacherous. Even then he urged Shadow on,
picking his path carefully, always taking the shortest route, no matter how
hard.

By midday he had skirted the Burgh of Cupar. There was still a
full day’s ride ahead before he reached Edinburgh. Chloris was already there and
subject to her husband’s will. It turned his belly to think of her sacrificing
herself, returning to the life she’d confessed she hated, in order to protect
his people. It was her trust and her honest faith in people that meant she could
not see her cousin had no intention of keeping his word. Of that Lennox was
sure. Chloris’s nature was kindly, even though her wish to discover the best in
people had so often been unfulfilled. He would not allow her tentative trust in
him to be shattered.

Then it occurred to him that Chloris might have realized he had
come to her because of his feud with Keavey. Keavey might have pointed that out
to her when he read the letter. The thought of it made Lennox wish he could
change what had happened, that he had realized from the outset how much she
would come to mean to him.

He was so deep in thought that he jolted in his saddle when his
horse stumbled. Grasping tightly to the pommel on his saddle in order not to be
thrown, he saw that the ground had become rocky. They were passing through a
glen flanked by a rocky ravine on the left-hand side. A stream trickled through
moss covered rocks to his right. Heavy gorse and heathers covered the spot, the
only bare patches where it was too rocky even for the hardy gorse to thrive.
“Easy, boy, easy.”

When he soothed the beast, he realized Shadow needed to rest.
Perhaps he did, too. Several nights had gone by with little sleep. With a long
ride ahead he had to pace them both. Forced to dismount he reluctantly took a
respite, leading Shadow to the stream. Alongside the horse he ducked down and
scooped the icy water in his hands, splashing his face, sharpening his senses.
Then he sat on a nearby rock.

Exhaustion was creeping in on him. He needed his full faculties
when he arrived in Edinburgh. He could not afford another misstep. Three days
earlier he’d been confident in his endeavors and fully expected to have Chloris
by his side now. An error on his part. He would not let her return to that sad
fate, to be unloved and unwanted, and worse still—beaten and berated. But he had
to be able to think clearly.

Resting back against the mossy rock, he allowed his eyes to
close.

It was images of Chloris that swam in his mind. Chloris
breathless with need for him. Chloris on the verge of agreeing to forego her
previous life, to be with him. For a woman like Chloris, who had battled her
desire to stray so fiercely, that was no easy choice. It made him long to hold
and shield her. The tightness in his chest knotted over again, and he forced
himself to consider images of her in a better life, vowing to make it real. He
could never offer her the privileges she’d had before, but he could give her
much more in other ways, and he would cherish her.

Drifting on vows and promises, Lennox dozed.

The sound of voices did not reach him for some time.

When they did he inhaled sharply, but forced himself to keep
his eyes closed as he sought awareness. Someone had approached. An urgent
discussion was taking place nearby. Lennox kept still. He honed his senses then
attempted to rise to his feet as he opened his eyes.

“Stay down.” The man who stood over him had a pistol pointing
at his chest.

Lennox eased back while he stared up at the weapon. Inwardly,
he groaned and cursed. A quick side-glance alerted him to three other men
several paces away, one with a musket and two others with swords. They were
soldiers.

Was the hunt for the Somerled coven already under way? That was
not good, although he could quickly distract this party from their cause by
means of magic. Chastising himself for resting, he rued the extra time this
intrusion would add to his journey. It was an irritation he could do without.
Chloris was in danger. Every moment he wasted might be recorded in fresh scars,
and he could not live with himself if that were the case. However, if he could
draw these men away from the coven’s trail, there was some purpose in it.

The man standing over him was smartly dressed in civilian
clothes but appeared to be their leader. Lennox assumed him to be a bailiff. The
man did not remove his tricorne hat, and he booted Lennox in the hip as he
looked him over. “What have you done with the woman?”

Lennox frowned. “I travel alone.”

He mustered an enchantment, readying to call upon the elements
to deflect their attention from his coven, who would by now be well on their way
and perhaps even past Kilmaron, north as the crow flew from his present
whereabouts. Beneath his breath he whispered the Pictish words. The nearby
stream bubbled and rose fast. Within moments it would breach its banks.

Shadow lingered by the stream’s edge and he backed up and
neighed, but the strangers had their full attention on Lennox. One of the
soldiers stepped forward and nodded at Lennox. “I think I was mistaken, sire,
’tis not the man I saw at The Drovers Inn, the one who helped her escape.”

Lennox tried to make sense of what they said.

“And they were on foot,” the second soldier added, “this man
has a horse.”

The leader of the group shot the two men a disapproving glance.
“They could have stolen a horse by now,” he barked. Looking back at Lennox he
demanded more information. “What is your purpose and where are you headed?”

Lennox’s mind worked furiously. They were looking for someone
but it was not him, nor was it his coven. He kept his expression open and
steady. “I travel to Edinburgh on a family matter. I am alone. Search my goods,
you will find I only carry provisions for one.”