The Libertine (5 page)

An immense sense of loss swamped her.

“Your hostess is about to return,” he warned. “Give me a sign
and I will come to you at midnight tonight.”

Shocked, she looked at where the crowd was breaking apart—where
the Keavey coachman was counting coins into the chicken keeper’s hand, and where
Jean turned on her heel and flounced away.

There was no time to think on it. Jean’s warnings flitted
through her mind, but she had to know more. Her body wavered momentarily but
when she looked ahead she saw that Jean was striding back to her, the coachman
in tow. It was dangerous, but she had to know. She had to pursue it, or forever
regret that she had not taken this chance.

Once again his breath was warm at her ear. “Give me a sign and
I will be gone. They will not even notice that we have spoken.”

He truly was prepared to wait for her to respond, even though
Jean was almost upon them. Jean who had warned her against him moments before.
Chloris should have felt panic, she knew it. All she felt was his presence, as
if the encounter had sped the entire burgh away and only the two of them existed
in this place. She slipped her hand behind her back and reached for him. His
fingers entwined with hers, setting alive a chaotic thread of arousal in her.
She squeezed his hand.

“Tonight,” she responded, whispering the word that he had
whispered to her. Doing so made her feel even more light-headed.

His fingers slid from hers, and her eyelids lowered in
relief.

Then he was gone.

Breathing deep to steady her nerves, she suddenly realized
she’d
agreed to his ultimatum. He would come to
her, at midnight. In Tamhas’s house? The dangerous nature of the proposal became
all too clear, as if her clarity of mind had returned on his departure. Her
thoughts reeled.

What have I done?

CHAPTER FOUR

Tamhas Keavey slipped on his formal cloak and took his
seat in the town council chambers. As he did, he nodded his greetings at the men
gathered, surveying them all with an eye to allegiances. The prominent townsmen
and civic leaders were there, landowners such as himself, as well as those who
represented their guilds—the head of the bakers, the craftsmen and merchants. A
representative of the university was also present, the illustrious academic
trophy that Saint Andrews held in pride, for it brought them attention and
prestige, drawing many of the great learned minds of Europe.

The murmured conversations around the table desisted, and a
quick glance assured him that everyone was present.

Master MacDougal, the head of the council, rose to his feet and
welcomed them, moving on quickly. “As council members we are here today to
progress our membership. For many hundreds of years Saint Andrews has been the
religious and intellectual center of Scotland, the jewel in its crown. The
situation has changed since the union with England.” His expression grew
overcast. “It is our duty to protect and build the reputation of our town. On
our previous meeting we discussed ways in which we might achieve this, and we
agreed that opening the council to more guildsmen would strengthen it.” Master
MacDougal smiled. “Word had scarcely been put about and noble craftsmen stepped
forward to represent their guilds.”

A murmur of approval went around the table.

MacDougal gestured to the usher by the door, who opened it.

Tamhas craned his neck to see. A gentleman entered. He stated
that he owned a printing press associated with the university. Somewhat nervous,
the gentleman explained that the press was well established under the
university’s protection, and their wish for the future was to become more
involved in town matters.

Tamhas found the gentleman’s account of how the printing press
might be expanded quite tedious, for it was not an area of interest to him. The
council voted and all present accepted the gentleman to represent his guild.

The printer took up a seat at the table.

The following discussion was quite long-winded, and Tamhas was
surprised to see that a second application had been put forward and was being
heard that day. His interest lifted, for he had not seen anything of personal
interest or gain in the previous gentleman. On MacDougal’s word the usher again
went to the door.

Tamhas, together with most of the gathering, turned to see who
had arrived. The man stepped swiftly into the chambers and bowed his head toward
the head of the council.

Tamhas frowned heavily. It was Lennox Fingal. What in God’s
name was that heathen
doing here?

Surprisingly, MacDougal seemed pleased to see the interloper.
“Master Fingal, welcome.” He turned to address the assembled men. “Master Fingal
is here today to present the case for his wainwrights to be recognized as the
official cart and carriage makers of Saint Andrews.”

