The Harlot (10 page)

That thought drove him to visit a seamstress before he even arrived at the auction house. He asked around in the marketplace and was referred to a suitable-looking establishment in a side street of the ancient burgh. Once he had stabled his mount, he located and entered the seamstress's workshop—a narrow cottage with a sign in the window. When he went inside he only meant to procure some items for Jessie to use, things that might keep her occupied.

Once he was in there, however, and he imagined what Jessie would think of such finery, he purchased more than he had planned to. He caught sight of a woolen shawl the very same
color as her eyes, and gestured at it. The seamstress lifted the item from the display and took it to a table where she began to fold and wrap it.

“Have you clothing suitable for a serving woman?”

The seamstress paused and then held up the item she had been working on when he arrived. “Aye, here are some samples of our work.”

Gregor looked that dress over and another she brought out, and thought them suitable for Jessie to appear in as a decent person in search of employment. When he put his hand around the waist they looked to be about the right size. “I'll take them both.”

“These are being made for another customer, but if you would like to order something similar—”

“I need them soon. I will pay highly if you complete those two items for me instead.”

The seamstress seemed astonished by his behavior, and at first would agree to none of it, until she saw the amount of coins he offered to secure the items. When he said he would take what was ready and return the following day for the dresses, the woman's eyes nearly popped out of her head. But she spoke with a girl who sat in one corner sewing, and after some whispered debate and several glances at the money, she promised the work would be done.

As he was about to leave, he spied a gown somewhat more extravagant than he was planning to buy, in the hands of the helper. It was a blue silk affair, the sort of thing a lady might wear. He imagined Jessie swanning about his quarters in it, smiled to himself and told the seamstress to add it—and any necessary undergarments.

“This will run to a tidy sum,” the seamstress warned.

“That is not an issue. I will return for the goods at the same time tomorrow.”

Now that he was waiting to discuss business with the auctioneer, it disturbed him that his mind kept wandering to images of Jessie in the garments he had seen, rather than preparing his thoughts to discuss important matters of business.

Brooding on it, he knew he'd done the wrong thing indulging his lust for her. Too long without a woman of his own, perhaps. The whore was for his enemy, not himself. There hadn't been any denying it that morning, however.

Eventually he was ushered in, which was just as well, for he was growing increasingly angry with himself, and that made him uneasy. It was with relief he turned to matters of business.

The auctioneer was a heavyset man with calculating eyes and an expensive powdered wig that seemed rather too ostentatious for his offices. At a bureau nearby, a thinner man hunched over a stack of papers, his quill barely rising from the page to gather more ink as he worked.

Gregor introduced himself and took the seat he was offered. The auctioneer rambled through a lengthy and irrelevant monologue about the state of affairs under King George's rule, and as soon as Gregor could interrupt, he hastened the discussion in the direction he wanted it to go.

“I am most eager to buy land in Fife, somewhere with sound agricultural prospects. Somewhere I can attract good tenants to work the land while I am abroad.”

The auctioneer nodded, his fingers tapping at the button on his velvet coat. That he mistrusted Gregor's intentions was more than obvious. “You have come to the right place,” he responded.

Gregor could not afford to be viewed skeptically.

“Notary Anderson recommended you. Please, speak to him about me. He will assure you I am financially solvent and in favorable account with my banker.”

Both men were also under strict instructions not to reveal more about Gregor than that he was a merchant trader with some wealth who wished to settle here.

The mention of a common acquaintance eased the discussion somewhat. However, when Gregor asked about specific areas of land that might be put up for sale, the man's expression once again grew shuttered. “I am not at liberty to divulge such information.”

The auctioneer should welcome custom. Had the years of war with the English brought such cautious attitudes about? Gregor gritted his teeth for a moment, aware that his impatience was getting the better of him—either that or all that talk of dresses and fripperies had addled his mind.

Buying land was not something he had experience of and he had no idea of the customs. In his line of trade decisions about who to trust had to be fast and instinctive, and a potential deal was always open to negotiation.

