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 on
ly 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 whe
n 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?
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