Page 26 of The Witch of Threadneedle Street

“Very well, my lord.”

He dropped the lid on the chest and turned on his heel. ‘Twas then the worn, faded condition of her gown caught his eye. Ach, he couldn’t have his lover dressed in rags. Why hadn’t he noticed the thing before? He’d always clothed his lovers as befit their station. She needed a proper gown. With her coloring, MacKenzie green would fit her right well. An image of her flashed through his mind, one of her clothed in a green silk that caressed her delicate frame, one with a square bodice cut low enough to offer him tantalizing glimpses of the soft flesh beneath, as often as he pleased.

“My lord?” Moll queried, obviously puzzled by the length of his stare.

Taran arched a self-recriminating brow of dry amusement. He could hardly share such thoughts. “Ye need proper clothing, lass,” he said instead. “The lads and lassie, as well.”

Moll frowned, yet again. ‘Twas all he’d seen her do the past hour.

“My lord, I cannot possibly afford such a luxury or debt.”

Taran locked his jaw. “I’ll see ye dressed proper, Moll. I canna have my men thinking I dinna see to my lover’s needs and those of my offspring.”

Moll hesitated, clearly torn, and then an incredulous laugh escaped her lips. “Surely, no one truly believes we’re lovers, my lord.”

“Why not?”

She rolled her eyes and laughed, again drawing his attention to her soft, pink lips. Those lips would be his undoing if he weren’t mindful. ‘Twas most unfortunate she wasn’t the dallying kind. He could set the matter straight, then and there, and demonstrate the truth. He’d start with a kiss and end with a romp—a very prolonged one—on the bed less than a mere arm’s length away.

“I can scarcely parade myself in finery, pretending in earnest to be your lover, my lord,” she said. “I know nothing of you or your ways. I’m sure to blunder.”

His ways? He shrugged. Beneath it all, he was simple enough. “I’m a man of action and few words, lass. The bairns should be proof enough.” He let his eyes drop over her figure. Indeed, if she truly were his lover, he’d spend so very little time talking with such a feast of delightful flesh to hold.

Ach, these were dangerous thoughts.

He stepped toward the door.

“Where?” Moll asked. “I should know where we met, at least, should someone ask.”

‘Twas a good point. He stopped with his hand on the latch. “The borderlands. I’ve traveled there often enough.”

Then, he was standing on the castle wall, in the cool night air, unable to recall just exactly what route he’d taken to get there. ‘Twas pure carnal attraction, nothing more. Of late, he’d buried himself too long in the king’s affairs and clearly, he’d gone too long without a woman. ‘Twas only natural he’d find himself attracted to the lass, especially as bonny a one as Moll.

The sound of feet scraping against stone caused him to turn. Two women had emerged from the west tower, the flickering torchlight illuminating their faces swathed in velvet fur-trimmed mantles.

A closer inspection revealed them as Lady Haddon and Anne. Her nostrils flared the moment their eyes met.

Taran nodded, once, in respect. He owed her that much, at least.

She turned her head.

Strangely, the gesture washed away some of the anger he’d harbored against her. At least she wasn’t making a fool out of herself like Euphemia. From her point of view, she was right to be angry. He couldn’t find fault in that. The presence of Moll and the children was an insult of the highest order. At least, she possessed a measure of dignity.

Then, his gaze shifted to Lady Haddon, and upon her smile of invitation, he approached and bowed his most courtly bow.

“Taran.” Lady Haddon nodded in acknowledgment before she tilted her head at Anne. “You may leave, Anne. I’m sure Lord MacKenzie will escort me back to my chambers.”

“Indeed.” A gust of wind tore the word from his lips, but his polite brush of lips over Lady Haddon’s hand confirmed the sentiment clearly—enough that Anne left, at once.

The moment she vanished into the darkness of the tower, Lady Haddon looped her arm through his and pointed to the wall. “I can’t walk much further. I merely wish to stand for a breath of fresh air, then hobble my way back to the keep,” she said with a light laugh.

“As ye wish.” Taran stepped forward.

To his surprise, she leaned heavily upon his arm and took her time, moving as a woman of advanced age. Concerned, he studied her face again, this time noting the torchlight lent her face a sallow cast, one he wasn’t entirely sure was the fault of the flames.

“Shouldna ye be in bed, my lady?”

Lady Haddon rolled her eyes. “My bones ache from lying down, Taran.”