“Perhaps I should explain. I am eager to procure some land in this region because I am a seafaring man and want to build up a more solid inheritance for my offspring. I am not from these parts, but my mother's line was and I find it most appealing for that reason.”

“The usual course of events would be to show yourself at the time of the sale.”

“Of course,” Gregor agreed, “and I will be here for as long as it takes. Please be assured of my seriousness on this matter. I have planned for this for many a year, while at sea.”

The man contemplated him, stroking his chin as he did so. “It is unusual for us to find a gentleman who has recently traveled abroad so interested in purchasing land in these parts. Especially so in light of the troubles and changes the English have put upon our laws, our government and our people.”

He paused and his lips tightened for a moment. “Our custom
is usually local, and is made up of goods and chattels. Land does pass through my hands, but not often. Even less common is it anticipated by an eager customer.” He mustered a cautious smile.

Gregor relaxed somewhat. “I have faith in my Scottish brothers, and trust that better times lie ahead.” He lifted his eyebrows to infer his meaning.

The auctioneer nodded, approving his comment.

He had good reason to be suspicious, although the English were more likely to send their soldiers in to take what they wanted, striking down anyone who stood in their way, than pay for it in the proper manner. However, the more encouraging news was that the auctioneer was not going to turn away a potential customer, merely question his motives.

“There may be land suitable for your requirements at some point in the future.”

“In that case I will lodge a down payment with you now. If any property comes up in the region, I wish to buy it. Please consider my bid higher than any other you might get.”

The scribe, who had continued working throughout the discussion, paused. The scratch of his quill was notable by its absence.

The man glanced at his assistant and pursed his lips. “I am unable to accept a down payment under those terms. It would not be fair to my client or my other customers. We do not suffer collusion or any attempts to manipulate the bidding in this house. All items have to go in a fair and open auction.”

Gregor thought he saw regret in the auctioneer's expression as the scratch of the scribe's quill recommenced.

Gregor had the feeling the man might have taken his bribe had they not had a witness. There was land in the offing, and if Robert's information was correct it was Ivor Wallace's. Gregor
could not, however, be sure of that, nor could he take it for granted. That was where Jessie would prove useful.

Once again he attempted to reel in his impatience. Bribery had served him well in the past, both as a means to get what he wanted, and, when he was on the receiving end of a bribe, a way to make money fast. Then again, he had few morals when he had a goal to acquire. The auctioneer was obviously a much more worthy man than he. It was difficult not to insist, however. Gregor had other things to do. Establishing a relationship with the auctioneer should have been quick and easy. He was eager to be on his way and back to the more pressing job of tutoring Jessie for the task ahead.

“Can you give me a date for the next appropriate sale?”

The man shook his head. “There is a sale in the process of being prepared, but the owner has not yet decided which fields he wishes to part with.”

Gregor nodded.

“Perhaps I can let you know when the date is set?”

Gregor considered the offer, but could not afford to give details of his whereabouts, in case word got about. News of a stranger with an interest in local land would soon capture the imagination, and he didn't want Wallace to have any idea he was in the area.

“Please, inform Notary Anderson.” He rose to his feet. “I hope we can do business soon. I will return later in the month to see if you have that date for me.”

The gentleman became most obsequious as Gregor made his way out, encouraging him to return, apologizing that he could not be more forthcoming on this occasion. As Gregor took his leave he was more convinced than ever that it was the right thing to send Jessie in to Wallace's home, Balfour Hall. She was a canny lass and she would listen and learn. He would have the information soon enough.

As he made his way back to the stables where he had left his mount, he wondered how best to handle the exchange of any information she might garner. Originally he had thought he would get her to send word when she found out what he needed to know. That would involve a third person, which might be dangerous for her. As he thought about it he changed his mind. Once she was established in Balfour Hall he would meet her on the grounds at night. That would be necessary in order to find out about her progress, and to guide her if she needed assistance.

With a wry smile, he reminded himself that although they had made progress over the past two days, it would be wise to keep a close eye on her, because Jessie had a mind of her own and she was wayward and difficult to manage. If he was to keep her focused on the task, he would have to rein her in each night.

