Chapter Twenty-Two

“He has laid down his demands,” Catha said brokenly, sitting on the edge of the bed and trembling in every limb. “He will release Mercien, aye—but only if I wed wi’ him.”

Tansy hunched beside the bed and grasped Catha’s fingers. The woman looked distraught, her self-composure crumbled at last. “Aye well, you knew it would be so.”

Catha met her gaze ruefully. “I knew it, aye. And be certain, I would do anything—aught at all—to relieve Mercien’s suffering. ’Tis as if I can feel him here in this place all the while, fair taste his agony. I maun win him free. But being faced wi’ Latham full on—I will admit, it daunts me.”

“I canna’ blame you. What is he like, this Mercien, to inspire such loyalty—such love—in both his brother and you?”

Catha’s face lit. “He is like a warm fire on a cold night, like the sun after days o’ rain. He is funny and honest and bright—at least he was, before he fell into Latham’s hands. What he might be now, I canna’ say. I ha’ loved him as long as I can remember.”

“And he, you?”

“And he, me. Here is something I never told anyone else, not even Malcolm. Mercien and I plighted our troth to one another as children.”

Tansy’s brows flew up. “At what age?”

“I was perhaps seven—he maybe nine or so. A secret it was, but true. So when I went to my marriage, I never felt it a union in truth, you ken. I already belonged to Mercien.”

“Then we maun win him free. But…”

A pounding erupted at the chamber door. Both women leaped to their feet as if prodded and stared at the panel.

“Jesu,” Catha breathed. “What now?”

Tansy’s skin pricked. “I am afraid I ken. When we left the dining room earlier, Master Latham demanded my attendance. In his chamber.”

Catha met her gaze in horror. “Nay, Tansy. You canna’.”

“How can I refuse? He said ’twould be the worse for you if I did not come to him.”

“But you canna’ allow him to unleash his vile appetites.” Catha paled. “I did no’ drag you into this only to take such abuse.”

“You did no’ drag me at all. I came o’ my own will.”

The furious knocking sounded again. Catha jerked into motion, hurried to the door, and yanked it open.

“What is it? We are trying to rest.”

“Your servant is required.” The footman wore absolutely no expression. “By Master Latham.”

“She is no’ my servant but my honored companion and will be treated as such. Tell Master Latham I need her here.”

A muscle in the man’s cheek twitched, and a second man appeared from the gloom behind him. Tansy knew then they had instructions to take her by force if necessary.

She stepped forward and elbowed Catha aside. “I will go.”

Catha stared. “But…”

Tansy gave her a look. “Trust me.”

The men seemed relieved. They led Tansy, hemmed between them, to the door at the head of the stairs. One of them knocked respectfully.

The voice from within brimmed with careless confidence. “Send her in.”

Tansy grimaced. So sure, was he, that he should have what he desired this night? Aye and she didn’t know quite what she would do to prevent it, but darkness gathered in her heart.

The room—large, luxuriant, and well-lit—boasted a fire and a padded settee where Latham lounged, already half unclad. He wore no shirt, and his feet were bare. His eyes met Tansy’s as she walked in and the door shut behind her.

“About time,” he grunted. “I bade you come at once.”

“Mistress MacGunn needed me, sir.” Tansy lifted her chin. “My first loyalty is hers.”

Latham smiled. “As so it should be. But she will be staying here wi’ me now—she and I will soon wed. And my appetites require assuagement before that time. So you see, you ha’ a duty here as well.”

Tansy stared at him, the blackness at her heart increasing. What a curious thing it seemed—growing in response to the ugliness in Latham, as if he prompted or even summoned it. Aye so, she’d felt a wee bit of such in the days when Ranna baited and taunted her, but naught like this.

Latham smiled again, a smug thing. “Some acts a man does no’ inflict upon his wife. But a servant is far different. Remove your clothing—let me see wi’ what I’ll amuse mysel’.”

Unmoving, Tansy continued to stare into his eyes. With his red hair loose upon his shoulders he looked even more the fox, and dangerous as a drawn dirk.

He waved a hand. “Come, unless you would feel the weight o’ my fist. I wish to learn if you taste as wild as you look.”

Tansy untied the laces at her bodice, her fingers fumbling over the task. Latham sat observing her every movement as she loosened the garments and shrugged from them one by one. Despite the warm air in the room, she shivered when the last of them came away.

Latham rose to his feet slowly, his gaze all over her. “Very good. Are you a virgin?”

