Chapter Thirteen

And why couldn’t Tansy manage to read the expression on Sir Malcolm’s face? The newly kindled fire provided enough light, even if it left his eyes dark and unfathomable. She saw desire, aye. Given what they’d shared, he could scarcely deny that.

What they’d shared.

For an instant her mind stuttered over the magnificence of it, the sharp and almost painful perfection. Nothing in coupling with Ossian had prepared her for Malcolm. Even her agile tongue possessed no words.

Yet men were perilous creatures, prone to changing their minds when the fires subsided. Just so had Ossian done. And a hesitance had now come to this man’s bearing.

“Get up,” he bade her. He said it gently, but she heard iron behind it.

“Nay, but I would prefer…”

He drew a breath and repeated, “Get up, mistress, please, that we may speak together.”

“We may speak here.” Greatly daring she added, “In one another’s arms.”

He turned away. Dismay speared Tansy, and she scrambled up hastily.

As if unable to prevent himself, he swiveled his head and watched her. So she made sure to step from the blanket naked, affording him a good look at all he’d just enjoyed.

And aye, he watched that also, and stiffened where he stood.

“Where are my clothes?” she asked archly. “The new ones I brought away from Crag Corvan.”

“There. And there and…”

“Never mind. For now, the blanket will serve.” She drew it back around her and, barefoot, stepped up to him.

He had only half dressed. He wore his leggings and the tunic open down his chest. It would be the work of but a moment to get him out of those things.

Yet they stood so, unmoving and regarding one another, he towering above her and the firelight dancing over them both.

“What is it you wish to say?”

“Please sit.”

“This is well enough.” She reached for him, placed her palm against his chest as he’d laid his over her breast earlier. She could feel his heart tripping as if he’d run a great distance.

His face still unreadable, he said, “Mistress Tansy, I maun apologize. I took advantage of you.”

“Aye.” She stepped still closer. “And might do so again.”

He plucked her hand from his chest and held it in his. “Nay, mistress.”

Ah—if he thought that having joined with him once—twice—she would be able to exist without him, he must be mad.

“Here,” he insisted. “Sit.”

He led her down beside the fire, which winked and smoked in the dark. Did he seek to avoid looking at her? Mayhap, yet he retained her hand in his, and she could feel his heat.

She could smell him, too, and the scent of their coupling, both now burned into her soul.

“List to me, Mistress Tansy. I ha’ no wish to harm you.”

“You ha’ no’ harmed me.” Ignited her perhaps, touched her deeply, possibly even claimed her. “Is a woman no’ made to join wi’ a man? What harm can there be, and her willing?”

That made him glance at her. “I might ha’ been far more gentle. I lost my head.”

“You may come to me sweetly and gently next time.”

He stiffened. “There will be no next time.”

“Eh?” Tansy’s disappointment hit her in the gut, hard. She could say no more.

“I canna’ allow the distraction. List to me, mistress. I thank you for your kindness. It was…”

Apparently he had no words for it either; his deep voice died, and they stared at one another, equally helpless.

His fingers contracted on hers painfully. From somewhere she dredged up a protest. “It was more than kindness on my part. You ken that fine. Do you suppose we can travel together wi’out that happening again?”

“Nay.”

“Then—”

“Mistress Gant, you promised obedience.”

“And I offer it. Do you want me here and now? Anywhere along the trail? On my back, on my knees? Clothed or bare? You have but to snap your fingers, Sir Knight.” By the holy light, what had happened to her pride? That same which had kept her head high through all the past slurs and insults, that allowed her to believe herself above all?

Did she truly mean to surrender it to this man with his strong hands and the fire in his kiss?

He swallowed hard and licked his lips. No man, she told herself, could refuse such an offer—none. And in truth, she fair panted to provide the promised service.

But he said, “Nay. If you would keep your pledge of obedience, you will turn back for Aberdeen come first light. Taking you wi’ me is too dangerous.”

Tansy’s heart dropped violently, and her eyes burned. He did no’ want her. She would not weep, she would not! Not for him or any man.

She never wept. Not when the evil Ranna bribed her wee brothers to throw stones at her, not when she heard the whispers about her mother. Certainly not when Ossian turned away from her.

And not now.