That notion made his mind wander, and it was with no small amount of irony that Gregor wondered who would rein him in, when she swayed him in matters of intimate congress.

JESSIE PRESSED HER EAR AGAINST THE DOOR
to the landing and listened. Somewhere beyond she heard noises, but it wasn't close by. Ducking down, she blew into the lock, wrapped her hands around the handle and funneled her body heat there, whispering an enchantment as she did so.

Once again a haze of light moved into the lock and it clicked open smoothly. An answering burn in her chest reflected the power she had wielded, giving her a sense of satisfaction that she'd never had before. Again she was perplexed by the way the spell unfolded, but she was quickly distracted from wondering over it when the door swung open. It led onto a landing and she peered into the gloom.

There was no candle in the sconce near the door and the only light came up from the staircase on the far side. She could see that there were four other doorways, and darted over to the nearest one. It always paid to know who your neighbors were; many a time she had been saved from trouble with a customer by knowing that. When she pressed her ear to the
door she heard voices in the room, but could not make out what they were saying.

Moving along the landing, she kept glancing at the staircase. At the next door, she heard nothing. Sounds from the inn below lured her—the very place she should avoid for fear of discovery was calling to her like a moth to a flame. She knew it was wrong, but she had a good mind to go down there. What harm would a quick glance about the place do? The chances of anyone from Dundee being about these parts were not high, she wagered. No one would recognize her. However, Gregor would find out she had gone down there because someone was bound to tell him, and she did not want him to know that she could get out and about when he thought he had her under lock and key.

Curiosity was nevertheless getting the better of her, and she walked to the top of staircase, ducking her head in an attempt to catch sight of the place below. She didn't get too close. She had a terrible aversion to heights, and even walking up or down a staircase made her feel quite ill. The discomfort went back to the moment of her mother's death, and even though she knew she should be able to force herself beyond it, it still haunted her.

The smell of ale and grease rose from the tavern below, mingling with the aroma of a peat fire. Somewhere in the distance she heard a voice shouting instructions. It sounded like Mistress Muir, but then faded away before Jessie could be certain it was her. The hallway below was stacked with barrels, sacks of provisions and at least three broken chairs. She vaguely remembered being marched up the steps on her arrival. They had passed through an inn where two men slumbered over tables and the fire was low in the grate, but the memory was not detailed otherwise.

Just as she was about to take a step down, one of the doors
behind her creaked. Bolting upright, she glanced back. The door behind which she had heard voices was open a crack, but no one had emerged. Jessie darted back toward Mister Ramsay's rooms, moving past the open door as quietly as possible. However, when she caught a glimpse of what was going on inside the room, she paused and took a second look.

The room was similar to the one she had emerged from. Two men stood by the fireplace. One was fair-haired and looked to be a nobleman, or at least a man who earned a good wage, for he was dressed well.

Jessie determined that this must be Mister Grant, the excise man whom Morag had spoken of the day before. His companion was a handsome, younger fellow with long dark hair. He looked to be a fieldworker. He wore a loose shirt with a simple yoke, and well-worn breeches. The dirty, rough hide shoes on his feet and the dark, threadbare stockings also indicated his status. The wealthier man wore buckled shoes and brightly colored stockings. As she quickly assessed them, Mister Grant cupped the other man's face in his hand in an affectionate gesture.

Jessie was startled. She leaned closer to the gap in the door. How would the younger man react? The fieldworker lowered his head and rested one hand against the nobleman's hip. Jessie's curiosity was well and truly baited and her blood heated, for in an instant she saw their true nature and knew that they were lovers—secret lovers, hidden away here in the middle of nowhere, much as she was. Most fortuitous of all was that they clearly had no clue that the door was ajar, besotted as they were with each other.

Intrigued as to how their meeting might evolve, she flattened her body to the wall. That way she could observe the two men for as long as possible without discovery, and still glance over her shoulder in order to keep a watch on the stairs.
The door to Mister Ramsay's rooms was a mere dash away, should the need to make her escape arise.

