Page 21 of The Witch of Threadneedle Street

“I’ve always thought Taran MacKenzie would be a beast in bed,” someone said with a giggle. “And with as many bairns as he’s fathered, I see I’m nae wrong, aye?”

“’Tis not surprising. Who could miss what’s under that kilt?” another chimed.

A series of snorts and giggles erupted.

Taran arched a brow, somewhat taken aback. ‘Strewth, but he recognized that bawdy voice. Anne’s maid, a shy, middle-aged, quiet mouse-of-a-woman—or so he’d thought.

Then a new voice piped, “Methinks he puts a horse to shame, from the looks of it. ’Tis a marvel ye can walk, I’d say.”

“Didn’t ye hear a thumping in the wee hours of the night?” the voice of Anne’s maid rose above a fresh onslaught of ribald comments. “I swear, it lasted forever and a day. I was beginning to think ‘twas a movement of the earth.”

Again, the giggling.

“Well, tell us then, Moll. Does he keep ye awake all night?”

There was a distinct pause, then, came Moll’s reply, “He’s…decent enough, I suppose.”

Strangely, those words jolted Taran into action. Decent? Suppose? No woman he’d ever bedded had supposed him merely ‘decent’. A wee bit insulted, he stepped into the room.

Attraction Unforeseen

Moll stood before Euphemia’s velvet-canopied bed with her arms full of linens. Less than a minute after Taran had left his chamber, Lady Euphemia had summoned Moll to her chambers.

The woman had been very clear. You’re naught but a servant, Moll. Ye’ll clean my chambers, every inch, afore the evening meal—and not a word to his lordship, aye? I’ll see ye learn your place. Ye’ll put no fine airs on with me.

Moll had set about her task, immediately. She hadn’t minded the work—after all, she was used to laboring hard from dawn till dusk. She did, however, mind the group of women who followed her from room to room, an interesting mix of kitchen, chamber, and lady’s maids, each pestering her for intimate details revolving around Taran and just what exactly lurked beneath his kilt.

Their pointed questions had made even her, a woman already wedded, blush. She’d felt the heat rise even to the tips of her ears. But from the constant flow of gossip, she’d learned much about her supposed ‘lover’. He was a warrior. Noble. And as she’d thought, yet unwed—but not for long. The King of Scotland had ordered Taran to choose a wife from between Euphemia or Anne. He’d shown a decided lack of interest in both women, although this morning, new rumors abounded that he had, at long last, made his choice, Euphemia.

“Come now, there’s no need to be shy.” A rosy-cheeked woman trailed after Moll and plucked her sleeve. “Do tell us, lass. I’ve a wager to settle.”

“Just a wee hint,” another wheedled. “Taran’s such a braw man. After seven bairns, I should think he is a wee mite more than decent.”

A round of snorts and giggles greeted this comment.

The bawdiest of the women laughed. “Aye, now, we’re uncovering the truth, aye? There she is, flaming again as a—” Abruptly, she broke off.

Curiously, Moll glanced over her shoulder.

‘Twas Taran. He stood framed in the doorway, his dark brows arched, and his mouth curved in a perplexed line.

Moll swallowed. She’d thought she’d blushed before? Lord save her, she was wrong. ‘Twas nothing compared to the heat that flooded her now. Mortified, she whirled back toward the bed, knowing full well she was redder than a wood strawberry. Was it the wine from the night before? Her head did still ache—

Hands dropped on her shoulders, strong, gentle hands that turned her around. She wasn’t prepared for the depth of anger smoldering in the blue eyes peering down at her, and when he spoke, ‘twas in a growl like the bear of the man he was, “You’re no chambermaid, Moll.”

Moll’s heart pounded, then the realization struck. He wasn’t angry with her…but upon her behalf. Bewildered, she searched his face.

The women in the room tittered.

His eyes softened, and he seized the linens from her arms and tossed them to the floor. “Come with me, lass.”

He caught her hand and pulled her along, but on the third step, Moll felt the pillow slip. Lord save her. He’d dislodged the thing. With a gasp, she fumbled to catch it.

He heard the sound and glanced back. Understanding flashed across his face, mixed with something else. Amusement? With the speed of a serpent and the grace of a cat, he anchored the pillow in place with a large hand and then stepped behind her, pulling her back against his chest.

“Have a care, love.” His hot breath warmed the tip of her ear.

Goosebumps flashed across Moll’s flesh. Her heart began to thud.