Tansy, throat closed, shook her head.

“Just as well—I ha’ no patience for weeping and wailing. If you wish to please me, you will tak’ all I do wi’out complaint.”

Tansy had no wish to please him. To hurt him, aye. The power inside her—black as the pit of midnight—had become a tremendous thing. Surely she could use it.

“Come here. Bend over the bench and spread your legs. Tak’ your hair down first.”

Tansy reached for the pins, eager to stall him any way she could. When her hair fell free, Latham gestured roughly.

“You’re a tiny thing. Let us see what you can tak’.”

Tansy crept forward on silent feet. She stole one look into his eyes and quickly looked away again. He seized her by the shoulder and thrust her down across the bench where he wanted her before knocking her legs apart with his foot.

Damn the man. She would have bruises on both ankles. And everywhere else he touched her, no doubt.

He would not touch her.

Upon the thought, the darkness inside her exploded. Very nearly beyond her control, it struck out at him—no wee nudge, this, nor indeed anything like she’d ever employed before. Through an enormous act of will, she curtailed it at the last instant and whispered, Sleep.

Latham collapsed onto the bench, nearly crashing into Tansy in the process. For an instant she stood, arms crossed over her naked breasts, and eyed him.

Dead?

Nay, for he still drew breath. He’d landed on his face, one shoulder uppermost, and breathed heavily. When Tansy could bear to touch him, she prodded him over onto his back and stared into his face.

Ah, by the powers! She’d spared herself an unspeakable ordeal, but what about when he woke and realized she’d thwarted him?

She licked her lips, tasting the power within. The shove she’d given had not required much; an abundance yet remained.

Fighting her distaste, she bent and took his face between her hands. In a low voice she whispered, “You will awake convinced you had your desire—that you did to me all you wished before you fell asleep.” She let the dark power flow through her and into him, potent with her will.

She let go of him, and his head lolled back against the bench. She gathered up her clothes and climbed into them, never taking her gaze from Latham.

Victory surged through her, along with doubt. Should she give him an extra push and try to stop his heart? Would that make it harder or easier to free Sir Mercien? Latham needed to die, aye, but perhaps not yet.

Accepting that as answer, she tied up the front of her gown and, swift as a bird, fled back to Catha’s chamber.

****

“You did what?” Catha’s eyes went so wide Tansy could see white around the blue before they narrowed abruptly. “You pushed him. Whatever do you mean?”

“’Tis a thing I am able to do, give folk a wee push wi’ my will behind it. No matter, he sleeps and—”

“He did no’ harm you?”

“I did no’ give him the chance.”

“But when he wakes…”

“He will think all he desired passed between us.”

Catha gasped.

Tansy barreled on, “Before that happens, we maun decide—”

“Wait just a moment.” Catha seized Tansy’s arm and towed her to the bed, where they sat. “Are you speaking of…witchcraft?” She whispered the last word.

“’Tis no’ an evil power,” Tansy asserted, denying how she’d felt when she faced Latham. He had summoned something dark and strong from her, just as Ranna had sometimes summoned something hateful. “’Tis a natural strength that comes fro’ the world around me that—”

“Witchcraft,” Catha restated with clarity. She released Tansy’s wrist. Tansy felt the sting of disappointment; she’d dared hope she and Catha had formed a friendship. Had she just lost Catha’s regard?

“So folk do name it,” she admitted unhappily.

“Jesu! Does Malcolm know you possess this ability?”

“Aye. ’Twas he saved me from being sent to the Royal Commission for questioning. I told him then I was no witch. To speak true, mistress, I do no’ feel like one. I wish no harm to anyone.” Except sometimes. “And I speak no spells or incantations. I just…”

“Give people a magical push.”

“Aye, with my will behind it.”

“Such could get you burnt at the stake. Should Latham find out—”

“He will no’. I tell you, I influenced him to think he had me as he sought, and was satisfied.”

“A useful skill, to be envied by any number of women.”

“Do you mean to expose me, mistress?”

Catha chewed her lip. “Nay. You are far too valuable to me—to Mercien. Besides, if Malcolm saved you, well, who am I to differ wi’ him? But by God, be careful. Fear runs rife in the country just now.”

“I ken.”

“Meanwhile—”

“Meanwhile I suggest we tak’ advantage of Master Latham’s condition and go exploring. Let us see if we can discover where your Mercien may be confined.”