The Harlot (7 page)

Gregor removed his hat.

It took a moment before recognition lit Robert's expression. Then he blinked and peered more closely, as if he could not believe it. “Good Lord, Gregor. Is it truly you?”

“Robert, old friend, it is.”

A broad, welcoming smile lit up that familiar face. Gregor felt raw emotion assail him. Gruffly, he embraced the man he had played with as a child and bonded with as a youth.

“I would rather keep my presence here unspoken.” He glanced over his shoulder, wary of causing tongues to wag on the subject of a stranger in the village.

Robert nodded, stared at him for a moment longer and then reached out to shake his hand.

“So you are the hammer man now?” Gregor asked.

“That I am.” Clapping him on the back, Robert beamed. “Come inside.” Turning to the boy, he added, “Tell your mother to bring ale.”

“The lad is yours?” The similarity in looks attested that he was, but Gregor could scarcely fathom it.

“Aye, the eldest of three. I am married these nine years past. A lassie from Saint Andrews caught my eye and my da gave us his blessing in exchange for my work here.”

Robert had wanted to leave the village, to travel and find his fortune in foreign lands, much to his father's disapproval, but his old man had found a way to keep him there. Gregor was the one who had wanted to stay and work the land of his ancestors, but had been unable to. Life had reversed the fortunes they'd sought as youths.

“He got your agreement while your eye was fixed else where?”

“That he did, but it was no bad thing. I am happy here, after all.” Smoke curled up from the forge behind him, and Gregor nodded.

Robert led him into the storage room where the tools were locked at night. Gregor took in the familiar scents and sights. They had spent many an hour in here. Robert pulled two worn wooden stools from beneath a counter, and they sat down together.

“You have gained a scar.”

“I have. Never fear, the man who gave it me has two.”

Robert chortled at that. “You look well, old friend. Where in God's name have you been?”

“Far and wide. I joined a crew in Dundee…and now I own a share in a trade ship. I've been at sea many years now.”

“The sea, that explains it. I wondered on it. Just about every
day I wondered.” Robert shook his head, his eyes bright with emotion. “I'm mighty glad to see you again.”

“Please, keep it to yourself for the time being.”

“Why?” Robert's earnest expression made Gregor falter.

“I need time.” He would have to tell him why.

“Will you be staying?”

“No. But I have come to reclaim what was ours. I have money, plenty of it.”

Robert grew serious. “That will be difficult.”

Gregor leaned closer. “I appointed a notary to represent me in Saint Andrews. He informed me that some of the land would be up for auction soon.”

“Oh, aye. Wallace continued to build up his estate for several years, and occasionally now sells off bits of it that he deems unworthy. But I doubt he will sell it to you.”

Gregor reflected on that. It was Wallace's way to buy up or win land adjacent to his own just to swell his estate. Gregor had appointed his notary and established himself with a banker two years before. That was when he began making his plans. The news that part of the estate was being sold was what had brought him back. The time was right to do what had to be done.

Robert continued. “He has half the village calling him ‘Laird' now.”

Gregor bristled. That was always Wallace's aim, but he was not well liked by the powerful families of the region, those who warranted respect because they treated their tenants well.

“But now Forbes, his eldest, is like a guard dog. Whenever there is a transaction on any of the surrounding land he appears and tries to put a stop to it.”

Gregor grimaced. “As bad as his father then?”

“Worse, believe me.”

Gregor lifted his eyebrows. He barely remembered Forbes Wallace, who was several years younger than them.

Robert nodded. “Forbes doesn't live up at the house. He disappears off to who knows where, but as soon as there is any business going on he is back. It's as if he has an informer up at the hall. If old man Wallace threatens to unhinge his inheritance, Forbes rears his ugly head, arriving back here from wherever it is he hides himself.”

“There is bad feeling between them?” Gregor absorbed the news. Anything that might be useful was worth storing away. If he could install Jessie there, she could easily find out more.

Robert leaned closer. “Ivor Wallace is bitterer even than the rest of us about the union with England. He supports the fight for independence with zeal.”