Tamhas’s blood boiled. He was so outraged at the idea of Lennox
Fingal joining the town council that he scarcely heard a word the man said about
his trade and his craftsmen. Fingal was a dubious character at best. There were
rumors that he indulged in all manner of heathen acts up at that house in the
woods, and his reputation as a shameless libertine amongst the women of the town
was well-founded. That was the least of it as far as Tamhas Keavey was
concerned. Witchcraft was at the heart of it all, he was sure of it.

When the time came to vote, Tamhas voted against, as did one
other. When pressed for the reason, the other man stated that the wainwright
trade had not been long in Saint Andrews and was not well enough known, despite
the quality of their wares. He suggested that Master Fingal present himself
again the following year.

When Tamhas was asked for his opinion, he urged himself to be
cautious. He could see the querying look in Master MacDougal’s eyes. Fingal
stared at him openly, one corner of his mouth lifted. Was he doing favors for
the leader of the council in order to receive a good response to his
application?

Drumming his fingers on the table he proceeded with caution. “I
am concerned because Master Fingal’s origins are not known to us. In addition,
many of us in the burgh are wary of those who are not churchgoers.”
Those who are detestable slaves of the Devil
instead.

MacDougal frowned. “A compromise can be reached, I am sure.” He
thought on it awhile then addressed Lennox Fingal. “We will offer you a seat on
the council, not as a guildsman but as a town member.”

Tamhas clenched his jaw lest he shout out in rage. The
compromise meant Lennox Fingal would have less say in matters of commerce, but
if he got his foot in the door there might be no stopping him.

MacDougal proceeded. “Assuming your comments are well received
and of benefit to Saint Andrews, we will once again consider the application for
your guild to be officially recognized. Once accepted, each guild is given a
tenure of one year as a trial. If your craftsmen become an established part of
the burgh in that time and you have contributed well to the council, that
arrangement will be made permanent.”

Fingal bowed. “I am most grateful for the opportunity to prove
our worth.”

Tamhas rose to his feet, pushing his chair back noisily. He
exited the chamber without further comment, his fury building. It was shameful.
Depositing his formal cloak in the adjacent chamber, he made his way down the
corridor.

“I trust that I will gain a more genial acceptance from you in
time.”

Tamhas froze. Turning his head, he saw that Lennox Fingal had
sauntered down the corridor after him. “I doubt that very much.”

Tamhas refused even to look directly at the man, for something
was there in his eyes. Witchcraft was at the back of it. Tamhas was sure the
good council leader had been swayed. A favor had been granted, of that he was
almost certain. The blackguard must have wheedled his way into MacDougal’s good
graces by dubious means. He intended to find out what it was, too. He would soon
set them all to rights, and take his rightful place as head of the council.

“That is a shame,” Fingal said, “for we are almost
neighbors.”

“You are no neighbor of mine, and I’ll have you know I’ve sent
your kind running from Saint Andrews before, and I’ll do it again.”

“My kind?” He raised an eyebrow. “Fair-minded members of the
burgh?”

“You jest.”

“I don’t.” He smiled, seemingly at ease. “Oh,” he added, “I
meant to compliment you on your taste in women. Your wife and your pretty cousin
were looking most fetching when I saw them in Market Street this morning.”

Tamhas’s hands fisted at his side. “Your attempts to rile me
only make me more determined to obtain the evidence I need to see you and your
people put to death for your evil doings.”

To his annoyance, his adversary only laughed softly. Standing
his ground, he gave a shallow bow. “Farewell, Master Keavey.”

Tamhas had no choice but to leave. He stormed out of the
council chambers and elbowed his way through the crowded streets outside,
furious that Lennox Fingal had gained a foothold within the burgh. He would have
to pay closer attention to the man’s activities. He needed evidence to oust him.
The man had the ability to sway opinion, and that was dangerous. He was able to
enchant people with favors and charm, but Keavey saw past that and he would make
sure others did, too.