She lifted her chin and engaged Malcolm’s gaze. “Fool!” she spat. “Do you suppose it easily found, what we just shared?”

“Nay.”

“Yet you would toss it away like ’twas naught?”

“You promised to obey. I bid you go.”

“And I say—”

“There is no arguing it, mistress. Now dress yousel’ and let the discussion be done.”

She did not shift from her place. Folding her arms across her breasts stubbornly, she stared into the fire, and the moments slipped by like bats on the wing.

At last she asked, “Is it because I am a witch?” She never should have suggested as much to him. Better the line she’d taken when he rescued her from the post at the crossroads, that of being wrongly accused.

She’d trusted him too much, a thing that, like weeping, she did very seldom.

He gave an incredulous laugh. “You do admit it, then?”

She shrugged and made no answer. She had as good as admitted it to him before. But her heart thudded, telling her she’d doomed herself on more than one front, trusting him when he did not want her.

Yet he said, “Nay, that is not why. Though ’tis mad for anyone to travel wi’ you. We could both be accused, I by association.”

“Then why?”

“This task I maun accomplish...”

“Freeing your brother.”

“Aye. ’Twill be a hard and perilous road, one that will tax me in all ways.”

“I may be of help.”

“I think not.”

“Aye, but Sir Malcolm, I ha’ abilities you can use or that I, at least, could use on your behalf.”

He stared at her. “You expect me to condone the use o’ witchcraft?”

“’Tis not the dark and terrible thing you suppose, or that people fear. ’Tis part of the natural world, and the power that exists all around us. Rather than spells, it is knowing. It is persuasion. In the right circumstances I could, if you need it, give someone a wee push…”

“Did you push me to lie wi’ you?”

“There was no need. You want me even as I want you. Let us at least be honest wi’ it.”

He got to his feet, suddenly restless, and took a turn about the fire. Tansy’s heart quivered in her breast. Might he reconsider and permit her to accompany him?

But he asked, “How did you come by this ability to push at folk?”

“I did no’ come by it. It has always been inside me.” Dhe, and she exposed more and more of herself to him—too much.

“I ha’ heard witches sue the devil for their abilities.”

“Nay, ’tis no’ like that. At least not for me. Please sit down.”

To her surprise he did, though not so close she could easily touch him.

Engaging his eyes, she said, “I do no’ ken aught about other women or men who claim the name of witch. I encountered none in Slurt, and can speak only for mysel’. I am no’ at all sure I believe in the devil, and what lies inside me has little to do wi’ evil, unless I use it in a hurtful way.” She considered. “Which I maun admit, I ha’ done from time to time, though no’ on any grand scale, you ken. Just wee things, to make Ranna trip in a puddle, or…”

He interrupted. “Just what does lie inside you?”

“I am no’ certain I can explain. ’Tis an urge like that which comes in the spring when things start to growing. ’Tis a knowing and a force of will A…a twisting o’ the will, into persuasion.”

He narrowed his dark gaze on her. “It must be powerfully tempting to use.”

“Och, it is.”

“And mayhap not so innocent as you would ha’ it seem. For a man would no’ ken when he was being persuaded.”

“You still think I swayed you, tricked you into my arms?”

“I am no’ at all sure what I think. You say this ability has always been inside you and is no’ from the devil? From whence did it come?”

“I do believe it came to me from my mother. I do no’ remember her, but folk talk. In Slurt, they talk loudly. She too was branded a witch and ran off when yet I was a bairn, abandoning Father and me. Da married Bessie after that, who raised me.” Yet her mother’s shadow had never cleared from her—she dwelt within it yet.

Malcolm grunted. “None o’ you ever heard from your mother again?”

“Nay. She may be alive or dead—may have got herself burned as a witch. I canna’ tell. But Da was no’ surprised when my abilities came to light. They must be enough like hers that he recognized them.”

“I am sorry you never knew her; ’tis a hard thing. But you maun see you could prove a dangerous companion—one I canna’ afford.”

“How might I prove dangerous to you? If I keep all I possess—all I am—to myself, only you will know.”

“I need to concentrate on the task ahead.”

“Tell me of this task o’ yours, Sir Malcolm. Sit you quietly and trust me wi’ all.”

To Malcolm’s own surprise, he did.