Wallace's motives had always seemed to be selfish. He'd built his wealth out of other people's misfortunes, using trickery, his aspirations to be the most important landowner in these parts driving him. Therein lay great power, political power.

However, what surprised Gregor most of all was that he might have something in common with his old enemy—

support for the rebellion against English rule. He considered Ivor Wallace his complete opposite, a man he would have nothing in common with.

War and politics did forge unlikely bonds, it was true.

“Under English law,” Robert continued, “Wallace cannot demand favors of men he kept in his pocket for years. Word is that he has committed funds to the independence movement, and the sale of land is his source. Forbes, on the other hand, fancies himself some sort of spokesman for a new order, the Scotland under union.” Robert's expression was one of great
disapproval. “Some say he has colluded with the English, aided them, but there is no proof.”

“A despicable betrayal of his countrymen, if it is true.” It was with a sense of irony that Gregor realized Ivor Wallace was receiving some justice in this world already, for if he was at odds with his own son, his only son, it was what he deserved for his past misdeeds.

Just then a red-haired woman entered the storage room with two mugs of ale.

“Fiona.” Robert gestured her over and took the mugs.

The woman stared at Gregor warily, but left them a moment later when her husband made no introductions and the conversation ceased. Gregor wished she had not seen him at all. Women were likely to gossip about callers they did not know. Word got about.

Her appearance seemed to sober Robert, too.

“Tell me this,” Gregor said, “does Wallace still collect maidenheads?”

Robert gave him an odd glance, but nodded. “Aye, and Forbes is as bad, by all accounts.”

That boded well. If Jessie could manage to present herself as an innocent, she could get close to him. The hard part was, of course, imagining her as an innocent.

“What is it you intend to do?” Robert asked.

“Wait, watch. I know that he has left the house at Strathbahn untouched, and that the livestock he grazes on the land can be moved elsewhere.” Gregor paused, because the thought of the old farm left to waste aggrieved him. “If luck is on my side, he will put it up for sale and soon.”

“You can do it without him knowing it is you?”

“The notary assures me I can, for a price.”

Robert chortled.

Truth be told, Gregor wanted more than that, but it was
a start. During his first years at sea he would lie in his hammock and plan all sorts of misdemeanors for Ivor Wallace, from sabotaging crops to stealing his livestock and cattle. For a long time Gregor had wanted to go back and fight him, bare knuckled, to inflict the pain he felt. As a more mature man, however, he knew that would only bring temporary relief and, in view of Wallace's status as a wealthy landowner, a spell in jail for himself. The more intelligent way to go about it was to treat Wallace to a taste of his own medicine.

Buying back the land, as much of it as he possibly could, and then presenting himself to Wallace as the mystery buyer, would begin a satisfying quest for supremacy among the local landowners. Once he felt Wallace was suitably embittered by his reappearance, he would find tenants for the land, and then return to his ship. With a foothold and a notary to watch over his concerns, he could continue to buy land from afar.

“If only your father were here to welcome you home,” Robert commented, somewhat cautiously.

Only Robert could have said that to him. They had been close, and Robert Fraser had stood by Gregor, advising him to step away when he'd been angry and hotheaded. It was Robert who had suggested he leave Craigduff for the sake of his sanity. Gregor had turned to this man to cheer the good times and to wonder over the bad. Until the end, when nothing more could be done to save their land, their home and their income, and he had lost his beloved father. Gregor had left without saying goodbye, and it had grieved him over the years.

There was wariness in his old friend's expression, as if he was afraid Gregor might still be the volatile young hothead he'd had to advise eleven years before.

Gregor nodded. He sipped his ale and considered his response carefully. “Our land was stolen from him. I owe it to
my father's memory to get it back. Hugh Ramsay labored all his life for that, for our line. He brought me up alone and I knew how hard that was, every day of my life. He told me he made the land good for me and mine. He didn't deserve what happened.”

Robert studied Gregor and then nodded in turn.

“It was Wallace's whim to shatter my father's dreams. That was cruel and unforgivable and I will not let it pass. The only thing that kept me alive, at first, was the knowledge that I would be able to come back and avenge him.”