The insinuation that Fingal could get close to his womenfolk
nagged at Tamhas, for Fingal was widely known as a man who could charm any woman
into his bed. Had he spoken to them in the market? Had he dripped his evil charm
on them?

Tamhas decided that he would have to question them on it.

CHAPTER FIVE

“Did you fare well in Saint Andrews today, ladies?”
Tamhas addressed them both from the head of the table.

Chloris forced a nod when he looked at her. “It was most
reviving.”

She concentrated on her food. The suckling pig was quite
delicious but Chloris could eat only a small amount of the dinner. When she
thought of the events of the day she could scarcely manage a morsel, fretting as
she was about the illicit rendezvous she had somehow agreed to. Here in the
rather splendid dining room she could hardly believe the arrangement she had
made. It was one of the most sumptuous rooms in Torquil House, with a long and
heavy table and bulrush chairs. The fireplace was large and expensive carpet
covered the stone floor on the area from the door to the table. Tamhas lived
like a laird, and at his bequest dinner was always a grand occasion. It was his
way. He wore fine wigs and expensive clothing, for it was important to him that
his wealth and position were visible to all.

“It was a most pleasant outing and Chloris and I enjoyed the
market,” Jean replied, “until we saw that Lennox Fingal prowling about the place
as if he owned it.”

Chloris reached for her wineglass, her heart tripping.

Tamhas’s expression altered, a scowl developing. “The heathen
had the audacity to present himself to council.”

Chloris took a swig of claret. Her situation felt strangely
dreamlike. Earlier that day she’d been compelled to question her cousin’s wife
about her comments regarding Master Lennox, but now she had a sense of
foreboding that made her very uncomfortable about the rendezvous that had been
arranged for that night. It was not only her own misgivings that made her
uneasy. Now she feared for Master Lennox, who apparently intended to secret
himself inside the house where he was despised, in order to assist her. Never in
her life had she been in such a strange situation, but there was no way out of
it now.

Jean shifted in her seat and looked at her husband aghast. “I
am most surprised that the council received him.”

Tamhas continued to observe them both closely as he spoke. “The
council would not have received him if I had been in charge of proceedings.”

He pressed his lips together and looked at Chloris.

It was necessary to say something. She struggled with it. The
nature of the conversation was so unsettling, given that the man they spoke of
had said he would come to her that very night. “I’m afraid I did not recognize
the man’s name. Is he a newcomer to Saint Andrews?”

Tamhas nodded. “He first appeared in Saint Andrews after you
married and went to Edinburgh. He is a bad sort, and it ails me to know he is
abiding so close by my land.”

Tamhas returned his attention to his wife, who was still
looking indignant on his behalf. “Tell me, did he speak to you directly?”

“No,” she said, eyes rounding. “We crossed the street as soon
as I saw him.”

Mercifully Tamhas did not ask Chloris the same question.
Nevertheless it brought about an immense sense of unease about her secret
negotiations. She could not begin to imagine how she would respond if Tamhas
asked her.

“If he even looks at you,” Tamhas told his wife, “look away.
There is witchcraft in those eyes of his and no woman is safe when he is
around.”

Tamhas looked Chloris’s way again, obviously expecting a
reaction to his comment.

Chloris put down her cutlery. “Witchcraft?”

“The things that go on, cousin dear...” Tamhas narrowed his
eyes.

Was he thinking about Eithne? Chloris wondered.

His mood was dark. Tamhas was a distinguished-looking man and
could be quite charming at times, but he also had a temper on him and Chloris
had experienced it early on in life. As a result she was always a little tense
in his presence—always ready to stand up to him, if necessary.

Jean shook her head disapprovingly then gestured at the serving
girl who was standing by waiting to take the plates, indicating that she was
finished. The girl moved around the table, causing a minor distraction for which
Chloris was grateful.

After the serving girl had gone, Jean leaned closer to her
husband. “You fear for his influence over women? Do you think it is true, what
they say about them...when they gather together as a coven?”

There was a distinct look of curiosity in her eyes. Chloris
wondered if Jean was as eager to know what exactly went on when these people
came together as she was.