“I'm glad you came here today. I had hoped to see you again.” It was the fair-haired man who spoke, and he did so while he removed his frock coat and began to unbutton his waistcoat.

Jessie had witnessed such encounters before, between men whose appetites were for each other rather than a member of her own sex. She'd seen them in the backstreets and alleyways where her kind sought custom, as well. Some of these men engaged in quiet bartering before slipping away into the night together, while others sought their release immediately, pleasuring each other there and then by hand and mouth on shaft, or up the rear, fast and furtive in the shadowed doorways.

But these two men wanted one another and they had done this here before; she could see it in the way they leaned together and touched with familiarity. It was the urgent flicker of hand and eye that indicated they were lovers who knew one another physically, lovers who sought each other out for another tryst.

The fieldworker pulled his shirt off in one swift move, revealing a body hard and strong from labor. He undid his waistband and reached inside for his shaft, letting his breeches fall to the floor, where he kicked them and his shoes off. The muscles on his chest were made more obvious by the dark hair that grew there, tapering down into a fine line that led her gaze to his groin, where his rod stemmed from a thick, dark patch of hair. There was no doubting he was a willing participant in this encounter. When he held his rod in his hand, offering it to his lover, Jessie observed how ready he was to be touched and used. His manhood stood out like a flagstaff, its foreskin drawn back and the head shiny and swollen. He
cupped his large and heavy-looking ballocks as if offering them to his master.

Mister Grant's eyes shone. His hands trembled as he shed his shirt, and he struggled with his buttons. Mumbled words of admiration and need were exchanged as they undressed. Jessie strained to hear, but they were speaking more quietly. Then Mister Grant reached to cup the other man's hand in his own, embracing his heavy sac. As he did, his trews fell to the floor, revealing a pale, slender rear end and surprisingly strong thighs. His prick was up and hard, and it was long and bowed to one side.

The dark-haired man gave a hungry grin as he stared down at Mister Grant's member. He reacted suddenly, grabbing his master around the back of the neck. He planted a possessive kiss on Mister Grant's mouth while his hand stroked the long, bowed cock adoringly. In hurried movements they devoured each other at mouth and hip, hands feverishly exploring. Then they moved as one to the bed. Once they were reclined on it, their embraces grew even lustier.

Jessie peeped in as their bodies rolled together in an urgent rhythm, their hips thrusting, cocks rubbing one against the other. It was a lewd and stimulating sight, and she soon found herself with a nagging ache to frig herself to release.

Who would take whom? she wondered. Ranald would be accepting wagers on it. That thought tickled her and she almost giggled. Putting her hand over her mouth, she quickly contained the sound of her response. She kept her hand there when she observed the darker man turn and reverse his position on the bed, until they were top to toe and he could take his lover's member in his mouth. Her eyebrows lifted as she observed the man underneath do the same, returning the favor. She had witnessed this act between two women before, but not between two men. It was startlingly arousing for her to
observe and—as she could clearly see—for the two men to take part in. Her thighs rubbed together as she shifted from one foot to the other, her body growing eager for such ministrations, for the touch of finger and lip to her eager seat of pleasure.

Jessie could not help feeling oddly aligned with their situation. Although hers was very different, there was similarity in the way they must hide and keep their secret. She felt a bond with the pair of them, for they would be cast out much as she had been. Not only were they fornicating with their own sex, but the wealthier man let a mere worker order him about and defile him. The excise man's sanity would be questioned if his tastes were put about.

Condemnation haunted them all.

Muffled grunts emerged from the entwined figures, and occasionally she caught a glimpse of their faces as they devoured each other. There was a bucking of bodies, thrusting and arching, until the fieldworker lifted his head and issued an instruction.

“Make ready for me now.” His voice was ragged with lust.

Mister Grant rolled free of his younger lover.