Robert looked at him thoughtfully. “It might be possible to buy back the land, but that won't bring your father back, old friend.”

Gregor's gaze dropped and his hand tightened on the mug. “It is what he would have wanted.”

Robert leaned back on his stool and scratched his head. “You have built a new life, and it sounds like a good one. Are you sure this is the right thing to do?”

The old sense of frustration swelled inside Gregor, and he wished he hadn't come here to the smithy's after all. Robert did not know everything that had gone on. He did not know how Hugh Ramsay had suffered.

Eventually, Gregor nodded. “It has to be done.”

JESSIE STRETCHED AND YAWNED. IT WAS NOT
often she had a hot meal in the middle of the day, and she had drifted into a short sleep while savoring her full belly. All was quiet in the rooms outside her current quarters. Now was the time to find out a little more about her sponsor. After all, she did not know whether she could trust him to pay her as he had promised. He was a fine-looking man and she wanted to believe his words, but he was quite clearly a blaggard. She had seen it herself when he'd presented himself as a minister to gain entry to her cell. The act had amused her, but it also indicated what he was capable of. He could easily double-cross her if it suited him, and she was cautious.

Kneeling by the door, she peered into the lock. He had taken the key with him, which made it a slightly harder task, but a spell would do it. And so long as she regained her quarters before his return, he would be none the wiser.

Resting back on her heels, she recalled that this was the first enchantment her mother had ever taught them, lest they ever got locked in anywhere. Jessie vaguely recalled having
climbed into a cupboard on her hands and knees, with Maisie, her twin sister, following. They'd been hiding from Lennox, their brother, who was older by several years. Unable to find them, he had run off to their mother and reported them missing. Presumably it had set her thinking, and so the lessons in magic had begun for the girls. Lennox already knew a few spells, for he was older and their mother said he was more naturally gifted.

All the good memories that Jessie had of her mother were associated with magic. She had drummed into them what she called the important enchantments—the ones they would need to protect themselves. Jessie knew how to gain her freedom, how to cause trouble or avert it, and how to harness a person's attention to an object. The latter was useful when selling wares. Their mother had also taught Maisie and Jessie how to protect themselves from ill health and from becoming pregnant. She'd drummed those things into their young hearts and minds so ferociously that they instinctively knew she regretted giving her affections so easily to their father, a man who had abandoned her when he found out about her craft.

There was so much more to learn and explore than what she knew; Jessie was aware of that. Yet the knowledge had only brought tragedy to her mother, and Jessie, too, found herself in danger because of the gift she had inherited. When tempted to try to expand her skill, she shied away.

In the Highlands she would be safe to explore it, and would perhaps meet more of her kind. Above all, her aim was to be reunited with Maisie and Lennox, from whom she had been wrenched the very day their mother was put to death. Meanwhile, Jessie knew enough to protect herself when needs must.

With a longing sigh, she concentrated her thoughts on the
lock and summoned her freedom in the ancient tongue.
“Thoir dhomh mo shaorsa.”

The lock clicked and the door swung open.

She rose to her feet and sidled into the quarters beyond. No one was about. She looked at the door on the landing, which the alewife and the servants had used earlier that day. It was all that stood between her and freedom. She could escape now and be on her way. But she didn't want to.

The mysterious Mister Ramsay had captured her attention that morning. It infuriated her that she was being held, but she could not resist the challenge of breaking his focus while he attempted to teach her about seduction. Curiosity about his enemy and the dispute between them also riddled her. As she glanced about, she spied his bed through the doorway beyond and she approached it. The bolster was bruised by his head and the bedcovers hung down where he had discarded them. She pictured him there, at rest. No, she was not ready to leave just yet.

Glancing around the bedchamber, she noted that this room was much more comfortable than the one she had awoken in. There were heavy damask curtains at the window and around the bed. In the servant's quarters, the curtains were thin and aged, and the cot had only a thin blanket.