“Their activities obey no rules,” Tamhas replied, “no decent
bounds.”

Jean dabbed her neck with her handkerchief, her cheeks
flushing.

“No respect for the rules of the king or Church,” Tamhas
continued, his thoughts clearly deeply occupied. “They are heathens, no better
than animals.”

Chloris’s thoughts reeled. Could she stop Master Lennox
coming?

I have to go through with it, everything
depends upon it
.

Her belief in his powers had grown solid and she had to
concentrate on his ability, not his dubious reputation. If she thought about the
potential result she could be brave. Yet there was no guarantee the ritual he
described would engender any change in her, and she risked great disapproval
from her cousin—who had allowed her to visit these past weeks, when her husband
was on the brink of casting her into the streets with nothing but the clothes
she stood up in.

“You would be wise to quell your curiosity about them,” Tamhas
told his wife. “Let the men deal with these vermin. The fair sex should mind
their doors and be wary.”

Everything he said only made Chloris more uncomfortable about
the arrangement she had made for that night. Why had she been foolish enough to
allow him to come to the house?

Tamhas still pontificated on the matter, including Chloris in
the conversation. “You would not remember our grandfather, Lucas, but when I was
a wee lad he took me to see a witch burning.”

Jean looked astonished. Her attention was all his. “Oh, Tamhas,
you never told me.”

“It was disturbing, that is why, but it never left my mind,
just as Lucas planned. My grandfather was protecting his family for generations
to come by teaching us what to look out for. I’d already seen good Christian
folk in their coffins, at peace. There is no peace for those who worship the
Devil.” He paused to shake his head in disgust. “Kicking and screaming and
cursing us all they were, as they were led to their end.”

Was it guilt, fear or injustice that made them do that? Chloris
wondered.

“It must have been quite a sight.” Jean looked enthralled.

“Three of them there were, two women and a man. One of the
women, she was wickedness incarnate. She cursed everyone there, cursed their
cattle and harvests and offspring.”

Jean crossed herself. “Did they hang them?”

Tamhas nodded. “The rope first, then they lit the kindling that
had been built at their feet. They burned the bodies to be sure the demons were
gone. It is necessary, you see, this double death. We thought they would be dead
after the hanging, but one of the women was so evil that the Devil kept his
slave alive and put breath in her lungs, and when the flames lit her gown, a
terrible scream issued from her. Even while she burned, she seemed to live on
until she was burned to bone and ashes.”

Chloris took her serviette to her mouth and then dabbed her
forehead quickly, for she felt quite ill at her cousin’s lurid description.

“Their flesh melted like wax candles. I will never forget the
stench. Inhuman they were.”

Jean frowned. “Wouldn’t any person smell bad on burning?”

Tamhas, who seemed to relish sharing this sorry tale, glared at
his wife. “Not like this, this was a smell only demons would carry.”

When Jean didn’t look convinced, he avoided her question—a
question that appeared to be quite sensible, to Chloris—and hurried on. “My
grandfather, he told me what to look out for, and I see it amongst those who are
gathered around Lennox Fingal. They hunt for strange leaves in the forest and
they gather in numbers, but when you come upon them they split so that you
cannot count how many there are. If only I could catch sight of thirteen of them
at once then I would have the evidence to oust them.”

It shocked Chloris that he was so deeply driven on the matter.
She already knew he didn’t approve of anything that might be construed as
witchcraft—she had known that when she went to Somerled—but she didn’t know his
goal for Lennox and his kind was prosecution and death.

“They’re not family,” he continued, “all those people that
gather in the woods with him. No, they are similarly afflicted by servitude to
the Devil. No good Christian should have to live with such creatures practically
on the doorstep.”

The fraught nature of the situation she had agreed to made
Chloris want to run from the room, and as soon as the servant appeared again she
bade Tamhas and Jean good-night and took her leave.

Alone in her chamber, she paced back and forth, checking the
clock on the mantel every few moments. Leaving their company only gave her more
time to fret upon it, and now her doubts were manifold. Tamhas had said they
were no better than animals. Was it true?