Taking charge once more, the younger man mounted his companion, who lay facedown on the bed. He was a fine-looking man, and now that he had assumed the role of master, he seemed even more attractive. Jessie could not help admiring him, especially when he began to stroke his own member, spitting in his palm before doing so, and coating the head and rigid shaft.

With one knee, he pushed his lover's legs apart and climbed between them. The fair-haired man lifted his head, and she could see how much he wanted this. His hand moved down between his front and the mattress, and locked around his
rigid member. But his lover pulled that hand free and planted it firmly on the bed. As he hovered over him, he whispered instructions. Once again he spat into his hand and pushed that hand between his lover's buttocks.

Mister Grant uttered a low curse, and Jessie craned her neck to observe. The fieldworker was manipulating two fingers inside his lover's rear end. Mister Grant's hips rose and fell against the bed, his fingers clutching at the pillows as he welcomed the intrusion, just as a woman would welcome such in her cunny. A moment later, the dark man replaced those fingers with something much, much larger.

Jessie's skin raced. A damp sweat was gathering at the back of her neck and between her breasts as she imagined how Mister Grant would feel—how utterly debauched and thrilling it would be to have a handsome young lover rut him this way, an act most people would consider obscene and morally corrupt.

She could tell the crown of that large member was in place, because it was greeted by more lusty cries from the man beneath. The fieldworker then balanced his weight on his arms and began to drive his length inside the other man.

Jessie's lips parted and she bit on one finger. She did not want to miss a moment. Her body brimmed with excitement, and she clutched at her nipples through her bodice. The sight of that beautiful cock entering the prone man was driving her to distraction. Her thighs were damp and clammy, her dress far too tight at the bodice. With her free hand, she rubbed at the swell of her mound through her clothing.

When the worker had fully embedded himself he shifted position, lying alongside the other man's back and rocking him so that they were like two spoons nested together. Then he reached around and grasped Mister Grant's prick, milk
ing him off as he began the slow thrust and grind of his own milking at the rear.

Mister Grant was delirious with pleasure, his eyes tightly closed, his body willingly enslaved to the dark master who possessed him so thoroughly. Jessie pressed her skirt between her thighs and cupped her mound, squeezing it for relief as she watched the two men shunt and writhe.

A sound echoed up the stairs from below.

Jessie froze, then glanced over her shoulder. She did not want to be interrupted now. They were approaching their peak. Neither did she want the lovers to hear anything, for they might discover the door was open.

Checking on the lovebirds inside the room, she found that the men did not seem to have noticed, so deep in their abandonment were they. She attempted to muster an enchantment to close the door over and keep it that way, but her thoughts were far too muddled by her state of extreme arousal.
Curses on that.
To be so torn made her magic useless.

The sound was of shoes scuffing across the floor below. A moment later she heard another noise, that of a barrel being rolled across the flagstones. Then all fell quiet belowstairs. She returned fully to her watching. Just in time, for they were at their moment of release and she would have hated to miss that. The dark-haired man pitched and bowed at his lover's back, every part of his body tense and gleaming with sweat in the moment of his climax. His hips jerked and his hand tightened on his lover's cock. The fair man grunted loudly and spent himself in his lover's grasp.

Jessie squeezed her hand hard against her mound, attempting to stay still, but it was nigh on impossible in her current state of excitement. She had to find her own relief, and soon.

The man at the rear echoed that most enraptured act, emitting a loud exhalation of breath as his hips jerked several times
and then stilled. The sound of their mutual panting was loud enough to be heard quite clearly on the landing, and she also noticed that Mister Grant was opening his eyes and reaching for his lover. It was time to make her retreat.

Darting back to Mister Ramsay's door, she went inside and closed it quietly behind her. She had to take several deep breaths and force herself to concentrate, in order to undo her previous enchantment and relock the door from inside. She couldn't risk leaving it open a moment longer in case Gregor returned earlier than he had the day before. Dancing from foot to foot, she blew into the lock hurriedly and said the words. She had to repeat them three times before she got it right, cursing herself as she did so, and when she finally heard the lock click she ran across the room, lifting her skirts as she went, and threw herself facedown on Gregor's bed.