The trunk by his bed was locked. He obviously kept the key on his person. She knelt beside it and worked her magic. Lifting the lid, she quickly rifled through the clothing. Beneath it she found several rolls of papers tied with ribbons. Casting them aside, she moved on to what appeared to be more interesting contents beneath—heavier goods wrapped in worn fabric. There were two parcels, and she lifted one out. It contained coins, a hefty sum. She was tempted to purloin a few. After several long moments of temptation, she decided
it would not be worth the risk in case he had counted them.
I know where they are, should he try to double-cross me.

Pleased by that, she rearranged the parcel and lifted up the second. It, too, was heavy, although not as weighty as the coins. When she unwrapped it she found it full of what at first appeared to be bits of broken glass or stones. Of different colors, they would make pretty gems were they not quite so rough. She frowned. Perhaps that's what they were—unpolished gems? Jessie had never seen such a thing and she held one up to the light, looking at it with curiosity. If he had traveled to foreign places, he might have brought these stones back. It made her want to ask him about the places he had been. And the women he had encountered.

There was a small velvet purse as well, and inside it she discovered several small white stones. These she had seen before, and knew they were of great value. “Pearls,” she whispered.

Restoring the contents to their former arrangement, she closed the lid and locked it. Reassured of her sponsor's wealth, she decided she could rest easy about what he owed her. If he didn't pay her, she knew where to find recompense.

She sat down on the bed, then rolled across it.

It was so much more comfortable than the narrow cot she had rested on the night before and that afternoon. This was a good horsehair mattress and there were pillows and a sturdy bolster for comfort. Her cot was a piece of sacking nailed to a wooden frame, and she would much prefer this bed. Reaching out for the blankets, she found them soft and well made. Wriggling into the place where he had dented the mattress the night before, she breathed in his manly scent and sighed.

What would he think if he walked in now and discovered her in his bed?
He might punish me again.

She chuckled to herself. She had never been treated that way before—well, not as a grown woman. The fact that it
had happened with a lover, while they were in the midst of a lusty display of her talents, astonished her. His hand on her behind had not only distracted her from playing the part, it had heightened her need for relief. Even thinking about it now made her body ripple against the mattress. She pulled her knees up, feet flat to the bed, and let her skirts gather at her waist. With both hands, she stroked the inside of her thighs, imagining that he was standing there looking at her. He would shake his head at her, and tell her she was doing it wrong.

“Oh, my,” Jessie whispered, astonished at how quickly the notion of his chastisement made her lust flare. It was not something she'd ever imagined would happen to her, but when he took her in hand, she was fit for nowt that involved thinking.

As for him, he'd looked like a man possessed. His body was rigid with strength, with restraint. He'd handled her without mercy, allowing her to feel his mood and forcing her to rise to his challenge. As she thought back over it, the need to touch herself went from a suggestion to a demand. Her hands moved down to the creases at the top of her thighs, and with her thumbs she opened up her folds, allowing the cool air to reach her inflamed bud.

Rocking her hips, she imagined him at the end of the bed. Those brooding eyes of his grew darker when he was in a state of arousal, and she knew that he had enjoyed punishing her. Why, he'd moved his hand to her furrow to push her further into ecstasy. That was no punishment, and they both knew it.

If only he had instructed her to sit upon his lap that morning and finish them both. His erection was polelike, and she'd have enjoyed nothing more than following that instruction. The thought made her cunny clench. Deep inside, at the pit of her belly, the ache of longing swelled.

Her bud was swollen, and she swiped her fingers through the juices that were gathering between her folds, and circled it, remembering as she did the way he had licked his fingers clean after they had been inside her. There was no doubt he had enjoyed that. Pumping her fingers faster, she bit her lower lip.

When she reached her pinnacle, it was with the image of Mister Ramsay striding over to her side, opening his breeches as he did so. Her breath caught, her cunny tightening until release flooded her.

As she floated back to earth, a soft chuckle escaped her. Oh, yes, if that morning had been anything to judge by, she would be sleeping in this bed soon enough.