Chloris reflected on the image of Lennox. There was a wildness
about him. That was undeniable. There was a noble air about him, too, something
in his posture and his manner that showed he would fear no man. That was where
the dark thrill lay, she suspected, the rebellion she saw in his eyes. She’d
never known anyone like that. The men in her life, her husband and her cousin
Tamhas, were powerful because of what they owned and the ability they had to
supply others with shelter or food, or not, as they chose. Lennox was not a
wealthy man, and yet there was something almost regal about him. It was little
wonder that he attracted women.

I must be cautious
. Once again she
warned herself to think about her goal, to fulfill her obligation to her husband
by having a child. It was wrong to think upon the man’s looks and his bearing
and his potential to woo women when she was about to let him undertake some
mysterious, unchristian ritual on her. Besides, he might not even appear.

When the chambermaid came to turn down her covers and offered
to assist her disrobing, Chloris declined. It wouldn’t be seen as odd, because
Chloris seldom accepted assistance. The girl looked at her with sympathy as if
she assumed Chloris was reserved, which suited Chloris. Her servants in
Edinburgh were used to her ways and no longer offered. For reasons she kept
private Chloris had learned to deal with the task of undressing—managing all
manner of hooks and ribbons and layers of fabric—alone.

The serving girl stoked the fire, then left.

Once she was gone Chloris took a deep breath. The serving girl
was, in all likelihood, the last person she would see that night and she would
not have to deal with Master Lennox. He would forget or have second thoughts
perhaps. That should have been a relief. It did little to quell her emotions.
The truth of the matter was that she would wait up all night, hoping for the
chance to partake of the magic he offered. If he did not come, that would be
more painful still.

The hands on the clock neared the midnight hour and she
lingered by the window, peeping out from behind the curtains. As the clock
chimed, she saw him pacing across the lawn in the moonlight. She clutched at the
curtains, staring down in disbelief. Several times over she wondered if she’d
imagined his promise. What man in his right mind would enter the home of someone
set on having him and his people persecuted?

He paused and lifted his head, apparently looking up at the
windows. What a startling figure he made, so tall and sure of himself. He was as
much at ease prowling in the moonlight as he was stalking about in the busy
market earlier that day. It should have made her wary. It only made her curious,
eager to know more about him.

Swallowing hard, she opened the curtains wide and showed
herself. When he lifted his hand in acknowledgment, she dropped the curtain and
paced back and forth again.

What would happen should he be discovered entering the house?
He might not even make it as far as her room. Part of her wished that he
wouldn’t. The rest of her was ready to run to the door and open it for him if he
knocked.

How would he even know which room was hers?

The thought sent a shiver through her. She had no idea of the
extent of his powers. She’d heard tales, of course, dark stories about the
dreadful things that accused witches had done. Was Master Lennox as powerful and
unruly as the ministers said when they warned of those who indulged in
witchcraft? If he was, he could do many things.

Therefore he could enable her to have a child.
Salvation
.

She darted over to the door and listened, straining for any
sound that would indicate the household had been alerted to the presence of an
intruder. Silence was all she heard. Would he enter by means of magic? That had
not occurred to her, but when she thought on it she supposed he might. Doubts
assailed her. Magic, work of the Devil? What had she agreed to? She stepped over
to the mantel shelf over the fireplace and clutched at it to steady her.

A moment later the door clicked and she saw a sliver of light
by the doorway.

The candle on the mantelshelf flickered.

The sliver of light vanished and stillness descended again.

Chloris wondered if she had imagined it, so imperceptible was
the movement, but then she discerned the outline of a tall, dark figure standing
in the gloom by the doorway.

He was here. The Witch Master was now inside the room.

Her fingers clutched tighter to the shelf. Her blood had
already been racing, but when she sensed his presence—so brooding and so
mysterious—here in her private chamber, her heart thumped against the wall of
her chest. They were alone. She took a deep breath, attempting to keep her
thoughts in order. It was difficult to do so. Her chest was constricted, her
corset and bodice unbearably tight.