 

After Gregor returned to his lodgings and stabled his mount, he paused beneath the window that he had previously identified as Jessie's room. He half expected to find it hanging open, his new cohort having broken free and made her escape. It looked to be intact, and he made his way inside.

The quarters were exactly as they had been before, and yet he could not shake the strange feeling that she had not remained where he had deposited her. When he retrieved the key and unlocked the door to the servant's room, however, he found her sitting on her cot, untangling her hair with her fingers. It was then he realized he should have purchased her a comb. She had no such feminine fripperies, and it might have kept her amused.

She gave him an admonishing look. That was inevitable. Her initial angry response had mellowed somewhat over the afternoon, but he could tell he was about to hear her thoughts on the matter. He waited expectantly.

“'Tis not right,” she snapped, rising to her feet and folding
her arms across the chest as if readying for a fight, “to lock a person up this way.”

Gregor gave a weary sigh. “I may not know you well, Jessie Taskill, but I have already learned that you are easily bored. The chance to run amok around the Drover's Inn would be too much of a temptation for you. It is for your own protection that I kept you in here. You need to learn to hide from view until people have forgotten that there is a condemned woman who may be about these parts.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “You rescued me from one cell, to keep me in another.”

Apparently, she had not listened to a word he'd said.

Gregor turned away, taking off his coat as he went. A tirade of angry abuse followed him. Gregor bore it all stoically, while considering that it might have been easier to let her run free, and then hunt her down upon his return.

When supper arrived they ate in silence, occasionally glaring at each other across the table.

Eventually, she lifted her shoulders in a shrug, as if admitting defeat. “What plans have you for me this evening?”

Gregor wanted to laugh aloud. She was bored. It was no wonder she got herself into so much trouble. He surveyed her at length. He knew what he wanted to do with her. After this morning's escapade he wanted nothing more than to work off the day's frustrations in a solid bout of bed play. That was not what she was here for, however. It was proving difficult enough to control her, without giving her the free rein that would come from closer companionship.

She stared at him expectantly. “I am most willing to do anything you desire,” she added, with a suggestive glance.

Willing?
When it suited her. He was reminded of how willingly she'd accepted his hand on her arse that morning—how she had pumped and writhed against it, until her lust reached
fruition. He glanced over at the full curve of her bosom and the earnest, erotic look in her eyes. His cock hardened.

It was becoming a matter of dire necessity that he dismiss her, or distance would not be possible to maintain. Besides, the day's events had left him with much to consider. The meeting with Robert had proved fruitful, and Gregor had to make plans for the morrow.

“I am weary after the business I had to take care of this afternoon. I suggest we both go to our beds and sleep.” It was far from the truth, but if she continued to sit there looking so lush and provocative, he would be forced to carry her to the bed and seek relief between those delicious thighs of hers.

That was not what she wanted to hear. She pouted at him, and her gaze flitted about as if she was seeking more mischief to get herself into.

“We will continue your tutoring first thing in the morning,” he added, in an attempt to shoo her off.

Her expression brightened. “So,” she said knowingly, “you wish to observe me attempting to seduce an imaginary man again?”

Lord, the woman was more of a burden than a blessing. The blatant teasing in her eyes made his jaw clench. She wanted to flaunt herself, which was all well and good and helpful to the cause, but he was in danger of being driven to madness by her lascivious behavior. Abstinence was not the easiest task in the world when Miss Jessie Taskill revealed her skills. The inviting look she gave him would melt the strongest man's resolve.

Gregor frowned, determined not to let her influence him. “No. Your table manners need some refinement. We will address that next.”

She stared at him, apparently wildly affronted by his comments. “Table manners?”

Gregor suppressed his amusement. She had a lot of pride for a woman who sold her body to survive. He was willing to wager that had caused her a problem or two. He found himself unable to resist teasing her. “Do you know how to say grace?”

Her eyes rounded.

“The Lord's prayer?”

She threw up her hands. “I know full well what you meant. And yes, I do know how to say grace. I just do not understand why I would need to impress
this enemy of yours
with such things.”

“It is not only for him that you need to behave properly. If we manage to establish you within his household—”